Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks - Chapter 7

"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."

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 on her 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's overhead light, hang my satchel over a chair, remove my weapon, and place in 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 following 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 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.

(three orgasms--four if you count mine--are on the way in chapter 8)