Our wedding ceremony took place in Bill's cousin's family room. My father officiated, and the first wife had to give her blessing. When it was done, he kissed me on the cheek and we were married. There was a wedding party after -- I was excited. I really wanted to sit next to my husband. But his wife was on one side, his daughter on the other, and they didn't make any room for me. They also made it clear I wouldn't be allowed to take pictures alone with him, only with the family. That night I slept on the living room floor. He squeezed my shoulder before going to bed with his wife, and that was my wedding night.
Let's pause here: raise your hand if you're a male who thought plural marriage was a sexy, nightly threesome?
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"Sexy" if you have a serious pioneer/bouffant fetish, at least.
Well, I didn't kiss my husband for more than a month. Remember when I said the current wife wasn't exactly on board with this arrangement? Well, let's just say that Bill slept in my room the following week, but we just slept in the same bed -- no intimacy, certainly not sex. According to our church, we weren't actually married until it was consummated, and it took five months for that to happen. When it did, well ...
The night before, Beth had told me that Bill would come to my room early the next morning to do the deed (he'd have to leave my room before the kids woke up, she said). He came in, we prayed and dedicated the room to the lord, then we stripped down to our long garments (yes, we wore "magic underwear" -- they were like long underwear with the crotch open from the navel around to the small of the back and ties across the front). We spent less than 10 minutes on the actual act, and he didn't even kiss me, because he had a cold sore. When it was over, he lay next to me for five minutes while I cried, then went back to bed with Beth.