Fifty Shades Shadier – Chapter One


She said yes. Now what? Can this work long term, or is it all a game to Bea? In my fifty-plus years I’ve never been exposed to such kinkiness. I must admit, it’s not bad. Still, I worry about keeping up with my little minx. Mormon Silver may need help with this one.

After my proposal was accepted (thank goodness), we watched the game while kind fans offered congratulations. I would have preferred tequila to calm my nerves, but was gracious. Bea beamed as she stared at the ring. I beamed as I stared at her.

“Sweetie, I wish I could afford something more substantial.”
“Don’t be silly. The fact that this was handed down through generations makes it priceless,” Bea assured me as she squeezed my thigh and kissed my cheek. “We’re going to the Hyatt after the game and I’m going to give you a proper thank you.”
“If you insist.”

The Padres lost, as usual. Bea was cool about staying until the final out. It drives me crazy when fans abandon their team. Anything can happen in baseball, regardless of the score, until that final out.

Outside the stadium, Bea insisted we take a rickshaw to the Hyatt. Great. I get to smell the Eastern European man-stank of the driver for eight blocks. As we cruise along, Bea keeps grabbing my package, teasing me.

“Quit it. I don’t want to be walking into the Hyatt with wood,” I whisper.
“Really? Ooh, you are becoming engorged.”
“Engorged? I’m certainly at half-mast.”
“I love it, Sailor Mormon.”

I tip the rickshaw driver. Let’s hope he spends it on deodorant. We walk through the lobby to the elevator and I see that familiar look in Bea’s face: Something kinky will be going down while we’re going up. We step into the elevator (thank God, alone) and head to the 43rd floor. No chance we’re making it all the way. Fuck. There had better not be cameras in here.

Bea pulls out the stop button around the twentieth floor, and all hell breaks loose. She slams me up against the wall and undoes my jeans in record time. Her mouth is so warm and wet around me as she looks up occasionally to see how close I am to exploding. So damn close. Think of something non-sexual, Mormon, quick!

I used to be able to think about sports like hockey and baseball to delay my ejaculation, but Bea has ruined those counter-fantasies. All I can think of is recipes. I begin mentally concocting the design of my own natural protein bar.

Bea tugs at my testicles every time she senses I’m close. She’s quite skilled. I close my eyes and concentrate.

“You’re not coming yet, mister. You can peek over the edge, but tonight we’re going over together.”
“Two cups of natural peanut butter, …”
“Oh, sorry.”

The elevator alarm starts to ring. I panic and push in the button to stop the ringing. Bea laughs and stands up as I yank up my jeans quickly. Naturally, Mormon luck kicks in and the elevator stops at the next floor and the doors open to an elderly woman. My purple torpedo pokes through the zipper of my jeans and points directly toward the poor woman who stands, mouth agape.

“Oh, hey, Grandma. This is my fiance, Mormon Silver.”
Down boy.

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Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.