Free Fifty Shades Shadier by Phil Torcivia

Chapter One
     
    Marriage is not living with the person you love, but living with the person you can’t live without. – Aissa Amor A. Sarmiento
     
    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 she accepts my proposal ( thank goodness ), we watch the game while kind fans offer congratulations. I prefer tequila to calm my nerves, but am gracious. Bea beams as she stares at the ring. I beam as I stare 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 assures me, as she squeezes my thigh and kisses 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 lose, 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. Did you intend to switch from past tense (previous 6 paragraphs) to present tense (next and following)
    Outside the stadium, Bea insists 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 ...”
    “What?”
    “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 quickly yank up my jeans. Naturally, Mormon-luck kicks in and the elevator stops at the next floor. 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 with her mouth agape.
    “Oh, hey, Grandma. This is my fiancé, Mormon Silver.”
    Down boy.
     

Chapter Two
     
    I only drink to make other people seem interesting. – George Jean Nathan
     
    I turn away, zip up, and extend a hand to greet Grandma.
    “Hi. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    “I can see that,” she responds with a look of disgust, ignoring my extended hand.
    “Oh, yes, sorry about that. I have a condition.”
    “Come upstairs for a nightcap, Grandma,” Bea insists.
    “You have Christian Brothers?”
    “I do.”
    “Fine,” Grandma agrees as she enters the elevator and stands in the opposite corner, studying me. “I thought you were done