Fifty Shades Dimm
Prologue: Reminescence
The knock on the door of the study was soft, uncertain.
"Come in, son." Came the gruff reply, a resonant tenor roughened by pipesmoke and time; Tommy hesitated a moment before pushing the heavy door open, revealing the room within.
The first thing Tommy always saw were the books. Dark mahogany shelves lined the wall opposite the entrance from corner to corner, their ranks broken only by the wide window which topped the wall in the center. Dad's desk was below it, awash with afternoon light and stacked with manilla folders and various looseleaf papers; the leathern desk chair leaned empty against the smooth stone of the interior wall. A relatively obsolete model of computer graced the fairest portion of the desktop, blinking dimly between pictures of the family, dog and "work friends" of Dad's. With a small breath, the boy stepped across the hardwood floors, onto the large oval rug that enveloped the immediate center of the room and stretched from the larger, curtained window (draped in velvety maroon) on the right to just a few feet shy of the fireplace, currently roaring faintly with flame and casting dancing shadows across the books and deep red rug both. The walls were of course mahogany as well, as the unspoken rule of the study demanded; the woods would match, as would the stone, the rugs, and curtains et cetera. Dad was sitting by the fireplace, a black binder in one hand lying open, and a lit pipe slowly weaving its blue-gray threads of stink in the other; Tommy had never been fond of his father's smoking habit; it was at least part of his avoidance of the study.
It wasn't that Tommy had any sort of fear of his dad, of course. When Timothy Turner thought his family was wont for anything, he was as quick to offer a strong hand and a kind word as he was a sum of money or time. He was a good dad; it was just when... these things came up. Tommy never knew how to ask, or how to avoid the inevitable line of stories from dad's past. If Tim Turner was good at one thing, it was reminescence. And that was still only part.
As it was with any visit to the study, Tommy pointedly ignored the two figures knelt adjacent his father, his efforts broadcasting his intense awareness of their presence as easily as any stare. Instead, he tilted his head upward and focused as he always did, on the tapestry carefully suspended above the mantle of the fireplace. He had been told the name of it... right, it was "The Unicorn in Captivity," or at least a recreation of it, and the gleaming threads depicted the creature lying on its side, encircled tightly by a picketed fence. He tried to remember what kind of tree it was tied to as one of the women shifted in his peripheral vision, the firelight briefly glancing off something metallic around her neck
Think, dude... uh...
"Pomegranate!" his voice pierced the relative silence jarringly, and the boy immediately winced. Dad was a pretty mellow person, but he always had rules, especially those for his study; do not raise your voice in the study.
"Sorry, Dad."
The man closed the binder, setting it on the side table before turning a small smile to his son.
"Thank you, son. So long as you're aware, it's all fine. No worries."
Tim took a long drag from his pipe as Tommy visibly relaxed. The tobacco was nothing special, a recommendation from a young man he had met at last month's function; Prince Albert, it was called. Not expensive, and barely any shake to speak of.
"Umm... Dad?"
Tim was shaken out of his reverie. Brushing a nonexistent something from the shoulder of his pinkish robe, his hand settled on the supple leather of the leashes beside him before replying,
"Yes, son, I remember. You said you had... questions. Concerning school, I think you said?"
"Yeah. I mean... not exactly. Well, it's AT school, the problem I mean. It's just..."
The young man had his mother's way of having his words run away with him, and he seemed flustered.
"Tommy."
"Sorry, Dad. It's just..." the boy took a long breath.
"Dad, how do you... DO what you do? Y'know... with girls?"
There was a momentary silence as Tim shifted his weight in the high backed, red-hued armchair, absently drawing the leashes closer by just a hair; just as subtly the two bodies shifted with him, just a mite closer.
"Girls?" Tim suppressed a chuckle; this was bound to be a question eventually, and it was hardly fair to laugh at his son for asking.
"God, how the time runs away when you aren't looking. It is about time for that, isn't it son? You're nearly thirteen now, and it's only normal to start wondering."
Tommy reddened slightly.
"Don't worry, this'll only be between us. Not even your mother needs to know we had a talk about... birds, and bees and whatnot. Besides, if she thought I was going to teach you how to be a scoundrel like your father I'd never hear the end of it." At that, he did laugh. He pushed the ottoman out from beneath his legs, gesturing with his pipe for Tommy to sit; he did, eyes still alternating between the tapestry and definitely not looking at anyone else in the room.
"Wow, how do I even start? It was such a long road between where you are and... how this became. I guess..." Tim stared intensely into the fire, flames licking at the bright blue in his eyes.
"Oh no..."
"Yeah, I guess it all started with walking into the principal's office at the end of the fifth grade. I saw what I really shouldn't have seen that day, but it started something that I just knew would change everything."
"Oh god, Dad, no, please."
"Yep, my own miniature sexual awakening, as awkward as it was, started then. Wow, 1997..."
"Uuuugh."