Sunday, November 8, 2015

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 23b)

Christian's nostrils flare. His voice becomes husky with hunger. I'm hungry, too, but in a different way. I wonder what Ronald McDonald is doing?
     "I want you, Ana," he tells me, stepping over my mother. "I want you bad. And I have to have you. I have to have you now."
     With that declaration, Christian snaps his fingers. Crockett appears from the ether and quickly empties the room of all the excess first class air passengers. Some of them have to be encouraged with a swift kick from his Gucci loafers. Funny, I never noticed before that he didn't wear socks.
     When it's only me, Christian, and my unconscious mother, Crockett walks over to the wall behind the mini-fridge and pushes. Osh kosh b'gosh! It's a false wall, and on the other side is a bedroom.
     "How did you know?" I ask Christian.
     "How did I know what?" Christian replies, coyly.
     "How did you know there would be a bedroom behind that wall?"
     "I had it built, knowing that you would be here," he explains. "Just in case you feel the need to make the beast with two backs."
     It's my turn to be coy.
     "The beast with two whats?"
     "Two backs. You know, bump uglies."
     "Bump what?"
     "Bump uglies. You know, riding the baloney pony."
     "Riding the baloney pony?" I rinse, lather, and repeat. I didn't know Christian could be so romantic.
     Gosh, I don't know what to think. On the one hand, I want Christian so bad I wish I could come up with a clever metaphor that's both original and funny. On the other hand, it goes against everything I was raised to believe in. I can remember the Reverend Pryor, even now,  reading in church from the Book of Wonder.
     "'If you believe in things,'" he thundered from his altar, "'that you don't understand, then you'll suffer. Superstition ain't the way!'"
     Oh, it was superstition he was talking about, not sex. I guess that makes it okay. I follow Christian into the room. It's a huge round room with a huge round bed in the middle of the huge round room. There's a fish tank in the corner. Um, I mean if a round room can have corners. I bet in quantum physics it can.
     "Why a fish tank?" I ask, curious.
     "I like to have an audience," he explains. "It adds a little spice to the proceedings. I'm old-school, Ana. In my day, we didn't even have Viagra. You actually had to be attracted to a girl to have sex with her."
     "Are we going to do it doggy-style?"
     "With you, Ana, every style is doggy-style."
     "That is so rude."
     "What do you mean? I love dogs."
     With that he flops me backward onto the bed.
     Finally, what I've been waiting for, the big sex scene of the book. Maybe this time I'll even get some foreplay. My Inner Goddess rubs her hands briskly together in antici... PAYshun. I remember asking Kate what foreplay was once.
     "You know that vague feeling of dissatisfaction you get when you're hungry for something but you don't know what?" she said, answering my question with a question of her own. "You eat this and you eat that, but somehow it's never what you want?"
     "Only all the time," I admitted.
     "Well, it's kind of like that, just not as exciting. What foreplay is, is laying back and pretending to enjoy your lover's bumbling fumbles or fumbling bumbles, I forget which, but that doesn't matter. What matters is I usually like to take this time to paint my nails."
     So that exactly what I do, lay back.
     I see his head disappear between my legs. When it reappears a few minutes later, he looks like the Joker from The Dark Knight Returns. There was something very important I should have warned him about, but he doesn't seem to mind the surprise. He emerges holding a vampire's tea-bag. He twirls it over his head and makes helicopter noises. Then, when he lets go of the string, we watch it fly across the room, hitting the wall with a wet smack.
     Well, first we carve a slice, then we cut the mustard, then we dip the schnitzel. After that we do the humpty-hump, the bumpity-bump, and the ziggity-zag. Then we grind the coffee, haul our ashes, and lay some pipe. He parks the pink Cadillac, hides the salami, and gets it up to the nuts in guts. He spears the bearded clam, the hairy donut, and the fuzzy wuzzy. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy, was he?
     Amazingly, we finish at the same time. Him, having his way with me, and me, painting my nails. We lay there looking into each other's eyes.
     "What?" I ask, smiling shyly.
     "What?" he asks back, his eyes dancing.
     "Tell me about yourself," I say.
     Strangely enough, he does. I'm not saying he puts me to sleep with his long ramblings. He does, but I'm not saying that. When I wake up, he's getting ready to leave.
     "Your mother is quite lovely," he tells me on his way out. "Especially her breasts. When I saw her for that brief instant falling to the floor, they looked like two meteors racing toward the earth."
     Um... that was awkward.
     No sooner is he out the door, than my mother finally rouses out of her coma. I'm not saying she drinks a lot, but you can go to the bathroom with her and be able to tell what yesterday's drink specials were.
     She gets up, looking in the distance, probably wondering what other career paths she could have chosen. My mother. Just because she's hairy, that doesn't make her Bigfoot.
     "I'm so sorry, Ana," she tells me. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."
     "That's okay, mom," I say, excusing her the way I have my entire life. "I thought you were meditating."
     "I don't meditate, I medicate," she corrects me. "Did I miss anything important while I was going toward the light?"
     "Oh, mom," I tell her, "you just missed him."
     "Him?"
     "Yes, him."
     "Him who?"
     ""Christian."
     "Christian?"
     "Yes, my boyfriend."
     "Your boyfriend?"
     "Yes, he was just here."
     "He was just here?"
     "Yes, and you missed him."
     "And I missed him?"
     "Yes."
     "Like the way I've missed all your other 'boyfriends'?"
     "Almost, but this one is real."
     "Sure he is, honey. Sure he is."
 
 
American Chimpanzee
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