Monday, December 1, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 15)

"Why, Mr. Grey," I say playfully, "what an unexpected surprise."
     He stands just outside my door looking like a million bucks. An interesting choice of fabric.
     "Please, call me Christian," he tells me, and confidently strides in uninvited.
     He's wearing a baseball cap with an interesting logo stitched on the front. It's the Wicked Witch from the Wizard of Oz leaving the little flirt from Kansas a message in the sky using the exhaust of her apparently fossil-fueled broom, but instead of Surrender Dorothy, she's sky-writing Surrender the Booty.
     "I was just standing outside your door, thinking you might be in the mood for a booty call," Christian tells me with a dangerous look in his eye. The right one. No, the left. Oops, it was the right one after all. I know it's his right eye, because it's on the same side as my right eye. Or is that the left? Anyway...
     "You bet I am, Christian," I say. "I am sooo in the mood for a booty call. Just tell me one thing."
     "What's that, my darling?"
     "What's a booty call?"
     His jaw drops. I remember when I used to do that, my stepfather would tell me, "Close your mouth or a fly will go in," and to illustrate his point, he would throw a fly into my mouth.
     "You don't know what a booty call is?" Christian asks me.
     "I don't know what a call is. Is that like a cape?"
     "That's a cowl, you know, like what Batman wears."
     I wince, remembering Fluffy. I do hope that precious little kitty is okay squashed underneath that giant penny.
     "Oh," I say, "I thought a cowl was a large two-handled water vessel carried on a pole."
     "That's also a cowl."
     "It is?"
     "It is."
     "Then you must mean a caw."
     "A caw?"
     "You know, the noise a crow makes."
     "Silly Ana, that doesn't even have an l at the end of it."
     "Oh, I get it now. A cal."
     "A what?"
     "A cal."
     "No, cal refers to wolframite, the Cornish name."
     Mmmm... corn.
     "Wolframite? What's that?"
     "It's a brownish or blackish mineral."
     "Whew, you had me scared for a second. I thought wolframite was a tiny werewolf. Do you mean call, as in a grant, particularly one giving protection?"
     "That's a cowle."
     "Then you must mean a call. The membrane enclosing a fetus."
      "No, that's a caul, which is also a kind of hair net women use on their hair."
     "You mean it's not the part of the peritoneum that extends from the stomach to the large intestine?"
     "That too, but it's also a wooden clamp used to hold veneers together until the glue has set. What I'm talking about is a call, defined by Webster's Dictionary as 'a call, you idiot.'"
     "Oh, a call. I thought you were talking about a kall, with a k."
     "That word's not even in the dictionary."
     "Imagine that, I'm smarter than the dictionary. Well then, the only thing left is call, as in an elevated mountain pass between two higher summits."
     "Some whats?"
     "That's a col, not a call. What I'm talking about, my innocent one, is a booty call. When a gentleman calls upon a lady for some booty."
     "Yes, booty."
     "Booty, as in pirate treasure?"
     "Only if you're a Greek pirate. Otherwise I'm talking about booty, as specified in page three, column two, fifth paragraph in the small print of the contract I hope you've already signed."
     "Um... I haven't signed it yet. I was going to have an attorney review it first before I sign it."
     "Silly girl, you don't need an attorney. You've got ME. I'm not like other men, I wouldn't lie to you."
     "You wouldn't?"
     "Of course not. You don't think I became a billionaire by lying to people, do you?"
     "No, Christian."
     "And, by the way..."
     "Yes, Christian."
     " me Mr. Grey."
     "Buh... buh... booty?" I sputter, and then spit it out all at once, "Idon'tknowwhatyoumean."
     "Surely you've seen a Beyoncé video," Christian tells me.
     I nod my head, shamefully admitting to having watched one. Or two.
     "Then you should know what a booty is, seeing as how Lady B seems to have an abundance of one. Or two."
     I stand there. My mind a blank. My face blanker.
     "A bum?" he offers.
     "No," I say.
     "Can? Duff? Fanny?" he proffers.
     "No, no, and no."
     "Yum-yum? Bon-bon? Toot-toot?" he proposes.
     "Nix. Nyet. Nein."
     "Pooper? Pooter? Patootie?" he suggests.
     "Winkie? Wally? Whoopie Cushion?" he tenders.
     "Whoopie Cushion?" I say, excited that I finally recognize something he said. "Isn't she on The View?"
     "Surely you know what a gluteus maximus is?"
     "You would think I would, but, sadly, I'm not into gladiator movies."
     "How about that fuzzy little thing you sit on?" he says finally, exasperated.
     "Oh! You mean my BUTT! Hmph! Well, why didn't you just say so?"
     "Yes, your... butt. My, what a quaint colloquialism. You see, as it specifies in the contract, one of the things I would require you to do is take the hardest part of my body into your, um, butt."
     "You want to put YOUR HEAD in MY BUTT?"
     "I'm not talking about my head."
     "Then what are you talking about?"
     "I'm talking about fifth base."
     "You're talking about baseball?"
     "No, I'm talking about a bit of buggery."
     "Bugs? Ew..."
     "No, I'm talking about going in through the out door."
     "In Through The Out Door? OMG! I love Led Zeppelin. That's, like, my favorite album."
     "I'm not talking about Led Zeppelin. I'm talking about driving to brown town..."
     "That would sound racist, if I could distinguish between sounds."
     "...and plowing the backfield."
     "Do I look like a farmer to you?"
     He pauses, and then tries again.
     "Do you know anything about winning a gold medal in the Analympics?"
     "I'm not into sports."
     "That's where, instead of doing a 69, you do a 66."
     "I was never good at math."
     "Would you be good at docking the submarine?"
     "Not really, I'm claustrophobic."
     "So, you don't want to be George Michael's biggest fan?"
     "Or Michael Jackson's newest friend?"
     "Not really."
     "Would you consider going through a Village People's initiation?"
     "Disco sucks."
     "Maybe you'd like a backstage pass to an Elton John concert?"
     "Who's Elton John?"
     "Ana, my dear sweet Ana. You are an innocent after all. Who would have thought you'd be so naïve about anal sex?"
     "Oh! You mean, making a baby the hard way!"
     Hmph! Well, why didn't he just say so?   
     Christian comes close.
     I can smell his cologne. Mmm... Taco Bell. Maybe it's not his cologne after all.
     "Leave it all to me," he tells me, his fingers reaching the zipper at the back of my halter dress. "I've brought some lubricants, diuretics, and smelling salts."
     My eyes widen.
     "Why do I need smelling salts?" I ask him.
     "They're not for you, they're for me," he tells me. "I faint at the sight of blood."
     Oh, my. Did I stumble upon something I ought not have stumble upon?
     "I... I... don't know," I whimper, meekly.
     "Are you worried you won't measure up to all the other women I've been with, Ana? You won't but don't worry, you're every bit as pretty as that homeless lady we saw the other day. In a way, you remind me of Slingblade, only without the potential."
     My eyes fill with tears. I've never been with another man. I wonder if they're all so loving and compassionate.
     "Don't cry, Ana. If I wanted to see a woman cry I'd go to Planned Parenthood. I'll be gentle, I promise. This reminds me of the last time I went to the dentist.
     "'You're going to feel a little prick in your mouth,' he told me.
     "'Then you'd better give me more gas,' I told him."
     "I don't know, Christian. I mean, we're talking about an exit, not an entrance."
     "You'll enjoy it, Ana. I have a special secret to making women moan with pleasure. I tape several hundred dollar bills to the ceiling over the bed for them to look at while I'm having my filthy way with them. It works every time."
     "Have you ever done it before?"
     "Done what?"
     "Anal sex," I say, averting my eyes in embarrassment.
     "With a woman?"
     "Of course. Who else would I mean?"
     "Uh, nothing. My first time making the brown eye blue was when I was on a business trip to Japan. The morning started with a gift from my business partners. A beautiful Asian girl for me to do with as I wished."
     "And did you?"
     "Did I what?"
     "Do with her what you wished?"
     "Of course I did. It would have been rude of me not to. Her name was Mariko, and while we were in the midst of our lovemaking, she kept crying out--screaming, really--'Shigata ga nai, Anjin-san! Shigata ga nai!' Later that day, as I was playing a round of golf with my Japanese business partners, we were down to the last hole. By sheer luck I made a hole-in-one.
     "'Shigata ga nai!' I yelled proudly in triumph. 'Shigata ga nai!'
     "My Japanese business partners all looked at each other, confused. Finally one of them asked me, 'What you mean wrong hole?'"
     Christian stopped talking and looked around, quizzically. This time it was his turn to sniff.
     "Is that pizza I smell?" he asked me. "Can I have a slice?"
     I crinkled my nose at the lingering aroma of Parmesan cheese.
     "Um... maybe I should go freshen up," I said.
     "Because I stink up close."
     "From far away, too."
     I excuse myself, and quickly go to my bathroom. Lordy, lordy, it's a mess. Sy, José's plumber cousin, only succeeded in deplumbelating all the pipes and faucets, and they were all laying haphazardly on the floor waiting to correctly be put back together.
     What to do? What to do?
     I know! Kate's not home. I'll use her bathroom.
     I've never been in Kate's bathroom before. It looks like a shrine. There are candles everywhere. I secure the plug in the bathtub and turn both handles so that both the hot and cold water are filling the tub together. I smile at my own little metaphor. Or is that a simile? Words confuse me.
     I add some bath salts to the warm water. I hope these aren't the kind of bath salts that make me want to eat someone's face. I read a story in the newspaper quite awhile back where bath salts were making drug addicts eat people, and not in the fun way.
     I take off all my clothes and step toe first into the warm liquid. Ooh, that feels nice. I lower myself, fuzzy-face first, and submerge completely. This... is... so... relaxing. Hmmm, what's that? There's a little water-sprayer-looking thingie. It looks like a water-pick, only different. I kinda/sorta remember Kate telling me about the special "friend" she has to wash her va-jay-jay with. This must be it. I press the lever and water comes out in a jet at the curved tip. I use it to wash my pits, between my toes, and even floss. I use it to wash the naughty place where the sun doesn't shine. Mmm... nice.
     Time to wash the va-jay-jay, I guess.
     Four hours later, I step out of the bathroom, naked, and ready for some hot monkey love. I can see Christian already waiting for me in bed.
     "I'm here, Christian," I say, swaying my hips as I stroll sexily toward him. "Get ready for me to rock your world!"
     "Christian? Christian?"
     Hmm... did I take too long?
Fifty Shades of Parody