Fifty Shades Shadier (5 page)

Bea enters the bedroom and notices my lump.

“Hard still?”

“Hard
again
. I’m dying to see what she does with eggplant. Meanwhile,” I slide into my love glove, “somebody here was exceptionally fiendish today, and deserves a spanking.”

“Ooh, yes, I was very bad,” Bea admits as she removes her undies and dives across me, lying perpendicular across my waist. She lifts her skirt. “How many lashes shall I receive, Master?”

“Five should do. But, it will have to wait until my show is over.”

She turns her head toward me and gives that pout I can’t resist.

“Fine,” I agree. I hit pause on the remote, turn my love glove on slow vibration, and strike her lightly on the bum.

“Was that supposed to hurt? Are you trying to punish me or tickle me?”

“I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hit a woman harder than that. Sorry, sweetness. Perhaps you would accept alternative punishment in the form of a deep vaginal massage.”

“Yes, please.”

Once again, my glove and my love—a match made in sensuality.

Chapter Sixteen

Having sex is like playing bridge. If you don’t have a good partner, you’d better have a good hand. – Rodney Dangerfield

We frolic on the bed, which seems too ordinary for our sexual playbook; it’s the running back over guard play of love. I have an idea.
She’s infecting me with her kinkiness.

“Let’s have fun in the playroom,” I suggest.

“I thought you’d never ask. I have to warn you, though; I’m an expert at table games.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I peel off the glove and the two of us walk naked into the Garden of Perversion with my pet snake still under the influence.

“Wanna do it on the pool table?” she offers.

“Nope. Bad experience.”

“Really?”

“Sit on my lap, and I’ll tell you a story,” I suggest while leading her to a barstool. “Once upon a time, the Big Bad Wolf placed Little Red Riding Slut’s heels in two corner pockets and took his cue stick to her. To gain extra leverage, Wolfie dug his toesies under the lip of the pool table. This caused much discomfort and blistering of his wittle toe tops. Red also wound up with brush burned cheekie-doodles.”

“You’re crazy, Uncle M. That’s why I love you.”

“I love you back. Since you’re such a hockey fan, I thought it might be fun to do it on a hockey rink that won’t stick to me.”

“Hmm, that is actually a virgin air hockey table.”

“Not for long.”

Young men don’t eat enough pussy. Either that or they don’t do it right. For Christ’s sake, it isn’t that difficult. I’m placing part of the blame on women who either lie there allowing Ole Fumble Lips to flop around missing the point, or fake it to get it over with. Find me a man who knows how to lick a woman to orgasm and I’ll find you an ex-girlfriend of his who gave him specific directions and held him to a high standard of quality by demanding practice instead of unreciprocated oral treats. Ladies, please, whether your man asks for directions or not, give them to him. It’s in your best interest. His next lover will appreciate it too. I only have one tongue, damn it.

I apologize for my rant. Now, back to your regularly scheduled program...

Not only do I go down on my Lovergirl like a man in a barrel over Viagra Falls, I turn the table air jets on high so she has the additional sensation of cool air blowing up her crack. Score one—actually two, for Uncle M, because I also learned how to do come hither to make her come more quickly.

Before I climb aboard and join her in O’ville, a voice blares over the intercom. It’s Grandma, the wretched queen of cockblockery.

“Bea, is Mr. Silver in there with you?”

Bea goes to the phone on the wall and presses a button to respond.

“Yes, in fact he is. We’re playing air hockey.” She winks at me.

“Have him stop by the lounge on his way out, and by ‘on his way out’ I mean
now
.”

“He’s on his way.”

I give Lovergirl my best what-the-fuck look as that bus speeds over me.

“What?” she asks innocently.

“Seriously?”

“Oh, she probably just wants to give you some money for helping out with that banquet.”

“Great. I hope she gives me a bunch of ones to use at my bachelor party tomorrow night.”

“Why haven’t you responded to the invitation?”

“Because I can’t use Facebook while having sex with you.”

“Bet you can.”

“I should know better than to tempt you.”

We dress and part ways; Bea goes to her condo, I go to the lounge. Kazuko meets me there, throws a polo shirt at me, and hands me a church key.

“You mix drinks, Brobber.”

Chapter Seventeen

When you get back together with an old boyfriend, it’s pathetic. It’s like having a garage sale and buying your own stuff back. – Laura Kightlinger

Grandma’s putting me to work again, trying to keep distance between lovers like a chaperone at a school dance. They never stopped me from reaching second base back in the day; she won’t win this game.

“Emery not here. She sick,” Kazuko explains.

Who? Oh, Emily.

“You want me to tend bar?”

“Do it. I too short.”

I did some moonlighting a few years ago to catch up on my credit card bills. It was fun, actually.

“Sure, why not?”

“You go change in bathroom, or I kick monkey snot out of you,” she teases.
Seems this woman is beginning to like me.

“All right, but I’m keeping my tips.”

“Twenty percent to me.”

“Fifteen ... and I get to drink as much as I want.”

“Go!” she directs as she smacks me on the butt.

The crowd in the lounge is mellow: conference-goers, salespeople, and tourists. I enjoy delivering therapy with martinis. People carry loads of fucked-up stories; it inspires my writing.

A lovely, young brunette bellies up and orders a lemon drop. I card her and then oblige while noticing her innocence obscured by something dark.
Pry, I must.

“What’s up, Buttercup?”

“Oh, the usual: men.”

“I happen to know a few. Maybe I can help. My name is Mormon, people around these parts call me The Man Whisperer.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m ...,” she catches herself, “... Annie.”

She extends a hand, which I shake firmly.
I hate that wet noodle shake, with either gender.

“My boyfriend has these issues stemming from his childhood, and I’m not sure I can deal with them.”

“Everyone has issues. The question is: Do you love the guy?”

“Desperately.”

“Does he love you?”

“I believe he does. He proposed.”

“Ah, did you accept?”

“Not yet.”

“All right. What sort of issues are they?”

She takes a long drag on the lemon drop and sighs.

“He was abused as a child, so he is afraid of being touched; he gets off on spanking, restraining, and shoving metal objects into women’s orifices; and he’s an extremely jealous control freak.”

Jesus! Another low-self-esteem woman, guilted into believing she deserves nothing better than a misogynistic beast. His fucked-upness was not her doing, and it’s not her responsibility to cure his disease.

“But, he’s rich and hung like a rhino,” I justify, partially teasing.

“Well ...”

“Where did you meet Hungryballs Lector?”

“Up north. We’re here on a mini-vacation.”

Her Blackberry beeps. She bites her bottom lip.

“Don’t do that, Annie.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Bite your lip. You’ll get lipstick on your teeth and your lips will get chapped.”

“Oh, sorry. Anyway, it’s not like he’s evil—just sexually twisted,” she murmurs.
Sounds to me like she enjoys it, somewhat.

“Look, Annie, if you think you can’t find good sex with a man who will treat you like a lady, you’re wrong, and you’re too goddamned young to give up now.”

She rolls her eyes, and takes another pull on the martini; it’s gone before the sugar has settled on the rim.

“I have to go,” she insists as she rises and slaps a twenty on the bar. “Keep the change, Mormon.”

“Aim a little higher, Annie.”

I hate to see loveliness wasted on the unworthy and unappreciative.

Kazuko checks in with me occasionally. I’m having fun with my guest bartending stint.

“You good at this. Emery razy. She tease men too much with dem big-a-boobs,” she explains while gesturing as if she were holding softballs.

“Show ’em if you got ’em, is what I always say. Expose everything but the tips and you’ll make more tips.”

“You disgusting.” She hands me a coffee mug. “Here. Put sake in it.”

“Ooh, I’m telling Grandma.”

“Shut up. Ode rady drive me to drink.”

“Me too. Think I’ll join ya,” I suggest as I crack a bottle and grab another mug.

My lovely Bea arrives to check on me.

“Hey, Kazuko, how are you?”

“Fine. You boyfriend good bartender. Maybe I hire him.”

“Mormon’s talented in
so
many ways.”

“Aw, shucks,” I tease as I hand Kazuko her mug and kiss my love.

“No kissing. Work!” Kazuko orders.

“Miss Plastique, would you like a beverage?”

“Um, ok. I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”

“Nothing stronger?”

“No, not right now, thank you.”

I mix some cherry juice and soda, considering the life ahead of me—
mixed, but not bad
.

Chapter Eighteen

Sex at age 90 is like trying to shoot pool with a rope. – George Burns

Bea hangs with me for a bit, and then she heads up to bed, feeling she may be coming down with something. I finish my shift, count my tips, and offer the agreed-upon commission to Kazuko on my way out. She refuses.
Cool boss!
I walk away from an interesting evening with what amounts to another ten or so books for my Kindle.

When I get to my Jeep, I realize I left my all-important Fukuoku Glove behind.
No problem; I have the code.
I find the link on my iPhone and enter the code. I can hear music blaring from the Blue Room.
Hm.

Unsure of what I’ll find, I enter the bondage arena slowly. The music is bad seventies funk—obviously a porn background track—coming from the bedroom.
She claimed she was feeling ill. Little fibber. I had better not find her being nasty without me.

As I enter the bedroom, sure enough, there’s awful big-muff porn playing on the HDTV. I notice the red light on the camera below.
Naughty girl!
When I turn toward the bed, my excitement turns to horror and my half-boner shrinks and tries to hide in my abdomen. Grandma is spread eagle with my glove on one hand and a pink Rabbit vibrator in the other.

“Silver!”

“That’s my glove!”
Oh, shit. If I get a whiff of sex, I’m going to hurl.

“Get out of here you ... you ... sick pervert,” she yells while trying (
thank God
) to cover up.

“For the love of ... my retinas are burning,” I reply with a combined sensation of
ew
and
ha
.

“One word of this to anyone and you’re a dead man, Silver!”

“Oh, the humanity.”

I back out of the bedroom, covering my eyes, and walk out of the Gray (now) Room. Once in my Jeep, I check on my lover by calling her on my Bluetooth.

“Hey, Babydoll, how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, just a little nauseated.”

“Me, too. Do you think it was something we ate, or did I knock something loose with my massive fuck stick?”

“I’m not too sick to climb aboard Mount Mormon again.”

“You should take a Tums and rest, darling.”

“And, you need to get a good night’s sleep because you have a big night ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes—the bachelor party. Maybe I’ll bring my glove to make the lap dances more interesting. Oh, wait,” I recall that evil woman, “scratch that.”

“You have a free pass, my love. Take the glove. At the end of the night you’re all mine.”

“I’m all yours now, during, and forever after, Lovergirl.”

“Good. I have something special to add to your party.”

“What is it?”

“That would ruin the surprise. You’ll see ... and feel.”

“Excellent! I hope your tummy’s better. Sleep well, my love.”

“You too. Love you.”

“Love you back.”

“Goodnight.”

When I arrive at my home, there’s a huge black limo parked out front.
Is this for tomorrow?
The driver’s door opens. A massive man steps out and opens the back door. Fancy alligator shoes step out followed by that fuck nugget, Chris.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Mr. Silver,” he replies while narrowing his eyes (
is he wearing mascara?
) and offering a hand to shake.

I shake his hand. He squeezes as hard as he can. I cringe but manage to tolerate the pain as I extend my middle finger and tickle his wrist. He releases, leaps back, and wipes his hand as if it ran through a spider web.

“Quite a grip you have there, young man. Now, kindly tell me what you want, and return to your cave,” I insist.

“You know what I want, Silver. Bea is mine, and this affair with you is over. Grandma has things under control at the Hyatt. Bea is coming back to Seattle with me.”

“Fine,” I agree as I begin unbuckling my belt. “Let’s get this over with.”

“What are you doing?” Chris asks while taking a step back alongside his driver.

I unzip and drop my jeans and underwear. “A duel it is. A sword fight to the death.
En garde!
” I yell while grabbing my floppy sword.

“You sick bastard,” Chris answers.

I begin peeing and get some on his alligator shoes. Chris leaps backward.

“I smite thee! That goddamned sake; it does this to me every time.”

Chris shakes his foot and holds back the driver. They have no idea how to deal with me. As they return to the limo, Chris yells, “Time is up, Silver. She’s mine, you sick fuck.”