Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks

by Phil Torcivia

  Mormon Silver (henceforth referred to as “Uncle M”) agrees to bring Beatrice Plastique (henceforth referred to as “Lovergirl”) to orgasm daily until the 2012 champions hoist the Stanley Cup.

  On each day, if Uncle M brings Lovergirl to orgasm more than three times, he’ll receive a $25 Amazon gift card.

  Uncle M agrees to allow Lovergirl to shave his testicles.

  Uncle M will refrain from masturbating, eating buffalo wings, and watching NBA games.

  Uncle M will provide ejaculate, urine, saliva, and blood samples within 24 hours.

  Uncle M will not make love (yes, that includes blowjobs) to any other woman.

  Uncle M will not discuss with anyone his sexual relationship with Lovergirl.

  Uncle M will answer every text message sent by Lovergirl within five minutes or be tied to a bed facedown and lashed with a leather belt once for each minute late.

  Uncle M will discard his Fukuoku glove, buy a new one (in black, please), and bring it with him—sealed in its original packaging—to the agreement signing meeting.

  Lovergirl will give up the ass to Uncle M.

  The ASS? Oh my god, her luscious ass! I can hardly contain myself as my erection tears at my boxers. I resist, but why? I can’t agree to her silly rules. This is crazy. If I want to beat off, I’ll beat off. I’m a grown man. How would she know anyway?

  As I grab my waistband and release my throbbing monster, my phone beeps.

  Bea Plastique: Don’t you do it.

  Shit.

  Chapter Six

  Girls are like pianos. When they’re not upright, they’re grand. – Benny Hill

  Eric. He’s the key to understanding this strange woman. Personal assistants know everything about their bosses. All I need is leverage. What do gay men like? Think, Silver, think!

  I pace from room to room—then it hits me. Of course. A hand-me-down I have been so tempted to toss finally comes to use. I place Eric’s kryptonite into my satchel along with Bea’s Rules, and zip down to Hustler to get the love glove she requested. Bea has no idea what she has gotten into. Not since the great MJ has anyone been so skilled with a glove.

  I swing by her office before our rendezvous, hoping to catch Eric by surprise, but her office is dark and the doors are locked. Missed him.

  What does Bea have waiting for me on that 43rd floor? My stomach is tight. I need a drink.

  I valet at the Hyatt and go straight to the lobby bar with my not-a-man-purse. Nothing soothes me more than a few ounces of Don Julio. The nurse behind the bar dispenses my sedative with salt and lime. The glass barely meets the bar before I throw it back and request another. I review Bea’s Rules again, and wonder if she can get me weak enough to sign. Another glass of courage appears and the nurse smirks.

  “Somebody must have an important meeting.”

  “Darling, you have no idea.”

  “What’s with the paper? Divorce settlement?”

  “Not quite.”

  I’m tempted to show it to my new friend, as I’ve found the best advice often comes across a bar. Still, one of Bea’s Rules is no sharing. I need to see where this goes.

  “Let’s just say I need to perform a service, best delivered with agave.”

  “Go get her, tiger. Oh, and I hope you like candles.”

  “Wait ... what?”

  She smiles and walks away. I slam the shot and head for the elevator. As I stroll toward 4301, I hear Frank Sinatra crooning. The door is ajar. There’s flickering golden light and the scent of vanilla. I push slowly, and enter the foyer of a massive penthouse. A path of candles leads toward the back. “The Way You Look Tonight” plays from an iPod stereo above the wet bar. I need another drink. I find a mini-bottle of Cuervo. This will do. Down it goes. Time to follow the yellow candlestick road.

  As I round the corner, the candles lead to the double doors of a master suite. I turn both knobs and slide the doors open. In the golden strobe of candlelight is my love, naked and tied spread eagle to the bed, wearing an old school hockey mask, a la Friday the 13th. Fuck! She’s so hot and mysterious.

  “Hello, Lovergirl.”

  “I seem to have gotten myself into a bind, Uncle M. Can you help me?” she muffles through the mask.

  “Perhaps.”

  I place my satchel next to the bed, remove the love glove from its package, and place it on my left hand like a surgeon.

  “Black. As requested.”

  “Mmm. Does that mean you have agreed to the terms of our arrangement?”

  “Maybe.”

  I flip the switch on the back of the glove and it vibrates gently. She’s going to pay for teasing me so. I lie next to her and kiss her ear and neck as I run my gloved hand up her left thigh. She arches her back in anticipation. I whisper in her ear.

  “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think you do. You’re quite brave, Lovergirl. You don’t know me that well. I could be insane ... and you’re so helpless right now. I could do almost anything to you.”

  “I’m frightened.”

  “You should be.”

  I run my glove lightly across her engorged nipples as I bite her earlobe. She thrusts her hips when I run the glove down her torso, stopping just above her clit.

  “Please, Uncle M, I need you.”

  “Not yet, Lovergirl.”

  I flip the glove switch off and get up from the bed.

  “What are you doing? Get back down here, Silver!”

  “Candles. I love candles.”

  I take a candle from the side table and hold it over her body. She gasps as I drip hot wax onto her nipples. She’s about to explode. I place a gentle kiss on her love button.

  Suddenly I hear a thump coming from the closet. Holy shit! Someone is here. I should have known. She couldn’t have tied herself.

  “You, in the closet, show yourself.” As the door slides open, I see a man and a camera. Jesus.

  “Eric? What the hell is going on?”

  “Crap,” Bea exclaims.

  “Come out of that closet right now, Eric.”

  Eric smiles and responds, “Again?”

  Chapter Seven

  Women are like ovens. We need fifteen minutes to heat up. – Sandra Bullock

  “You’re a funny man, Eric. We need to have a little talk.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Silver, last I checked you weren’t the one signing my checks.”

  “Hello?” Bea interrupts.

  “Hush,” I tell her, “we’ll finish our business soon enough, Lovergirl. Eric, I have something that may persuade you to talk.”

  Sitting on the side of the bed with my back to Bea, I open my satchel and reveal Eric’s kryptonite.

  “Oh my god, is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes, Eric.”

  “What is it?” asks Bea.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I’m going to have to do what Mr. Silver asks. He has a really big ... um, gun.”

  “Are you insane, Silver? It was just a little kinky fun.” Bea is definitely agitated. Good! I can play her games. I decide to let her stew as fear heightens the senses, making the orgasm parade I’m about to unleash more intense.

  “We’ll be right back. Come with me to the kitchen, Eric, and no sudden moves, or else.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I flip on the kitchen light, hang my satchel over a chair, remove my weapon, and place it on the counter. Eric’s eyes widen.

  “Is that ... oh, it can’t be.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s signed?”

  “Indeed, as you can clearly see right here.”

  I point to Judy Garland’s signature on a The Wizard of Oz promotional eight by ten print.

  “Now, Eric, this ditty is a gift from me to you if you answer three questions.”

  From the bedroom, we can hear Bea struggling to free herself.

  “Don’t you hurt him, Silver! Eric is a good man. He was only follo
wing orders.”

  “Hush!” Eric and I respond in stereo as he admires the still.

  “Fire away, Mr. Silver.”

  “One, what’s your opinion of facial hair?”

  “It doesn’t work for me personally, but I’ve heard a certain young lady remark how she adores the salt and pepper on your chin. I’d say, keep it cropped and you’re fine. Please don’t ever color it, though. I mean, ew.”

  “Thank you. OK, two, am I too old to be wearing plaid shirts and loafers?”

  “Well, as long as you have on an undershirt, you’re fine. No V-necks, please. I highly recommend going sockless, but I know argyle is your ‘thing,’ so whatever. Have you tried John Varvatos? His fashions are ideal for the mature man.”

  “Excellent tip. One more question.”

  “Eric, don’t be a hero. Cooperate with him for now. We’ll make this right later,” Bea muffles.

  “His gun is so big, Ms. P, what shall I do?” Eric hisses.

  “Silver!”

  “I like you, Eric. Now, the most important question: Where does Bea’s strange fascination with hockey-related sex stunts originate?”

  Eric leans in and whispers, “Her uncle was very influential in her upbringing, if you know what I mean. He played goalie for the Canadiens in the seventies.”

  “Disturbing. Name?”

  “Tomas LeBaleur.”

  “You’re the best, Eric. This is for you.” I hand the signed print to Eric. He trembles as his eyes well up.

  “I, I don’t know what to say. If you weren’t straight, I’d ...”

  “Tut, tut, tut. A ‘thank you’ is sufficient.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, do me one tiny favor and hang out in the lobby bar until I’m through with my naughty friend. There’s a kind bartender working down there.”

  “Emily. She works for us.”

  “I see. So can you manage to keep Emily company for about thirty minutes?”

  “Indeed I can.”

  Eric blows a kiss to me and leaves.

  “Eric? Silver? Hello? Anyone?”

  “Yes, Lovergirl, how can Uncle M be of service?”

  I turn on my glove and return to my love.

  Chapter Eight

  Love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties. – Jules Renard

  When I see my love, she’s struggling to free her hands. I wink and point at her with a gloved finger. She lies back, exhausted. I walk past her bed into the bathroom.

  “What are you doing, Silver?”

  “Uncle M.”

  “Untie me.”

  “Nope.”

  I lift the toilet seat and relieve myself.

  “Are you peeing?”

  “Yeppers. I was trying to hold it because, you know, once you break the seal ...”

  “And, I can’t believe you brought a gun here.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You threatened Eric.”

  “Truth be told, your kind Uncle M simply bribed him with a movie print.”

  “Ugh, The Wizard of Oz, no doubt.”

  “Very perceptive, Lovergirl. You see? I do my homework too.”

  I shake twice and dab the tip with a sheet of TP. Bea has somehow managed to free her right arm. Her wrist is chafed. Serves her right.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “You didn’t flush, you pig.”

  “The Rules clearly require me to give samples. I’m one-fourth of the way there. Help yourself when I leave.”

  “Gross.”

  “Hmm, now, what other samples are required? That’s right, saliva.”

  I crawl up from the foot of the bed, reach under her right thigh with my gloved left hand, and gently tug at the top of her glistening cock holster with my index and middle finger vibrating as they straddle her clit. I dive in tongue first as she grabs my hair and steers with her free hand. In mere minutes, she arches into orgasmic bliss.

  “That’s one orgasm and two fluids. I’m almost there.”

  “Almost where, Uncle M?” Bea asks as she relaxes in the afterglow.

  “I have one very hungry Kindle, my love. That Amazon gift certificate is two orgasms from being mine. There’s a new erotic series I’m dying to read.”

  “Now, for that third fluid.”

  I reach into my satchel, pull out a silver condom, unroll it down my average-sized penis, kneel in front of her, and slide myself in only a tiny bit.

  “Shall we play ‘Just the Tip,’ Lovergirl?”

  “No, Uncle M, I need you to fill me,” she begs as she grabs my hip, trying to pull me in.

  “Answer one question and I’ll give you all my lovin’.”

  “Fine.”

  “What’s the story with your Uncle Tomas?”

  “Oh, Jesus. I’m going to kill Eric.”

  “Tell me,” I order as I withdraw a bit.

  “You might not like it, Uncle M.”

  “Tell me.”

  “OK. He took my virginity.”

  I withdraw entirely and try to process what I just heard. Kind of creepy; kind of gross; kind of hot, actually.

  “That sick bastard! I hope that fucker is in jail.”

  “Mmm, stop swearing and do me!”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eighteen and, actually, we were in love. He’s not a blood relative, Silver.”

  “It’s still twisted.”

  “Yet you seem hard as a rock.”

  She’s right. Why does this turn me on? Yuck! Someday I’ll meet this man and make him pay, but right now, I’m her uncle. I enter her fully as she arches in joy and comes again ... and again, this time with me. I lie on top of her kissing her neck as she caresses my head and shoulders. I pull out, push myself up, slide off my condom, place it on the nightstand, and smile.

  “Well, Lovergirl, that’s at least three orgasms, three fluids, and one gift card for Uncle M.”

  “You’re one fluid short.”

  “What? Blood? You don’t think I’m actually going to leave you a blood sample, do you?”

  “No. I’m going to take one.”

  I catch a glimpse of her right hand as her fist crashes into my jaw. Lights out.

  Chapter Nine

  Never date a woman you can hear ticking. – Mark Patinkin

  I’m walking through a field of marijuana plants. The scent is overpowering and delicious. Suddenly, I feel a sting on my left arm. A psychedelic bee licks her lips, winks, and flies away. I fall and lie in a clearing, staring at the clouds as they take various forms.

  *Tap, Tap, Tap*

  What’s that noise? I try to sit up, but I’m weak. I tilt my head forward and see a door in the middle of the field.

  *Tap, Tap, Tap*

  “Hello?”

  I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to rub them clear. I realize my arms are bound. A room comes into focus.

  “Housekeeping.”

  The door opens. Two maids stand in the doorway of the master suite, eyes wide and giggling. I’m bound to the bed, naked except for ... oh, no ... underwear—Bea’s Montreal Canadiens underwear.

  “I’m sorry, sir, would you like us to come back later?”

  “No, actually I’d like you to untie me.”

  “Is someone else here?” one of the maids asks as she approaches me cautiously. She looks into the closet as the door is ajar. I see the tripod with one missing camera. Fuck! The camera! How could I have forgotten?

  “Nobody is here. Please untie me and stop looking at my package. I’m not a damned Canadiens fan.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Flyers rule.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Just untie me.”

  They each untie my arms. I sit up and undo my feet.

  “Thank you, ladies. Perhaps you could come back in an hour or so.”

  “Of course,” they respond. I hear them chatting and giggling as they leave the suite. Bea will pay for this.

 
As I run my tongue under a fat lip, I realize my left shoulder is sore too. The bee sting. She must have drugged me. On the bedside table, I find my love glove. It is arranged with the fingers curled in, except the middle one. Cute. There’s something in the palm. I open the fingers and find a $25 Amazon gift card. Well, at least she doesn’t welch on her bets. Under the glove is my copy of Bea’s Rules with a “sign here” sticky note pointing to the line above my name.

  Thankfully, my clothes are here, folded neatly. I quickly remove the panties, toss them, get dressed, and go down to the lobby in search of a large espresso to clear my head. The kind barista brews a strong triple and offers an apple fritter. I grab a Union Tribune, sit, and plot my revenge. Suddenly, I hear the patrons seated behind me giggling. They’re reacting to odd noises coming from the TV. Holy shit! I’m on TV, and I’m not doing the news—I am the news.

  I leap to my feet, stand on a chair, and power off the TV before somebody recognizes the embarrassing shot of me tied to a bed in panties. Fuck.

  My phone rings. It’s my mother.

  “Hi, Ma.”

  “Hey there, stranger. How have you been?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “Just getting the guestroom ready.”

  “Ma, that was supposed to be a surprise. Did Neal tell you?”

  “You know your brother can’t keep his yap shut. I’m so excited. What a nice Mother’s Day gift. You’ll be happy to hear there’s no rain in the forecast.”

  “That’s nice. I sure need a vacation. I’ve had a rough night.”

  “Did it by chance involve the future mother of my grandchildren?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Really?”

  “Ma, I have to run. Let me call you back later today.”

  “Okey dokey. Say, will your lady guest be sharing the room with you?”

  “What lady guest?”

  “Bea.”

  “WHAT? How on earth do you know Bea?” Lovergirl is completely under my skin now.

  “She sent me a lovely package with my favorite gourmet teas and a kind note saying she was anxious to meet me.”

  “No, Mother, she won’t be staying with me.”