What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Fifty Shades Shadier - Chapter Eleven

"What is it, honey?" Bea asks from the bedroom.
"Nothing. Be right there."

I stuff the roses into the garbage disposal. It grinds loudly. Bea emerges from the bedroom, already down to her lacy undergarments. How can I be mad at her when she's so delicious?

"What are you doing?"
"Oh, that was a delivery for you," I inform as I hand her the card. "I was trying to water the lovely roses and, oops, they slipped into the drain."
"He's such a jerk."
"Are you absolutely certain this thing between you two is over?"
"Way over. He's a freak and I want nothing to do with him."
"Why did you break it off in the first place?"
"He's twisted. All he wanted to do was dress me, force me to eat, and spank me. I felt like cattle he was fattening for slaughter. He used to leave bruises on me."
"Sounds like he needs a beating."
"I know, Mormon, but he's not worth it. He's way up in Seattle anyway. Just ignore him. Please?"
"So, we're not breaking up tonight?"
"Quite the opposite, my love," she assures as she tosses the card into the garbage.

We scurry into the bedroom before the melted white chocolate cools.

"You first, Lovergirl," I insist as she giddily complies by removing her undergarments.
"Would you like me sunny-side up or over easy?"
"Hm. Let's start with up."

I take the cool creme de mente and run a river from her neck to her navel. I see goosebumps. I drip a bit over my index finger and touch it teasingly to her lips. She takes my finger in and teases the tip with her tongue. Time for another sensation. I take a honey ladle, dip it into the thick melted chocolate and dollop a bit on each nipple, both sides of her neck, and in the crease where her thighs meet her hips.

"Is that too hot, Lovergirl?"
"It's perfect, Uncle M."

I spray whipped cream, leaving a white stripe next to the minty green river. This is beginning to resemble a New York Jets uniform. Not that I'm a football fan, but I will definitely fuck this tight end tonight.

Time for the fruit. While the chocolate dries on her, I take a strawberry, dip it in the fondue pot, spray a spot of cream on the tip and feed her. We kiss while she chews. The pink juices run down her neck; I catch them and lick her clean.

We take turns coating each other and enjoying the sensations: the mix of flavors, the cool, the warm, the runny, the firm. My Lovergirl is the most delicious treat I've ever experienced, and there will be no leftovers for CG.

A night of love wears on me as my fifty-year-old body makes me pay for my twenty-year-old thoughts. Bea dresses next to the bed as I wake up.

"Ugh. Could you dim that light please?"
"That's the sun, silly man," she giggles as she tickles my foot. "You had better get up. You have an interview in one hour."
"Huh? Oh, Jesus. Grandma?"
"Yep. She's meeting you at the E Street Cafe in Encinitas at ten."
"Shit. I have an owie," I remark while rubbing my eyes. "My head feels like someone is pinching my brain stem with needle-nose pliers."
"Here," she hands me a pill and bottle of water.
"Ibu?"
"Something like that."

I down the pill and hit the shower. Bea stops by and gives me a kiss on her way out. If I can get past her evil ancestor and abusive ex, I'm confident there's a wonderful life ahead of us.

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