He's promised me an orgasm.
"Giving a woman an orgasm is a beautiful thing," he told me. "Or so I've heard."
As he lifts his hand to give me the Spatula Treatment he takes a quick glance at his watch.
"Oh, dear," he tells me. "You better hurry, or you'll be late."
Oh my gosh, he's right!
I jump up, run out of the bedroom and into the building where my class is about to start. I run up and down the halls, but where's my class? I don't know where I'm supposed to go. There's a boy at his locker. His face is hidden, so I can't see who it is. I run up to him just as he closes the door. He's holding a spatula in one hand.
Oh my gosh, it's Christian! How did he get here before me?
"Thank goobers, it's you," I gasp. "You've got to help me, Christian."
"But you're too late, Miss Steele," he tells me, calmly. "Too late."
"How do I get to my class?" I ask him desperately. I am so screwed, and not in the fun way. "How do I get to my class?"
"Why, I thought you knew, dear Ana. You sign the contract."
Sign the contract? What the heck does he mean? I'm here to take my final exam. Without it I won't be able to graduate, and he wants me to sign a contract? Is he crazy? I already know the answer to that question. There's nothing I can do...
...so I sit.
But I'm too late. Too late. Everybody, all the other students, are already leaving. They've taken their exams and are filing out, on their way to graduation. How happy they all look in their shiny gowns, eager to start their new lives.
"You do know you're still naked, don't you?" my professor wants to know.
"I know, Professor," I say, making my excuses, "but I was running late. I didn't have time to dress."
I look up and see it's Christian. He's my professor? After all this time, how did I not know this? Maybe I should have come to class more often.
"Not that I'm complaining," he continues, "but there's a proper time and place for everything."
"I'm here to take my test, Professor."
"Your test?" he says, sympathetically. "Poor Ana. My poor sweet Ana. You're too late, my dear. I'm afraid the time for testing is over. Now is the time for action, my dear."
"I'll do anything, Professor. Anything. Just let me take my test."
I'm squirming in my seat, practically sliding off. All this anxiety has gotten me rather, well, hot.
He sees my excitement. My discomfort. My yankee-doodle-dandy
And he smiles.
"Well, I suppose I could make an exception, Miss Steele," he tells me. "After all, I've made so many exceptions for you already."
He places the final exam in front of me.
"Thank you," I gasp in appreciation. "Thank you. Thank you, thank, you, thank you. You won't regret this, I promise you."
"I'm sure I won't," he tells me. "You've never disappointed me before. Except for that one time. And then the other."
I look down, but instead of the exam, it's that dang contract he wants me to sign. I look up at him. He arches an eyebrow, steeples his fingers, and twiddles his thumbs.
"I... this isn't..." I stammer, trying to get the words out.
"Just sign it, Ana," he tempts. "Sin a little."
His words are so seductive. He reminds me of the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Only with arms and legs. And a spatula instead of an apple.
You know, I've never understood how Adam & Eve were tempted out of Eden by forbidden fruit. Now forbidden pizza I'd understand, but an apple? They make good pies, but that's about it.
Meanwhile, I have the pen in my hand. He puts one hand softly on my shoulder, urging me forward. I look up at him, into his eyes. They look so haunted, pleading. There's a little eye-booger in the corner of one, but that only makes him sexier to me. It makes him seem... less reptilian.
"I... I'm not sure," I say, my hand quivering.
"Ana," he tells me, his lips close enough to tickle the hair growing in my ear, "in the words of Confucius: 'Virginity. Like balloon. One prick. All gone.'"
He places two soft fingers on my hand and pushes down gently.
"Sign it," he says, exerting his will over mine. "You won't regret it."
I can't help it, I feel myself giving in.
"Sign it," he says again, his mother by his side. His mother?
She's holding him by the arm and whispers something into his ear, but I can't tell if she's encouraging him forward or holding him back. Maybe her spitting in my direction is a clue.
The pen's point lightly touches the contract. The paper ignites where they meet, then smolders. Little wisps of white smoke leisurely belly-dancing upward.
"Sign it," he says.
"Sign it," so does his mother.
"Sign it," two familiar voices say.
Kate and Jose have joined us. Where the heck did they come from? They smile at each other as they share a banana.
I'm about to sign, when...
...the alarm goes off!
I jump up, gasping for breathe. I'm covered in sweat, as usual. I look at the clock, it's eight in the morning. Was it...? Could it just have been...? Oh, thank goobers! In a moment of stunning unoriginality, I realize...
...it was all a dream.
Fifty Shades of Parody