Fifty Shades of Silver Hair and Socks (4 page)

“Nope. I am getting some dirty looks from people when I look under the stall doors. I may need another twenty.”
 

Bea Plastique: 1 minute.

We head down another corridor past angry couples obviously there for divorce hearings. My new friend enters. I hear voices, and then she reappears.

“Yep, center stall.”

I attempt to enter. She stops me.

“What are you doing? You can’t go in with other people in there.”
 

Bea Plastique: 30 seconds ... :(

“Damn it! Look, here’s another fifty if you go in and get everyone to leave.”

My friend takes the fifty, goes in, and starts yelling like a crazy person. Women come streaming out.
 

Bea Plastique: 10 seconds ... >:(

Finally, the coast is clear. I sprint into the bathroom and throw open the center stall door. There’s Lovergirl, sitting on the john, phone in hand, skirt up, panties down.

“Hello, Uncle M.”

Chapter Eleven

Of all the things I’ve lost, it’s my mind I miss the most. – Ozzy Osbourne

It’s not my first choice for places to get it on, but definitely a first for me. My friend pokes her head in the bathroom door.

“Yo, Boss, you best be finishing up. Bogeys are closing.”

“Bogeys?”

“Cops.”

Shit.

Bea plants a deep kiss on me, jumps off, lifts her panties, and leaves the stall. My legs are half-asleep and my ass is killing me. She insisted we do it with the toilet seat up to teach me manners since I left the seat up at the Hyatt.

“Goodbye, my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait ... hold on,” I demand as I struggle to my feet and stamp my foot, trying to get the blood circulating again.

“Ciao.”

“Bea, I’m flying east tomorrow. Bea?”

It’s no use; she’s gone again.

I check myself in the mirror and splash water on my face.
Ladies’ rooms are gross. Women can be such slobs.
I wash my hands and open the door with the hand towel. Outside the bathroom are two police officers and an elderly woman.
Yep, I’m fucked.

“That’s him, Officer. I saw him give money to what I assume was a pimp and then he went in there and had sex with that woman who just walked out. I could hear them. It was gross.”

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Officers, I can see how this strange situation could be misunderstood,” I dance with lies while Bea walks away smiling. She waves and winks.
Got me again.
“I actually saved that woman’s life.”

“Really.”

“Oh, yes. You see, I was just passing by when another woman came out and asked for help because somebody was in the bathroom ... um ... choking.”

“Choking? On what?”

“His penis, I bet,” the old woman interjects. We all stare at her incredulously. “Just sayin’.”

“An Altoid, actually. I ran in, performed a Heimlich maneuver, and saved her life. You’re welcome.”

“Look, sir, I don’t know what kind of sick bastard you are, but you need to leave this courthouse immediately.”

“What? You’re not going to let him go, are you?”

“Thank you, Officer. Good day.”

“He ... but ... he’s a pervert. Lock him up!”

I made haste. That could have gone much worse. What did Bea mean about seeing me tomorrow? She can’t be seriously considering coming east with me, can she? I can’t introduce her to my family. God, she’s so fucking amazing, though. I can’t believe I’m falling for her after all she puts me through. Bathroom stall or not, her kisses have changed. I think she’s falling for me too. We share something more substantial with every tryst. I’m losing control ... and I love it.

Chapter Twelve

To love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person. Love is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love. – Erich Fromm

She tortured me with radio silence the rest of the day. Is a genuine relationship possible, or will this be fun and games until we run out of ideas? Guess I’ll enjoy the ride while it lasts.

I’m up before dawn and waiting in line at the US Airways ticket counter. My texts to Bea went unanswered; still, I scan the area for her—wondering and hoping. When I offer my license across the counter, I have a pleasant surprise.

“Hello, Mr. Silver. Will you be checking any bags?”

“No, I’ll carry this. It’s a short trip.”

“I see here that you’ve been upgraded to first class.”

“Huh?”

That’s wonderful, but there’s still no sign of Bea. I wait at the gate, browsing my Kindle, peeking over my reading glasses every few minutes. Nothing.

They call first class to board. I call Bea. No answer. I call Eric. No answer. I show my boarding pass, walk the jet bridge, enter, and find seat 2A. I place my carry-on overhead and relax into my seat.
Where is she? She must be 2B.

I check my cell again. Nothing. Suddenly, a FaceTime request comes through. I answer and see Lovergirl’s smiling face. She’s in the jet’s restroom, wearing a red wig, dressed like a flight attendant.

“Hello, Uncle M.”

“Bea, what’s going on?”

“I always wanted to do it on a plane. Are you game, Uncle M, or are you already a mile-high member?”

“Technically, this would be only around twenty feet but, where do I apply?”

“Walk to the rear of the plane. I’m in the restroom on the right. Tap twice and I’ll let you in, lover.”

Like an anxious teen at his prom, I stride back with an uncomfortable lump in my jeans. I arrive and tap. The door unlocks and opens.

Sex in a jet bathroom is anything but easy. We giggled like mischievous children as we contorted our bodies to find a comfortable angle. I banged my funny bone on the faucet. She accidentally pressed “Flush.” Yet, we managed to make love.

We finished quickly before the plane began filling up. Bea suggested she leave first and wait for me at our seats, as to not raise suspicion. I agreed and cleaned up after she left. I stared at myself for a moment in the mirror, wondering how I’d explain our relationship to my family. My face showed beaded perspiration, lip gloss glitter, and an unfamiliar blissful smile. Bea is holding my heart now. I shrug and head back to our seats, annoying the travelers by going against the grain.

When I get back to first class, there’s a man sitting in 2B. I check above the seat to make sure I have the right row.

“I’m sorry, sir. You must be in the wrong seat.”

“No, actually I’m in two-B,” he said as he showed me his boarding pass. He looked familiar to me.

“I’m in two-A and my, um, girlfriend is sitting there.”

“Sorry, buddy,” he tells me as he rises to let me in.

Did she do it to me again?
I flop down into my seat and check around. No sign of her.

“You OK?” my row mate asks.

“I guess so.”

“Want a drink? I know I could use one.”

He waves to get the attendant’s attention. I notice a huge ring on his right hand and it hits me.

“Holy shit! You’re Dave Fucking Shultz.”

“Dave
William
Shultz, actually, but you can call me ‘The Hammer.’”

I shake the hand of one of my heroes, a Philadelphia Flyers legend, and wonder how much of this she has orchestrated.

Chapter Thirteen

There is only one real tragedy in a woman’s life: The fact that her past is always her lover and her future invariably her husband. — Oscar Wilde

Great conversation with “The Hammer” made the flight go quickly. My disappointment about not having my love with me returned when we landed. When I came through the jetway, there was a man waiting with a sign reading “Mr. Silver.”
Really? A limo, perhaps?
I approached him.

“Are you here for Mormon Silver?”

“Indeed. Come with me, Sir. May I take your bag?”

“All right.”

That saves me a car rental, I guess.
When we exit the airport, his limousine is parked at the curb. The driver hits the remote, opens the trunk, stows my carry-on, comes to the side, and opens the rear door for me.
I could get used to this lifestyle.

I duck and step in. There she is.

“Hello, Uncle M.”

“What? How did you beat me here?”

“Is that excitement or disappointment I detect in your tone?”

“Oh, definitely excitement.” I give Bea quite a squeeze. She fits so nicely. “Before I forget, thank you for the upgrade and it was amazing to meet my idol.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Lovergirl.”

“Honestly. I have no idea whom you’re referring to.”

“Dave Shultz?”

Nothing.

“Flyers? Broad Street Bullies? Enforcer?”

“I know who he is. Was he on the flight?”

“In the seat next to me. He shared some amazing stories.”

“How serendipitous.”

“And, now
you’re
here ... with me.”

“I am.”

The driver pulls away and Bea reaches across my lap to press a button on the console, raising the window between the driver and us. Her scent drives me wild and her positioning gives me the urge to spank her. So, I do.

“Ow!” she exclaims as she looks back at me mischievously.

“You’ve been naughty; you deserve a spanking.”

“I do.”

I lift her skirt and peel down her undies.

“He can’t see, can he?”

“No, silly. And, I really don’t care if he can.”

A few tiny spanks and she arches into me. I caress the area after each strike, work my way to the middle, and slide in a finger. She’s so wet already.
Can I fuck her here? I so want to.

“Take me, Uncle M,” she begs as she starts unbuckling my belt. It’s a ninety-minute ride to the house I was raised in, and we use most of the time pleasing each other. As we regain our composure in the last ten miles, Bea can’t escape, so I ask her.

“Bea, tell me something about you. I’m crazy about you and I know almost nothing, other than you’re a gorgeous billionaire hockey fan.”

“Thank you. Actually, I’m not a billionaire, my love. A few years ago, maybe. No longer. The markets turned, and I’m on the brink of bankruptcy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Have I scared you away?”

“Bea, nothing you can say would scare me. I’ve fallen for you. Can’t you tell?”

“I’ve fallen for you, too. Are you OK with this?”

“You being here? Are you kidding? Hell yes!”

“OK, now you tell me something: What is your ultimate fantasy?”

“I’m sure it’s not nearly as exciting as yours, but I’ve always dreamed of pitching for the Padres.”

“Cute.”

“Seriously. I guess it’s something women can’t relate to.”

“It can happen, you know.”

“Not in this lifetime, my dear. Your turn: What’s your ultimate fantasy?”

“It’s boringly typical, actually: A sunset beach wedding with the man I adore.”

“Aw. I expected something darker from you.”

“See? There are many shades of me—some light and delicate. I am a lady, after all.”

The limo pulls up to the house where I was raised. My mother is waiting at the front door with a big smile. Arm-in-arm we walk up the steps. I give my mother a hug and kiss on the cheek, then introduce her.

“Mom, this is my ...”

“... fiancée,” Bea interrupts.

Uh oh.

Chapter Fourteen

The thing that impresses me most about America is the way parents obey their children. – Edward, Duke of Windsor

My mother staggers and nearly faints at Bea’s revelation. I would have helped her, but I’m stunned as well.

“What a wonderful surprise!”

“Isn’t it?” Bea concurs as she gives my mother a hug. I scratch my head.

“Let me see the ring,” my mother begs.

“Oh, we haven’t picked one out yet.”

“Perfect. Have you decided on a date?”

“No, Mother, I just proposed last week.”

“Well, come on in, you two. You must be starved. Neal, your brother has some fantastic news.”

My brother emerges from the family room, shakes my hand, and gives me the “bro” hug.

“Neal, this is my ... ahem ... fiancée, Beatrice Plastique.”

“You sly devil you. I’ve never known you to be able to keep a secret.”

“Right, that’s
your
thing, Bro.”

Neal goes to shake Bea’s hand, but she stops him.

“We’re practically family now. Families hug.”

Neal hugs her and gives me the silent “not bad” look with his expression. I shrug.

“So, Bea, how did the old man manage to snag such a young beauty?”

“Oh, your brother is quite charming.”

“It doesn’t bother you that he’s eighty?”

“Nice, dickhead.”

“Language!” my mother yells from the kitchen as she unwraps enough food for an army.

“Have you ever been to San Diego, Neal?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, the boys out that way have priorities that begin with surfing and skateboarding, and end with drinking microbrews and eating cheap Mexican food.”

“Surely, they’d make room for loveliness such as yourself.”

“They have little space, considering all the roommates and sloppy pickup trucks. Your brother is sophisticated, mature, and he doesn’t play games ... much,” she explains and then elbows me.

*cough*

We chat around the table for an hour or so while nibbling.
Bea fits here too. What should I do?
Mom says she has my childhood room upstairs all set for us.

“Honey, why don’t we unpack and take a little nap. Flights always wear me out,” Bea suggests.

“Good idea,” my mother agrees, “you two rest up and we’ll have a nice dinner around seven.”

I open the upstairs door for Bea and grab the suitcases. She wiggles up the steps, slowly, teasing me. I lean forward and bite her ass. She shrieks and giggles.