Christian Grey and Ana, the lead actor and actress respectively in "Fifty Shades," were not doing me any good whatsoever. Every part, every moment just seemed to be a sex scene to them, all so easy. The elevator did not even stand a chance; even with co-workers surrounding them, they made it work so effortlessly. But my mind did not linger on the perfection of their erotic scene; my mind lingered on the little details, like the breath Ana took when Christian was near her, like the little gasp she made when he demanded something from her, especially sexually. All that made me extremely sensitive, and I was sure if Aaliyah dared to touch me at that moment, I might not be able to control myself.
Aaliyah was just comfortably watching it. From the way she was steadily watching every scene without a reaction, I presumed she was just following the scene. It would surely be bad to spoil her concentration. 'Maybe I am super bad-mannered.'
Thus, watching how detailed and focused Aaliyah was on the movie, I decided to divert my thoughts and eyes away from the movie. I had not watched erotic movies in forever, which was pretty much why I was becoming sensitive as the movie dug deeper into detailed sexual scenes. I redirected my thoughts and started thinking about the hospital. I wondered how much change I would meet in the hospital. I wondered if the intern was learning something. I wondered if my favorite patient, Ernest, had already been discharged. He had gotten into a really bad accident, fallen off a bike and had no headgear. They needed to do some heart checks on him, and all that.
A little shift of Aaliyah's hands brought me back to reality. The protagonists in the movie were really into the climax of I don't know what number of their hookups. Aaliyah was already shifting, as if she was not comfortable in her position. The armchair was a little small, so I understood why she was doing this. Maybe I should just head to sleep and leave the couch for her; after all, the movie was not doing me any good. And it would be total disrespect to have sex with Aaliyah inside Elvis's house. "Fuck" is a bad word, but "make love" would be super weird. I would be scared to succumb to pure vulnerability knowing the house was Elvis's.
Aaliyah's constant shifting led to her laying her head on my chest. Her other hand was shamelessly caressing my stomach. It was like she was sending some signals to me, but I thought I was overthinking it. I did not want to have ideas; I really was trying to push all these thoughts back so badly. However, as I was busy pushing erotic thoughts and desires aside, Aaliyah effortlessly, slightly raised my T-shirt and let her hand caress my abs. I had worked out my lower abdomen so much that it was sure to be a huge turn-on for women, I am sure. As she caressed down from my chest to my stomach, she started caressing slowly on my abdomen, around my navel.
'I just could not think straight as I expected.' I did not want to look at her, in fear that what she was doing was not what was in my mind. My eyes were just looking up at the ceiling as my feelings peaked after each caress...
"A... Aaliyah." I stuttered, not even feeling the words coming out. It was more of a whisper than a real word. She still said nothing as my mind now grazed the word 'fuck it'... and my eyes looked at her, only to meet hers on me. Her eyes were dilated, and from the look, I could tell she really did want me. She honestly did.
In one motion, I captured her lips with mine, and suddenly, all that filled the air were our heavy breathings and wants. The wants became many, as I stumbled from the sofa to the floor, and she followed on top of me.
On the floor, I sat up with her on my lap, and we looked at each other for a while, then I initiated the kiss again. This time it was soft, and I was in no hurry. However, the jeans were already deterring my rock from freely rocking the free world.
One thing led to another; I slightly raised my girl up from the floor and carried her to her room, which I knew was probably the room opposite Elvis's. The thought of Elvis arriving did not even occur to me. All I thought of was Aaliyah.
The first T-shirt takeoff led to my jeans coming off. As I helped Aaliyah out of her clothes, my favorite part of taking off her underwear arrived. Any man is always excited about this part. It is like when your team scores in a close match or when it wins over a rival team. Right after taking off her underwear, I steadied myself on top of her as we looked at each other, her eyes demanding and wanting. I never thought I would ever find a woman this beautiful just wanting all of me. So, I kissed her steadily, and as I steadied myself to enter, a loud bang from either a pan or something huge hit me from behind, and all I heard was ringing in my ears and ache from every part, especially now that I was vulnerable and at my peak arousal.
The next thing I knew, I was being dragged from the bed and with a thud to the floor, as Aaliyah's constant wails faded. My head was in pain, I think I was receiving other beatings on it. I had already gone into the common off mode, where I just let myself be hit, as my self left my body and watched me from the side.
I was still naked, and it was Elvis who was hitting me. I knew it was him, which is why I was not even fighting back. I had wronged him, and my mistake would not be forgiven with just hefty blows to my face.
"Wear your clothes and leave," was the next thing I heard, and I just unfocused, stood, and searched for my trousers and T-shirt. My mind was still fogged, and all my desires iced within seconds, something I never knew could ever happen to me. And leave I did, without looking for Aaliyah, and I remembered I had left my keys and my phone in the elevator.
'I can't meet Elvis at the moment,' I told myself as I headed down the elevator to the ground floor.
Outside, my Tesla was still well parked. I stumbled and turned left from where it was parked on the outside lane to the next building, next to Elvis's apartment. The next building was a pub, and its music was ear-hurting, but I just entered it. There seemed to be a party on the ground floor, so I went upstairs to the more comfortable jazz music, low-light room.
"Are you lost, sir?" one of the well-dressed waiters in a black apron asked me, and I shook my head.
"Whiskey..." I stated, despite not being sure if I had any credit card or cash money. I think I left everything pretty much at Elvis's, and my cards most probably are in the car.
The whiskey was brought with a note stating I should leave immediately. I think they were trying to be a little respectful towards me.
"Son, who did that?" a voice from behind me asked. It sounded familiar, very familiar, with an English accent.
For an answer, I just shook my head as I got a glimpse of the man who was asking me.
'Doctor Kingston,' my head registered, as I realized the same waiter was behind him. The doctor had grown a little old, and he was now using a cane. His attire was official, and I finally understood. He owned the pub.
"Hayzen... boy!" he blurted out, checking my face by unashamedly touching my chin and turning it to fully focus on my left side. "Who made you a fighter?" he questioned, then directed the waiter, "Go get me some spirits and my aid kit... oh Jesus!" he exclaimed.
"Doctor..." I finally whispered. My throat was dry and aching. I am sure I would cry if I was alone in my room.
"Oh Jesus!" Doctor Kingston exclaimed, still looking at my side. "Do you fight, or were you fighting over a girl? Oh... don't you learn, boy?" he questioned, adding a statement to a question. More of that, his English accent was still evident but seemed to fade away a little from the times when I used to work at his clinic.
The waiter finally arrived with the kits, and Doctor Kingston poured the spirit all over my head and side, everywhere, as I winced in pain. I knew the pan had done a little damage to my slick-shaved hair, as I heard how many exclamations the doctor was making.
'Worse than this, I was sober.'
After some fifteen seconds of washing and fixing, wincing, and spirit pouring, I was finally done. I am sure I was full of bandages from the way other customers watched me. I am sure most of these customers are marines or something.
"Now tell me... long time, long talk..." Doctor Kingston started, as he sat, giving me some painkillers and water.
I was not sure where to start, but I knew I needed someone to speak to. I knew there were a lot of things I was shying away from expressing, and it was killing me inside. Like my feelings for Aaliyah. The death of my son. the outburst of Elvis, the fact that Elvis could not trust me, Luke stating that I would hurt Aaliyah... these were all so easily absorbed by me, but all were busy hurting me. They made me wonder what kind of man they all viewed me as.