Monday, May 5, 2014

Fifty Shades of Satire (Chapter 8b)

When I wake up, I see Christian standing at the foot of the bed taking off his Haz-Mat suit.
     He looks at me and smiles.
     "Was it good for you, darling Ana?"
     I look around. Why do I smell bacon grease?
     "Yes, darling..."
     "Call me Mr. Grey."
     "...it was wonderful. It was everything I dreamed it would be. It's just that... that..."
     "What?"
     "You know how a woman has an entrance and an exit?"
     "Yes."
     "Why does my exit hurt?"
     "I didn't plan on that, my darling. When I rolled you over, I thought you were flirting with me."
     He climbs back into bed with me. The lingering smell of the rubber suit is intoxicating.
     "So... I'm no longer a... a..."
     "No," he says, "not anymore."
     "Now I'm... I'm..."
     "Yes, now you are a woman."
     "A woman?"
     "Yes, a woman."
     "A woman."
     "That's right, a woman."
     "A woman..."
     "Yeah, a woman."
     "I can't believe it, I'm finally a..."
     "Ana..."
     "What?"
     "Shut up."
     We lay in bed, making small talk.
     "Did you have an orgasm?" he asks, and I love him for how he's always looking out for me. "Because I got mine."
     "I'm not sure," I tell him.
     "What do you mean you're not sure?"
     "I have no point of reference."
     "I'm sorry, my sweet dove. How thoughtless of me. Tell me, how do you feel?"
     "I feel guilty, like I've done something wrong. I also feel soiled and used and vaguely unsatisfied."
     "Well... that's exactly what an orgasm feels like," he says, giving himself a high-five. "Congratulations."
     That being settled, I look around. There's not one picture of himself or his family. Or any indication of who he is or what he likes to do. I ask him how he spends his time when he's not busy exploiting the poor.
     "Until I met you, I spent all my free time searching for my mother's killer."
     I sit up suddenly.
     "You did?" I ask him, my jaw dropping to the floor.
     "Yes," he tells me, "but they've all wanted too much money. I like you, Ana. I like you a lot. You listen, and that's a rare commodity in females. Before I met you, if I wanted a woman to listen to me, I'd have to begin each sentence with 'I'm rich" or 'Here's a dollar.'"
     I snuggle up in his arms, and he hugs me close.
     "Sleep, sweet Anastasia, sleep," he murmurs, a tear welling up in the corner of one eye, his good one.
     Christian Grey? Sad? I don't believe it.
     I close my eyes, the smell of the Chloroform comforting.
     So... Christian Grey has a sensitive side.
     What a wuss.
 
 
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