“Don’t make a sound!” he commanded sternly, binding her arms and legs to the bed and watching her helpless body tense as he teased it with a giant black whip. She stifled an involuntary moan as he stroked it over her trembling thighs and an urgent tongue travelled downwards towards her most precious place. A place no tongue had been before. There was a long, loud slurping sound . .
“Can't you do that more quietly?“ hissed Jean, nudging Betty, who was furiously sucking her Calippo.
It was Tuesday, which meant haddock and the Pensioners' Cinema Club. We enjoyed our weekly outing - it was pot luck with the film, but we got half-price tickets, free nachos and a Kia-Ora.
“Are you sure this is Gone With the Wind?” I whispered. “I don’t recall Rhett Butler spanking Scarlett O’Hara’s bottom like that.”
“It’s a load of filth, is what it is!” tutted Jean. “I can barely look," she added, reaching into her handbag for her stronger glasses.
I glanced across at Betty, perched wide-eyed on her booster seat, now rhythmically thrusting a hot dog in and out of her mouth.
“This'll set her therapy back months!” whispered Jean. “I’d best get her back to the shop, before it gets any worse.”
“I’ll catch up," I replied. “I think I’ve dropped my purse, I’ll have to wait till the lights come up.”
Jean gave me one of her famous dirty looks and dragged Betty away, leaving several large splashes of mustard behind her. I slid lower down in my seat. I didn't know why, but I had to watch the rest of the film - it was awakening something in me that had been asleep for a very long time.
By the end, I was a changed woman - hot under the collar, red in the face and the curl dropped out of my perm. I never dreamt people got up to such things! My own life seemed so dull in comparison. I gazed sadly at the dark screen as four words slowly appeared . . . FIFTY SHADES OF GREY. Of course, why hadn't I realised? It was that book!
I didn’t stay for the credits, I was too busy worrying how I was going to get out without being seen. I pulled my coat collar up, my hat down and scurried out as fast as my sciatica would allow. I was almost safe when disaster struck and before I knew what was happening, I was flat on my back with my legs in the air and the contents of my handbag scattered all over the foyer!
I'd just managed to scoop up all my possessions and put my glasses back on when, out of nowhere, a hand took mine and firmly but gently lifted me up. To my surprise, I found myself face to face with a familiar grey-haired figure in grey jumper, grey trousers and a grey overcoat. We stared at each other in silence for a few moments before either of us spoke . . .
“Er . . thank you,” I blurted and hobbled quickly away, flustered, bruised and vowing never to leave the nursing home again.
I didn’t look behind me all the way back to the charity shop and when I finally fell through the door, I was relieved to find the comforting sight of Jean pouring the afternoon tea and Betty, perched on the counter, her small head twitching inside an eyeless leather mask with a zip at the mouth.
“She found it in that box that came in the other day," Jean announced. "Now she can't get it off. I’d help but I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.”
I shrugged and hung up my coat. Jean was still talking but I was too distracted to hear. How had I managed to make such a fool of myself, just going to see a film? I reached in my bag for my sweeteners and felt something unfamiliar. I looked down to see a small leather wallet. Slowly I opened it with trembling hands and my heart almost stopped when I saw what was inside!
Beside the neatly folded notes, in a transparent pocket, sat a plastic card bearing a small photograph with a very familiar face.
And a name . . . Mr Grey.
CONTINUED NEXT SUNDAY