~ Shades Of Grey ~

by

Jessica Damien

October, 2006

Simon was beginning to get used to this feeling of being weightless--this drifting, bobbing, and blissfully relaxing sensation of being adrift on the open seas. He felt a slight head rush on occasion, but nothing that upset his normally skittish metabolism. Grateful that he could drift without having to concentrate, he allowed his mind to skip quickly through his memories.

He felt cold, as if a wayward draught was sneaking its way in under his blanket. Still, it wasn’t uncomfortable enough to completely penetrate the pleasant buzzing cloud that enveloped his mind. He dimly remembered being in hospital, so perhaps he was drugged. That would explain his inability to think clearly, and also his indifference toward his failure to remember what might have put him in hospital in the first place.

He could almost feel his lips smile as his memories shifted once again, focusing his attention. Yes, this was easy; it was a memory he enjoyed, and as long as he didn’t have to work hard to recall it, he’d gladly follow where his subconscious was taking him. It was easier now to ignore the chill invading his body. All he had to do was remember the party where he’d first met Cheryl...

He’d always loved parties. No matter what sort of beginning a party might have, it always finished as something Simon wouldn’t have wanted to miss. He couldn’t help it; he loved people. He loved being the center of attention. He was aware of his own charm, but he was interested in other people just enough that his ego didn’t put people off. It was something he had always managed effortlessly. All the laughter, the good feelings... how can anyone actually say they didn’t like parties?

And yet, when he’d first caught sight of her, he knew intuitively that she was a woman who really did not like parties. He watched her from halfway across the room. Her smile was genuine, he was sure of it, but somehow it seemed forced nonetheless. It seemed to him that she was trying to hide what she really felt, and what she really felt was probably discomfort. He slowly made his way across the room to blend into the small group near her, to eavesdrop upon the chatter and learn what he could.

Her eyes met his a few times, and he was unable to look away. He was aware, after she’d glanced at him a few times, that his stare was making her uncomfortable, and still he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t as if she were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but he would never have appreciated fashion-model sort of beauty anyway. Her beauty was something more day-to-day, something he could stare at for hours, but not be intimidated by. He admired her shiny reddish-brown hair, worn short enough not to have to bother much, but long enough to avoid looking trendy. Her make-up was minimal, and on her earlobes were small gold hoops. Only one earring per ear--refreshing. He’d bet she didn’t have any tattoos, either.

A spark of something warm lit up her green eyes, and she had dimples in her cheeks to go along with her smile. That smile seemed to come easily to her, he thought; she probably spent most of her day pretending to be happy. She was only about three inches shorter than his own six feet, and he automatically checked to see how high her heels were. He smiled at seeing her flats. Normally, the women he’d met who were that tall had a nasty habit of stooping, but on eyeing her posture, he saw that she stood tall, with her shoulders thrown back and her lovely little breasts proudly out in front. He didn’t want her to close herself off to him before he’d even gotten a fighting chance, so he forced himself to look away from her at last, giving her a chance to recharge her defenses for his next look.

He continued taking inventory of everything he could about her with quick side-glances; her creamy complexion, her bubbly voice, her cologne. He shifted his weight to his left leg, so that as he moved closer to her, she wouldn’t notice. Once he’d moved that one step closer, his right leg took most of his weight again, preparing for his next shift. As one by one, or two by two, the group’s citizens left to join other groups, Simon maneuvered until he was at her side. She’d been aware of what he’d been up to, he knew. As soon as he looked into her eyes again, she crossed her arms under her breasts and smiled a polite, closed-mouth smile. Not a good sign.

But he smiled guilelessly into her eyes, not caring if everything he felt and thought showed up in his eyes. He allowed his smile to overtake him, showing off the crooked teeth he was normally shy about displaying. He hadn’t said anything, but just kept smiling at her, unable to do anything else. He joined her when she began to laugh softly, the spark showing again in her eyes. Impulsively, he put an arm around her and pulled her close, hugging her as if they’d known each other since childhood, but had gotten separated somehow. He wasn’t really surprised that she returned the hug unabashedly, although he was aware of how much she’d surprised herself.

He had taken her home from the party that night, and though he’d stayed until two the next afternoon, it took three more months of seeing her before they’d made love for the first time. By the second date, Simon had known, without any doubt whatsoever, that this was the woman he’d been born to love. She was his other half. He hadn’t minded in the least that it would take her so much longer to realize it as well.

He’d moved in with her, sharing expenses and basking in her love. He never tired of being with her, and loved it that she never seemed to resent his being around. He was a violinist, and had an erratic schedule. She was a nine-to-fiver, a counselor, working with children who were having trouble in school, either due to behavior problems or learning disabilities. Most of the time, she could leave her cares at the office, but on those days when she felt as though none of her good intentions and concern made any difference, he was there to keep her from sinking into the black well of depression that would once have been a normal way of life for her.

Neither of them was in the habit of saying the words, but Simon was sure she knew just how he felt about her. She made her feelings known by nagging without nagging. When she complained that he was long past due to see his barber, her fingers gently running through his hair made him understand that she couldn’t care less how shaggy it was getting to be. She teased him about his less-than-fashionable clothing, but he realized that she only ever noticed what he was wearing when she began to pull those clothes off him.

He’d tried teaching her to cook, but gave up any serious instruction when he’d become aware that while he was stirring and chopping, she was all but drooling, her eyes on his butt rather than on his hands. He’d ask where she kept the purple tomatoes, or if she would grab the hay-stuffed artichokes for him, just to see if she’d been paying any attention to his words at all. When the blush of self-consciousness and being-caught-not-listening came over her, he’d usually put aside the cooking pot and carry her to their bedroom.

He’d made love to her several times before becoming aware that she hadn’t ever had an orgasm in all that time. She’d pretended to; he would have believed her forever if not for that memorable night--the night something had changed between them. He never knew what it was that had been different. But something had happened... something had... relaxed. Relaxed? Maybe that was the wrong word. Something gave way; something had yielded between them. Something he hadn’t even been aware of at first.

She’d begun moaning, sounding like an animal getting ready to spring. It had been different from anything she’d done before, and it had almost thrown him. But at the same time, she’d begun moving her hips in a way she’d never done before. He’d immediately been carried along with her on some mental and emotional wave. On one level, he was suddenly aware that he’d known nothing about making love to a woman until that moment. On another level, he heard his own fevered whispering, his encouragement to her, his begging her not to stop, to keep moving just that way, to come with him... yes, let it go... give it to him...

Oh, what it had felt like when her entire body had seized up, had convulsed around him, pulling from him what he was giving so freely.

Later, as they lay in bed still trying to catch their breath, he’d realized that that was the first time he’d ever made a woman come. All the others before Cheryl (and there really hadn’t been that many) had been faking it. Even Cheryl had faked it. Why did women do that? Did they really expect improvement when they allowed men to think everything was already perfect?

It didn’t bother his ego as much as he would have thought it might. Not after he’d felt Cheryl come. He’d smiled then, knowing that he would spend the rest of his life trying to be the best lover Cheryl could ever have had. He’d never give her reason to fake it again.

He tamped down his instant irritation, shivering in the cold around him, as his head swam giddily. It wasn’t yet nausea, but the light-headedness he was feeling was threatening to move to his stomach. The sensation was just enough to pull him from his warm and erotic memories and he groaned at the dull thudding in his head.

He turned his head to the side, looking for the clock next to his bed. It wasn’t there. The room seemed awfully bright to be his own bedroom, and he remembered with a start that he was in strange surroundings. Hospital. He was in hospital; now he remembered. But what had brought him here? He tried to force his mind to the events most recent in his memory, but the blackness was coming and he gave up, relaxing into the void.