Shades of Gray

It's been a while since I posted something I was working on, but better late than never, eh? So anyway, if anyone is still reading this let me know what you think, kay? Another chpater next week.

Chapter 1

Grayson saw the women as soon as they walked into the bar. They looked oddly flighty and cheerful against the general malaise that cast a pall over the bar and its patrons. Each one of the five had on a brightly colored, barely there excuses or sundresses, contrasting with the varying colors of their skin. From light gold to deep mahogany, four of the women fluttered like butterflies, quickly attracting the attention of the men who hadn’t moved on to greener pastures but rather had chosen to stay in the depressing little bar for one reason or another.

It wasn’t that late but the women had obviously been drinking and partying long before stopping here. Obvious to someone trained to watch people, that is. They weren’t drunk, just happy- for now. Judging from the drinks they kept ordering and the flirtatious smiles and cat calls, they were well on their way to not only being good and drunk, but fucked well by a few of the Navy’s best.

One of the women with light caramel colored skin eyed her friend’s drinks with envy while pretending to drink a club soda. So much for their designated driver. She’d be drinking before the night was out. The mahogany colored woman was nursing a beer, not really joining in on the revelry. When a group of men came to join their table, she actually sat back a little, slowly inching her chair back and away from the crowd. No one seemed to notice she was far removed from the group, not even attempting to smile with the other laughed riotously and flirted outrageously. Looked like she was just waiting to make a break for it.

For a Friday night, the Coronado watering hole had been pretty dead. Usually there were plenty of women crowding into the place. Groupies with big fake tits, even falser giggles, crowned with blonde hair compliments of a Miss Clairol. It was not so unusual, it happened every now and then. Grayson saw usually saw it as a blessed relief from the beach bunnies looking to become the wife of SEAL.

The five women that had come in together weren’t the only women in the club, therefore they drew the interest of most the regulars like moths to a flame. One thing that set them apart from the females that usually came here was that they didn’t have that desperate air about them. They weren’t here looking for a relationship, or to brag about bagging a Special Forces guy. They weren’t groupies, or even all that impressed by the men surrounding them, which only made the men try harder to impress them.

No these women were here just to kill time and have a little fun and maybe make a few conquests of their own. The fact that each one of them happened to be active duty military themselves was probably only noticed by a few of the older men like himself. Grayson had to smile at the young guns trying so hard. These women had made up their minds before they even got there. They were here on a lark. They would play around a little, and then go about their way. A SEAL pin wasn’t about to overly impress any of them in the least. It was all in good fun. All of them except for one.

Grayson really couldn’t explain why she intrigued him. There was something sad about her. Something beyond the slight frown of her disapproval that suggested more than the fact she didn’t want to be here. There was more to her unhappiness. There was something that seemed to call to him to make it all better, though he had no idea why. He had never been attracted to a black woman before. Not so much because he was prejudiced or anything, the issue had just never come up. He was a southern boy, born and raised in South Carolina by parents that just didn’t believe in race mixing. He never really thought about it before. But this woman…

This wasn’t just about physical attraction. His dick might be half hard just looking at her, and getting harder by the second, but he wanted more than to just sleep with her. He sat at his solitary corner table trying to imagine everything about her. What kind of music did she like? Did she dance around her house in her underwear? Did she have a place of her own? Did she have a roommate? Did she live on her ship? There was no doubt assigned to a ship; she was every bit the sailor. There was that confidant way she held herself; like she would rip you apart if so much as look at her the wrong way. All the women at the back table had that. Grayson was just convinced she would be the only one who would actually do it.

Yet there was this something, this vulnerability that hurt to look at. Given his-quirks-when it came to women, it surprised him. He did not want her the way he usually wanted a woman, bound, silent and acquiescent. He couldn’t stand to have the women he picked in bars like this one touch him. He didn’t like the greedy excitement in their eyes, or the conniving for more than one night. But this woman, she was different in a way he couldn’t hope to define, even to himself.

He watched as she scooted her chair back a little further, watching her friends intently. Yeah, she was about to make a break for it. He just had to make sure he captured her before she scurried away. He really couldn’t say why it was important to him; he just knew that he didn’t want her to walk out of here without him. The prospect of never seeing her again was unacceptable.

Making slow, easy movements so as not to attract her eye, Grayson made his way to the bar. If the woman who had been drinking the club soda but was now taking sly sips of her new companions rum and coke was the designated driver, she would probably make a move to call a cab. That meant she would come to the bar and ask if there was a pay phone around. He would make his move there.

Leaning against the battered and nicked pressed wood bar he waited for his prey to come to him. This place really was a dive. The walls were plastered with various SEAL memorabilia; weapons, flags, campaign badges. Most of the wall art was dusty or slightly faded. The wood floor was warped a little, hadn’t been waxed in years. Still, despite the grubby surface, this place was home away from home for many men from NAB Coronado. Grayson found for the first time in the ten years he had been a SEAL, the club didn’t seem to welcome him like it usually did. Instead of that warm cozy feeling he usually got, he couldn’t wait to get out of here. With her.

His eyes wondered back to the chair steadily making its way backward. Sure enough, less than five minutes later she was making her way to the bar.

“Sly, a beer for the lady. Whatever kind she was drinking,” Grayson ordered as soon as she stood.

“What lady?”

Sly had worked as the bartender here longer than Grayson had been around. At sixty-five, he was a spry as a man half his age. A former SEAL, he didn’t take to retirement, so he came to work at the place where he had spent so much of his time when he was active duty. He also happened to be the owner’s best friend. He was a surly old bastard, but everyone loved him. He ran a tight ship.

“She’s making her way here now,” Grayson informed him.

Sly looked in the direction of Grayson’s gaze, giving the younger man a dismissive Hurmpf.

“Don’t look like she’s comin’ up here to see you.”

“Just get the beer, old man. It’s my money.”

Sly turned to the cooler to do his bidding, muttering something about wasting good beer while Grayson turned his eyes back to the woman in question. He had seen her figure when she came in, but she had sat down so quickly, he hadn’t really had a chance to appreciate all her curves. Now there was a woman. No skinny stick figure, she had the shape of a fifties sex kitten. Her hips curved out in a way that had his mouth salivating thinking of all the ways he could hang on to them. Her breasts were high and full, her nipples slightly erect from the chill. No bra, which meant they were perky little things. Well, not so little. A more than a hand full, which was just right. Judging from the two inch heels, she was just slightly below average height. Probably about five-four. Her legs might not be long, but they were shaped like runner’s legs, all carved muscle. They could wrap around his waist and hang on for a rough ride.

All he had to do was convince her to give him the time of day which, judging by that scowl,

was probably the last thing on her mind.