50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Seventeen

Ana dreams that she’s a moth, being drawn to and burned by a candle flame. Because clearly if there’s one thing this book needs, it’s more Captain Obvious metaphors. The best bit about the dream sequence is that it goes for a paragraph– and then she wakes up, “draped in Christian Grey.”

He’s wrapped around me like a victory flag.

Pretty hollow fucking victory, if you ask me, but hey.

He’s fast asleep with his head on my chest, his arm over me, holding me close, one of his legs thrown over and hooked around mine.

I’m trying hard to imagine this. It sounds like he’s even clingier than Ana, and that he’s played Twister with her in his sleep.

He’s suffocating me with his body heat, and he’s heavy.

This quite seriously sounds nightmarish to me. I realise that YMMV with stuff like this, but I having slept in beds with people who are all grabby like that, and waking up amongst them and their sweat just… doesn’t appeal. I’m also wondering why Grey, who apparently has so many issues with being touched, is doing this.

Anyway, Ana runs her fingertips over him, waking him up. I’d like to point out that E. L. James could have gone to town with some character reveal about how he looks when he’s sleeping: seeing someone sleep is an intimate thing, and when someone truly is off-guard– but instead Ana is oblivious to this. Anyway, he wakes up, telling her he’s drawn to her even in his sleep. And he’s got a morning glory. Ana’s all surprised about it, but he says it should wait til Sunday because he only wants her to do things with his erections when they’re doing the TPE thing, I suppose.

I flush, but then I feel seven shades of scarlet from the heat.

Yet again, we get this tie-in to the title.

They talk about feeling hot and wake up, and when Grey realises the time, he comments that he’s running late and that he doesn’t do late, and that this is another first for him.

“Sunday,” he says, and the word is pregnant with an unspoken promise. Everything deep in my body uncurls and then clenches in delicious anticipation. The feeling is exquisite.

Really? It doesn’t sound pleasant. It sounds like labor pains.

Promising that Taylor will deal with the Beetle, and that he’ll email her with a time for Sunday, Grey then nicks off, leaving Ana to feel smug that she’s slept with him three times after he’s said he doesn’t sleep with anyone. One of those times involved her being passed out, though, and I think the other time was when she was highly distressed and he was being manipulative. But it makes Ana feel optimistic.

Ana then gets up and emails him, explaining why she felt confused about the spankage. She titles the email “Assault and Battery: The After-Effects,” which is either a) a joke that doesn’t translate well to print (especially after some of the decidedly unfunny things of an abusive nature which have already happened between them) and b) Ana really not feeling that the spanking was consensual funtimes.

I’m not typing out the whole email because I’m lazy, but will highlight the bits that stood out:

“Well, during the whole alarming process, I felt demeaned, debased and abused.”

Abused. Since her inner monolgue has also talked about “never having been hit before” and now we get these little insights, I’m just failing to see happytimes consensual BDSM here. Especially when I present this gem from the email:

“What really worried me was how I felt afterward. And that’s more difficult to articulate. I was happy that you were happy […]”

So… you’re doing something that makes you feel abused in order to make him feel happy?

This isn’t about your pleasure, Ana. This is skirting on abuse, to put it mildly and to be as open-minded as I can about it. Combined with your fear that he’ll leave if you don’t go along with the sex stuff he wants…

And okay, she admits that the spanking wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be, but what happens when he starts wanting other stuff? I’ll be honest: even if something isn’t painful, if someone just plain isn’t into it, and you’re still either reckless to their consent, you outright don’t have it, or you’re manipulating the person into providing that consent under duress… you know what? A healthy relationship that don’t maketh.

At the end of the email, Ana says, “Thankyou for staying with me,” which probably isn’t meant to be analysed much, but given the evidence we already have, it just comes across as really sad and pathetic.

Grey emails her back and basically shits all over her feelings about feeling abused, and then says of her confusion:

Do you really feel like this or do you think you ought to feel like this? Two very different things. If this is how you feel, do you think you could just try to embrace these feelings, deal with them, for me? That’s what a submissive would do.

Once again, dismiss and invalidate feelings she’s explicitly stated having, and THEN telling her how she should be behaving. YUCK YUCK YUCK.

Another point: I thought submissives came in all different varieties of human, and that there wasn’t one set way of dealing with, or doing things. This is another one of those “Not my scene,” things that’s still managing to piss me off because, you know, seeing a whole group of people get boiled down to one thing based on what toasts their marshmallows is off. It’s like saying that all doms are twisted abusive fuckwads, but wait, E. L. James has pretty much done that, too.

I’ll say this, too: as someone who writes some rather disturbing characters, and some kink… this is far too close to how, say, I’d write a manipulative and abusive Kristoph Gavin who is decidedly not meant to be the romantic hero. (Actually, this is pretty much how I’ll write Kristoph trying to headfuck his assistant into sexual activities and claim innocence and normalisation of what’s happening. It’s fucking creepy.) As Ms. Manna said in a comment, being a sexual sadist doesn’t equal BDSM, and fucking with someone’s head to get them to do what you want isn’t part of it. It disturbs me that this is meant to be “erotic romance.”

Then, we get true horror from him.

I am grateful for your inexperience. I value it, and I’m only beginning to understand what it means. Simply put… it means you are mine in every way.

Holy god. He likes that he can convince her that this is normal and how she should be thinking.

He then goes on to say that erotic spanking is different to punishment and that if she commits “some major transgression” (like what? Getting drunk? Making a sarcastic comment?) he’ll use “some implement” to punish her.

Hang on. I thought she’d put caning as a hard limit. But… limits schmits, I guess.

More gaslighting pads out the end of the email.

Don’t waste your time on guilt, feelings of wrongdoing, etc. We are consenting adults and what we do behind closed doors is between ourselves.

Remember when family violence was considered “business that happens behind closed doors” and “not something for the community to meddle with”?

You need to free your mind and listen to your body.

Yeah. Because clearly all that’s wrong here is the way Ana is perceiving the situation.

And then Robin Thicke’s Blurred Lines starts playing and everything is all peachy.

Jesus fuck.

Anyway, at the end of the email, all Ana can think is

Holy crap… mine in every way. My breath hitches.

Ana emails him back to say that if she listened to her body, she’d be in Alaska.

Since this is a looooong chapter, I shall attempt to move on quickly.

Grey emails her back, pointing out that she didn’t safeword (because she was scared of losing you, you dick), that she’s an adult with choices, and then that if she went to Alaska, he’d track her down.

Grey sounds like an ex of mine, who would threaten to break up with me (or point out that if I didn’t like it, I could leave) whenever I’d criticise the behaviour of his children towards me. When I finally had enough and went, “You know, I’m leaving,” he cracked the shits and attempted to make it incredibly difficult to reclaim my property that was in the house. (The story ends happily: I got most of my stuff back and I have nothing to do with the guy. But the control-freakish behaviour was completely disturbing and Not Cool.)

Ana considers nicking off and asks him if he’s sought therapy for his stalker tendencies. Grey replies that he is seeing a therapist (I wonder if he plays headgames with the therapist too) and tells her to go to work. Ana then points out that the therapist isn’t very effective. The therapist is probably just relying on a lifetime of Grey appointments to put his/her kids through college. Grey says that this therapist is the second opinion and that it’s none of her business and tells her to go to work. There’s a bit more banter over the email, and then Ana drives to work in the Audi, with a description of its power steering that makes me wonder if someone just Googled a car review, and she thinks about Grey and his Pain and how she wants him without all his baggage, and blah blah blah and she goes to work.

Grey has sent her a BlackBerry (do people still use those?) via courier to her work. Ana just switches it on and starts using it to tell him he’s a stalker (don’t they need twelve hours of charging up first? EVERYTHING I’ve bought, from my laptops to my phones to my Kobo to my DSXL has needed a few hours, at least, to charge up prior to use) and there’s some more banter.

Ana hates it already, but that doesn’t stop her from, you know, pulling out the battery, and because she’s special and it’s her last day at work, and everything is always about Ana (unless it’s her being all about Grey) she gets a wonderful send-off from her employers as she thinks about the entire past three weeks.

Scene change! Kate’s coming home, and she asks about the car, and notes that he stayed the night. Grey emails Ana to tell her that her doctor’s appointment is at 1:30 on Sunday.

Taylor comes along and picks up the Beetle.

Jose joins them for Chinese takeaway after Kate and Ana have packed everything up, and they all reminisce about things over beer. Apparently everything is back to normal with regard to Ana and Jose.

Well, it’s been swept under the rug that my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes and tapping her fingers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday.

What the fuck else is under that rug?

Anyway, Elliot turns up and gives Kate a hug, and Ana gets all weird about seeing them being affectionate together because apparently a hug equals “get a room.”

Jose and I stare at one another. I’m appalled at their lack of modesty.

I’m appalled at Ana’s hypocrisy, personally.

Anyway, Ana and Jose walk down to the local bar, which makes me think that the whole denial-of-what-happened-last-time-there-was-Jose-and-alcohol has taken a turn for the inability to suspend my disbelief (I’m not going to FORGET, even if I do FORGIVE someone who’s pulled shit like he did) and all that happens between them is Jose asks if Ana’s going to his photography exhibition thing.

Ana gets home to hearing Kate and Elliot are making sexy noises, and goes to thinking about how Jose now has a show and how awesome that is, and about how Jose doesn’t know that the Beetle is gone, and then she checks her email. There’s a rather ominous one there, asking her to call Grey lest he call Elliot (wow, being a bit of a cockblocker, much?) and then she checks her phone. Five missed calls.

I think you need to learn to manage my expectations.

Yes, Grey actually says that. And… fuck. No, Mr. Cockblocking Stalker, you need to learn to manage your expectations.

If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise, I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it very well.

Jesus fucking Christ. Maybe she went out for a celebration with her workmates after work? It amazes me that in spite of all the stuff Ana has going on, Grey is still acting like she has to drop everything for him.

Anyway, she rings him, even though she’s feeling suffocated. They talk about their evenings. If I were the editor of this book, I’d have red-penned the whole section because absolutely nothing happens barring him talking about punishing her for disobeying him and neither of them wanting to hang up.

Scene change again– which makes me think that E. L. James is as bored with this chapter as I am– and Elliot’s hooked up their satellite TV in the new apartment. Funny: Elliot has pretty much the same speech patterns and terms of affection for Kate as Grey does for Ana. Ana shifts away from them when they’re being lovey dovey because

They are going to get icky.

Icky. Other than sounding like a ten-year-old boy, I wonder what the fuck she thinks her sitch with Grey is. That’s “icky.”

Anyway, Elliot can’t hang around, and gives Kate a “Laters,” and Ana has this reflecton.

Elliot is adorable and so different from Christian. He’s warm, open, physical, very physical, too physical, with Kate. They can barely keep their hands off each other– to be honest it’s embarassing– and I am pea green with envy.

All aboard the good ship Katana! I think she’s meant to be jealous of how normal their relationship is, but methinks there’s so jealousy towards how much he’s getting to get physical with Kate. Wouldn’t a good friend be happy for Kate? She’s sounding more like a jealous girl who’s had a thing for Kate rather than a good galpal here.

Anyway, there’s a brief description of them chowing down on some pizza and then a delivery boy arrives at the door, mesmerised by Kate’s appearance. He brings champagne and there’s a helicopter shaped balloon attached to the bottle. Guess who sent it?

“Why can’t he just write ‘from Christian’? And what’s with the weird helicopter balloon?”
“Charlie Tango.”
“What?”
“Christian flew me to Seattle in his helicopter.” I shrug.
Kate stares at me openmouthed. I have to say I love these occasions– Kate Kavanagh, silent and floored– they are so rare. I take a brief and luxurious moment to enjoy it.

Yeah, bitch, my man has a helicopter. When’s the last time you could say that about anyone you’ve dated? Seriously, I’m over this whole female fantasy thing of “relish other women’s envy.” It’s boring and insecure.

Anyway, Kate wants to know how Christian has the new address (as though Elliot wouldn’t have told him?) and Ana says that stalking is one of his specialties. Charming.

“Somehow I’m not surprised. He worries me, Ana. At least it’s a good champagne and it’s chilled.”

Warm champagne would have made him WAY more suspicious.

Anyway, cut to the next morning, and Ana’s thinking about how she should be packing, and her subconscious is annoying her about it, but… she’s got a date! With Grey’s doctor.

Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flood my belly– as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me… and of course, I have to sign that damned contract, or do I?

Hang on, who’s she talking about? The doctor, or Grey? Is this going to lead into medical fetish play? I love the way she thinks about the contract like it’s an afterthought, like, “Must get milk on the way home.”

Grey sends her the security code to get into the underground garage at his place, as well as the elevator code, and Ana sends a thankyou for the champagne. She’s started calling him “sir.”

Ana drives to his place, realising she can drive in high heels, and as she gets into the place, starts describing her outfit. She’s wearing that plum dress of Kate’s again, makeup, and the underwear that Taylor bought for her. I mean… who doesn’t dress up to go see a doctor?

Anyway, Taylor welcomes her at the door, and Grey is there lounging around in casual clothing that gets described piece-by-piece.

He rises and strolls toward me, an amused appraising smile on his beautiful sculptured lips.
I stand immobilised at the entrance of the room, paralysed by his beauty and the sweet anticipation of what’s to come.

What, an IUD?

She says hello, they kiss, he remarks on the dress, and then he tells her he has something to show her. Instead of getting a pornoriffic scene, we instead get him showing off about the fact that they’ve been featured in the Seattle Times in a thing about Grey being at her graduation.

There’s some more nondescript conversation, and I’m momentarily distracted because I’m about a page away from the end of the chapter, and he asks if she’s eaten, chastises her for not eating, and advises that the doctor will be there soon.

“What can you tell me about Dr. Greene?” I ask to distract us both.
“She’s the best ob-gyn in Seattle. What more can I say?”

Hang on: why the fuck does Grey have a gynaecologist? I thought the doctor was his doctor: at least that’s what he said last chapter.

Grey explains himself, believing it’s more appropriate that Ana see a specialist for some reason. Ana wonders about how much it’s costing him, and then Grey springs on her that his mother’s invited her to a family dinner along with Kate and Elliot. He seems to think it would be odd for him to introduce her to his family, despite the fact that she’s already met his mother.

Taylor advises that the doctor is in, and Grey of course gets his creep on again.

“Ready for some contraception?” he asks as he stands and holds his hand out to me.
“You’re not going to come as well, are you?” I gasp, shocked.

Nothing would shock me from him any more.

He laughs. “I’d pay very good money to watch, believe me, Anastasia, but I don’t think the good doctor would approve.”

Thankfully the doctor has some professional ethics.

The chapter ends with his pulling her into an embrace, kissing her and saying that he can’t wait to get her naked.

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Sixteen

So, the chapter starts with some post-coital snuggling and Ana trying to touch Christian through his t-shirt, and we get the classic Snakes on a Plane line from this book.

“Why don’t you like to be touched?” I whisper, staring up into soft grey eyes.

“Because I’m fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia.”

Yeah, you and everyone else, emo kid. And you, unlike most of us, have both the resources and self-awareness to get some fucking help.

Because he’s all about the honesty and clarity, he explains it with the following:

“I had a very tough introduction to life. I don’t want to burden you with the details. Just don’t.” He strokes his nose against mine, and then he pulls out of me and sits up.

Oh god. This is the second time he’s been in her for what seems like a while after sex. Maybe he was thinking of going another round but discussing his awful childhood has a pretty awesome way of deflating an erection.

Also, that wasn’t much of an explanation, but we’ve had Ana asking him several times why he doesn’t like being touched now and it’s pretty obvious that a) he doesn’t like talking about it, and b) it has stuff to do with him previously being sexually abused.

And his level of “don’t touch me” seems to fluctuate a hell of a lot, which probably makes it worlds of confusing for Ana, and the further I see repetition in this book along the lines of this, as well as the inconsistencies, I wonder if E. L. James kept releasing this as a work in progress and forgetting stuff that she’d previously written (which is a feasible explanation since we’re 268 pages into the book), but ye gawds. I haven’t picked up this book in a hell of a long time, and I haven’t read over the recaps, but even I’m picking it up.

One of the things I’ve been doing at uni has been a writing class, which I have enjoyed immensely. Part of that has involved writing fiction (duh!) and the other major part has been learning about editing– both our own, and other people’s work. In tutorial discussions, I used Shades as an example of why editors are very, very important, and also why it’s good to edit your own work.

There’s some sweet talk, and Christian tells her that she’s not just a pretty face, and that she’s had six orgasms and they all belong to him.

Wow. He wasn’t wrong when he said he was fifty shades of fucked up.

The problem with that, though, is that it just made me think of that famous internet meme: ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US.
ALL YOUR ORGASMS ARE BELONG TO GREY. Hell, I was hesitant to even mention that because I’m guessing that the internet has already jumped on this one.

Ana decides to admit that she was dreaming about him and that she came in her sleep, and of course Grey wants deets, which makes her all coy and hiding her eyes with her arm.

[L]ike a small child, I briefly entertain the thought that if I can’t see him, then he can’t see me.

Theory of mind, Ana-style.

He gets up, and asks when Ana’s period is due, because he hates wearing condoms.

“Next week.” I stare down at my hands.

“You need to sort out some contraception.”

Or you know, you could just wear condoms. But Grey’s too important for this, or E.L. James has exhausted “how the make condoms part of foreplay,” I assume, and even though they’re cheap, easy to obtain and don’t have side-effects for most people, he’s too precious for them.

He is so bossy. I stare at him blankly. He sits on the bed and puts on shoes and socks.

Okay, I wouldn’t so much as call that bossy but him being a douche again, and secondly, wouldn’t your put your socks on before your shoes?

“Do you have a doctor?”

I shake my head. We are back to mergers and acquisitions– another 180 degree mood swing.

He frowns. “I can have mine come over and see you at your apartment– Sunday morning before you come and see me. Or he can see you at my place. Which would you prefer?”

No pressure then. Something else that he’s paying for… but actually this is for his benefit.
“Your place.” That means I am guaranteed to see him Sunday.

So that’s the doctor sorted, I guess. I hope Doc doesn’t have a round of golf on that morning or anything else to do.

Grey gets up and says he’s going to go, and Ana offers to drive him in her lovely new car.

He gazes at me, his expression warm.
“That’s more like it. But I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Did you get me tipsy on purpose?”
“Yes.”

Charming. Again, I draw a comparison between what he’s done in the past and what Jose did (which, albeit was a far more extreme example) and think that the guy’s a creep.

“Why?”
“Because you overthink everything, and you’re reticent like your stepdad. A drop of wine in you and you start talking, and I need you to communicate honestly with me. Otherwise you clam up and I have no idea what you’re thinking. In vino veritas, Anastasia.”
“And you think you’re always honest with me?”
“I endeavour to be.” He looks down at me warily. “This will only work if we’re honest with each other.”

He talks the talk, but doesn’t walk the walk on this. Seriously, I’m just sitting here shaking my head thinking he’s got some serious fucking double-standards and that translates to how he feels about honesty. But he’s back to using “we” language, including Ana in his statements about what will work for them (classic manipulator trick, btw), which is irking me. But hey.

Ana says she wants him to stay so they can use the second condom, but he seems to dislike them that much and talks about how he’s already crossed so many lines that he has to go. He says he’ll see her Sunday with a revised contract, which he assumes she’ll agree to, and then they’ll start playing.

“Play?” Holy shit. My heart leaps into my mouth.

This was not at all unexpected for anyone reading this book, but it warrants a “holy shit” (which ranks higher than a “holy crap”) from Ana, who then asks what will happen if she doesn’t sign. Grey tells her ominously that he might crack under the strain and it could get really ugly. He’s teasing her, but still.

“Ugly how?”
“Oh, you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration.”
“You’d kidnap me?”
“Oh yes.” He grins.
“Hold me against my will?”

Not like he didn’t, you know, lock her in a room not long ago while she was graduating and he wanted an answer from her.

Ana decides this is all hot, and then Grey brings out the reality:

“And then we’re talking TPE 24/7.”
“You’ve lost me,” I breathe, my heart is pounding … is he serious?
“Total Power Exchange– around the clock.”

Um, a couple of things here: there’s a world of difference between some BDSM and a TPE situation, and you really shouldn’t be foisting that onto someone who has the lack of knowledge on it that Ana does.  But, okay. Whatever.

They sarcastically giggle about how Ana will totally have no choice in the matter, Ana rolls her eyes, and Grey decides that he’s going to fuck her quick and hard and will need that second condom after all.

My insides practically contort with potent, needy, liquid, desire.

Hooray! Let’s defy the world of physics and the English language at the same time, hey?

Ana, in her liquidy needy potent practically contorting insides way (does it feel like a burst appendix when your insides contort? Or just like really bad indigestion?) feels that the relationship lies in the balance of her consenting or not, and that if she doesn’t, it’ll all be over. Because Grey has such a wonderful history of caring about consent from her, demonstrated by so many acts earlier. Anyway, Ana’s inner goddess is pleading with her and her subconscious is paralysed, and so she goes along with it.

So much for the fucking: we get spanking instead because she rolled her eyes at him. And even though he warns her he’ll spank her each time she rolls her eyes, after eighteen spanks (that’s a lot of eyerolling), and her crying out, and him informing her that “No one will hear you, baby, just me” (which probably wasn’t meant to sound creepy but did), he stops and tells her he’s going to fuck her.

Another sex scene where he “pours into me” despite the condom, and where Ana gets an orgasm of epic proportions.

“Oh baby,” he breathes. “Welcome to my world.”

I’m giggling at this one. Of all the stuff to say post-sex, this is like something out of a kids’ animated feature: you know, the streetwise stray hooks up with the posh purebred type and they have a night on the town with G-rated innuendo, and she has a great time, and then: “Welcome to my world.”

Afterwards, he picks at the strap on her camisole, and tells her she should be sleeping in silks and satin and that he’ll take her shopping.

“I like my sweats,” I murmur, trying and failing to sound irritated.

I’m not sure if she’s trying to defy him so he can spank her again or something, or if she’s genuinely happy wearing sweat pants and he’s just being controlling, but he tells her “We’ll see” anyway. There’s more lying together, some implied dozing, and then he asks if she’s okay.

And then he gets rid of the used condom. EW. One of the grossest stories I know about someone was that he hooked up with someone at a friend’s party, and utilised their bedroom. There was a lot of utilisation going on that night, because post-party, when the poor host went to bed, he found a little surprise in there. And another one. And…

Maybe I’m anal-retentive about tidiness (my previous ex would say that, but the ex before me would argue that I’m a complete slob) but seriously, you just don’t leave used condoms lying about, especially when they can get hidden amongst bed sheets. That’s just gross. You get rid of that shit as soon as possible, or at the very least, get some tissues onto it. Here’s Ana thinking about her sore arse, here I am just thinking about the fact that in the previous paragraph she suggests they might have dozed off and there’s a used condom lying around on the bed. Remember when Ana said that there was “nothing worse” than wearing day-old knickers? I can think of one: sleeping in a bed with used frangers in it.

Ana’s not thinking about that, though: she’s thinking that she feels so much better after being spanked, and that she doesn’t understand why. Grey returns with baby oil and rubs it into her skin, and then decides he’s leaving. Ana gets up and is glad that Kate’s not home and didn’t hear what just happened.

“You didn’t cry,” he murmurs, then grabs me suddenly and kisses me fervently. “Sunday,” he whispers against my lips and it’s both a promise and a threat.

There is so much fervence in this book that trying to envision this happening is like imagining a high school drama production with far too much *emphasis* on everything. But hey.

Anyway, he leaves, and Ana has a brief moment of thinking about how she’s going to leave her apartment now, and then an angst moment which somehow, like everything else, becomes all about Grey.

[…] I feel lonely and uncomfortable here, unhappy with my own company. Have I strayed so far from who I am?I know that lurking, not very far under my numb exterior, is a well of tears. What am I doing? The irony is that I can’t even sit down and have a good cry. I’ll have to stand.

Cue some My Chemical Romance and the world’s smallest violin playing. Also, you could lie dramatically on your stomach and look all moody, ala that picture of Diana Dors on one of The Smiths’ album covers if you wanted to.

Instead, Ana calls her mother. Because that’s always a great idea.

Ana is all teary and her mother is worried and sympathetic in that way that you can afford to be when you’re a million miles away and you know that you can’t actually do anything. It all reeks of false sincerity, which might explain where Ana gets it from.

They instantly start talking about Grey, after mom’s asked how graduation was and Ana hasn’t replied (I still can’t get how flippant everyone is about it: she’s fucking graduated, for fuck’s sake) and a few paragraphs in, after mom’s given some advice about how she can’t possibly know someone in three months, it occurs to mom to suggest that Ana go and visit her and Bob.

Oh boy, is this tempting. Run away to Georgia. Grab some sunshine, some cocktails. My mother’s good humour… her loving arms.

Da fuq? When did Mom have a sense of humour? This is the first I’ve heard of it, and it hasn’t been demonstrated through the text.

A wild Kate appears, so Ana has to get off the phone for some in-person attention.

“Has that obscenely rich fucker upset you again?”

Um… That’s not quite an insult. “Obscenely fucked up,” maybe. “Obscenely douchey,” yes. “Obscenely arrogant,” totally. But… rich? I’m not sure if Kate’s meant to be jealous of Ana for her supposedly good fortune in finding this catch.

Kate tells her to tell him to take a hike, which is probably the best bit of advice Kate’s given her, but Ana dismisses it.

The world of Kate Kavanagh is very clear, very black and white. Not the intangible, mysterious, vague hues of grey that colour my world. Welcome to my world.

It’s like watching advertising in action, with tied-in themes blatantly permeating everything. For fuck’s sake, we get it. If Ana really was a lit grad, we’d see some more subtlety here, but nope-a-dope, none of that here.

Kate suggests she sit down and they crack open a bottle of wine, because the other thing this book likes emphasising is that wine solves everything (I’m not sure I can snark about this, though), and Ana gets funny about sitting.

“I fell over and landed on my behind.”

Pfft. Fell over from what? A fucking two metre height? Bitch, I’ve fallen on my arse at speed, in fucking roller skates, and I’ve never been so sore that sitting down has been painful. But okay. Kate doesn’t give the explanation much thought, because Ana is teh klutzy, and Ana sits down and has a memory about Grey telling her that she wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after “that stunt you pulled yesterday.” What stunt? Oh, wasn’t that about Jose getting her drunk so he could date-rape her? What’s killing me is that she’s remembering this and still not realising that Grey is a fucking creep. Instead, she thinks about it as a warning sign about Grey being serious about teh spankage.

Kate gives some weird advice telling her in the same breath that Grey’s got commitment issues and that he’s clearly smitten with Ana, which ain’t helpful. Ana asks about Kate’s situation, and Kate says that Ethan might be coming to live with them. Oh, okay, fifty shades of awkward, especially since we all know that Creeper von Moody isn’t going to be thrilled with this at all.

Their convo ends after some more wine, and Kate goes to call Elliot, and Ana checks for emails. Of course, we have email.

Dear Miss Steele,
You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty and brave woman I have ever met. Take some Advil– this is not a request. And don’t drive your Beetle again. I will know.

Okay, I call horse shit. When a guy comes on with this much flattery, this early in things, you start freaking out. Because he’s either a glib, lying creep who feeds people shit like this to get what he wants, or he’s bugfuck crazy. Or both.

Given who he is, and his worldly experience, he’s met plenty of beautiful women. Given Ana’s persistent stupidity, calling her bright is like calling Tony Abbott a champion of women’s rights issues. Given that she’s come out with the odd sarcastic comment and he’s chastised her for it, it’s hard to argue that he appreciates her wit. And given that he’s had fifteen others before her, odds are that he’s met far braver souls than her.
Secondly, what’s he done to the Beetle? Wired up a detonator so when she starts the engine, kapow? As Ana would say, Holy fuck.

Ana emails him back saying that flattery won’t get him anywhere, that she’s driving the Beetle to a garage to sell it, that red wine is better than Advil, and that caning is a hard limit. Grey emails back saying he accepts no caning, and that Taylor will get rid of the car for her. There are more emails; Ana expresses concern that he’d risk his right-hand man in a “dangerous” car and not some woman he sometimes fucks, and Grey emails back explaining that Taylor is ex-army and has driven all manner of dangerous things, and that he’s mad that she’s referred to herself as “some woman [he] fuck[s] occasionally.” There’s another threat about making him angry and more spanking along the lines of “you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

Dude, we know. You get passive-aggressive, you go silent, and you become even creepier than you usually are. We’ve seen you angry.

Ana tells him she doesn’t think she likes him right now, Grey asks why, Ana says that he never stays with her.

Oh. God. This has just taken a whole new level of Stockholm Syndrome.

Ana goes to bed and reflects upon her day (I hope the movie shows this with a montage of stuff happening throughout the day and Fall Out Boy’s Thanks for the Memories playing through it: that would be glorious) with the graduation, seeing Ray, Christian and the car, and realises that she hasn’t told Kate about the car. Then again, didn’t it occur to Kate that there’s a new car in front of their place? Ana then thinks about how she’s never been hit in her life and this genuinely surprises me (seriously, I’m not a particularly violent person, but you know how you just want to hit some people? Ana is one such specimen) and then starts crying again about him, and about his tortured past and about how maybe he wouldn’t like her if he was normal.

I am momentarily distracted from my dark night of the soul by Kate shouting.

Dark night of the soul? Oh, bitch please.

Kate is evidently going off at Christian Grey. It is glorious, and I’m hoping she’s throwing in some punches, too, since her “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” suggests she’s not on the phone to him. Even though she’s clearly telling him to GTFO, he ignores her and bursts into Ana’s bedroom.

“Do you want me to throw this asshole out?” [Kate] asks, radiating thermonuclear hostility.

YES.

Christian raises his eyebrows at her, no doubt surprised by her flattering epithet and her feral antagonism.

Wow, E. L., using the thesaurus now, are we?

Ana worries about making him mad, like he’s going to spank her or something worse, Kate then tells Grey that he’s on her shit list (GO KATE!) and advises Ana to “holler if you need me,” and makes an exit.

Grey asks what’s going on, like it’s not obvious, and then explains that part of his role is to look after her needs, and that he’s staying because that is apparently one of her needs. Turns out he thought she was okay, and she wasn’t; turns out Ana thought she was okay and she wasn’t, and then they discuss the spanking, that she wasn’t meant to enjoy it, and Ana asks why.

I’m genuinely mystified here on a couple of levels. One being that Ana couldn’t work out why she felt so good immediately afterwards (adrenaline?) so there was the suggestion on some level that she enjoyed it. Two: Grey should have some idea of how someone feels about “after the first time” given that he’s been there himself. Three: wasn’t this whole thing meant to be about “exploring Ana’s pleasure”? And yet, he quite bluntly says that she wasn’t meant to enjoy it. Four: I don’t think that’s entirely how this works. Isn’t the point that the person being spanked enjoys it and has somewhat masochistic tendencies and stuff? I honestly don’t get that, but then again, I’m not agreeing to being someone’s 24/7 submissive and will acknowledge that like Supernatural, Will Ferrell movies, Ugg boots, bacon and vodka, there are things that loads of other people like, but I don’t.

Grey explains.

“I like the control it gives me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave  the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked if I was gay.”

Holy fuck. So much to dissect here. Firstly: you can control people without laying a finger on them, Grey. Actually, violence strikes me as the last resort of someone who has lost control and who’s clutching at straws. Sheesh. Secondly, as a method of “training,” it’s fairly haphazard and prone to unexpected results or undesirable ones, like fear and psychological problems. Thirdly, the fact that her asking if you were gay is clearly something you’re a bit preoccupied with, and that is far more interesting to me than any of your other issues, Mr. Grey.

Ana asks if he doesn’t like how she is, and he says he loves her the way she is, but

“I don’t want to change you. I’d like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I’ve given you and not defy me. Simple,” he says.

So in other words… you want to change her behaviour and break her will so she won’t defy you? Nope, that’s not changing anyone at all. Anyone else wondering what happened to the previous fifteen now? If they were failed experiments he never quite controlled and now they’re decaying in shallow graves in some bit of mostly-undisturbed wilderness somewhere?

“It’s the way I’m made, Anastasia. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don’t– I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on.”

Why not just say, “I have a thing for spanking people”? That would make it far more palatable. Why all this crap about “This is how I am because of my experiences!”?

He then goes on to explain that the control is a turn on for him, which, again, makes it more palatable than “I need you to do stuff.” Sorry, but need versus want comes to mind here, too. And given all of his understandings about basic needs and Darfur and the rest of it, surely he realises that need is a bit too serious a word for something he, well, wants. I’m not criticising his kink whatsoever. But I’m suggesting that it’s not a necessary thing for his survival. And throwing in that since he’s talking about and to Ana like they’re in a relationship at times… surely the “need” isn’t all-encompassing. I’d have less of a problem with him saying he “needs” it from Ana if this was purely a transaction based on the BDSM thing, but Grey keeps blurring things and making out that it’s an emotional relationship, too. Not fair.

Grey explains that it’s not the pain that he’s putting her through that’s getting him off, but the control, and that’s what turns him on. Then he offers this gem:

“Look, I’m not explaining myself very well… I’ve never had to before. I’ve not thought about it in any great depth. I’ve always been with like-minded people.”

Yes, Grey, but you chose to pursue things with someone who clearly wasn’t, this time, so that’s a pretty shit-poor excuse.

“And you still haven’t answered my question– how did you feel afterward?”
“Confused.”
“You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia.” He closes his eyes briefly, and when he reopens them and gazes at me, they are blazing.

Way to go! Ask her how she feels, then tell her! Nice one, Mr. Manipulator.

His expression pulls at that dark part of me, buried in the depths of my belly– my libido, woken and tamed by him but, even now, insatiable.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs.

Ana wonders what she’s done wrong now, but it’s just Grey explaining that he has no condoms and Ana’s upset. Which should be irrelevant, but I think there’s a suggestion that her expression is making him verge on losing control and giving less of a shit about consent than usual. This is fucking horrible. Seriously, it’s another point where I’m verging on chucking the book across the room.

He then tells her she’s fine being honest in emails, but not in person, and asks if he’s really that intimidating.

Let’s see: he’s locked you in a room, ignored your desire to dine and discuss with him in public where there are onlookers, he’s blamed you for nearly getting date-raped, he’s warned you about making him angry, and every time he asks you something and you give him an answer incompatible with his wants, he tells you how you’re feeling.
I’d say that’s already pretty fucking intimidating.

“You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun,” I whisper.

And oh god, I feel like I’m going to puke.

He tells her that she’s bewitched him, and tells her to email him and that he’d like to stay. So… what? Ah, he’s staying. Silly me. He empties his pockets (in amongst all the drama, Ana reflects on how men carry so much crap in their pockets), Ana gives a completely unerotic list of all the items of clothing and articles he removes, and then he lies in bed with her, telling her to cry in front of him so he knows what’s up with her.

So here… and still so bossy, but I can’t complain; he’s in my bed. Maybe I should weep more often in front of him.

ARRRRGH! See what I mean about spanking not being the only way to condition particular behaviours? Great: now she’s learned that she can cry in front of him to get what she wants, and if you must know, there is little more that disgusts me than people who pull that shit. I’ve had exes do crap like that. I went to school with people who did that. My sister had it down to a finely-honed art form. It’s fucking disgusting and a special kind of cowardly-manipulative, and sorry, but Ana making that observation just makes me dislike her even more.

He tells her how to lie in bed, and puts an arm around her, and then tells her to “Sleep, baby,” and miraculously, she does, peacefully and sans irritatingly not-so-symbolic dream sequences. Awesome.

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Fifteen

I’ll be completely honest with anyone reading this: I haven’t picked up my copy of Shades in awhile. Between working a different shift and worrying about a whole heap of RL stuff, and becoming hooked on a certain online puzzle *cough* Candycracksaga *cough* game, I’ve barely been online that much, let alone writing much of anything.

Thankfully, this is one of those books you can pick up fairly easily after you’ve put it down. And I mean that sincerely; this isn’t one of my typically bitchy comments: there’s so little really going on that if you ignore it for awhile you can go back to it and go, “Aw, yeah: stalkery guy who was like Jacob in Twilight, rich power dude with enough money and issues to keep a therapist’s kids in education through their own doctorates, really sad uber-girl who might be a Mary Sue who loves powerful dude and she just graduated and they’re playing with some sort of bastardised version of BDSM.” And then there are some things, like references to The Lion King and references to genitals as ice lollies which will probably still haunt me even when I’m in a nursing home and horrifying my grandchildren by asking them to sneak in porn because Australian Women’s Weekly just ain’t cutting it for this fangirl. I think those are the things about the book which the blurb tells me will

obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever.

One outta three ain’t bad. If I get possessed by this thing, though, and start writing like a preteen who doesn’t know what Google is and how to turn the Safe Search off, then I’m going to be pissed.

 

Anyway, Ana’s graduated and back at home, and Grey has rocked up, wearing a leather jacket and his jeans.

“Hi,” he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile. I take a moment to admire the pretty. Oh my, he’s hot in leather.

Given that he’s hot in jeans, in pyjamas, in nothing at all and in various shirts and ties and other outfits I’ve forgotten, I’m pretty sure you could dress the guy in a fucking safari suit from the 70s that even an op shop would kindly refuse, and he’d still be hot. We. Get. It.

He walks in and offers her Bollinger because apparently they have something to celebrate, and I think it’s that she’s now going to be his BDSM prop rather than that she graduated, and because Ana’s packing and I’m sure E. L. James thought it would be quirky and cute in a Zooey Deschanel kind of way, she can only offer him teacups to drink it out of.

I head into the kitchen. Nervous, butterflies flooding my stomach , like it’s having a panther or mountain lion all unpredictable in my living room.

What the everloving fuck was that, people? I actually had to re-read that sentence because I thought I’d mis-typed it because it… doesn’t make sense.

Butterflies don’t flood, for one thing. Nor do they tend to hang out in stomachs, but I get the idea of panicky, rapid fluttering in one’s torso region. I will accept that.

It’s the next bit that I’m WTFing about. Like what’s having a panther or a mountain lion all unpredictable in my living room? Her stomach? I thought her stomach was flooded with butterflies. And what’s it like having a big cat in your living room, anyway? How would Ana know about this? (My guess is that big cats would be like any other felines: mostly sleeping in the most comfortable—or inconvenient position, or wandering through to the kitchen waiting for someone to open the fridge or peeing on stuff because they’re annoyed they aren’t allowed outside.)

Anyway, this sentence does NOT sound like the sort of thing a Lit. graduate would be saying. Or thinking. Hell, it sounds like the sort of thing I’d have WTFed at when I was in high school.

Anyway, while Ana’s finding tea cups for them to drink out of, Grey notices the package of books and comments. Ana explains they’re for him, but he’d deduced that already either with his powers of ESP or authorial laziness. Ana’s worried they’re going to have a fight, Grey does that thing where he’s pissy with her but he compliments her on her delivery (and what is with that? Who does this unless they’re not really that pissed off or they’re just incredibly into having fights with other people? Most people won’t even give a dry laugh and an “Okay, you won this round” and a golf clap when someone’s said something vaguely insulting let alone pissed them off).

Ana says she’s worried he won’t go easy on her. He says he will if she just accepts the books.

I swallow convulsively.

Does E. L. James know what that word means?  I’m trying to work out how you swallow in a jerky fashion or as though you’re having a fit, but I can’t see it. Any more than I can see a mountain lion being unpredictable in someone’s living room, but hey.

“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”

“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me.

Well, actually he’s used that term when Ana’s expressed any kind of concern about her safety and trusting him haphazardly, not about thinking first editions are an insane present, but then again, let’s just agree that Grey didn’t do an English Lit degree either and leave it at that. Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe, amirite?

I want you to have them, and that’s the end of this discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive, you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy for you because it pleases me to do so.”

Interestingly enough, now I’m starting to get reminders of something else I’ve been reading. This something else, however, isn’t fluffy and happy. It makes Mind Fuck look like a lighthearted chick flick that you wouldn’t feel bad about your kids watching. The Flesh Cartel is… I don’t know what it is.  But it’s about a disturbingly abusive relationship (and “relationship” is a very generous description), and about a character who basically breaks and trains people as sex slaves.

The series, from my understanding, was too spicy for Amazon, who, while they’ll happily host guides on how to be a pedophile and groom potential victims, flipped out and refused to sell it just before it was due to go up for sale. There is explicit, fucked-up sex. There are so many mind games going on that you, the reader, start to get drawn into them. And you know what? Christian Grey sounds not unlike the creepy dude in that series. (And to its credit, I have NEVER seen it described as romance, hailed as saving marriages, or the sex in there referred to as BDSM. It’s fucked up abuse, and the readers are made fully aware of it. But seriously, if you’re curious and it takes a metric fucktonne of things to disturb you, it’s probably worth a look-in. If not anything else, it’s a great example of how to write fucked up explicit sex without excusing it as BDSM or romance or perfectly normal.)

Anyway, in The Flesh Cartel, the dominant abusive dude actually has a similar discussion with one of “his” “slaves” about buying stuff for said slave because it pleases him to do so and that the recipient should be a good little submissive party and bloody well be grateful for it.

“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” I whisper.

“No, but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.” His eyes turn wary.

That doesn’t sound promising. I don’t know about ANY contract EVER being retroactive, either,  hence why people do things like date contracts and why he was so anxious for Ana to sign the damn thing, and even in a bodgy sex contract, making it retroactive seems both unfair and to kill the whole mood-setting point of the damn thing. It’s a bit like hooking up with someone and then deciding that all the times they hooked up with people prior to you, they were cheating on you.

To me, that sounds really fucking ominous. Once again, I have this sense that I’m going to have a great deal of fun when this becomes a movie because getting to re-cut it as a horror trailer is going to be awesome.

Anyway, Ana realises she’s not going to win this one, and offers to donate the books to a group helping Darfur. Grey’s disappointed, but Ana says she’ll think about it, which seems to cheer him up a bit. Rail-fucking-roaded. Again.

And then he tells her not to think. Not about this, and we get this:

How can I not think? You can pretend to be a car, like his other possessions.

Other than the fact that I have visions of her running around going “Brrrrm, brrm brrrrrrrummmm!” like she’s a presenter on Playschool pretending to be a car, I’m just shaking my head going, “Huh?” about the whole thing.

My subconscious makes an unwelcome vitriolic return. I ignore her. Oh, can’t we rewind? The atmosphere between us is now tense, I don’t know what to do. I stare down at my fingers. How do I retrieve this situation?

Why are his immature little passive-aggressive moods your responsibility, Ana? He might be the dominant here, but he’s still responsible for keeping himself in check and not doing things to you which might hurt you: didn’t that stupid fucking contract state this sort of thing?

He tells Ana he will buy her lots of things and that she has to get used to it, Ana goes all inwardly slut-shamey again, and then agrees to it and it all feels very de ja vu, but with Grey telling her not to overthink things or worry about what other people might think of her.

Which is contradictory to an insanely stupid level, because all Ana seems to DO is worry about what other people think of her, be they Grey, or Kate or Jose or a couple of random girls at her graduation. Apparently when Grey tells her this, though, it’s different and he wants to buy her stuff. They enjoy their champagne in teacups, and then he congratulates her on the graduation.

I’m a bit surprised, because I wasn’t expecting him to do that. It’s, like, the first time this guy has actually thought about stuff Ana’s doing for her. And then in the next breath, she’s reminding him of what they should be celebrating and asks about the soft limits.

Grey kind of ignores that and they have dull nothing conversation about how bare the place looks and about Ray and about the wine at the graduation, and Grey says he’d help her move but he’s getting his sister from the airport the next day. (I forgot about Alice and Rosalie in Twilight, I figured E. L. James would have left them out because they’re just useless female characters or something, but nope.) The conversation shifts from that to Kate and Elliot. And then, to move things along, Ana mentions she’s gone for a few internship roles at publishing houses and she’s so damned evasive about where and what and what she wants to do that you wonder why she even mentioned it to begin with. She knows he’s going to be peeved about it, and yet she brings it up, and THEN she gets all coy about it.

Ana’s career aspirations, by the way, after however many years and dollars of study, boil down to “something in publishing.” I hope she interviews better than that, because more likely in this economy, it’s going to be “something in retail” for a little while, until of course, management realise she doesn’t actually have a personality.

After this, Grey decides they’re going to talk about the limits. He conveniently has a copy of the email and the list on hand, and gets ready after giving Ana more booze and asking if she’s eaten. (Which would be your cue, dear reader, to take a drink in the 50 Shades of Alcohol Poisoning Drinking Game.)

I’ll be honest: I’ve never actually heard of “hard” and “soft” limits in BDSM play, so I assume this is something that E. L. James had researched, and possibly researched more thoroughly than anything else in this book. Or she’s found, like, the one BDSM website that mentions it and has a whole heap of really fucked up stuff on it, and used that as her fountain of knowledge. I don’t know. My understanding of “No” means, “No,” though later down the track the person saying “No” might want to change their mind and give something a try, but until they do that, it still means “No,” and if something’s hit a point where they’re safewording, it means “Stop this right fucking now and let’s not even go close to that again until there’s been some proper discussion about it and the person who’s safeworded has indicated that they want that activity.” I don’t know if that’s normal or not, and I hope I’m not pathologising or shaming anyone here, but for a book that is meant to be about romantic escapist fantasy, there is a hell of a lot of this sort of discussion which is getting really kind of boring. This thing is so unrealistic and the depiction of BDSM is so flawed already that inclusions like this just look like a padded NaNoWriMo novel. But brace yourselves, folks, we’re in for more of this.

I want purple prose and LOLsex. Really. (Actually, I’ll be honest: I want to go back to reading The Administration. And I’ll be a bit more honest: I read Pancakes last night because I wanted some sexy fluff.)

And I’m wondering something here: does E. L. James have to work herself up to writing sex? I’ll admit: I started out doing that, and there are still some sex scenes that I get really twitchy about writing. In the early days, where I was writing much more innocent stuff, though, writing full blown explicit sex was nerve-wracking for me. I may or may not have indulged in particular substances in order to relax a bit to be able to silence the inner editor. (Which was fine for a bit and then I became utterly paranoid about EVERYTHING and would start remembering every mistake ever from the most minuscule social blunder from ten years ago to embarrassing fuckups from a few hours ago to terrible things I’d written as a kid and wound up having one of those life-affirming don’t-do-drugs,-kids moments of clarity and realised that I didn’t need drugs and excessive levels of paranoia and self-loathing in order to write the ol’ in-out. I’m glad I had this realisation early in my life and got that out of my system rather than had such a revelation and all that performance anxiety in my forties or something.)

I seriously feel like she does, and it’s like she’s delaying it for as long as possible and then she bites the bullet and does, and goes all giggly and weird and we get “down there”s this and man-popsicles that and everything being fervent all the damn time.

(Or maybe, she’s more accustomed to writing slashfic, and this was her first go at het fanfiction, hence the awful. I could forgive her for that except for this: I haven’t tried to get any of the hideous het I’ve attempted to wrote published.)

Anyway, this is part of that delay.

 

He smiles that oh-so-smug private smile of his, holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses.

“Have you eaten anything?”

 

Instead of going, “I’m not some starving child in Darfur, dude,” like I probably would have, Ana thinks to herself

Oh no… not this old chestnut.

I’ve never heard that phrase before. It doesn’t sound very… Ana. But hey. It’s better than some of her other thoughts.

“Yes… I had a three-course meal with Ray.” I roll my eyes at him. The champagne is making me bold.

He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes.

“Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”

What?

“Oh,” I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes.

“Oh,” he responds, mirroring my tone. “So it begins, Anastasia.”

Two things: a) when they make Fifty Shades of Grey on Broadway, there so needs to be a song called So It Begins, because that’s like this book’s catchphrase, since the glorious Mr. Takei has dibs on “Oh my.” And thing b) Congratulations, Mr. Grey: you’ve effectively shown Ana how to top from the bottom if she’s so inclined. (My money’s on Ana later deciding to “act up” so she gets attention-in-the-form-of-punishment from Grey, personally.)

My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat. Why is that hot?

Um, whatever diddles yer skittle, Ana, but the thought of insects getting crushed in my throat (after reflux) while I’m experiencing something that sounds like a panic attack brought on my asthma doesn’t sound hot at all. Maybe asphyxiation should be on your list of things you’re into, girlie. Again, no judgement from me, but seriously, you could have gone with a sexier description. It’s a bit like that time I was reading a yaoi manga and in one sentence the writer (or the translator) managed to use a description which involved comparisons to a child, to urination and which described something that sounded like a really bad STD. For pre-cum. Can we say, “Moodkilling, 101, ladies and gentlemen”?

 

He fills my cup, and I drink practically all of it. Chastened, I stare up at him.

“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”

I nod.

“Answer me.”

And I’m nodding, too. Nodding off, that is. I hope the biggest complaint about this-as-a-movie will be “They changed all the dialogue,” because that, folks, read like the non-script of the opening few moments of a porno.

“Yes… you’ve got my attention.”

“Good,” he smiles a knowing smile.

(Just a side point, but I believe that should be a full stop after “Good,” and that it’s the start of a new sentence describing his smile. But hey, I dropped out of school when I was 14, what the fuck would I know?)

“So. Sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.”

Which is precisely why I believe that E. L. James is nervy about writing the rumpy-pumpy. Even her characters are admitting that they’ve already gone through this, and unless this is modern literature where you’re superimposing themes over one another to make a godamned point, this is all superfluous and should have been red-penned by the editor well before the book got printed.

Anyway, we get another Sex Contract List, which includes stuff they most definitely haven’t done (unless I really managed to skim that much of the painfully bad sex scenes) and which Grey is most likely hoping she’ll skim over and say yes to as well, I’m guessing, but, well, Anal fisting.

Even Ana isn’t stupid and oblivious enough to not notice that. I can hope. I don’t know: I await the next page and her reaction with anticipation…

“Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”

Given that she was saying she didn’t even know how to get off prior to Grey, I don’t think Ana knows what floats her boat. But I’m siding with Ana on this one, for one reason only, and that reason is this: I have read a lot of really bad slashfic sex scenes. I haven’t read anal sex written by E. L. James yet, and I’m guessing that it’s probably something someone could live a perfectly awesome life without reading.

“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I would really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we’ll wait for that. Besides, it’s not something we can dive into. Your ass will need training.”

Oh, puh-lease. Someone’s got an enormously overrated idea about the size of their equipment, don’t they?

“Training?” I whisper.

I’ve only ever come across “training” being used in fictions in this manner when people have been working up to sticking stuff in there which is, like, a whole lot bigger than what tends to come out of it. Like enormous Hagrid-sized dildos. (I’m sure everyone’s thanking me for that visual. No worries, folks, I’ll be here all week.) Or their fists, which Ana’s already said a serious “No way, bro,” to.

“Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation.

Dude: two basic concepts: lube, and timing. *rolls eyes* Seriously, I’m wondering if E. L. James only did minimal research on this, too.

Anal intercourse can be very pleasurable, trust me.

Unfortunately, this isn’t really much of a safety endorsement given Grey’s previous behaviour. Because yeah, dude, you’re totally trustworthy.

But if we try it and you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” He grins down at me.

That was interesting to me: notice the use of words: “If we try it” and “if you don’t like it.” Way to put the tilt of everything onto Ana’s concept of the activity. Frankly, if I was doing something with someone and they weren’t enjoying it, odds would be that I wouldn’t be enjoying it much, either, particularly if it was an activity which was meant to be enjoyable for both parties.

It reeks of Grey’s creepy blame game thing that he does where everything becomes about him and Ana “defying” him even when she’s not. Also, hello: even if they both have a wonderful time with it, if Ana doesn’t want to go in for an encore performance, guess what? She doesn’t have to, because sex, and BDSM games are bout this thing called consent.

Anyway, Ana cottons onto the very thing I was thinking about and wonders how the hell Grey knows that it “can be pleasurable” and asks Grey about it.

“Have you done that?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

Holy crap. I gasp.

And, folks, that’s where I giggle, because I’ve been on the internet and in some of the interesting fandoms for far too long. (There’s a GIF of Trucy Wright that was doing the rounds where she’s gasping, and someone’s added the text “But I poop from there!” to it, and now, that has popped into my mind.)

“With a man?”

“No. I’ve never had sex with a man. Not my scene.”

Well, damn, Grey: if Ana has to try all this new fandangled stuff she doesn’t think floats her boat, maybe you should, too. I vote Jose. Or Toreth, especially if it’s in an Administration interrogation room and Sara gets to type up the transcript.

Ahem.

“Mrs. Robinson?”

“Yes.”

Holy shit… how? I frown. He moves on down the list.

He doesn’t explain. And I wanted an explanation initially …and then remembered that he was, like, a kid when he hooked up with Mrs. Robinson, (and holy shit The Graduate was never this fucked up, was it?)—and now I’m more than perfectly fine not having details.

Ana then asks about swallowing semen.

To which, I present this link http://www.winextra.com/wacky/semen-the-mystery-ingredient-in-your-cooking/ (Which is, actually, safe for work. Though probably not safe for work if you’re in the middle of eating something, but hang on, this blog is not safe for work). And then http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/michael-douglas-oral-sex-caused-my-throat-cancer/story-e6frfmq9-1226655871366 this one, about what Michael Douglas says about swallowing semen.

But in all fairness, I think the Michael Douglas one might be a little bit over the top, not to mention, Shades was written before Douglas came out and said that.

Anyway, it’s of little interest to the discussion, since Grey has already awarded Ana an “A” (presumably for “Awesome,” rather than “Acceptable”) for her, erm, semen-swallowing skills. Because I’m prone to be an overachieving perfectionist at times, of course I wonder what she’s to do in order to get an A plus? Gargle while singing I Will Always Love You with it?

I flush, and my inner goddess smacks her lips together, glowing with pride.

This is the same inner goddess who was slut-shaming her a few paragraphs ago because Grey wanted to give her stuff. Apparently when Grey wants to give her semen, that’s okay.

“So?” He looks down at me grinning. “Swallowing semen okay?”

I nod, not able to look him in the eye, and drain my cup again.

“More?” he asks.

“More.” And suddenly I’m reminded of our conversation earlier today as he refills my cup. Is he referring to that or just the champagne? Is this whole champagne thing more?

I love how Ana is so seriously naïve about, you know, pretty much everything, and then over analyses something as clearly obvious as him offering her more grog. And speaking of that: how many glasses of champagne are in this bottle? And how many has she had already? Remember: this is the girl who went seriously kaput after five margaritas. From personal experience: champagne can send me right off like a complete nutter. (I might be able to have a normal conversation with someone after half a bottle of gin or whiskey or one of those margaritas that’s bigger than my head, but a couple of glasses of champagne and it starts getting very embarrassing for me.)

‘More,’ it seems, in Greyspeak, means sex toys, so we get a list of sex toys and a discussion thereof.

“Butt plug? Does it do what it says on the box?” I scrunch up my nose in distaste.

I dunno what else she thinks something with such an obvious descriptor could do, and upon reading this, I sigh heavily, expecting a blow-by-boring-blow of what various sex toys do. Then again, maybe I’m wrong. She figured out what nipple clamps were, didn’t she?

Grey’s sex toy list has that loophole of “other” listed, which he assures Ana means things like “beads and eggs” and we get a description of that, of course, because Ana assumes that eggs means the kind laid by chooks. And I’m pretty sure someone’s already called a Rule 34 on that on, so I’m not going to go looking for it, though all I can hope is that if people get into that shit, those eggs are hard boiled. Otherwise, my initial reaction of “Ew” goes a whole lot more “Ew.”

Anyway, Ana’s confusion about the eggs makes Grey laugh. This offends her.

“Anastasia,” he cajoles. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve never had this conversation in so much detail. You’re just so inexperienced. I’m so sorry.” His eyes are big and grey and sincere.

At least his eyes don’t change colour: E. L. James gets points for that.

From there on, the discussion moves on to bondage equipment, and there are, like, another ten pages of this, so I’m going to hurry things along now. Ladies and gentlemen, we have the internet, and so does Ana, presumably, and therefore research on BDSM sex gear should have happened.

Before we get to that list, though, Ana’s inner goddess deserves a mention for this gem.

I examine the list and my inner goddess bounces up and down like a small child waiting for ice cream.

Yet again, E. L. James does that thing that icks me out where she makes references to little kids in sexytimes. It’s really fucking unnerving. Also, how can Ana get excited about a list of stuff she’s unfamiliar with?

Luckily, the list ain’t too difficult. “Bondage with [blah blah blah] is pretty much what it consists of, of course with the loophole of “other,” so theoretically, while Ana’s agreed to “bondage with rope,” if Grey wants to tie her up with Jose’s small intestine, she’s agreeing to that if that since she’s agreed to “other,” I guess.

There I was, thinking all that was over when Ana said “Fine,” but then we get into positions.

“Does the submissive agree to be restrained with [insert poses and positions here]” is pretty much the go there, with a few implements added in and the suggestion of suspension. Frankly suspension with Grey seems like a risk since he’s admitted that he fucked that one up quite honestly before, but then again, a relationship with a dude who implies that cable ties are a good sex toy seems risky as well.

Oh, and there’s a mention of blind folding and gagging. Which makes me hope like all hell that there’s some sort of plan b) because what happens when Ana needs to safeword when she can’t speak, right?

Afraid he’ll laugh, Ana asks what a spreader bar is.

“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologised twice.” He glares at me. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warns.

I’m raising an eyebrow here. She might be a submissive, but she deserves to be treated with basic respect, douchepie, and that includes apologising when you’ve come across as thoughtless or mean or rude.

Anyway, Ana worries that she won’t be able to safeword if she’s gagged, and Grey offers this:

“First of all, I hope you will never have to use them.

(Yeah, I honestly hope I’ll never have to use the ambulance cover my health insurance has, but you know what? It’s there and usable just in case I need it. )

But if you’re gagged, we’ll use hand signals,” he says, simply.

Ana thinks exactly what I was thinking on this, too: how the fuck do you use hand signals if you’re also restrained and likely to have issues moving? Good question. But because Ana doesn’t voice it, or E. L. James hasn’t thought of a way for her romantic hero to answer, or there’s no way Grey could answer that and not sound like a cretin, we simply get him noting that he’ll take into account that she’s nervy about gagging.

“Do you like tying your submissives up so they can’t touch you?”

He gazes at me, his eyes widening.

“That’s one of the reasons,” he says quietly.

“Is that why you’ve tied my hands?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like talking about that,” I murmur.

“No, I don’t. Would you like another drink? It’s making you brave and I need to know how you feel about pain.”

Oh, wow. Firstly, the explicit Do Not Talk About My Aphephobia schtick is getting old. Secondly, plying someone with booze in this sort of discussion is just as awful as Jose filling Ana with margaritas in order to wear down her defences and assault her. Seriously, this is why I’m sailing the good ship Kate-Ana. (It could also be named—you know how fangirls name their ships?— it could be called Katana. And that’s fucking awesome.) Because nearly all the men in this book suck.

Anyway, they then get to talking about pain, because that’s what you do when you’re Grey and you don’t want to talk about something: you change the subject quite obviously like any other mature adult would, right?

“So what’s your general attitude to receiving pain?” Christian looks expectantly at me. “You’re biting your lip,” he says darkly.

I’m reminded by those times I’ve beta read and said that “try not to use adverbs that liberally…” but there was no beta reader here let alone an editor.

I stop immediately, but I don’t know what to say. I flush and stare down at my hands.

“Were you physically punished as a child?”

“No.”

“So you have no sphere of reference at all?”

“No.”

 

You know, that’s possibly a good thing, because making someone relive possibly traumatic childhood stuff during sex play might not be the smartest and best idea. While I’m not really of the opinion that the occasional smack destroys a kid’s psyche, I’m also not of the opinion that it’s a fair, effective way to discipline kids. But I can only imagine someone who was hit– especially if it was with stuff– as a child, by a parent, for “disciplinary” reasons might react to this sort of thing. (One would think Grey would have a bit more sensitivity and familiarity since there have been fifteen other women in his life. But apparently not.)

“It’s not as bad as you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this,” he whispers.

Hmmm. Not sure about that one. There have been cases of people being seriously abused in what some said was “BDSM play,” because it was “consensual,” and even with my pain tolerance, I’ll say this: some things go beyond what the imagination can come up with. I don’t think I could have imagined how much a fractured sacrum hurts—initially the pain was so bad that I couldn’t sleep even though I was tired and had chugged down a heap of painkillers—if I hadn’t actually done it myself. I didn’t think something could hurt so much that I wouldn’t even swear when it happened. Another one—which actually makes me cringe thinking about it: mastitis. Imagine every cell of your body is on fire and there is absolutely no end in sight. And I’m pretty sure both of those are absolutely nothing on some particular torture techniques utilised over time. I know it’s depressing, but no shit, sometimes there is shit you don’t even want to imagine. Maybe there’s shit you can’t even begin to imagine because if you did, trying to deal with it would fuck you up so enormously that the mind needs to protect itself.

So… yeah. I call horseshit on that one, Grey. Especially if you’re trusting a dude who shows no respect for boundaries to be the one metering out pain with his self-centred worldview.

 

“Do you have to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Goes with the territory, Anastasia. It’s what I do.

Hang on: it’s punishment. Theoretically, then, Anastasia could avoid it. If it’s “what you do,” then punishment ceases to be a reason for it and it comes down to being about someone getting off on it. Oh, I forgot. I’m overthinking this, aren’t I?

I can see you’re nervous. Let’s go through methods.”

He shows me the list. My subconscious runs, screaming, and hides behind the couch.

The list includes the usual variations on “getting hit in some form or another with some object or another” and basic clamps and temperature sensation stuff. And then includes that nice little loophole of other. This is why internet research is a good thing, Ana: surely I’m not the only person who noticed that there was nothing on any of those lists about figging or sounding, right?

“Well you said no to genital clamps. That’s fine. It’s caning that hurts the most.”

I blanch.

“We can work up to that.”

“Or not do it at all,” I whisper.

Yeah. Wasn’t some of that stuff negotiable? It’s not like there aren’t other “hits Ana with stuff” options on the menu.

Apparently I’m wrong.

“This is part of the deal, baby, but we’ll work up to all of this. Anastasia, I won’t push you too far.”

Right. You’ll just push her, then wait for her to say no, then ignore her for a bit, wait for her to come back apologetic and scared you’re going to leave, and then give her a reworded proposal for what she just said no to. I’ve seen this before, wiseguy.

Grey then puts his nice guy face on and Ana admits she’s scared, he says they’ll work up to it eventually, and that they won’t start out with caning, and then he says there’s one more thing before he takes her to bed.

“Bed?” I blink rapidly, and my blood pounds through my body warming places I didn’t know existed until very recently.

Anyone would think with a reaction like that that “bed” was a place she didn’t know existed until very recently.

Also, speaking of things that you don’t know exist until recently, did you know that a lot of people don’t know that the little dangly bit on your tonsils on top of your mouth is called the uvula? Apparently there are a whole heap of people who don’t know that until they’re in adulthood.

See? Fun AND educational.

“Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you, too.”

I squirm. My inner goddess is panting.

What the fuck? I feel like I’m coming across as a judgmental arsehole, but was this meant to be sexy? Because it was about as sexy as reading a shopping list while my kids are arguing about who gets to go on the computer and who’s been playing Minecraft all day. Maybe I’m really not cut out for this chick lit stuff, because lists of BDSM stuff and this dialogue surrounding negotiation isn’t making me feel hot.

“See? Besides, there’s something I want to try.”

“Something painful?”

“No—stop seeing pain everywhere. It’s mainly pleasure. Have I hurt you yet?”

I flush. “No.”

Anyway, this stunted and awkward conversation goes to a new territory, because apparently Ana is The Different One, and Grey then comes out with:

“Well then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more,” he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.

Oh my… where is this going?

RUN. Run run run run run and don’t turn around, don’t look back, just run. Now I know this chick lit stuff really doesn’t work on me because this sounds like the ultimate nightmare other than the bit about Grey wanting to buy her stuff. I think this is meant to be romantic and shit but arrrrrrrgh no no no run run run—

He clasps my hand.

“Outside of the time that you’re my sub, perhaps we could try. I don’t know if it will work. I don’t know about separating everything. It may not work. But I’m willing to try. Maybe one night a week. I don’t know.”

Hang on, one of his nights, or one of her nights off? This hardly seems equal and fair: more like a carrot he’s dangling in front of her so she’ll agree to stuff she might not otherwise want to agree to. While she’s been drinking. Nice going, arsehole.

Ana, of course, doesn’t even consider this and gets all excited about the prospect of more with Christian Grey.

“I have one condition.” He looks warily at my stunned expression.

“What?” I breathe. Anything. I’ll give you anything.

Here’s the bit where I’m inwardly groaning: my inner psychic is predicting a My First Anal Sex section. I’m bracing myself for horrid names for body parts that I had never considered before.

 

“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”

“Oh.” And deep down, I know what it is. Dread spawns in my gut.

He’s staring at me, gauging my reaction.

It’s something that wasn’t on the list and that falls under one of the “other”s, isn’t it?

“Come,” he murmurs and rises, dragging me up. Taking his jacket off, he drapes it over my shoulders and heads for the door.

Parked outside is a red hatchback car, a two-door compact Audi.

“It’s for you. Happy graduation,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and kissing my hair.

 

Did Ana really expect that? To be honest, that one actually threw me, because even though I knew he bought her a car at some point, I was expecting the gift to be in the form of a new experience given all the talk about that stuff earlier on, so E. L. James gets a nod for surprising me. I love, though, how non-descript the car is: when Ana was describing Grey’s car, we had so much information even the Top Gear dudes would have been bored to snores. Now we know very little about this car except that it’s more product placement for Audi.

He’s bought me a damned car, brand-new by the looks of it. Jeez… I’ve had enough trouble with the books. I stare at it blankly, trying desperately to determine how I feel about this.

She has to analyse this feeling? No shit, this ain’t complicated. He bought you a fucking car. Yanno, personally, I’d be driving that thing interstate once I had my name on the registration, but your mileage may vary (I know, I know: I couldn’t resist).

I am appalled on one level, grateful on another, shocked that he’s actually done it, but the overriding emotion is anger. Yes, I’m angry, especially after everything I told him about the books… but then he’d already bought this.

Dude. He said he’d buy you stuff and that he was worried about the car you’re driving being a death trap. Yanno, if I had to tolerate this douchebag, I’d be accepting the car quite happily.

Meh. It all gets pretty boring from there on out: he explains that Ray was all for it, that the Beetle wasn’t safe, and Ana says she’s happy to accept it as a loan, like the laptop.

Anyway, he’s angry, and we get that whole hot and heavy “I want to fuck you on the hood of this car I just bought you” thing and Ana thinks yet again about how she wants him and then he goes all scary and possessive and cave-man-y and drags her inside, and Ana gets scared of her because he’s angry.

It’s like some sort of bastardised masochism tango. And I feel like I’ve devoted way too much time to this chapter because it’s all de ja vu anyway and just arrgh. By now, the complete lack of character development and growth for these central characters over the last, what, three hundred pages I’ve been reading about them seems painfully evident, too, and I’m just getting seriously pissy now.

Ana apologises to him. Ana’s fear and complete lack of self-esteem are so obvious here that it’s cringe-inducing to read, to be honest, and it’s pretty much the complete opposite of romance.

Grey ignores her fear and tells her to turn around because he wants to get her naked. He takes her dress off, there’s yet another reference to her flawless skin, and then he does his trademark exploring her body with his nose and hands thing and I think I read this same sex scene a few chapters ago and I wonder if my lives in Candy Crush Saga have regenerated and oh my god, sex scenes should not be this tedious. Ever. The fact that this book is apparently saving marriages is depressing, especially since, well: if this is fixing years of sex that was worse than this, well… it begs the question “Why would anyone WANT to save this marriage?”

Maybe I’m being mean. I don’t care. Apparently this book is full of E. L. James’ personal fantasies, and while part of me wants to cheer her on for having the moxie to jot all that down and make cash out of it, that’s quickly shot down by the fact that crappy self-esteem and shame and insecurity seems to feature heavily in these fantasies. And if that’s E. L.’s bent, fine. But just like Mary Sue fanfiction inserts serving a fantasy role: it’s a bit fucking arrogant to assume that your readers are going to be down with that shit as much as you are. It’s a bit like masturbation: good for you, but you don’t need to do it in public.

Anyway, Grey gets her partially undressed.

Leaning down, he inhales my hair.

I’m not sure how you inhale hair. Inhaling air is possible, though “he inhales my air” sounds like fart fetish play, but since the next sentence is him describing how good she smells, it sounds more logical that this is a typo rather than that Grey is inhaling her hair. (How do you inhale hair? You inhale oxygen. You inhale gases. You inhale that not-so-glorious stench of a fellow public transport user who doesn’t know what deodorant is or who has no concept of “too much perfume.” You inhale cocaine. You do not, ladies and gentlemen, inhale hair.)

“You smell so good, Anatasia. So sweet.”

I’m guessing this is more evidence of this having been a Twilight fanfic because Cullen would be saying that about Bella’s blood, right, though why he would be smelling her hair is beyond me as well.

What follows this is some sort-of foreplay which gives me another case of de ja vu where he plays with her breasts and compliments her and stuff, only this time he asks her if he should make her orgasm by just touching her nipples.

“You like this, don’t you, Miss Steele?”

“Mmm…”

“Tell me.” He continues the slow, sensuous torture, pulling gently.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what.”

NB: Not my typo, there is in fact no question mark after “what” in the above sentence.

“Yes… Sir.”

“Good girl.” He pinches me hard, and my body writhes convulsively against his front.

I’m trying to work out how this actually works: one minute Ana is scared of pain, next thing, she’s getting off on it. From my understanding, you hurt someone when they’re not expecting it completely, say, when you’re doing sensuous sexytimes stuff, and there’s a bit of shock and “ow” and an interrupt, not what’s looking suspiciously like an orgasm. Unless they’re really into getting off on pain. And usually, if that’s the case, they’re not scared of pain and would be a bit more open to the BDSM stuff than Ana is.

This brings me to another pet hate of mine in writing: when there’s no conditioning or buildup to responses. This book has had so much build up to the first sex scene—and then, there’s all this naivete and “innocence” and suddenly Ana fucks like a very experienced porn star. One minute Ana detests pain, next thing, she gets off on it. No, ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t work like that. But it can be delightful—or intimate—or character-building—or just plain interesting to see a couple doing that “getting to know one another’s bodies” first times awkwardness stuff. Or it can be awesomely head-fucky. Again, I refer to that epic Ace Attorney fic where there are messed up people doing the pain-and-pleasure thing with sex, but that’s written far better than this because there’s a gradual progression for the character who basically comes to associate pain with sexual energy and attention and care. It’s beautifully done and this sort of stuff fascinates me, so I feel really fucking cheated that E. L. James really hasn’t explored that.

I gasp at the exquisite, acute pleasure/pain. I feel him against me. I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.

“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet,” he whispers, stilling his hands, and he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. “Besides, you have displeased me.”

Oh… no, what will this mean? My brain registers through the fog of needy desire as I groan.

I’m groaning, too. At how fucking clichéd this is sounding.

Grey threatens to not let her come—hmm—orgasm denial, where have we seen that one before? I KNOW: it’s like, the number one punishment Grey meters out. Newsflash: orgasm denial isn’t torture. Not in the way Ana seems to think it is. It’s annoying, yes, but compared to punishment that physically hurts someone, it’s not exactly comparable, especially not for someone like Ana.

His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see… holy shit.

Holy shit is right. For one thing, I’m trying to imagine the positioning of them now, for another: is this guy fucking Wolverine? Seriously, underwear isn’t that fucking flimsy, and shredding underwear is yet another thing I don’t think belongs in a romance fic. Actually, given what we know about Ana and her fastidiousness about non-wrinkled clothing and needing to wear clean knickers all the time, I’m pretty sure this would hardly be romantic for her.

His hands move down to my sex, and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.

“Oh yes. My sweet girl is ready,” he breathes as he whirls me around so I’m facing him. His breathing has quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth. “You taste so fine, Miss Steele.” He sighs.

Holy shit. His finger tastes salty …from me.

Firstly, how the fuck does she know? Oh, because he had her tasting her emissions in a previous chapter. Secondly, on that: what’s with that? Anyone’d think this is one of those awkward not-so-subtle authorial TMI moments for James where she’s unwittingly revealed a bit of a thing for this. Thirdly, the dialogue is painful.

(And fourthly: I have a copy of Zero Dark Thirty, fresh from the DVD shop, sitting next to me. Because of my crazy work schedule and me having friends who tend to generally like more upbeat films (and kids who I’d rather not freak out), I didn’t get to see it at the cinemas and I really wanted to. The temptation to just go “Screw it” and stop reading and watch the film instead is enormous.)  I also have an adorable foster cat who is advocating strongly for me to get off the computer because she wants TV time cuddles with me.)

Grey then asks Ana to undress him. Ana’s nervy because she hasn’t undressed a man before, so she reaches for his t-shirt, which is apparently the wrong thing to do.

“Oh no.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” His eyes are alive with excitement.

Oh… this is news… I can touch with clothes. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection.

“This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele.”

I gasp and flex my fingers around his girth, and he grins.

 

Um, again: de ja vu. Also, one would think Ana has realised this. Does Grey think she’s really that dim or is she actually that dim? (I suspect the latter since she gasped at his erection. It’s not like this is unfamiliar territory.)

“I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.”

Holy fuck… my in charge. My mouth drops open.

Hmmm… interesting. He’s bottoming from the top, I guess. And fucking around a bit with Ana’s head. And it was kind of unexpected, so the whole effect is interesting. Unfortunately, the remainder of the sex scene isn’t, so I’m going to give you a skimmed version:

She pushes him onto the bed, tells him that he has to keep still, he commands her to put a condom on him, he chastises her for (glug, glug) biting her lip, and she pulls down his pants. Unsurprisingly, there’s an erect penis in there.

Holy Moses, he’s all mine to play with, and suddenly it’s Christmas.

And we all know that Christmas only comes once a year, Ana. Urrgh. That was a pretty bad comparison.

Ana starts doing the blowjob thing until he eases her off and says he doesn’t want to come, which sort of undermines her being in charge, but hey, consistency ain’t something I’m expecting any more here—and then he tells her to get on top of him and put a condom on him.

Holy crap. How?

This is precisely why we need to have safe sex education in high schools.

Luckily, even though it seems that Ana didn’t get any, Grey gives her a quick instructional on how to use frangers, which kills the moment. I realise promoting safe sex is a good thing. I like it when writers do it and add some human *issues* with contraception awkwardness. But in porn, instructions feel awkward.

And very slowly, concentrating hard, I do as I’m told.

“Christ, you’re killing me here, Anastasia,” he groans.

I admire my handiwork and him. He really is a fine specimen of a man. Looking at him is very, very arousing.

I would rather know why looking at him is so arousing rather than just be told that it is, but hey.

Anyway, sex happens.

“That’s right, baby, feel me, all of me,” he growls, and briefly closes his eyes.

Achievement unlocked: Woman on Top sex successful.

That’s really all that needs saying about that. It should be obvious by now that Ana has picked that up like a pro, and is having a magical moment with him. Their eyes even lock.

I am fucking him. I am in charge. He’s mine and I’m his. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge.

HUH? She hasn’t been in charge except for pushing him onto the bed—and that was pages ago—and when the fuck did she get weighted with concrete? I’m over the weird random metaphors, James. One thing is clear though: the orgasm-inducer is the idea of fulfilling the clingy tendencies. So it’s kind of creepy and sad rather than sexy, from my angle.

Anyway, he orgasms, and I sigh with relief because it’s the end of another chapter.

 

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Fifteen

Christian is standing over me grasping a plaited leather riding crop. He’s wearing old, faded, ripped Levis and that is all.

Whoa nelly. One moment it’s emails this and passive-aggression that and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again angst from Ana, and now we get riding crops? Did the editor, like, miss a huge chunk of missing book? Did E. L. James get bored actually writing this and just skip to the kink?

He flicks the crop slowly into his palm as he gazes down at me. He’s smiling, triumphant. I cannot move. I am naked and shackled, spread-eagled on a large four-poster bed. Reaching forward, he trails the tip of the crop from my forehead down the length of my nose so I can smell the leather, and over my parted, panting lips. He pushes the tip into my mouth so I can taste the smooth, rich leather.

In lieu of getting too much description about clothing and décor, we’re now getting adjectives thrown around like they’re how-to-vote cards about sex toys. (I swear, I am this close to making up a game where I write ridiculous descriptions and take excerpts from this book and then muddle them all up and people are invited to guess which ones are from the book and which ones are from my twisted imagination.­)

“Suck,” he commands, his voice soft. My mouth closes over the tip as I obey.

“Enough,” he snaps.

Yeah. Surely that’s not particularly hygienic.

I’m panting once more as he tugs the crop out of my mouth, trails it down and under my chin, on down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat. He swirls it slowly there and then continues to drag the tip down my body, along my sternum, between my breasts, over my torso, down to my navel. I’m panting, squirming, pulling against my restraints that are biting into my wrists and my ankles. He swirls the tip around my navel then continues to trail the leather tip south, through my pubic hair to my clitoris.

Reading this makes me realise what people mean when they say they’re padding the wordcount for their NaNoWriMo creation with a sex scene or two.

Also, I’m amazed that Ana knows what her clitoris is. Given that she didn’t know how to get herself off only a few chapters ago and seems to have pretty much zilch in the way of sex ed beyond classic novels, fuck knows how she figured that one out.

He flicks the crop and it hits my sweet spot with a sharp slap, and I come, gloriously shouting my release.

Whoa. What. The. Everloving. Sweet. Fuckery. Was. That?

He hit her in the ladyparts with a wet riding crop, people.

Seriously, E. L. what the hell? I don’t know about readers’ mileage or experience, but I guess you aren’t like the friend and I who had an epic battle  of epic with riding crops in a sex shop: those things sting. Combine that with the sting of getting hit with something wet, and, well, ow. Add a third dimension to the equation: Ever had something really stingy and painful—say, a urinary tract infection—in your nether regions, too? I can only imagine that getting hit with a wet riding crop in one’s “sweet spot” would be enough to make anyone scream… bloody murder. (Unless they were a serious masochist, I suppose.)

Turns out that the whole thing is just a dream sequence, so the fact that it was kind of dodgy and not especially sexy is okay.

I put my head in my hands. I didn’t know I could dream sex.

Oh, wow. People can dream about things that they haven’t done—flying, for example. Killing people. Robot mutant apocalypse. If the human brain can come up with these things… surely sex isn’t that weird. Or are Ana’s dreams as bland as her waking life?

Even Kate notices something’s up with Ana and comments that she looks odd, and asks if Ana’s wearing Grey’s jacket. (Well duh. No… she spent the night in a Salvation Army donation bin and grabbed something random to wear. I suppose she does look kinda odd, though I thought Kate was a trifle less oblivious.) Then again, maybe Ana is blissfully smiling and since she seems to hate everything ever, I can imagine seeing her look blissed out is a rare thing, so maybe Kate’s picked up on that.

“How was dinner?”

And so it begins.

What begins? Kate asking what I’d consider a polite, fairly typical question that you’d ask your girlfriend who you loaned a dress to go out to a dinner date in? I think this is meant to be the Kate Kavanagh Interrogation, which, like everything else about this book, is far more hyped up than the reality.

Ana talks about the food, which isn’t what Kate wants to know about, so then she says that Christian is very attentive.

For a student of the English language, Ana is fucking clueless. “Attentive” and “seriously fucking creepy” are not synonymous. Or is this just huge amounts of denial from Ana?

Realising she doesn’t want to talk about the sex contract stuff with Kate, Ana tells her that he doesn’t approve of her car. Kate is dismissive and asks why Ana is being so coy. Ana manages to evade that by making tea and Kate asks if she wants to hear Kate’s graduation speech. Apparently Kate is the valedictorian of the class and they get to give speeches in graduations: not having been to a graduation ceremony myself, I don’t know how accurate that is, but hey, it happened in Legally Blonde, so why the fuck not?

Ana starts thinking about the dream again and for a change, about Christian.

I am so confused. Christian’s idea of a relationship is more like a job offer. It has set hours, a job description, and a rather harsh grievance procedure.

Which would violate every law known to man about workplace sexual harassment, I strongly suspect. But anyway, it’s all just to get her in the right mindset, remember? *rolls eyes*

It’s not how I envisioned my first romance—but of course, Christian doesn’t do romance. If I tell him I want more, he may say no… and I could jeopardise what he has offered. And this is what concerns me most because I don’t want to lose him.

My inner social worker is waving around pamphlets about recognising the early signs of abusive relationships. In spite of the fact that Grey has been a complete fuckwit and treated Ana like dirt, guilt tripped her, manipulated her, threatened her and ignored her boundaries, the only thing that’s important to her is not losing him. Jesus fucking Christ. This is not making me feel the love.

But I’m not sure I have the stomach to be his submissive—deep down, it’s the canes and whips that put me off. I’m a physical coward, and I will go a long way to avoid pain.

Ana, you do not need to justify your gut feelings about not wanting to do this. And guess what? I’ve got a pretty high pain threshold, and I wouldn’t have the stomach to have any kind of a relationship with Grey, either. There is nothing wrong with sensible gut instincts. Ana’s acting like she’s just  being a big wuss about pain: could it be that she can’t verbalise the fact that Grey is being a fucking creepy would-be rapist and she’s actually got issues with that?

She thinks about the dream where he whacked her clitoris with a wet riding crop and

My inner goddess jumps up and down with cheerleading pom poms shouting yes at me.

I think Ana’s inner goddess has more accessories, outfits, and stylistic changes than Barbie. Also, I think Ana’s inner goddess is a douchecanoe.

Anyway, Kate comes back and Ana gets to hear her speech.

 

Next up, we get Ray coming over. Ray’s the guy Ana refers to as “Dad,” even though he’s her stepfather, and the one thing Ray has going for him is that he’s the only guy ever who doesn’t want to sleep with Ana. Also, he barely says anything, which is not enough to register on my “annoying” scale.

Ana is critical of Ray from the get-go, and notes his ill-fitting suit (sweetie, you’re wearing a dress on loan from a girl who has a completely different body type to you: you can’t talk about ill-fitting), and his weirdness about physical affection. (We do get another description of what Ana is wearing though.)

They have a fairly non-descript greeting, Ana makes Ray some tea, and then we cut to the next scene where they’re at the graduation.

“Good luck Annie. You seem awfully nervous. Do you have to do anything?”

Holy crap… why has Ray picked today to be observant?

Wow: Ana, you’re sounding like a pissy thirteen year old who is at that stage where everything her parents do is made of fail in her eyes. He asked you a fucking question. He was trying to be nice. Shit.

Ana, it turns out, isn’t so much as nervous about the fact that she’s, you know, graduating, but nervous because she’s seeing Christian again.

I think this is another point where I want to throw the book across the room and scream obscenities at it: seriously: Ana’s been at university for, what, probably between three and five years? Prior to that she’s been through, what, thirteen years of schooling? And finally, it comes to this: something which costs some serious moolah in the States unless you’re on a scholarship (and I doubt Ana is), something which PLENTY of people in America won’t get to do not because of worthiness or ability but financial circumstances, and probably one of the biggest achievements remotely available to the average person, and here you are, Ana, pretty much dismissing that because you’re going to see a crazy, nasty control-freak who wants to hit you with stuff and call you property.

Also, your stepfather (who isn’t exactly young from the sounds of it) who isn’t even your mother’s husband any more, has driven from interstate to see you, and you really don’t give a shit. The entitlement here burns.

Ana joins the mass of other graduating students and wonders where Christian is and if Kate’s interrogating him (which probably means Kate politely asking how he is) and waves to Ray in the parents’ area. The speech givers (academic staff, chancellors, Kate and Christian, etc) appear on the stage and we get another Christian outfit description. Notably, he’s wearing that tie. Oh, and Ana’s sitting between a couple of chatty girls from another department who are friends.

“Look at him,” one of the girls beside me hisses enthusiastically to her friend.

“He’s hot.”

I stiffen. I’m sure they’re not talking about Professor Collins.

Okay, why not? Brains can be sexy. Confidence can be sexy. Maturity can be sexy.

“Must be Christian Grey.”

Obviously these girls missed the student newspaper or they’d have seen his photograph and known about that.

“Is he single?”

I bristle. “I don’t think so,” I murmur.

“Oh?” Both girls look at me in surprise.

“I think he’s gay,” I mutter.

“What a shame,” one of the girls groans.

OMFG. Can we say “insecurity,” much, ladies and gentlemen? Fuck. You. Honestly, that’s just being childish and pathetic now, Ana, and on a technical point: the women were talking about him being single, not his sexual orientation. If he’s gay, his single status doesn’t matter, ladies, because he’s not wanting to jump in bed with any of you.

Also, the whole conversation is cringeworthy. You don’t need to use that many words for “said” to close together.

And finally: all these other times I’ve pointed to “this really is meant to be female fantasy material, isn’t it?” applies here, too: I think as well as having everyone looking at you because you’re in an awesome car with a hot guy, being The One Special One for a thoughtless playboy, and finding unwrinkled clothes on the floor, this is meant to be one of those magical female moments of awesome.

I must admit, I remember in Year Nine, I think it was, we had a school social with a neighbouring boys’ Catholic school and a couple of the other girls’ schools. (So the girls vastly outnumbered the boys.) Anyway, I was one of those outsidery, non-in-crowd kids who generally spent her lunchtimes hiding from said in-crowd who seemed to have little else to do beyond smoke cheap cigarettes, start rumours about one another and look for the non-socially elite to pick on. I was a frequent target and I credit those arseholes with helping to influence my decision to drop out of school when I was 14.

Anyway: this school social. Funnily enough, said in-crowd girls had given me shit about my shoes on the way in, even, and I’d been avoiding them since. Somehow, and I honestly forget how—I’d managed to hook up with probably the only decent-looking bloke at the social (no, seriously, he looked like a younger Alex Pettyfer). Anyway, at one point, stuff was happening between us, (nothing too explicit, I was fourteen and this was a supervised-by-teachers, alcohol-free event) and I remember catching a glimpse of three of the in-crowd ringleaders staring at me, mouths open, looking completely horrified and thoroughly murderous. It was like something out of a movie. It was pretty much my only crowning moment of awesome throughout my teenage years.

So I get the “other girls are jealous of me and it’s awesome” thing to some degree. Like, if you’re fourteen and insecure and a bit of an underdog and suddenly it completely fucks around the regular order of events for awhile. By the time you’re 21, one would hope that you’re grown-up enough to just avoid people who make you feel like shit and that you have moved beyond giving a fuck what other people think. I don’t get adults who still want other people to be jealous of them (but to be fair I also don’t get designer label clothing or reading trendy books, either).

Anyway, Ana’s living the dream being the subject of female envy, except that she isn’t and she’s staring at Christian Grey like a complete creeper. (Honestly, there are times when Ana comes across as nearly as creepy as Grey in some instances, and the disturbing levels of attachment fostered so early and the desperation to “keep” him and the staring is part of this.) But he stares back at Ana, smiles slightly, then avoids her gaze.

Ana seems weirded out by this, as though she signed the non-disclosure agreement just for shits and giggles and that that piece of paper (which I didn’t bother to research, though I thought NDAs were about privileged company information, so you can’t work somewhere and sell company secrets to an outside party… though I imagine when celebrities hire nannies and stuff they get them to sign NDAs too, so this one might be less dubious than the sex contract…) was all for theatrical stuffs. No, sweetie, if he tells you not to talk about the relationship with anyone, I’m strongly suspecting that he’s not going to be publicly flirting with you in front of a crowd of thousands when he’s actually there to you know, look professional and give a speech and stuff.

Why won’t he look at me? Perhaps he’s changed his mind. A wave on unease washes over me. Perhaps me walking out on him was the end for him, too.

Ana’s obsession with him not being interested in her is ridiculous. The last thing he did when she saw him was implied that he was going to buy her a car. Before, you know, giving her his jacket. Yet she’s still worried that things are over.

Kate delivers her speech, and because there is absolutely no subtext ever between her and Ana, Kate’s speech and dazzling stage appearance actually manages to distract Ana away from her favourite topic to think about. (See? This is EPIC. National disaster couldn’t stop Ana from thinking about Grey, yet Kate has.) Ana is proud of Kate.

Christian is watching Kate, his eyebrows raised— in surprise, I think. Yes, it could have been Kate who went to interview him. And it could have been Kate who he was now making indecent proposals to. Beautiful Kate and beautiful Christian together. I could be like the two girls beside me, admiring him from afar.

And if that had been the case, we wouldn’t be reading this, we’d be reading about Kate instead, though I have to admit, she’s a nicer character than Ana so maybe the book would be better. Or funnier, at least.

I know Kate wouldn’t have given him the time of day. What did she call him the other day? Creepy.

Hmm, I wonder why.

Kate finishes her speech and Christian is introduced.

Holy shit, Christian’s going to give a speech.

Whoda thunk it?

Anyway, Christian dazzles everyone and starts his speech, which is about how awesome the environmental science department at the university is because they’re helping him make his dream about feeding the world come true.

Hang on: environmental science? I thought Ana was doing a English Lit degree? Is this the entire university graduating here, or just departments… and even if it IS just departments (which I thought was the standard way of doing things) um, Arts and Science… are two completely different faculties. Or am I overthinking this again?

Anyway, he continues a bit, and then drops a bombshell:

“[…] I have known what it’s like to be profoundly hungry. This is a very personal journey for me.”

My jaw falls to the floor. What? Christian was hungry once. Holy crap. Well, that explains a great deal.

No it doesn’t. Christian having been hungry before does not account for his controlling, abusive, downright mean behaviour.

I desperately rack my brains to remember what Kate had written in her article. Adopted at age four, I think. I can’t imagine that Grace starved him, so it must have been before then, as a little boy. I swallow, my heart constricting at the thought of a hungry, grey-eyed toddler. Oh no. What kind of life did he have before the Greys got hold of him and rescued him?

Oh dear. I was really hoping that his food issues would not get explained with such simplistic, melodramatic bullshit, but apparently I was hoping for far too much. Also, a random question: how many people remember their lives prior to four years old? I have a few snippets, but I don’t remember major details. And I can hardly think of Grey at that age fully comprehending the situation.

Also, Grace is hardly what I’d call an amazing mother. She has a friend who was sexually abusing and terrifying her own kid when he was a teenager. She had no idea. While I don’t agree with the idea that parents should know every last detail about their childrens’ lives, I think important relationships with people—especially when they’re minors—is a thing you should know about. If, in four years time, my eldest starts spending a lot of time around a middle-aged woman, I would be at least suspicious. And gawd help if I have reason to be. (Seriously, I thought that was one part of being a parent: protecting your kids from bad people who want to hurt them.)

I’m seized by a sense of raw outrage. Poor, fucked-up, kinky, philanthropic Christian—though I’m sure he wouldn’t see himself this way and would repel any thoughts of sympathy or pity.

Um, are we still blaming this for his issues, Ana? Sheesh.

He’s doing all these good works, running a huge company, and chasing me at the same time. It’s overwhelming. I remember the brief snippets of conversation he’s had about Darfur… it all falls into place. Food.

Not really, and I wouldn’t could Grey’s treatment of Ana as any of his good works, but hey, what the fuck would I know?

The rest of the graduation is kind of dull and Ana seems about as enthralled as the readers are, so I’ll do you the favour and skim through. I’ll just leave you with this: Ana gets a personal, hold-up-the-line, in-front-of-the-attendees-and-graduates discussion with Grey on stage as she collects her degree. I’m pretty sure those girls either side of her realise what’s going down now between them, especially when he asks why she’s ignoring his emails. And I’m lost, because I thought no one was supposed to know about the relationship. Oh… wait. This is like the relationship where only one half of it has to abide by the rules: Grey can tell whoever the hell he wants about them. Ana can’t. Either that or E. L. James has been hit with her typical incontinuity issues.

When the ceremony ends, Kate dashes out after she’s lead off to tell Ana that Christian wants to talk to her, and those two girls who were ogling Grey gape at her, because yes, female fantasy time, making other women jealous and stuff. Ana disappears off with her though she says she can’t leave Ray too long by himself, and Grey excuses himself from a talk with the chancellors to talk to Ana.

He comes towards me and smiles briefly at Kate.

“Thankyou,” he says, and before she can reply, he takes my elbow and steers me into what looks like a men’s locker room.

Bring on the smell of mildew and stale sweat. Romantic mood set.

He checks to see if it’s empty, and then he locks the door.

Um, what? Can we say false imprisonment, ladies and gentlemen? Is this still meant to be romantic and not really fucking creepy?

Holy shit, what does he have in mind?

Is this a “holy shit” as in “OMFG, I’m about to get raped” or as in “holy shit, I’m about to come”? I’m not sure any more, and because I’m one of those creative types who finds multiple situations to use various expletives in, I honestly don’t know, because there ain’t much other context cluing me in.

“Why haven’t you emailed me? Or texted me back?” He glares. I’m nonplussed.

“I haven’t looked at my computer today, or my phone.” Crap, has he been trying to call?

Crap, he hasn’t realised that she’s graduating and this is like, one of the most important days of her life? Seriously, Grey, you’re a douche. She saw you last night. And she’s been busy since then. Also, can someone else please explain to me why he thinks he has to lock her in a changeroom to ask her these questions?

He then says he’s been worried about Ana, which is the classic bully tactic: to express concern for the victim after doing something grossly inappropriate. And why is he worried about Ana? Because her car is apparently a death trap (or embarrassing to him as a dom).

Ana tells him that the car isn’t a death trap, and that Jose regularly services it (Jose fixes cars now? Or, wait: Jacob in Twilight was into cars, wasn’t he?) and then Grey goes full creeper mode.

“Jose the photographer?” Christian’s eyes narrow, his face frosting. Oh crap.

Apparently no one else is allowed to lay a hand on Ana, and by extension, her car.

Ana explains: the car used to belong to his mother. Not that she needs to do that, but hey.

“I’ve been driving it for over three years. I’m sorry you were worried. Why didn’t you call?”

Good question. But, like every other time Ana’s been sensible, it gets ignored and shunted out of the way by Grey making unreasonable demands.

“Anastasia, I need an answer from you. This waiting around is driving me crazy.”

“Christian, I… look, I’ve left my stepdad on his own.”

“Tomorrow. I want an answer then.”

Not at all demanding, is he? Not at all creepy. Locking someone in a room and demanding an answer out of them is crossing another one of those scary fucking lines.

Ana doesn’t think so because she promises him an answer tomorrow.

“Are you staying for drinks?” he asks.

“I don’t know what Ray wants to do.”

“Your stepfather? I’d like to meet him.”

Oh no… why?

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Christian unlocks the door, his mouth in a grim line.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

What. The. Fuck. Seriously, maybe Ray’s one of those parents who is going to assume that any sort of relationship is going to mean True Forever Love. Maybe Ray will ask awkward questions about Grey’s intentions with her daughter. Or maybe Ray is otherwise not to be trusted around the date material. Point is: Ana doesn’t need to do the introductions if she doesn’t want to. Nor does she have to justify it.

“No!” It’s my turn to sound exasperated. “Introduce you to my dad as what? ‘This is the man who deflowered me and wants us to start a BDSM relationship’? You’re not wearing running shoes.”

Grey suggests she introduce him as a friend (which he won’t be if Ana doesn’t agree to his stupid relationship conditions, remember?), and opens the door for Ana, letting her out to find Ray.

Ana asks Ray if he wants to get a drink, and Ray is nothing but sweet-natured and accommodating. He even takes a picture of Ana, and she then wants to take off the cap and gown because “I look kind of dorky.”

I never graduated from uni. And I kind of have a bit of a chip on my shoulder about privileged little shits pissing and moaning about minor university things, especially stuff like looking like a dork in grad robes.

They head over to the marquee, and run into Kate’s brother. Introductions ensue. The Kate turns up with Grey and things take a bit of a nosedive.

“Hello Ray.” Kate kisses Ray on both cheeks, making him blush. “Have you met Ana’s boyfriend? Christian Grey.”

So much for Ana getting to make her own decisions about things. I suppose Kate’s figured that since pretty much Ana’s entire life purpose seems to revolve around Grey, then it’s only natural that Ray would know about him already.

“Mr. Steele, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Christian says smoothly, warmly, completely unflustered by Kate’s introduction. He holds out his hand, which Ray, all credit to him, takes, not showing a hint of the drop-dead surprise he’s just had thrust on him.

Unless, of course, Ray has already seen the line back up because Ana was talking to Grey while he was meant to be shaking people’s hands as they were graduating, and he’s put two and two together and really isn’t that surprised, which is more likely.

Thankyou very much, Katherine Kavanagh, I fume. I think my subconscious has fainted.

Oh dear god. On the upside, if her subconscious has fainted, maybe we won’t be hearing about it every third paragraph, and this can only improve the book.

“Mr. Grey,” Ray murmurs, his expression indecipherable except perhaps for a slight widening of his big brown eyes. They slide over to my face with a when-were-you-going-to-give-me-this-news look. I bite my lip.

Um, hang on: if his expression is indecipherable, then how come she’s able to oh-so-specifically describe it? Also, it seems that Ray is as dippy as the rest of the people in the book and has somehow managed to not realise that there’s “something special” between Ana and Grey. I dunno, the line holdup would have been a dead giveaway for me.

Kate introduces her brother to Christian, but Ethan is touching Ana, so this earns him a frosty glare from Grey because no one else is to touch Ana but him or something cretinous like that.

Christian holds out his hand to me.

“Ana, baby,” he murmurs and I nearly expire at the endearment.

Okay. What the fuck was that? No, really, everything about this sentence seems completely wrong.

I walk out of Ethan’s grasp while Christian smiles icily at him, and I take my place at his side. Kate grins at me. She knows exactly what she’s doing, the vixen!

Huh? Whatever it is is completely lost on me. Kate drags her brother away, leaving Ray and Grey (and didn’t anyone but me notice that Ana’s stepfather could have been given a name that does not rhyme with the love interest’s?) together .

“So how long have you kids known each another?” Ray looks impassively from Christian to me.

Wow. Awkward.

The power of speech has deserted me. I want the ground to swallow me up.

Why? Seriously, one moment it’s the ultimate female fantasy to be seen with Grey, next thing she’s humiliated? Does. Not. Compute.

Apparently Ray is irritated by the fact that Ana is seeing Grey, or that Ana even met Grey, Christ knows why, and he admonishes her with sarcasm about her doing the interview. Ana explains that Kate was sick, and Ray  changes the subject by admiring Grey’s speech, and then Grey changes the subject by talking about how Ray’s apparently quite the fisherman.

Ray likes fishing? I don’t remember. Fuck knows how Grey managed to pull his head out of his arse long enough to hear and remember that detail, but he does, and he manages to charm Ray.

I would like to point out that this is another classic abuser trait: they are good at charming friends and family, so when you want to say, “I’m in a really fucked up and hellish relationship,” to them, you don’t because you already know that you won’t be believed because how could such a nice guy be an abuser?

Ana wanders off to find Kate and asks her why the hell she outed them like that, and Kate offers something stupid about wanting to help with Christian’s commitment issues, which is another forty flavours of fucked up, especially since Kate herself thought the guy was creepy.

I scowl. It’s me that won’t commit to him, silly!

HUH? There is so much that is wrong with this that it’s insane, but the obvious thing here is this: how the fuck would Kate know this, especially since Ana “can’t” talk about the stupid sex contract stuff?

Kate assures Ana that all is good and that Grey can’t take his eyes off her (creepy, since he’s conversing with Ray and they’re out of earshot, apparently) and Ana says she has to go rescue Ray or Grey, and offers a forboding warning that “you haven’t heard the last of this, Katherine Kavanagh!”

Ana heads back to them, Ray excuses himself to the little boys’ room (probably to throw up), and Grey and Ana have some rather mundane lovey-dovey conversation.

“You know it’s going to be good, don’t you, baby?” he whispers.

Ew. The “baby” thing makes him sound like Leisure Suit Larry. Also, that came pretty much out of no where, but I presume he’s annoying her yet again about the contract.

I close my eyes as my insides uncoil and melt.

You don’t want the unfortunate visuals I have now. Thankyou, E. L. James. Not.

Actually, since I’m now thinking of body parts doing things they wouldn’t do under normal circumstances, I probably should share: remember that Chuck Palahniuk short story, Guts? If not, I won’t spoiler you (Google around, you’ll see what I mean), but otherwise, thankyou, E. L. James, I don’t think these sorts of visuals belong in a romance novel.

“But I want more,” I whisper.

“More?” he looks down at me puzzled, his eyes darkening. I nod and swallow. Now he knows.

“More,” he says again softly. Testing the word—a small, simple word, but so full of promise. His thumb traces my lower lip. “You want hearts and flowers.”

You are a fucking jerk, Grey. Way to belittle a girl’s desire to have at least a tiny bit of emotional connection and the balls to say something about it. Then again, Ana is stuck in fantasyland and really does want hearts and flowers—but what Ana’s asked him for is not really that; it’s to be seen as more than a piece of property he can use and discard at will.

“Anastasia.” His voice is soft. “It’s not something I know.”

Newsflash, dipshit, BDSM wasn’t something Ana knew yet it’s okay for you to ask for her total obedience, isn’t it? Double fucking standards, asshole.

“Me either.”

He smiles slightly.

“You don’t know much,” he murmurs.

Wow: and then you put her down, you shit.

“You know all the wrong things.”

“Wrong? Not to me.” He shakes his head. He looks so sincere.

Okay, well newsflash, dude: it’s NOT okay to tell a girl that it’s her fault when she gets stalked. It’s also not okay to threaten to rape her in public and then whisk her away to a private booth when she says she wants to remain in public. It’s also not okay to glare at other dudes who touch her in a friendly fashion. Furthermore, it’s not okay to emotionally blackmail a girl because you want to play kinky sex games with her. Have I finished yet? No. But at the risk of making this readthrough even longer, I’ll stop here. But you get my point, right?

“Try it,” he whispers. A challenge, daring me, and he cocks his head to one side and smiles his crooked, dazzling smile.

Try what?

Basically some more awkward and awful dialogue later, and she says “okay” and he completely ignores what she said about wanting more, and both of them ignore the fact that she told him a few pages ago that she’d decide tomorrow. Remember, kids, if a girl says no, you just keep asking and annoying her like you haven’t heard anything until she says “yes.”

 

*RAGERAGERAGERAGE*

On cue, Ray returns, and suggests that they get some lunch.

What have you done? my subconscious screams at me. My inner goddess is doing backflips in a routine worthy of a Russian Olympic gymnast.

Holy Christ. No, not the whole Ana-being-his-sub thing, which we all knew was going to happen by hell or high water, just that awful description of what’s going on in Ana’s head.

Ray invites Christian, but apparently he now has plans, and they part ways.

“Look after my baby girl.”

“Oh, I fully intend to.”

They shake hands. I feel sick. Ray has no idea how Christian intends to look after me.

Not very well, I’m suspecting, but hey. The whole thing reeks of creepiness, especially since Ray concludes that since he knows his fly-fishing, then obviously he’s a decent bloke. The obliviousness and complete stupidity of everyone in this book is astonishing. Even Kate has dropped a few IQ points since this chapter started with the post-graduation stuff. Seriously: WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE CHARACTERS?

Ana goes home afterwards and says a teary goodbye to Ray and then checks her phone (another couple of messages from Jose) and notices that Grey has already texted her.

And emailed her, again expressing concern about her car.

There are a couple more emails which equate to “I want to see him” from Ana, and Grey deciding to pick her up.

Ana decides to give him the first-edition books back in another act of randomness, and wraps the lot up and scrawls a quote from them on the paper. “I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be; only—only—don’t make it more than I can bear!”

And thankfully someone decided to make this punishment bearable because the chapter ends here.

By the way, E. L. I really don’t think Tess is about BDSM or a TPE relationship or whatever else you’re using quotes from it to reference. (This makes me think of that time I started reading Of Human Bondage and got through a few chapters before realising that the book I was thinking it was was actually Venus in Furs.)

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Thirteen

Trigger warnings for victim-blaming rape-culturey nastiness in this one, folks. I won’t lie: it took me a while to get through this because life went hectic on me again and I couldn’t handle more depressing stuff for a bit. But I’m back.

The next day, Ana rings her mother. Finally! A character in this book who must have SOME sort of redeeming feature, with the added bonus that she doesn’t want to have sex with Ana… right?

Before we get any intel on mom, we get to hear Ana’s inner monologue:

I’m restless, nervous about my showdown with Mr. Control Freak tomorrow, and at the back of my mind, I’m worried that perhaps I’ve been too negative in my response to the contract.

Yeah, Ana, because it’s perfectly acceptable for a dude to essentially tell you consent to doing whatever he wants to you, whenever he wants, while he controls every aspect of your life, while you aren’t even able to touch him or look him in the eye and when you have absolutely no understanding or real life comparison for what he wants… right? Asking questions or even the slightest bit of negotiation isn’t on, right?

Um… I don’t think this is what BDSM is about. This is to BDSM what SpongeBob SquarePants is to sex education.

Perhaps he’ll call the whole thing off.

We can only wonder if that’s your subconscious doing the ol’ wishful thinking thing, right? All I can say is that this doesn’t sound like Ana is really into this whole deal, which is saner than Ana’s sounded for most of the book.

My mother is oozing contrition, desperately sorry not to make my graduation. Bob has twisted some ligament, which means he’s hobbling all over the place. Honestly, he’s as accident prone as I am. He’s expected to make a full recovery, but it means he’s resting up and my mother has to wait on him hand and sore foot.

I’m not surprised that the person who gave birth to this moron hasn’t figured out that you can hire wheelchairs and Bob could go to the graduation in one of them. For fuck’s sake, it’s your only child’s graduation. This shit doesn’t happen all the time. Then again, think about it: you have one kid. And it turns out to be Ana Steele. I’d be feeling pretty  damned ashamed of myself if my only genetic heir turned out to be as thick as her. But… still… I’d feel like an even bigger failure as a parent if I missed the graduation.

“Ana, honey, I’m so sorry,” my mom whines into the phone.

“Mom, it’s fine. Ray will be there.”

“Ana, you sound distracted—are you okay, baby?”

Oh god. This conversation flows like tar through a blocked up sink. Honestly, I wrote better  conversations between characters when I was a kid.

Anyway, Ana thinks about Grey, because no, she’s totally not distracted, and then Ana’s mom asks the question about the only thing important concerning her daughter.

“Have you met someone?”

YOUR DAUGHTER IS ABOUT TO GRADUATE AND MOVE TO THE CAPITAL CITY AND ALL YOU GIVE A FUCK ABOUT IS IF SHE’S GETTING DICK. OMG. Anyone else stopped wondering why Ana might have such disgustingly awful self-esteem and only really view herself in the context of the men she has in her life?

I’m finding it amusing that I’m posting this on Mothers’ Day (Happy Mother’s Day, people!) because seriously, Ana’s mother SUCKS.

Fortunately, that conversation dies in the arse because really, it’s clear that Ana’s mother has said everything important, and there are far more pressing subjects to return to, like Grey, who hasn’t been mentioned for at least a few lines now.

Ana switches on her computer and opens “her email program” (PLEASE, E. L. : if you can detail the specs of a computer, find out what the iOS uses for email and just refer to that… or just say that Ana opens her email).

There’s an email from Christian from late last night or very early this morning depending on your point of view.

What? I looked at that and wondered why Ana had broken the fourth wall in a way she hasn’t before, and if she was implying that the email came from Australia or something. No, it didn’t. The header says it arrived at 1:27am. That’s very early in the morning.

Christian titles the email “Your Issues” as though he doesn’t seem to have any, and in a passive-aggressive way that makes me want to scream because he’s doing that creepy projection thing again, and copypastes a definition of “submissive” into the body of the email and signs off. Because he’s so good at actually communicating with someone who has only just become aware of the kink he’s insisting on if she wants into his reality. He is a fucking jerk, yet again.

Ana is fucking oblivious, yet again.

My initial feeling is one of relief. He’s willing to discuss my issues, at least, and he still wants to meet tomorrow.

Ana, this isn’t discussion. This is him being a passive-aggressive bully. The fact that you accuse Kate, who has been nothing but nice to you so far, of being a bully, yet you’re completely ignoring this crap and acting like it’s healthy communication is fucking ridiculous.

Ana titles the email “My issues… what about your issues?” and replies pointing out that when he copypasted, he even included the date of origin, and that it’s now, like 430 years later and that times have changed. Mirroring his demonstration of healthy and mature conversation, she copypastes the definition of “compromise” and signs off.

Thankfully we don’t get another page and a half of her inner turmoil about doing this, but we do get another email from Grey titled “What about my issues?”

He congratulates her on making her point well like he’s judging a high school debate, and says he’ll collect her at 7:00 tomorrow. Ana then titles an email “2011—Women can drive” and says she’ll meet him at the hotel.

Grey then sends her back an email titled “Stubborn Young Women” which sounds like something that would end up in one’s spam filter and tells her to refer to the definition of submissive again and asks if she’ll ever do what she’s told. Something he fails to recall she’s pretty much done since he started telling her to do stuff. Ana then emails him back saying “[she] would like to drive. Please” because apparently, even without a signature on the hokey Readers Digest competition contract, she’s now got to ask for permission to drive. More emails and it’s settled, she’ll meet him in the hotel bar.

Ana then rings Ray, just because, and even though she attests they have a special bond, absolutely nothing significant happens in the paragraph where he gets a brief mention. After this, Ana hits the cheap red wine with Kate and they go back to packing. Have you heard about chick lit books which are about shopping and fucking? This is like the chick lit book about drinking and packing. That’s all they do besides men stuff, and to be honest, since the men are such abysmal specimens, I honestly look forward to the Kate and Ana lesbian subtext while they’re drinking wine and packing and having memorable moments.

Nothing happens there, either, but physically exhausted, Ana goes to bed and sleeps.

All these meaningless paragraphs are like when you start playing Persona 4 and for the first, like, hour, while the storyline unravels, you can’t actually do anything, so you just get told “You’re tired and you go to bed” or “You decide to go to school” and you don’t really control the action and nothing except brief character mentions happen. The difference is, Persona 4 is awesome, so you play through it. This, however, is not.

Next paragraph, and we’re back to Paul. Paul was that dude in Twilight who kept annoying Bella for a date only now he’s a Princeton prep and he works in a hardware store. Like ever other man in this book, he wants to get into Ana’s knickers.

He follows me around the store all day asking me for a date. It’s annoying.

“Paul, for the hundredth time, I have a date this evening.”

“No you don’t, you’re just saying that to avoid me. You’re always avoiding me.”

Hmmm. I wonder why, you passive-aggressive  pindick? OMFG. This is MEANT to be the bit where Ana goes into the hand tools aisle and grabs a demonstration nailgun and holds it to Paul’s crotch and says, “I have told you a bazillion fucking times, jerkoff, this is sexual fucking harassment and I don’t have to justify my decisions to anyone. You have one chance to apologise and demonstrate that your apology isn’t just an attempt to butter me up or you might as well ship off to Europe and join the Vienna Boys’ Choir.”

Instead, it’s the bit where Ana justifies that no, she’s not just being mean, she’s actually dating Christian Grey. After offering a bunch of other reasons why dating him would be a bad idea (none of which include that he’s a fucking creep) and after he’s assumed that she’s dating Jose. Because every girl wants romances with the guy who attempted to rape them, right?

Paul looks positively crestfallen, stunned even, and a very small part of me resents that he should find this a surprise. My inner goddess does, too. She makes a very vulgar and unattractive gesture at him with her fingers.

I cannot believe that E. L. James can describe a penis as a fucking popsicle, yet she cannot name, or accurately describe a fucking hand gesture most three year olds can make.

After that, Paul ignores her. Woot. One loser down, two to go.

Kate has lent me two dresses and two pairs of shoes for tonight and for graduation tomorrow.

Hang on… I thought Kate had a completely different figure to Ana. Oh: this is just that whole lack of continuity thing happening again. (I realise Kate HAS loaned Ana clothing before, but a suit for an interview and a top and some shoes? If they’re both, say, the same sort of size and wear the same size shoes, I can buy this for suits and shoes. But dresses—especially dressing-up type dresses for evening and formal events? No. Those get a bit more personal. Kate apparently has cleavage and curves and is skinny at the same time, and apparently this is vastly different to Ana’s body shape. NOW: maybe I’m over thinking this, but you know what? This is meant to be aimed at women, and chick lit always makes references to the protagonist’s body shape. It’s one of those THINGS women are meant to be obsessing about (even if they’re not attracted to said women’s bodies) like stupid designer label shoes and handbags and that sort of crap. Personally, I hate this stuff, and I tend to skim like hell when reading chick lit because, well, no interest, but I realise it’s a frequent trope, and I gather it does interest the average reader.

So seriously, E.L? Get it right. An evening dress designed for someone busty and skinny is going to look horrendous on someone who has massive shoulders and a brick-shaped body with no definitive curves (example used because I know about this from experience). Either Ana has a very similar to Kate body and nothing to complain about or be jealous of, OR they’re not sharing evening dresses.

I wish I could feel  more enthused about clothes and make an extra effort, but clothes are just not my thing.

Which explains why everyone’s outfits get described in detail all the time, right?

Shaking my head and endeavouring to quell my nerves, I decide on the plum-coloured sheath dress for this evening.

Now, I didn’t even know what a sheath dress was until I googled it just then. Ana is more into clothing than I am.

It’s demure and vaguely businesslike—after all, I am negotiating a contract.

A contract which is not legally enforceable, remember. Furthermore, Ana, it shouldn’t matter if you rock up to see him wearing a fucking clown suit: if clothes mean he’s going to take you seriously—or otherwise—when you’re discussing some Pretty Important Stuff surrounding your relationship, he’s a jerk. Seriously. This isn’t too far from implying that women “ask for” acts of violence committed against them because of what they’re wearing. You are talking about a fucking relationship… this isn’t a job interview or dressing to impress the inlaws for the first time.

I shave my legs and underarms, wash my hair, and then spend a good half hour drying it do it falls in soft waves to my breasts and down my back. I slip a comb in to keep one side off my face and apply mascara and some lip gloss.

Why ANY of this needs mentioning is beyond me.

I rarely wear makeup—it intimidates me.

What. The. Fuck.

Seriously. What the everloving fuck was that? This is a woman who is wanting to jump into a serious relationship from a guy who’s a habitrail set short of being Patrick Bateman and she’s saying she’s scared of makeup. After applying *gasp* lip gloss (which is pretty much the non-makeup-iest makeup ever) and mascara (which is pretty much the second most non-makeup-iest makeup ever).

Is this Ana showing that she’s a tough feminist who doesn’t need makeup to feel pretty or something? (To this, I roll my eyes. I have grown up around people who use makeup. I have been working since I was fourteen in roles where makeup was considered just a part of basic grooming. I have met women who are epic feminists who wear more makeup than I do. I have met women who come out with the most hideous anti-woman, slut-shaming go-back-to-the-fucking-dark-ages crap [some of which gets directed at women who wear makeup] who are anti-makeup. There is nothing good or bad about makeup. If you are wearing it because it makes you feel good, power to you. If you are not wearing it because that makes you feel good, power to you. There is nothing inherently bad—or scary—or anything else—about makeup per se.)

Ana’s thing against makeup is based around the fact that

None of my literary heroines had to deal with makeup—maybe I’d know more about it if they had.

Dafuq? Ana your literary heroines had to deal with arsehole men, and you’re kind of crappy at dealing with them, too, so I’m thinking that your argument doesn’t hold. Furthermore, my literary heroes have had to deal with the supernatural, firearms, various illnesses, problems which are well off in the future, some batshit crazy American stuff we don’t see to the same degree in Australia, very intense moral and psychological issues and seriously fucked up parents. I know nothing of what to do about any of these things in real life.

“Well?” I ask Kate.

She grins. “Boy, you scrub up well, Ana.” She nods with approval. “You look hot.”

Nope. No subtext at all there.

“Hot! I’m aiming for demure and businesslike.”

“That too, but most of all hot. That dress really suits you and your colouring. The way it clings.” She smirks.

Even I understand this to look like fairly blatant flirting.

“Kate!” I scold.

Once again, um… the only reason you’d knock back compliments like that is if they were embarrassing, right? Why be embarrassed, unless someone’s secret crush had started becoming a bit less secret…

“Just keeping it real, Ana. The whole package—looks good. Keep the dress. You’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

My mouth presses in a hard line. Oh, you so have that the wrong way around.

“Wish me luck.”

“You need luck for a date?” Her brow furrows, puzzled.

“Yes, Kate.”

“Well then—good luck.” She hugs me, and I am out the front door.

Yes, I only included that because there was subtext for AnaKate, the Greatest Ship That Never Sailed, and other than the sex contract and hearing things in George Takei’s voice, that’s the most fun I’m having with this book. (I probably would be having fun with the drinking game, but then I’d probably be spending most of my pay on grog, and I’d be having to worry about things like liver transplants in a few months, so it’s probably safer that I steer clear of the drinking game.)

Ana drives to the hotel in Wanda, her beetle which I don’t remember being mentioned prior to now (because Ana’s always been borrowing mean horrible blonde Kate’s Beemer for all her car-related things or getting Charlie Tangoed around town—random aside—doesn’t “getting Charlie Tangoed” sound like a euphemism for something X-rated?) and pulls up in hideous Blu-ray levels of detail and goes into the hotel.

Christian is leaning casually against the bar drinking a glass of white wine. He’s dressed in his customary white linen shirt, black jeans, black tie, and black jacket.

Ana isn’t very into clothes, remember. Also, the description has me trying to visualise Grey in black jeans, and I just can’t. What I am getting is the whole black jacket, white shirt, black tie, black slacks OMFG he’s just wandered off the set of Reservoir Dogs thing and I spent half a second wondering what his name would be. Duh: he’d be Mr. Grey. Except for the fact that

His hair is touselled as ever.

and those guys in Reservoir Dogs were totally slick motherfuckers and Edward Cullen and his touselled hair would have been laughed at.

Anyway, they look at one another across the room and Ana makes a concerted effort not to bite her lip because that makes Grey go scary, and she’s aware that she’s clumsy and in stilettos (something else I wrote off as being continuity fail, so points for actually picking that one up, E. L.) and he walks over to her and tells her she looks stunning and leads her over to a booth and signals for a waiter.

When he asks her what she wants to drink, she says she’ll have what he’s having, and he finds this amusing and orders another glass, and then he gets visibly nervous. And asks if she’s nervous. The whole thing comes off like a really awkward teenage first date, but with more legal booze. The waiter returns with small dishes of nuts and olives.

“So how are we going to do this?” I ask. “Run through my points one by one?”

“Impatient as ever, Miss Steele.”

Huh? So far he’s been the one who’s pretty much pushed like all hell for her to just hurry up and sign her fucking life away, so it’s more than slightly hypocritical of him to criticise her for being impatient. But then again, I guess hypocrisy and him getting to carry on however he feels like it are things she’s supposed to get used to as well.

There’s some filler, and then Ana tells him

“You know, this contract is legally unenforceable.”

TOUCH-DOWN! TOUCH-DOWN! WHOOOOOOO!

High five, Ana! That’s sticking it to da man.

And we have our moment of glory because we know that conniving prick is going to somehow turn it around and make her sign it and agree to it anyway, because that’s what this book is all about.

Next line?

“I am fully aware of that, Miss Steele.”

“Were you going to tell me that at any point?”

Yeah, that was exactly what I was wondering too. Because, I dunno, I just got more than a slight inkling—especially since he didn’t actually mention that to her and allowed her to discover  that for herself—that he would have been perfectly content if she’d just assumed it was a legal thing.

He frowns. “You’d think I’d coerce you into something you don’t want to do, and then pretend I have legal hold over you?”

Fuck yes. You’ve already shown her that you’re capable of manipulating her, ignoring her wishes, bullying her and passive-aggressively controlling her, so why not this? Also, you didn’t answer the question, Grey.

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

OMFG. People, this guy is a certifiable shithead. Seriously, this is classic abuser behaviour already: when called out on wrongdoings, to then put it all onto the victim with something amounting to “You don’t like me and that hurts/you should feel bad about it.”

Ana is actually asking questions, trying to negotiate something she’s being expected to devote a significant portion of her time and attention to—and you’re basically bullying her about this? You are a fucking douche, Grey.

“Anastasia, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not.

I’m pretty damn sure that you’re the only person in the world who actually thinks this, Grey. I’m pretty sure the judge presiding over The People v Grey when you get done for various domestic violence-related offences will agree with me.

It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you—what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don’t like it, then don’t sign.

You nasty, horrible, entitled little fuck. I thought part of the stupid contract was about agreement, not about her just signing something.

If you do sign and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away

Um, like the one where she has to ask you permission to leave, you nasty-arsed piece of shit?

Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?”

Well, fair call. I’d be more inclined to suspect you’d send an assassin after her to make sure there was no risk of that other fucking thing—the non-disclosure agreement—which she did sign—being broken.

Ana sips her wine and has a think about this.

“Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust,” he continues. “If you don’t trust me—trust me to know how I’m affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you—if you can’t be honest with me, then we really can’t do this.”

Hang on: firstly: she’s the one being upfront and honest, Grey, and you’re attacking her for it or using shitty little passive-aggressive turn around moves on her. Secondly, asking her to know what she’s okay with when she doesn’t know SHIT is ridiculous. It’s like asking a blind person to watch and judge a figure skating contest. She has NO IDEA and your stupid contract—which you’re now getting shitty about now that she’s said it’s not legally enforceable—was meant to be all about ensuring her safety and ability to explore things safely. Now you’re putting the hard word on her.

The only thing that’s going to make you even more unlikeable, Grey, is if they get John Howard to play you when this travesty winds up on the silver screen.

Oh my. We’ve cut to the chase quickly. How far he can take me. Holy shit. What does that mean?

Folks, I present to you the statement from the plaintiff. Clearly she has no understanding of the lifestyle Mr. Grey is trying to pressure her into agreeing to.

“So it’s quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?” His eyes are burning, fervent.

Oh, because you’ve given her SO many reasons to trust her implicitly in the past, right?

And my eyes are burning, too. That’s because I just tried to remove them with a spoon after seeing the word fervent used yet again.

Ana then asks if Grey’s had similar discussions with the fifteen, and he tells her that no, he did not because—and I wait for the BDSM community to start grabbing the nearest, most painful and brandishable goods and start storming in the direction of E. L. James’ house—”they were established submissives.” Apparently established subs don’t need things like agreements and merely some rich dude saying he’s a dom means that they have to trust he’ll not abuse his power. Because, yep, it’s not like Grey’s not an entitled little fuck when it comes to women or anything like that, is it?

Grey then explains it was just an issue of fine-tuning the soft limits with them. I wonder what his definition of “fine tuning” is. Does it mean the general apathy he’s shown in regards to Ana’s boundaries an yet-to-be-established trust?

Frighteningly, we then get this:

“Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”

Wow. Not as all condescending and vaguely scary. Nope. I’d TOTALLY trust this guy… to do something that’ll land him in jail, most likely after a 50-hour siege and tear gas being deployed by the cops.

I swallow. Do I trust him? Is that what all this comes down to—trust? Surely that should be a two-way thing. I remember his snit when I phoned Jose.

Except that you didn’t phone Jose—Jose was continually harassing you after you were ignoring him after attempted sexual assault. And Grey then did some epic victim-blaming and resorted to ignoring you and switching on the frost treatment until you bit your lip and he decided he wanted to molest you some, Ana. The fact that you’re remembering yourself as the instigator to all of this is really fucking horrifying.

Grey then does his feeder thing where he annoys Ana about needing to eat, and

“You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. What would you prefer?”

“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”

Smart thinking.

He smiles sardonically.

“Do you think that would stop me?” he says softly, a sensual warning.

QAHFFHFAFHJGHJJ what the FUCK was that I just read? Did he just threaten to rape—or otherwise do something to her? Was this him arguing that being in public wouldn’t stop him? Because that is awfully what it sounded like.

That wasn’t a sardonic smile, Ana, that was one of those faces video characters like http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OMQKGMS_Df4  Damon Gant or Kristoph Gavin (whose creepy expression I can’t find independent of a whole bunch of Ace Attorney stuff which won’t make sense to non-fans, so I’ll spare you and you’lll just have to trust me yourselves) who have turned into memetic molesters thanks to their expressions— make.  It is not a happytimes expression. It is a creepy, scary, get-the-fuck-AWAY expression.

Worse yet, now that he’s not only asked Ana if she wants to stay in public, and has implied that that’s not even neutral safe ground—and remembering that this is all following on from a “do you trust me? You NEED to trust me” conversation he’s had, he then does the following

“Come, I have a private room booked. No public.” He smiles at me enigmatically and climbs out of the booth, holding his hand out to me.

Gee. I’d totally trust a dude who’s given me the Gant Rape Smile and then implied that he would rape me in public if he wanted to after EXPRESSLY going against my wishes precisely after asking me what I felt comfortable doing.

Ana isn’t me, though, and she’s Disney princess levels of mesmerised and she goes along with it, swept up in a magical hotel world full of decadence and glamour and wonder. And her consent and limits being ignored, but hey, why quibble over a minor detail like that?

There’s a whole bunch of description of his private room which is all chandeliers and glamourous old-world sparkly shit and it sounds so clichéd you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d whisked her off into a themed room in a Japanese love hotel.

I’m actually so disgusted and angry now that I’m skimming. Seriously, this has hit a new low. This is sexual liberation in the same sort of way that Anne Coulter is about feminism. The fact that this fucking hideous rape culture crap is not only being marketed as romance but it’s sold umpteen bazillion copies—and that it’s being hailed as some sort of great sexual liberator makes me want to curl up in a ball in bed with my cats and stay there forever.

Grey, of course, has already ordered food, and they’re waiting on it. He turns back into Dr. Jekyl and tells Ana he’ll redraft the bit in the contract which says stuff about it being all for Ana’s benefit, which is kind of inconsequential anyway since it’s all a big scary fucking headfuck and if this little incident didn’t demonstrate that even if Ana says she wants something, he’s going to completely ignore that and bully or sweet talk her into doing something else.

Now do you guys see why I would dearly LOVE to see Toreth dealing with him?

Anyway, Grey then discloses stuff about how he’s disease free and anti drugs (and honestly, who gives a FUCK about his stance on drugs? I would feel safer with a pot-smoking hippie who’s demonstrated that he believes women aren’t just potential sex toys than an avid anti-drug arsehole who seems to think that having money entitles him to everything including raping people). To the point where he drug tests everyone at his work, because his workplace policies have everything to do with what’s going on here right now. ANA, HE IS TRYING TO BLINDSIDE YOU WITH DISTRACTIONS.

He then gives Ana this charming ultimatum

“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away any time, Anastasia. I won’t stop you. If you go, however—that’s it. Just so you know.”

And that, kids, is how you do emotional blackmail.

It’s also, come to think of it, the sort of thing I want to impart to my own kids: that if they ever hook up with someone who puts these sorts of ridiculous ultimatums on them, they’re bad fucking news. Telling someone it’s all or nothing like that at the start of things, that my-way-or-the-highway shit? NOT cool. Also, I thought Grey remained on great terms with his exes and that this had been enough to cause previous upset to Ana. Continuity? What continuity?

And folks, if I ever, EVER see anyone attacking fourteen year old slashfic writers ever again, I will advise them to read this book, an then, if that hasn’t humiliated them into apologising, to insert this oversized, underedited piece of drek somewhere quite painful and unsuited for the purpose of storing said material. Because even if you’re writing about the guys from Fallout Boy sexing one another up on stage and using audio equipment for shagadelic purposes, or you’re writing hideous Oz fic with 733t speak and terrible, hideous OOC dialogue, or you’re writing about Don and Charlie from Numb3rs simultaneously coming out to their dad and then telling him that they’ve been at it like bunnies for the last ten years—hell—even if you’re writing Care Bears fic where they’re all human variants of the Care Bears and they’re all emos and they have magic powers and they form a rock band which gets world famous and they fight crime and go to Hogwarts and I don’t fucking know what else… even if you did that, it would still be a bazillion times better than this. Trust me on this: I’ve read a lot of slash fic. None of it has been quite this bad, and even the stuff that’s come close has been written by people who can’t help but not know any better, and it hasn’t been professionally edited and published.

After this, the waiter arrives with oysters, and he eats them and tells her how to eat them and I think there’s meant to be a reference to Ana sucking off Grey many chapters ago but I always thought oysters were one of those wink-wink-nudge-nudge sorta-family-friendly references to ladyparts. And all through the oyster thing I keep remembering that line (at 00:58 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJ0VSmkebwk) which got cut out of Spartacus.

“I’ll have another,” I say dryly.

“Good girl,” he says proudly.

“Did you choose those deliberately? Aren’t they known for their aphrodisiac qualities?”

“No, they are the first item on the  menu. I don’t need an aphrodisiac near you. I think you know that, and I think you react the same way near me,” he says simply. “So where we we?”

I’m really confused about the detail that went into this as well as the hints at innuendo if this wasn’t meant to be at all suggestive. Unless it’s Grey just gaslighting her a bit more.

He reads from her printed-up email, continuing to respond to her “issues.”

“Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that, I need you to do that. Think of it as role play, Anastasia.”

But… “All things” isn’t “all things limited to sexual role play” and if he gets into her head any more—something she cannot even fathom happening, I’m guessing—he could play her like a fucking fiddle, and she would be obeying him in, um all things. (Then again, shit might get interesting and he might train her to be an assassin or something. But he probably won’t.)

“But I’m worried you’ll hurt me.”

“Hurt you how?”

“Physically.” And emotionally.

The fact that Ana is realising this and not actively pushing him on these points is grrr worthy. I’m torn between being glad that she’s not stupid enough to have not considered this, and already pitying her for being so sucked in this early by this creep.

“Do you think I would really do that? Go beyond any limit you can’t take?”

Um, YES. And not without reason, Grey. The fact that you’re in a private suite now is all about you ignoring Ana’s limits and desire for safety. This is a bit like Tony Abbott bleating about how he’s not a misogynist after the fact that he’s said several times in interviews that women belong in the kitchen and that a woman’s virginity defines her. Furthermore, dude: unless you get consent: you’re not a mindreader. Finding out where someone’s limits are after crossing them unintentionally is not responsible BDSM stuff.

Or has something changed in Grey that we, the readers are supposed to have picked up on? Does he suddenly give a fuck about Ana’s limits? I’m voting “no” since she pointedly stated that she wanted to stay in public and he dragged her off to his private suite anyway.

Ana then points out that Grey actually has admitted to hurting someone before (while ignoring the fact that she could be mentioning his complete disregard of her boundaries) and asks about that. Turns out it involved something going wrong when he suspended a submissive  from the “playroom” ceiling. He says, suspiciously, “One of the ropes was tied too tightly.” Ana asks him not to elaborate. Which is a bit dim, because there are levels of “hurt” when things get tied too tightly. One one end of the scale, we have rope burn. At the other end, there’s a dead body for Taylor to dispose of. Somewhere in the middle are limbs and extremities coming off due to limited blood supply to the area.

But Grey just says that if Ana doesn’t want to be suspended, she can make that a hard limit.

“So, obeying, do you think you can manage that?”
He stares at me, his gaze intense. The seconds tick by.

“I could try,” I whisper.

“Good.” He smiles. “Now term. One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you for that length of time. I can barely manage it now.”

What the hell? Firstly, a trial period is just that. Secondly, three weeks is more than enough time to work out if BDSM play is your thing or not. And presumably she can still leave at any time, according to him (even though the stupid contract says he needs her permission to) so this should be a non-issue for him. Thirdly, he was the one who insisted upon only seeing her on the weekends like he’s some dude having an affair when his wife’s gone out the door for whatever she does on weekends.

It’s like every time Ana decides to do something reasonable, sensible and mature, Grey takes issue with it. In the context of this book, it’s stupid and annoying. In the context of real life though, when you’re dating someone who does this? SCARY FUCKING SHIT. Repeated attacks on someone like that can get them to stop trusting themselves when they’re doing basically smart, self-preservation-ish things. The fact that he’s doing this so early into the relationship is awful.

Ana is blindsided by the fact that he said he can’t stay away from her which is both sad and stupid all at once, and then Grey’s manipulating and controlling, I mean, bargaining powers, come out in full force:

“How about one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself—but I get a midweek night that week?”

Or how about you go freefall bungee jumping, shithead.

“Okay.”

“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you, then you can walk away any time.”

How about I totally ignore what you wanted, Ana, and just impose what I suggested on you from the first time I mentioned it. I hate people who “negotiate” by stating what they want, pretending to listen to an opposing idea, and then just saying “let’s do what I initially stated.” That is not negotiation or discussion.

Ana doesn’t feel very good about it, either.

“Three months?” I’m feeling railroaded.

This is not negotiation at ALL.

“The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that, and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, any time, any way I want— anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.”

So, in other words—“The minute you consent to this, you’ve consented to everything, and you’d better get used to getting raped a lot. And I’m going to set you up to fail so I can punish you and even though we haven’t experimented with anything beyond light bondage and up until now my punishment has been orgasm denial, once you say yes to this, I’m going to start hitting you.”

Fuck you, Grey. You haven’t shifted an inch on this stuff you’ve supposedly listened to and taken into consideration from Ana. You’ve pretended to listen and then juts steamrolled ahead with what you want, reckless to her concerns. And you’ve told her it’s all or nothing.

Then Grey—being reasonable and understanding, I assume—comes out with this

“But I know you’ve not done this before. Initially we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I will want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust

NO YOU DON’T GREY. Earning trust doesn’t mean demanding it and then threatening to leave someone high and dry if they don’t acquiesce.

and I will. The ‘or otherwise’—again, it’s to help you get into the mindset; it means anything goes.”

Hang on: telling her “anything goes” isn’t just there for dramatic mood-setting, it’s telling her that anything goes, something you have just re-stated.

He’s so passionate, mesmerising. This is obviously his obsession, the way he is… I can’t take my eyes off him.

It’s like we break up the awful with little bits of Ana being all stupidly gushy. Which, by the way, doesn’t stop the awful bits being horribly awful.

“Still with me?” he whispers, his voice rich, warm and seductive. He takes a sip of his wine, his penetrating stare holding mine. The waiter comes to the door, and Christian subtly nods, permitting the waiter to clear the table.

“Would you like some more wine?”

“I have to drive.”

Yeah, Grey; you’re concerned about her safety and her alcohol intake until she’s driving around by herself. Bravo, fuckchaps.

Grey then rambles on about discipline and how this somehow factors into a pleasure-and-pain thing, and how he can show her this and how she needs to trust him. Then he says there will be pain, but apparently nothing Ana can’t handle.

Which is fascinating, since he has absolutely no idea of her reaction to pain and she’s never done this before and she’s not exactly chomping at the bit for him to start hitting her with stuff.

Then he asks if she trusts him. Basically, he’s corralled her into this, but apparently this is what passes for negotiation nowadays.

“Yes, I do.” I respond spontaneously, not thinking… because it’s true—I do trust him.

“Well, then,” he looks relieved. “The rest of this stuff is just details.”

“Important details.”

Ana thinks she should have brought Kate’s digital recorder with her so she can record all this stuff and then mull it over afterwards, which kind of seems like getting insurance after your house has been burned to the ground, but hey, Ana’s thought processes are kind of stupid. All this gets interrupted by the waiter who brings back a whole heap of seafood and other stuff, and they talk about the food rule.

Grey amends his stupid Weight Watchers Safe List to “you have to eat three times a day” and even that’s a dealbreaker for Ana because apparently him fucking her whenever he feels like it is no issue, but telling her to eat three meals a day is ridiculous. I suppose this is chick-lit, which has the obligatory mention of a crash diet slotted in somewhere, but still.

“Why can’t I look at you?”

“That’s a dom/sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”

Will I?

“Why can’t I touch you?”

“Because you can’t.” His mouth sets in a mulish line.

“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”

Didn’t they have this conversation last chapter when she asked about his dislike of being touched?

He looks quizzically at me. “Why would you think that?” And immediately he understands. “You think she traumatised me?”

I nod.

“No, Anastasia. She’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”

HUH? This is just a roundabout way of saying that yes, Mrs. Robinson fucked him up about sex to the point where he thinks that physical contact is “that shit,” isn’t it?

Like I said in the last chapter when this subject arose: I’m not big on the touchy-feely stuff. But I realise that that’s a me-thing, and that it’s not at all abnormal or shameful for other people to like physical contact with other people. And if I was wanting relations with someone, I wouldn’t talk about something harmless that they want in such disgusted and dismissive tones.

Grey then goes on to tell her there’ll be no masturbation for Ana, either, which seems like the easiest of his stupid conditions since she didn’t exactly go doing that before she met him anyway, and when she asks why…

“Because I want all your pleasure.” His voice is husky but determined.

“I want all your pleasure” sounds like another one of those awful Babelfish disasters, doesn’t it? Like something you’d see printed on a blowup doll for sale in a Daiso store.

Now that I’ve left you with that  charming thought, back to the program: they have some non-conversation about eating in which Grey reveals he’s been keeping an inventory of every bite she’s taken, and she protests that she’s eaten enough and he explains the obsession with her food intake by means of “I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia.”

Is anyone else annoyed at the way he constantly uses her name? It’s like he’s scared he’s going to forget it.

He then states that he wants to peel Ana out of the dress she’s wearing (peel? What’s it made out of? Latex?) and then Ana decides that isn’t such a good idea (god knows why, since she seems to go along with everything else Grey says) and they talk about dessert.

“You could be dessert,” he murmurs suggestively.

“I’m not sure I’m sweet enough.”

“Anastasia, you’re deliciously sweet. I know.”

And this is the point where I start laughing because all this terrible innuendo just makes me think of that Lana del Rey song with the opening line of “My pussy tastes like Pepsi cola…” and I have a crazy gigglefit.

“Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair,” I whisper, staring down at my hands, and then looking directly at him.

He raises his eyebrows, surprised, and I see he’s considering my words. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

I’m not convinced. He hasn’t seriously listened to anything Ana’s said prior to this. He’s probably just relishing the idea of being Sexman, the superhero who fights for justice and needs no weapons or typical superhuman ability because he has sex. And to be honest, the idea of Sexman, Master of the Universe… even though it sounds like a terrible 70s porno, could actually make a half-way decent graphic novel now that I think about it. Think about it: perfect setting: he’s rich, he’s got stuff happening all around the world, he’s got a tortured past, and he is full of mystery. He could be Batman with a James Bond edge. And his weapon… is sex. Bestseller material. Right there.

“You’re right. I do. In life, you use what you know, Anastasia. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.”

I think he’s got more at his disposal than sex. He has money. He has power. He has influence. He probably has blackmail. If E. L. James is insinuating that he fucked his way to being CEO, I’d say she’s watched too much yaoi along the lines of My Sexual Harassment. (Which is the most ridiculous movie ever. It’s also hilarious and the characters—even the creepy chloroform rapist—are better than these ones. NB: if anyone does go and search for this film courtesy of my mentioning it, I won’t be responsible for anything that happens, including but not limited to you deciding never to drink bourbon—or hang around Japanese businessmen— or listen to Richard Claydermanesque movie soundtracks—again.)

Apparently this is all Ana needs to go to swoon town, and he says he’d like to try something. I assume, of course, that Grey saying he wants to “try something” is a really unsubtle lead-in to a sex scene.  But weirdly enough, it’s not. He’s just pulling out a different approach to his whole attempt at headfucking Ana some more: she’s all flustered because she’s now got lots of stuff to think about,  so he digs his heels in and reminds her that if she was his sub, she wouldn’t have to think for herself and that all that pesky decisionmaking would be taken care of for her. Apparently this is meant to be a comforting thought.

Hey, on that note: has it occurred to anyone else that while Ana talks about inquisitions from Kate, she’s perfectly oblivious to what Grey’s doing here? If Kate asking her how a night out was is an inquisition, what the fuck is this?

Apparently, he’s also got Charles Xavier mind reading abilities (or he’s trained as a para-investigator) and he knows she actually wants him, and that as a dom, he will read her mind and anticipate everything. This is all bullshit, of course: this is Grey just trying to talk Ana into believing that so when she’s thinking, “Not sure if I want,”  she’ll automatically go to thinking that if Grey’s doing something to her, it’s obviously because deep down, she wants it because he knows her mind better than she does.

This is high-level, nightmare-fueltastic gaslighting going on here. Toto, we ain’t in fucking Kansas anymore. The love boat has set sail. This is now officially a book about psychological violence and victim-blaming, NOT romance. To be a bit serious… this sort of thing makes me think about cult survivors, who essentially get taught that because  the belief system is infallible, obviously their problems with it or living up to it are their failings.

This shit takes people years to unfuck, if they’re able to. It can majorly damage people.

By the way, I think it should go without saying that this is not BDSM. Other people aren’t mind readers, which is why things like communication and safewords and consent and limits are so fucking important. If this was Ana fantasising about that (though I’d be more likely to believe that someone like Grey, who is in a position of power in his 9-5 day-to-day life and who would likely relish getting to relax and give that up for awhile with someone else taking care of his needs and decisionmaking—which is what Ana would be doing in a healthy BDSM relationship by having limits he’d have to abide by, or what he’d be doing as a submissive)  I would be more inclined to just shrug and go, “Not my cuppa tea, dude”  but this is a depiction of it happening in reality, AND this stupid book has been hailed as some kind of manual on sexytimes (a notion which the writer has encouraged herself, from the articles about her I’ve read: again, I wouldn’t be so critical if she’d said, “No, people, this is not how it works IRL, if you want to do this stuff, please do your fucking research and research your fucking”… she didn’t) so I have some fairly big fucking problems with it. (I also, btw, wouldn’t have a problem with this guy being a sociopath and the girl having some comprehension issues and a mental age of twelve… but I wouldn’t think of that as belonging in the romance category… more in the with crime thrillers instead.)

But no, Grey can read her body language and he says that’s giving her away because he felt the tablecloth move, and  he explains that was a calculated guess after years of experience.

Doing what? Working in intelligence? Oh, wait: he’s Sexman, man of sex… this  is his superpower.

This is also fucking ridiculous.

I flush and stare down at my hands. That’s what I’m hindered by in this game of seduction.

This isn’t seduction, it’s  a hostile takeover, Ana. This isn’t romance, this is psychological warfare.

He’s the only one who knows and understands the rules.

They’re pretty simple, Ana: you’re fucked, no matter what you do. Allow me to be philosophical here: the only way to win is to not play the game.

I’m just too naïve and inexperienced.

And stupid. You forgot stupid. I wouldn’t call myself especially intelligent, but even I can see through this shit. And might I add, too: if Ana was playing games back with him, this would be a whole lot more interesting, and possibly might be sexy.

My only sphere of reference is Kate, and she doesn’t take any shit from men. My other references are all fictional: Elizabeth Bennett would be outraged, Jane Eyre too frightened, and Tess would succumb, just as I have.

Oh god. Firstly, you need some more heroines, Ana. Secondly, you really are naïve. Thirdly, you grew up in an era of gaming awesomeness, when it wasn’t completely unheard of for girls to play games. It makes me sad that Lara Croft isn’t on that list. But Lara would be all “I have more important stuff to do than hook up with dudes and I have my own hobbies and interests and I want adventures!”, wouldn’t she?

To demonstrate my point about the game being unwinnable for Ana, Ana tells him she hasn’t finished her food.

“You prefer cold cod to me?”

I would prefer week-old cod to you, Grey, and I pointedly don’t eat meat. That’s how utterly vile you are. But I’m not Ana.

My head jerks up to glare at him and his eyes burn molten silver with compelling need.

Insert reference to The Host in here, because isn’t that what people’s eyes do in that? I don’t know, but its a Stephanie Meyer book and E. L. James hearts Stephanie Meyer.

Ana points out that he’s always on at her to clear her plate, but suddenly—because Grey’s changed his stupid fucking rules—he “couldn’t give a fuck about [her] food.”

“Christian. You just don’t fight fair.”

“I know. I never have.”

And this, Ana, is where you tase him between the legs under the table and go, “Neither do I.” But alas, nothing like that happens, and instead Ana’s inner goddess frowns at her and convinces her—despite her own admissions earlier—that she can beat him at this game.

So she picks up a piece of asparagus and starts being suggestive with it.

I can’t even be bothered writing about the asparagus scene because it’s about as sexy as a pap smear and doesn’t even last as long. I think it’s meant to be about Ana showing him that she’s willing to take back power, except she doesn’t. She does, however, have another uncharacteristic moment of clarity.

I have to go. Our meeting will only end one way if I stay and I need some boundaries after such an intense conversation. As much as my body craves his touch, my mind is rebelling.

It is not rebelling, it is being very very sensible, Ana.

I need some distance to think about all he’s said. I still haven’t made a decision, and his sexual allure and prowess doesn’t make it any easier.

To be fair, I guess being suggestive with asparagus and then having a random moment of clarity with absolutely nothing to indicate a shift in thinking is probably making him a bit confused, too.

Anyway, Ana says she’s going. Then Grey gets whiny about that because he doesn’t want her to go. Ana points out that she’s got graduation happening tomorrow and tells him she needs some space.

“I could make you stay,” he threatens.

WHAT THE EVERLOVING SHIT WAS THAT? He threatened her. Because he doesn’t want her running off and doing her own stuff on the night before graduation. Damn, this guy is a dick.

It doesn’t end there, either.

“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all “yes sir,” “no sir.” I thought you were a natural born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I’m not sure if you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.”

Um, let’s break this down: she’s said she doesn’t want to do something, and now he’s bluffing and going, “Maybe this whole shebang isn’t for you.” That’s fifty shades of fried. Submissive people do have the right to say “no”… just like anyone else does, Grey. She hasn’t even signed this stupid sex contract and you’re already controlling her—only this time, it’s not a theatrical piece of paper to get people into the right headspace: this is emotional abuse.

Also, she was nervous in an environment she wasn’t used to and flusteringly apologetic and worried about fucking up an interview which was for some still unexplained reason, a big fucking deal for her best friend. That doesn’t say sweet diddly-fuck about her sexual proclivities.

“You may be right,” I breathe.

“I want to explore the possibility that you do,” he murmurs, staring down at me.

Oh, I don’t believe this.

He reaches up and

Whoa there: he’s staring down and reaching up at the same time? I realise this book defies the laws of so many other things, but now we can add physics to the list as well, I guess.

caresses my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”

“I know.”

I was a kid when Disney’s Beauty and the Beast hit the big screen, and I went and saw it because, well, big pretty Disney movie. But I’ll admit: I was a bit skeezed out—and I could never quite pinpoint what bothered me about the story—and why it continued to bother me until later on when I was older. I think it actually had to be pointed out to me that the whole idea of some dude being a shit and being scary and abusive— and a woman having to endure that and love the mean out of him while being abused—was really disturbing. Especially when you consider that Belle was probably one of the smarter Disney princesses who’d previously rejected oafish toolbags because she wanted to read and imagine and help her inventor father. Belle wasn’t stupid. But Belle fell for the idea that this was what love was—that’s how pervasive this stupid fairytale is.

Ana is a reader, like Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Taking off my snark hat for a moment, and trusting the reliability of at least some of the narrative here, I’m going to suggest that if Ana managed to get into college and graduate, she’s not entirely stupid. But she’s fallen for the fairytale idea like whoa.

And anyway, going back to the bit I quoted, no, Anastasia, Grey is not just his sexual proclivities. He’s lots of other things. He’s also alive, therefore his brain is  capable of learning and unlearning things. “I’m just like this” is a shitty, childish, irresponsible way of trying to excuse his douchebaggery.

They tentatively kiss, then Grey tries yet again to get her to stay, pulling out the emotional weapons again, and Ana tells him that she will need to think about “this kind of relationship.” Pfft. We know what’s going to happen.

Ana starts mentally panicking that this is going to be the last time that she ever sees him, and commits his face to her memory and has this inner monologue stuff going on which sounds so desperate and crazy that it’s just sad, and then there’s a whole bunch of stuff the editor didn’t red-line about her getting into her car and putting on his jacket, and he criticises her car, and implies he’s going to buy her a new one.

So on one hand, we have Ana internally freaking out about not seeing him again, in the next paragraph, he’s implying that he wants to buy her a car.

Oh-kay.

Driving back to Seattle (I’m completely lost on the geography now, but I’m pretty sure I’m not actually meant to be noticing these sorts of details) she starts crying and having more moments of clarity suggesting she wants more than what he’s able to offer and she’s aware of this. Remember, not long ago she was saying she felt like a receptacle after he’d had sex with her.

Ana starts thinking about how she wants nice dates with fun-filled activities… and how she can’t even touch him or sleep next to him. And about how in three months time, he mightn’t be satisfied with her as a sub and he might ditch her anyway, and that she’s not sure how she’ll cope with that rejection.

This is like the calm, rational eye of the storm, isn’t it? While she’s sounding sensible now—and even though she’s already been through this stuff so many times now that it’s like Groundhog Day, we all know what’s going to happen.

Anyway, Ana goes back home (I thought she was graduating or something?) and cries, and thankfully Kate isn’t there because writing girly convos is boring for E. L. James, and Ana’s abouot to go to bed but…

Grey emails her again. Now he’s telling her that he wants to take it slowly and he wants to make this work. Of course he does… but he only wants it to work on HIS terms. And now he’s scared Ana’s figured him out and is going to fuck off. Can we say “This looks an awful lot like those domestic violence cycle charts, kids?”

His email makes me weep more. I am not a merger. I am not an acquisition. Reading this, I might as well be. I don’t reply. I just don’t know what to say to him.

I do! *raises and waves about hand* I do! And the first word rhymes with “duck” and the second rhymes with “stew.”

I fumble into my PJs and, wrapping his jacket around me, I climb into bed. As I lie staring into the darkness, I think of all the times he warned me to stay away.

So this is some sort of weird victim-blaming thing where she can now convince herself that she should have known better and that anything awful he does to her is her fault because she was asking for it, right?

(There are a heap of excepts from the book of Grey telling her he’s not good for her and that she should stay away, ending with “This is all I know.”)

And as I weep into my pillow silently, it’s this last idea I cling to. This is all I know, too. Perhaps together we can chart a new course.

Which renders all her thinking on this completely moot and a total waste of my time, but hey: incoming Jerry Springer Show madness, I suppose.

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Twelve

Okay, first up: just throwing it out there: trigger warnings for some really icky victim-blamingy stuff and abuse stuff come with this chapter. I know it shouldn’t need spelling out, but it’s really not cool and healthy and marriage-saving when you’re being guilt-tripped into agreeing to sexual things and when you’re actually scared of your partner and walking on eggshells because of it. Seeing this considered a love story is making me want to cry.

For the first time in my life, I voluntarily go for a run.

This is a more interesting opening line than I was expecting, though it’s disappointing that she’s deciding to now, as opposed to, say, when she’s had creepy dudes being creepy around her and plenty of incentives to run.

I find my nasty, never-used sneakers,

(how the hell can they be nasty if they’re never-used? Sports gear starts smelling and looking nasty precisely *because* it gets used)

some sweatpants, and a T-shirt.

Well, good thing she detailled her outfit. I would have expected she’d head out for a run in a full-length ballgown and six-inch heels.

I put my hair in pigtails, blushing at the memories they bring back, and I plug in my iPod.

Minor *moment* here: she plugs her iPod into what, exactly? If she’s plugging it into something, that implies she’s attaching it to a power source or a computer to sync music with it. Therefore she can’t be using it to listen to music on her run.

I can’t sit in front of that marvel of technology and look at or read any more disturbing material.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Anyone’d think she wound up on an animal rights site with horribly graphic photos or /b/ or something. Again: if she’s really this freaked out, and if this is the only way Grey can have a relationship, well, these two things are really not compatible.

I need to expend some of this excess, enervating energy.

You also need to lay off the alliteration, E. L.

Quite frankly, I have a mind to run to the Heathman Hotel and just demand sex from the control freak. But that’s five miles, and I don’t think I’ll be able to run one mile, let alone five, and, of course, he might turn me down, which would be beyond humiliating.

Huh? Where the fuck did this come from? Seriously: Ana’s suddenly been hit with an attack of the hornies, and, ignoring all her previous weirdness, is just thinking she’ll rock up and demand sex– but ohnoes, he might reject her? I don’t need to go through all the reasons there’s so much WTF in that paragraph, do I? No. Good.

Kate is walking from her car as I head out of the door. She nearly drops her shopping bags when she sees me. Ana Steele in sneakers.

Wait. Hold it right there: this is ridiculous. All through the book Ana has brand-dropped that she’s a Converse wearing person. I think that’s the only brand of shoes which have been mentioned throughout the book. Even Grey has realised that she likes Converse enough to buy her a pair.

Unless I’m horribly mistaken, aren’t Converse, um, sneakers? I’ve got a couple of pairs… that’s what I’d call them. Even Google reveals that yep, Converse are sneakers. So… why the fuck would Kate be shocked to see Ana wearing her favourite type of shoes? Continuity— this book ignores it. And, dammit, it makes me realise why the editor fucked off long ago, too.

Once upon a time, I agreed to beta a fanfic for someone– to check for spelling and grammatical errors, continuity issues, cliches, weird-sounding dialogue, etc. I’m not any kind of expert on this stuff and never claim to be much more than an avid reader who can spot mistakes and things that jump out as “this could be done a bit more smoothly.” Anyway, three pages into the damn fic, I was regretting my offer. The whole thing should have had a whole rainbow of squiggly lines underneath it in Word. But I was gentle, and I was nice about it. I left detailled notes, encouragement, and suggestions. I invited discussion with the writer. I could have walked away from it; a sensible person who was more world-weary than I would have. But I was thinking I’d be decent and not shit on the fragile writer’s spirit and hopefully help offer some advice to make a mediocre fic less than mediocre, to encourage the writer to do things like use spell check and read through her own work, et cetera. I spent fucking hours trying to politely say “Change this, it’s horrible” in so many ways that I nearly had to resort to using other languages. I spent nearly a WEEK on polite beta-reading and notes.

Anyway, I saw the entire fic, posted in all its hideous, unedited, Marysuetastic glory posted on the internet a day after I’d returned it to the writer. I didn’t even get a thankyou from her. But… I did get credited as the beta reader.

I didn’t lose my shit until then. And because correspondence had not happened from her, I left a message at the end of the fic stating that yes, I’d beta-read it, but that NONE of my suggestions had been taken on board, and that was pretty much the copy I’d received, not the betaed version. (A couple of days later the writer pulled down the fic and flounced because no one gave her feedback. Perhaps if they’d been able to read it, they would have.)

Ahem. My point is: I’m perversely curious about whether this book has actually seen an editor, or, if it has, the editor in question has a similar tale of “Holy god, what the fuck happened there—I edited this?” to mine in that scenario. Or, if the subsequent editors refused to be named as such after they were ignored. In the opening credits, James’ husband is thanked for “doing the first edit” (leading me to believe that he skimmed over it, went “That’s nice, dear,” and went back to doing whatever he was doing). In theory, too, if Niall, James’ husband, did the first edit, then that’s suggesting that there were subsequent edits.

Which leads me to one of two logical places: a) someone, somewhere along this supposed chain of events is lying, or b) the book was even worse than this before it saw an editor. In order to preserve what is left my sanity, I am going to assume the former. Basically, there are some very lazy editors over at Arrow books. Or some very ignored ones. Or… I can only wonder if this is one of those things like Caligula that no one’s actually game to own up to.

I wave and don’t stop for the inquisition.

What inquisition? You mean, Kate saying hi and asking what’s up?

Snow Patrol blaring in my ears, I set off into the opal and aquamarine dusk.

Okay, firstly: unless there’s a serious need to do so, it’s generally a good idea to be vague about musical acts mentioned in your story. Firstly, the work becomes dated when you mention ’em. Secondly, not everyone knows who Snow Patrol are. My mother could pick up this book and start reading it (and I swear, she’d probably have more things to say about the editing than I have) and she’d go, “WTF is Snow Patrol?” Seriously, there isn’t any need for inclusions like this: it feels like too much self-insertion and it makes it look choppy and amateurish.

Secondly, “aquamarine and opal dusk” is the sort of fucking ridiculous description that belongs with “a voice like chocolate melted fudge or something”, “taking no prisoners” when feeling someone up, and “integral and moist parts” of someone. Unless Ana is dropping acid, I have no idea how the fuck the dusk manages to look “opal and aquamarine.” Seriously, had E. L. James even seen an opal? How the fuck does THAT translate into a skyscape, unless the Northern Lights are doing their thing at the moment (which they aren’t, because, um, geography)?

Ana goes through to the park and has a big long think about things. If this were a musical, I swear, this is the point where she’d make with an angsty solo number about decisions. (Oh god: now I’m waiting for it: Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Fifty Shades of Broadway. You heard it here first, people.)

What am I going to do? I want him, but on his terms? I just don’t know. Perhaps I should negotiate what I want. Go through that ridiculous contract line by line and say what is acceptable and what isn’t.

No shit. That might be a good idea.

My research has told me that legally it’s unenforceable.

Thank fuck for that. Seriously, I actually feel a tad better seeing this in the book, though I’m a bit disappointed. Since we get pages of pointless description about everything from helicopter rides to interior design, why didn’t we get a blow-by-blow account of the research Ana did which brought her to the conclusion that the contract isn’t viable? That would have been interesting.

Ana figures that Grey’s aware of the fact that the contract is a load of hooey and that it’s just about setting the parameters of the relationship. Has the internet made Ana grow a brain, or is it just a quick-and-easy way to get some character advancement happening?

 I am plagued by one question– why is he like this? Is it because he was seduced at such a young age?

Oh dear. Seriously, the fact that Ana has wondered about this a few times now and it hasn’t been shot down as a definite no worries me a lot.

I think it’s perfectly acceptable and reasonable that Grey has issues with women and intimacy and all the rest of it since he was abused as a kid. That would explain the jealousy, the abuse, the emotional blackmail, the “don’t leave me/I must control you crap” which makes Grey scary and volatile and all the rest of it.

But Ana’s problem isn’t with any of that stuff– no– she’s freaked out about the fact that the guy is into kink. The kink is the least problematic aspect of Grey’s character. The kink doesn’t need explaining. The rest of his bullshit– maybe that does.

Further to the point: is it just me, or are there a whole heap of issues with someone who is an unbalanced control freak thinking that his abusive behaviour falls under the BDSM umbrella rather than the bugfuck crazy umbrella? Just because one crazy guy likes peanut butter sandwiches, we don’t see people insisting that it’s only crazy people who like peanut butter sandwiches, right? (Correlation and random extra information, E. L. James: two different things.) Repeat after me, people: BDSM isn’t abuse with expensive sex toys done by crazy people.

Another thing: why the fuck is Ana so desperate for an explanation of why he’s into it? For the most part, Ana doesn’t really analyse anything or seek out explanations, and suddenly she’s tripped out about this? Why not have that fascination for her mother’s inability to settle down, or Jose’s Nice Guy Syndrome or any other issue pertaining to a character?

Ana has a moment in the park with a tree where she decides to put her foot down and tell him what she’ll say no to, and decides that she needs to tell him her thoughts about things. She then returns home and ordinarily I would skim over this but—

Kate has been shopping as only she can, for clothes for her vacation to Barbados. Mainly bikinis and matching sarongs. She will look fabulous in all of them, yet she still makes me sit and comment while she tries on each and every one.

I dunno, but I’d say that’s awfully suggestive. Maybe you try on a bazillion outfits at the shops and ask for opinions from your galpals, but to take your booty home and then do it for feedback from your housemate? We’re not talking prom dresses, folks, we are talking skimpy bikinis.

There are only so many ways one can say “You look fabulous, Kate.” She has a curvy, slim figure to die for. She doesn’t do it on purpose, I know, but I haul my sorry, perspiration-clad ass into my room on the pretext of packing more boxes.

Pfft. Whine whine whine. Also, Ana didn’t do any running and she’s “perspiration-clad”? I don’t get it. And I’m too tired to argue, E. L. James, and there is a whole lot more chapter to get through and I swear, I’m starting to think that forcing people to read this chapter should be considered psychological torture designed to break people down over time.

In another act of randomness, Ana then emails Christian with two lines:

 Okay, I’ve seen enough.

It was nice knowing you.

Just as I’m reeling from that and trying to work out where the fuck that came from, it’s then revealed that this is Ana joking. She’s giggling and hugging herself like a fucking lunatic, then she worries– after hitting “Send”– that he’s not going to find it that funny. Ten minute passes and she starts freaking out, realising that perhaps a joking tone doesn’t translate so well in print and over the internoodles.

She then spends the next however long packing books, listening to Snow Patrol, and freaking out because he hasn’t emailled her back yet, so she starts reading the contract again. And then—

I don’t know why I glance up, maybe I catch a slight movement from the corner of my eye, I don’t know, but when I do, he’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom, watching me intently.

Can we say really fucking creepy, ladies and gentlemen? The guy can now add actual stalking to his resume of dubious activities. This is the bit where Ana is meant to let out a blood-curdling scream and start defining some boundaries, but instead she gets all distracted because he’s wearing grey flannel pants and a white linen shirt. The significance of this escapes me.

Ana, instead of being freaked out that he’s in her room, that Kate hasn’t warned or even asked if it’s cool that he be let in– is bothered because—

I’m still in my sweats, unshowered, yucky, and he’s just gloriously yummy, his pants doing that hanging from the hips thing, and what’s more, he’s here in my bedroom.

Reading this sentence is like going over the sex contract chapter: I don’t know where to start in pointing out what’s wrong with it because there’s enough wrong there to warrant an aneurysm. But, okay. I think there are bigger problems than that Ana hasn’t showered; who over twelve actually describes another human being as “gloriously yummy” (well, Jeffrey Dahmer might have described people like that, but… HANG ON. Shouldn’t Grey be describing HER as “deliciously yummy” since he’s the vampire)? and I’m not sure where else pants are meant to hang from, but I think that was meant to be sexy and I’m just making one of those “Iunno. I got nothing” faces at the moment.

“I felt that your email warranted a reply in person,” he explains dryly.

I open my mouth and then close it again, twice. The joke is on me. Never in this or any alternative universe did I expect him to drop everything and turn up here.

Why the fuck not? He’s done crazy-arsed things like this before. I know you drank a LOT that night when you were out with Jose and co, but don’t you remember that? He has a history of travelling long distances to rock up and be creepy and controlling.

Grey, it seems, has the same fascination with interior decoration as Ana does, and takes interest in her bedroom. Ana gets all excited because he’s sitting on her bed. He explains that he’s still at the nearby hotel (which only makes his arrival slightly less creepy; remember, this guy DID turn up from way out woop-woop to buy DIY bondage gear at the hardware store where she worked after seeing her, what, once?) and then gets to business asking about the email. Ana offers him a drink (does she have a bar fridge in her room?) to which he says no, and then

He smiles a dazzling, crooked smile, his head cocked slightly to one side.

That’s a lot of crooked there. Inner ear issues playing up again, Mr. Grey? (And on that, is that the sort of chronic illness which would breach his own contract?)

“So it was nice knowing me?”

Holy cow, is he offended? I stare down at my fingers. How am I going to dig myself out of this? If I tell him it was a joke, I don’t think he’ll be impressed.

Let’s face it, Ana, given what we know about him and jealousy and overreaction, he’s probably going to be even less impressed if it’s not a joke.

“I thought you’d reply by email.” My voice is small, pathetic.

“Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?” he asks darkly.

I blink up at him, gasping, freeing my lip.

“I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip,” I murmur softly.

Oh, gawd, not this crap again. Get some new material, E. L. James. We’re not even halfway through the book and I’m sick of hearing about Ana biting her lip. Also, on that… she doing it because she’s nervous. Why is that meant to be sexy? Isn’t confidence sexy any more? Yet again, I’m seriously mystified as to how this is supposed to be sexually arousing literature. Or Mommy porn. Or whatever the hell it’s meant to be. There’s just something really forlorn and childish and, as Ana even said herself, pathetic about this.

Anyway, in spite of this, Ana can feel that magic electricity between them, and before we all know it, he’s undoing her pigtails and commenting on her exercising, asking why and pulling on her earlobe at the same time.

“I needed time to think,” I whisper. I’m all deer/headlights, moth/flame, bird/snake… and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

Well, if that wasn’t the laziest fucking writing I’ve seen anywhere. Not to mention, bird/snake? I dunno what sort of birds– or snakes– they have in Washington, but my thought on that addition to the things that Ana is like went to “one of these things is not like the others.” Birds, to my knowledge–and maybe this is culturally influenced to some level– eat snakes. Maybe “egg/snake” would have worked better, except that eggs don’t have any sense of impending doom when a snake’s about to eat them. Then again, Ana doesn’t really, either.

Grey then asks perhaps the most idiotic question ever.

“Think about what, Anastasia?”

The national deficit. Global warming. Raunch culture and the decline of music videos on MTV. Jesus fucking Christ, Grey, this is probably the most idiotic thing you’re said so far. What the fuck do you THINK she’s thinking about?

“And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the biblical sense?”

What the everloving fuck was that? A quick Google informs me that knowing someone in the biblical sense means that you’ve had sex with them. You learn something every day. (Who the fuck uses this term? I’ve managed to make it to my thirties, through all sorts of crowds and websites and experiences without hearing it used ever.)

 “I didn’t think you were familiar with the Bible.”

“I went to Sunday school, Anastasia. It taught me a great deal.”

Huh? Of course he went to Sunday school. This book was written for an American audience and we can’t have the readers thinking that he’s one of those immoral irredeemable atheists or something, right? (Speaking OF atheists, I’d like to point out that I think Richard Dawkins can argue til he’s blue in the face about why there isn’t any higher power up there, but it’s THIS book– not The God Delusion— and its mammoth success– which makes the strongest case for “there is no god” that I’ve come across.) Also, I haven’t read the Bible, but I’m seriously wondering what Christian– whose “Christianity” seems to start and end with his name– learned from the Bible. To be backwards about women? (Or maybe that you should stone to death people who disrespect their parents or get tattoos or grow two different sorts of crops together or work on Sundays.) That’s not something you want to advertise, dude.

“I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible. Perhaps you were taught from a modern translation.”

Now that, Ana, I believe, was humour. Grey even smiles at this.

He then tells her that he thought he should remind her how nice it was knowing him, because, hey, when you’re writing porn, who gives a shit about cliched, cheesy dialogue— and then things get freaky.

His eyes blaze at me, his challenge intrinsic in his stare. His lips are parted– he’s waiting, coiled to strike.

Told you it got freaky. It sounds like he’s transformed into some kind of animorphy thing.

Desire– acute, liquid, and smoldering– combusts deep in my belly.

What the hell? It sounds way too much like heartburn.

Things get Serious and they’re making with the alleged sexytimes, and Ana’s thoughts run haywire.

 His tongue is in my mouth, claiming and possessing me, and I revel in the force he uses. I feel him against the length of my body. He wants me, and this does strange, delicious things to my insides. Not Kate in her little bikinis

Can I just say that her thinking about Kate in the middle of a makeout session with someone else makes my inner Kate/Ana shipper go “YAAAAAY!”?—

not one of the fifteen, not evil Mrs. Robinson. Me. This beautiful man wants me.

Oh god. The crippling self-esteem this is suggestive of just makes me sad. Am I correct in thinking that the “sexy erotica thing” is really, at the heart of it all, about being wanted? Because, sorry, but being compared to a bunch of exes including a child molester… in the spur of the moment? I dunno, to me, that’s not exactly sky high standards we’re talking about here.

My inner goddess glows so bright she could light up Portland.

There. Are. No. Words.

He then asks the second most superfluous and idiotic question ever, which is

“Trust me?” he breathes.

Well, duh. The reason the two of you are in this mess to begin with is because she has trusted you implictly from day dot.

Another point on this: has anyone else noticed that often when people need to assure you that they’re trustworthy, or ask for your trust, they are most certainly not deserving of it? The people I hear “trust me” from the most often are people who are up to something dodgy enough to need to reassure people about it. Basically, if you “need” to ask me to trust you, I’m going to wonder why you’re asking me to, which is going to throw your trustworthiness into some serious doubt. And interestingly enough, it’s always been people who’ve whined about my trust issues who’ve later tried to screw me around the most. Conversely, I’ve found it’s the people who don’t ask for– or expect– trust– who tend not to do that stuff, or, who, if they have done something hurtful or stupid– have truly been unaware of what the were doing or the result it would have.

(Maybe that’s my biggest issue with Grey, come to think of it. The onus is always on Ana to just trust him for no feasible reason [actually, to trust him in spite of behaviour that sets off some serious alarm bells], while he quite clearly doesn’t trust her. He doesn’t really give her an inch on anything, yet she’s expected to just hand over everything. To me, that’s unbalanced at the least, and really fucking creepy and disturbing further up the scale.)

Given Grey’s track record AND now this, trusting him would be the last thing I’d be doing, but waaah, I’m just a grouchy old cynic and stuff.

The short version is that he ties her wrists together with the tie featured on the front cover, and then ties that to the headboard.

I’m pretty sure there’s implied consent (I mean, she launched herself at him, right? Surely that means she’s consenting to everything else that happens afterwards < / sarcasm >) because then he starts undoing her shoes, and she tries to kick him away and then he tells her, in no non-creepy manner—

“If you struggle, I’ll tie your feet too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you—

Hate to interrupt the party, folks, but since they never agreed on an non-verbal cues to halt sexual activities, if he gags her, she can no longer use a safeword to point out that she’s withdrawing consent and she wants things stopped. Just a thought.

He then points out that Kate can probably hear what’s going on, like Kate has nothing better to do than stand outside her room like some sort of jealous creeper, which is enough to make Ana fall silent, and returns to undressing her. He then comments on how she’s biting her lip, we get a sing-in from her Inner George Takei, and he gets near-naked himself, only to tell her that she’s seen too much– like he’s got miltary secrets tattooed on him or something equally ridiculous– and to cover her eyes with her T-shirt.

He then tells her he’s going to get a drink, and he leaves the bed, leaving Ana alone with her thoughts on this. And seriously, they’re so mundane that we’ll pretend they never happened– Grey comes back soon enough anyway with ice and alcohol, presumably, and sound effects indicate that he’s removing his pants.

He asks if she’s thirsty. Ana realises she is.

I don’t really know how to describe what happens next but basically Grey pours white wine into a glass, adds ice, and sips on it, and kisses her, transferring white wine into her mouth at the same time. Whatever toasts yer muffins, I guess, but that wasn’t what I’d call particularly hot. Ana disagrees with me.

It’s so unexpected, so hot, though it’s chilled and Christian’s lips are cool.

“More?” he whispers.

I nod. It tastes all the more divine because it’s been in his mouth. He leans down, and I drink another mouthful from his lips… oh my.

Anyone else noticing that “oh my” seems to be E.L. James’ shorthand for “How the fuck do I finish this sentence?” Nonetheless, I keep hearing it in George Takei’s voice, so it’s all good, and much more entertaining than pretty much everything else in the book.

Grey then warns her about her limited capacity for alcohol (because a few mouthfuls of white wine is the same as, what, FIVE margaritas, right?), and continues what he’s doing, then adding ice to the transferred liquids, then kissing her. (Remember that she was apparently all sweaty and gross before, too…) Ice and wine wind up in her navel and he warns that if she moves, wine will get all over the bed and if that happens, he’ll have to punish her. His proposed punishment is orgasm denial because I don’t think E. L. James has worked up to writing hardcore BDSM yet.

Ana gets all incoherent.

“Oh. please… Christian… Sir… Please.” He’s driving me insane. I hear him smile.

Wow. Maybe I really am missing out on something, because I’ve never experienced any kind of sexual activity that’s had me hallucinating. Well, I’ve had delusions that certain people would be decent more permanent partners because of the sex, but that’s not the same thing as experiencing stimuli through some other sense than the commonly accepted one. Generally when you’re hearing visuals and tasting noises, there’s some kind of chemical involved.

I’d like to add, too: yes, this is just me being bitchy, and ordinarily, I can let a lot slide when it comes to characters being all incoherent and lustiful when they’re in the throes of passion. But there’s a bullshit threshold for me. Once you’ve repeatedly crossed it, and you keep piling on more bullshit, everything becomes ridiculous. And that’s what’s happened here. On the upside, E. L. James could throw in a bunch of ninja and pirates and tentacle monsters and dodgy-looking spaceships into the mix like this is some sort of failing NaNoWriMo novel that has lost its oomph and it wouldn’t ruin the story. On the downside, though… she doesn’t.

Anyway, what follows is a fairly predictable, unremarkable sex scene with nothing to really offer any commentary on, beyond the fact that in amongst Grey’s teasing her, Ana talks about how it was all a joke and Grey keeps asking her if this is a joke, and if it’s nice, and she has an orgasm that results in her screaming his name (do people actually do this? I’ve only ever heard of it happening in fiction or in really unfortunate circumstances where someone else’s name gets yelled out) whereby I wonder if Kate is still, as Grey suggested, able to hear what’s going on. Though one would suspect she’s clued in and figured it out by this point.

 “That was really nice,” I whisper, smiling coyly.

“There’s that word again.”

“You don’t like that word?”

“No. It doesn’t do it for me at all.”

Well tough fucking shit, Grey, you don’t get to police her language too.

“Oh– I don’t know… it seems to have a very beneficial effect on you.”

“I’m a beneficial effect, now am I? Could you wound my ego any further, Miss Steele?”

Unh? I’m truly lost here, Grey. She said that a word had a beneficial effect– which was, presumably, you deciding to give her good, skilled sexytimes– and you’re offended by this? How do you get offended with a compliment like that?

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your ego.”

Wow. Thankfully, Ana is not a psychologist, I guess, though it wouldn’t take one to figure out that this guy has more issues than your average tormented romantic hero/serial killer.

But even as I say it, I don’t feel the conviction of my words– something elusive crosses my mind, a fleeting thought, but it’s lost before I can grasp it.

Well. That kind of DOES sound like what happens when you’re ingesting hallucinogens, but it could also be what happens when you’re Ana Steele and you so desperately want to be loved by a psychopath and you have an enormous capacity for denial.

This leads into Ana asking him why he doesn’t like being touched.

Now. A little bit of TMI time here… I sort of empathise. I’m not a touchy feely person and never really have been.

While I’m sure someone could try to psychoanalyse that, the honest-to-god truth is that I’ve pretty much been like this since I was *born*. (I wasn’t a “cuddly baby,” according to my mother, even. Though… my youngest was like that and he’s a super-duper affectionate little person now, and my oldest was all about the baby massage and he’s now more like me in the “Don’t fucking touch me” sense.) I find people touching me– especially when it’s unexpected and I don’t know them very well– an invasion of my personal space… and even when it’s people I like and know, I find it kind of intrusive and irritating. At one end of the scale, I find it a mild annoyance, at the other end, I find it a serious threat.

And there doesn’t have to be a reason for not being a touchy-feely person, E. L. James. Suggesting that there’s something wrong with– or damaged about someone for not being a touchy-feely type is like suggesting there’s something broken about people who are extroverts. Or who like animals. Or who don’t like peas. Personal preference can be just that, and some people’s personal preference is “Keep yer mitts off the goods.”

But, uh, wait: E. L. James doesn’t get this, does she? Just like Grey’s kink is about him being damaged, his dislike of being touched has got to be about it, too, right?

Even Grey says as much, but we all know, since it’s been mentioned several times, that he’s bullshitting and it’s part of his Big Mysterious Mystery and it’s going to crop up again in the story. If this book was any more predictable, I’d be wondering if it was ghostwritten by Dan Brown.

They discuss the contract and how it totes wasn’t funny that Ana made a joke (admittedly, it didn’t translate well, but holy overreaction, Grey), and then we hit a point that any eagle-eyed scenester would have noticed was mysteriously absent (other than the fact that he never said never on at least one thing which possibly could be relevent to a vampire’s interests in the bedroom).

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t made up my mind. Will you collar me?”

Wow. That was random. Note to E. L. James: writing books that aren’t predictable doesn’t just mean making random things come out of left field when you’re worried things are a bit formulaic.

He raises his eyebrows. “You have been doing your research. I don’t know, Anastasia. I’ve never collared anyone.”

Okay, that was a bit unexpected. It’s not exactly like collaring people is some kind of really out-there edgeplay thing. I always kind of got the impression it was a fairly solid staple of the BDSM dealio– I realise it’s not a given thing for everyone, but assumed that since this book is full of a whole bunch of other cliches, this would be one of the obvious and fairly vanilla ones.

Oh… should I be surprised by this? I know so little about the scene… I don’t know.

“Were you collared?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

“By Mrs. Robinson?’

“Mrs. Robinson!” He laughs loudly, freely, and he looks so young and carefree, his head thrown back, his laughter infectious.

I grin back at him.

“I’ll tell her you said that; she’ll love it.”

“You still talk to her regularly?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice.

“Yes.” He’s serious now.

Oh… and part of me is suddenly insanely jealous– I’m disturbed by the depth of my feeling.

Oh. Oh gawd. It’s like Total Dysfunction Junction, The Jerry Springer Show edition. The fact that Ana is jealous of a sadistic pedophile is pretty fucking disturbing, too. Your self-image– and your weird, creepy attachment issues– have gotta be pretty fierce if the first thing that comes to mind in this situation is that you’re jealous. I’m not exactly pimping myself as normal, folks, but my reaction to something like that would be rage and disgust and a sense of wanting to do the world vigilante justice. (Because, fer reals: maybe she and Grey are on good terms and can laugh about it now, but what about the OTHER underage kids she might have– or be preying upon? Yuck.)

None of this stuff occurs to Ana.

 “I see.” My voice is tight. “So you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I’m not allowed.”

Is it just me, or is anyone else getting a sort of wicked stepmother-y fucked up fairytale vibe from this woman’s existence? A sort of quest thing where Ana is the rightful heiress to Grey’s heart or something but first needs to break the spell of wicked Queen Shotatiger’s curse and free Grey’s heart and cure him of his need for BDSM and creepiness and teach him the meaning of true love?

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson was part of that lifestyle. I told you, she’s a good friend now. If you’d like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to her.”

Ten bucks says she’s blonde and she makes Ana feel insecure.

 What? Is he deliberately trying to upset me?

Um, whoa, nelly. I’m hardly a member of the Christian Grey fan club, but even I get the impression he was actually trying to be a little bit empathetic towards Ana there.

Though why Ana can’t just talk to whoever she damn well wants to about her sex life– and it’s hers as much as Grey’s– is beyond me.

Then again…

I think we’ve ALL met one of THOSE BDSM zealots, and maybe Grey knows how fucking irritating they are and this is part of the schtick about how Ana’s behaviour reflects back on him: he doesn’t want his girlfriend to become That Annoying Submissive Girl.

You know the type– or not, depending on who you run with or meet along the way– it’s like what happens when you smush a One Direction fangirl and a just-turned-18-can-legally-party person together. They’re that person at the writer’s meetup who needs to make every fucking subject of the conversation about BDSM. They’re that person who will compliment you on your tattoo, and before you can say “Thankyou,” they’ll start prattling on about how they want a tattoo but their dom has forbidden it. They’re that person who, at a random, cross-sectional gathering of assorted people– let’s say, at a housewarming– will make sure that every single person in attendance from the littlies at the kids’ table to ninety-six-year-old Great Aunty Edna to some random person they’ve never even encountered on FaceBook– knows all about the fact that they’re a sub and about all the rules and expectations put onto them by their dom.

If you think I’m over-exaggerating or joking, I actually envy you, because these people are part of the reason I am a bit of a shut-in nowadays. They kind of contaminated the local alternative scene a few years ago, and they’re still going strong— it’s hit a point where I don’t know if I can go to a goth night and kick back drinking G&Ts with some old friends while old Nine Inch Nails tracks thump in the background or if I’m going to be annoyed to the point of wanting to step on someone’s throat because some dipshit (who initially complimented me on my awesome dress sense) is now telling me in depth about under what circumstances she can and can’t wear underpants. And I’m not risking a twenty dollar door charge to find out when I could be at home writing or playing videogames.

If Grey’s motivated to stopping Ana from being That Annoying Submissive Girl, then maybe I’ve horribly underestimated him and he’s not that—

Whoa. Wait. Rewind. Grey is a miserable, selfish, abusive douchemachine. This isn’t about him—or E. L. James— wanting to see BDSM represented responsibly and in a fashion that doesn’t piss off or creep out random strangers, this is about him emotionally and psychologically abusing Ana. (Though, TBH, I don’t believe his intention here was to upset her, but still: he should be at least aware of the fact that he’s toying with someone whose emotional development stopped just before puberty.)

Anyway, Ana gets pissy about this, and Grey gets pissy about that. How DARE she not want to meet his exes? He taunts her about being jealous, and then lets her know in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t sleep with girlfriends, slaves, subs or anyone, that those previous times he did with her were exceptions.

Ana says she’s tired, he takes that as his leave— but asks her about the contract beforehand, because it’s ALWAYS a great idea to bring up a subject that should be addressed and discussed with sensitivity and maturity when you’re in the middle of a pissy bitchfest with someone, right?

At this moment, I’m not sure whether they’re both just awful people and it’ll be fun to watch them destroy each other in a Bitter Moon kind of way or if they’re both so dysfunctional that they’re perfect for each other. There’s so much childish pettiness and passive-aggression here that even I’m amazed, and I’ve survived some fascinating family Christmases.

In another act of random randomness, they then agree to meet up the following week, and then he leaves her room.

Ana pokes around the house for Kate, because now that she’s alone, Kate and her blondeness and apparent inquisitions ain’t looking so bad. But Christian hasn’t actually left yet!

 Christian follows me out. During the short walk from bedroom to front door, my thoughts and feelings ebb and flow, transforming. I’m no longer angry with him, I feel suddenly unbearably shy. I don’t want him to go.

I’m actually kind of pitying her, because this is completely how I imagine Stockholm Syndrome to look. He’s upset her, she’s challenged him about it, he’s been emotionally abusive (“I don’t sleep with anyone! Those times were exceptions!”) and she’s asked him to leave and now she feels bad and lonely.

For the first time, I’m wishing he was normal—

No, Ana, that’s not the first time you’ve wished that. But I’ll forgive the unreliable memory since you’re in a state of distress at the moment.

wanting a normal relationship that doesn’t need a ten page agreement

Well, according to the last chapter, it’s eleven pages PLUS whatever the prescribed food list was—

Ana then stares down at her hands again, which just makes me feel sad for some reason because kids do that when they’re feeling uncomfortable and guilty, and it’s yet another one of those utterly helpless, pathetic Ana-isms.

This is the first time I have ever had sex in my own home, and as sex goes, I think it was pretty damn fine.

This is the point where I stop feeling sad and just go back to rolling my eyes. Because, really, Ana, you don’t have much to compare this to, and I’d say that the aftermath was easily enough to kill the moment. Let’s look at the bigger picture here for a moment: the guy is a douche.

And it only gets worse when Ana’s then immediately thinking like this:

But now I feel like a receptacle– an empty vessel to be filled at his whim.

Spooky, Ana, because I think that’s what I implied, at some stage earlier, that he was using you as. (I’m reading this as I go, too, folks. Trust me, it’s hard enough reading it once, let alone more than that.) I’ve got a random tip for you, and I know I’m hardly an expert on awesome lovey-times relationships, but seriously? You should not be feeling like this after you’ve had sex with someone. Or, maybe the feeling is acceptable, but it’s not cool and not fair for you to be left feeling like this. This is not a promising and healthy start for a relationship. And the fact that you’re normally able to overlook all sorts of weirdness like this and deny it away and that this particular thing has you feeling miserable? This is a sign. A big fucking neon flashing one.

My subconscious shakes her head. You wanted to run to the Heathman for sex– you had it express delivered.

Yes, but fantasising about something and not doing it is very different from having a dude appear in your room and have sex with you, then basically treat you like a receptacle and tell you that some intimacy with him was a mistake because you were upset with him suggesting you meet his ex.

She crosses her arms and taps her foot with a what-are-you-complaining-about look on her face.

Your subconscious is a douche, Ana. At least it’s not the Inner Goddess, I suppose.

Christian then asks if she’s okay, which I’m sure is meant to be nice, but it just looks like he’s fucking with her head from this angle or realising that he’s pushed too far and she won’t be signing that contract if he doesn’t even pretend to show some concern about her. And for some reason, that’s when Ana has a revelation.

 I know that if I do this thing with him, I will get hurt. He’s not capable, interested or willing to offer me any more… and I want more.

I think that’s enough for me, personally. She’s figured it out. Show’s over, kids, good game, we can pack our shit up and go home. Ana finally woke up to herself in a hideously fast and unbelievable moment of character development.

Hang on… wait. I’m not even at the end of the chapter. There are another 314 pages of this. I am feeling cheated.

He kisses her, agrees to “Wednesday,” and they kiss some more.

 “Anastasia,” he whispers. “What are you doing to me?”

“I could say the same to you,” I whisper back.

Um. No. Fuck you with a fucking garden hose with barbed wire in it, Grey, you emotionally abusive shithead. Seriously, YOU were the one who started this shit. Yes, Ana is a complete fuckwit, but you’re an arsehole, and you’re essentially blaming HER for you being a shithead towards her? You are responsible for your own behaviour. Ana is not. You are horrible. You are like the high octane nightmare fuel of the BDSM community, not its godamned posterboy. You are an emotionally FRIED manchild who can’t take responsibility for his own actions and who preys on the emotionally stunted and delusional.

Ana then feels sad as he drives off, nothing is resolved, and the poor kid then has however long it is to dwell on this incident.

She runs back to her bedroom and starts sobbing. Let’s just say if these two were awful as a “healthy,” mushy, in-love couple, they’re even more awful like this. Maybe this would be a nifty break before Ana plans epic revenge which destroys his company, his reputation, his relationship with Shota Tiger and everything else he holds dear, but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen.

Thankfully, Kate comes to the rescue, and while Ana cries, she tells her that the other Grey brother was a douche, too, and that the two of them were mixed up with arms dealings in Darfur like everyone suspected, though Kate’s been clever and blackmailed both of them and now has five billion dollars up her sleeve and that Ana could do WAY better than Grey and that she’s always liked her like that, and they have a Moment, and then the two of them drive off into the sunset and live happily ever after and the next three hundred pages is like Thelma and Louise but with a happier ending and—

No. Sorry to disappoint. Kate does appear, and she gives Ana a hug, and the rest of it is back to stunted dialogue and awkwardness. Kate has gone from being hatefully blonde into being Ana’s only friend again. She comments on Ana’s “dreadful sex hair” and they share a girlish laugh about that.

Anyway, Ana explains what happens, and I get bored and start thinking that this book probably fails the Bechdel test because despite how long it is, Ana and Kate only ever seem to have discussions about dudes one or both of them is sleeping with or would like to be sleeping with.

Kate, because– oh I don’t know why— says that she thinks Grey is smitten with her. Which, really? Kate always seemed brighter than that, but maybe she’s already over the drama and just wants to shut Ana up so she can go off to Barbados, so she’ll tell her anything– I don’t know, and I don’t care any more. There is only so much bad sex, stupid soap opera, creepiness-disguised-as-love and melodrama you can pack into one chapter before my interest starts to wane and I start feeling like a five-year-old with ADD.

Ana, for the first time ever, seems to have amazing clarity about the situation.

I frown. Christian smitten with me? Hardly. He’s just looking for a new toy– a convenient new toy that he can bed and do unspeakable things to. My heart tightens painfully. This is the reality.

“He came here to fuck me, that’s all.”

“Who said romance was dead?” she whispers, horrified. I’ve shocked Kate. I didn’t think that was possible. I shrug apologetically.

“He uses sex as a weapon.”

Um. This is like, the third thing this chapter that Ana has said or thought that suggests that she knows how scary and creepy he is. This is where Ana shouldn’t be crying, or agreeing to Wednesday, but having a seriously huge Dodged Bullet party for herself because having realised that he’s this creepy before he’s scarred her permanently is worthy of celebration if anything is.

Kate seems to get it, but then sort of minimises, suggesting that he has committment issues. Which is a bit like saying that strychnine is a little bit poisonous. Or that Fred Phelps is a little bit crazy. Or that E. L. James’ editor was a little bit AWOL.

They then change the topic, and Ana asks about Elliot, because asking about the brother of the guy who’s just treated you like a receptacle is totally going to stop you dwelling on him. It seems, from what Kate says, that Elliot is a nice guy, and he’s helping them pack their shit and move out.

You’d think Ana would be overjoyed for her friend. Nope. She’s jealous.

Ana, it is really hard to like you. Seriously.

Anyway, then Kate informs Ana that while she was being used as a receptable, Bob (who was Bob again? Oh, wasn’t that Ana’s stepfather who got mentioned, like, once, a hundred pages ago?) got injured and he and her mother can’t go to her graduation. But her dad will. (Hang on, I thought her dad died?)

Instead of doing what anyone normal would do, which is freak out about injured parentals, or feel bad about them missing one of the most important life events someone can have (sorry, but education is important. Moreso when it’s a fucking miracle that you graduated, and I think given Ana’s general lack of intelligence, this falls majorly under the fucking miracle umbrella) she decides to re-read the contract. Because even though she’s realised what Grey is, she’s fucking stupid and she’s making notes and deciding that she wants to do this.

Can we say guilted into BDSM, ladies and gentlemen?

Grey acts like nothing’s happened and has emailled to say that he’s looking forward to her notes on the contract. I swear, both of them are a match made in heaven with their capacity for denial and their inability to have a normal adult conversation about this.

Ana emails him back and surprisingly develops a spine through the written word. She points out a few things.

Not sure why this is solely for MY benefit– ie. to explore MY sensuality and limits. I’m sure I wouldn’t need a ten-page contract to do that. Surely this is for YOUR benefit.

And now things just got interesting.

Ana also points out that she’s being monogamous and not using drugs, and that she’s “probably” safe but asks a very reasonable “What about you?”

She also puts down some other rules: the food list goes or she does (YAY! Go Ana!), there’s a one-month trial period, she wants definition on his using her body “sexually or otherwise”, she points out that his wanting to hit her with stuff “for any other reason” is just mean and that he said he wasn’t a sadist, and asks some questions about his idiotic rules. She also defines some of her soft limits. Like “no fisting.” (I guess since it’s only a soft limit, we know she’ll change her mind on it and E. L. James will psych herself up to writing it. I suppose this is one of those times where the phrase “be prepared” actually is a good idea. Brace yourselves, people.)

Grey ignores all of this, says “That’s a long list” and asks why she’s still up. Let’s be avoidant, right?

Ana then points out that she was actually reading the contract before he turned up and “bedded her” and calls him a control freak.

Grey hits capslock and tells her to go to bed.

All this happens over email in the space of just under an hour, which at least makes it easy to summarise, though nothing is really resolved.

Oh… shouty capitals! I switch off. How can he intimidate me when he’s six miles away? I shake my head. My heart still heavy, I climb into bed and fall instantly into a deep but troubled sleep.

And we know it’s troubled because there

Protip, Ana, you shouldn’t be intimidated by a sexual partner. While it’s awesome that you finally grew one and stood up for yourself, it’s still really fucking worrying.

I mean, seriously, there’s risky sexy funtimes with an element of danger, but when there are epic emotions getting played with, when there’s an immense power imbalance, and when someone is WAY more invested in a relationship than the other party, and when someone is clearly not interested in a connection the other person is pretty much requiring… that’s not what I’d call lighthearted romantic fluff. And if I’m going to be reading about interesting and fucked up people destroying one another, I want it to be about people I’m interested in enough to care about, otherwise it’s all a bit pointless.

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Eleven

So, I confess; I fell off the wagon a bit with my updates on Shades. One thing was that my life unexpectedly got a bit hectic. Another was that I’d already read The Sex Contract Chapter and kind of thought, “I have this shit nailed” and never got around to actually writing it up and posting it.

 

Anyway, I bring forth the bit we’re all eagerly awaiting: 50 Shades of The Real Deal. Please note: give this to your friends who have anything to do with contracts on a regular basis and watch the expression on their face as they read this chapter. Actually, we should get a whole bunch of people to do this and take photos. And then upload them to a communal album on PhotoBucket like someone did in a similar manner with “Reactions to Seeing Goatse for the First Time.” Then we should play a game where we mix the photos up and get people to guess whether they’re reactions to a fictional sex contract or reactions to a guy demonstrating that he could probably stuff a small country up his arse.

 

There are several papers inside the envelope. I fish them out, my heart still pounding, and I sit back on my bed and begin to read.

 

The contract starts simply enough. Is there some sort of DIY sex contract website out there like there are those DIY legal will sites? A quick Google demonstrates that at least one entrepreneurial lawyer with a sense of humour has tried to get something like this happening. Probably in the hope that they’ll be the name remembered when the relationship goes to shit and someone needs a divorce.

Not much to say initially: they spell out who’s who (calling Grey “The Dominant” and Ana “The Submissive”) and it opens with fairly contract-y sounding things.

Then we get to “Fundamental Terms” and up go my eyebrows.

 

2 The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the Submissive to explore her sensuality and her limits safely, with due respect and regard for her needs, her limits, and her well-being.

 

Firstly, I don’t think this actually goes under this particular heading because it’s not actually a term being defined; I believe it would go under something like “Purpose.” Or “Background.” But then again, a) I didn’t actually study contracts law when I was at uni, b) this is an English writer writing as an American so technicalities are likely to get lost in translation, and c) maybe this is a place where creative license can excuse these sorts of things. I will say this though: already my suspended disbelief isn’t, and I have seen “sex contract” themed fic done really well with regard to the whole BDSM TPE (total power exchange) thing done fairly well. (My primary fandom is about lawyers, after all. And most of them are kinky lawyers.)

Secondly: is this finally Grey actually reining in his creeptastic behaviour? Because he hasn’t given due (or any other kind of) respect to Ana’s needs, limits, well-being, or consent until now. He’s played her along, played headgames with her, accused her of inviting Jose’s unwanted attention, pouted and played the silent game afterwards, committed at least one act against her which could be interpreted as sexual assault, and basically behaved like an obsessed stalker.

There’s a few more things under “Fundamental Terms” (which seem to be more suited to “Fundamental Terms” than the “purpose” though there’s still something clumsy about that which just kind of grates me) including stuff about how everything that occurs under the contract will be consensual (is this because he’ll get her consent or because, by his definition, anything that occurs after she’s signed the contract is going to be deemed by him as consented to? If, say, she doesn’t give consent, does this make the activity against the contract, or does this mean that the recognition of the contract is seen as consent to anything?) confidential and in line with limits. And that other stuff might be agreed upon in writing.

There’s also a bit about how they’re both signing off on not having any “sexual, serious, infectious or life-threatening infections or illnesses […]”. (Presumably, the contract is void if someone gets cancer. Which just makes him an even bigger douche, because seriously, there is a special place in hell reserved for people who dump their partner when they wind up with cancer.)

This is the point where I shake my head and go, “We all know where THIS is going, RIGHT?” He wants to do away with those pesky condoms. Which is fabulous, of course, until you remember that there are potentially nasty STIs which don’t show up immediately and which Grey might have without knowing about them. There are also things like, um, crabs, which aren’t exactly serious or life-threatening or a disease, but which are still kind of icky and now’s where I’m wondering if this is Grey’s way of admitting through omission that he’s got crabs.

 

There’s stuff about them having to tell the other if they wind up with anything nasty “prior to physical contact” but I’m sitting here wondering why they don’t just go a mutual agreement that they’ll be monogamous and use condoms until it’s confirmed most definitely that neither of them have anything to begin with.

 

Item six states that

 

Everything in this contract must be read and interpreted in the light of the fundamental purpose and fundamental terms set out in clauses 2-5 above.

 

The “fundamental purpose” was one of the fundamental terms.

 

The next section is all about roles. Basically, very quickly because I’m pretty sure me nitpicking a fictional sex contract is not as much fun as me nitpicking about fervent inner goddesses and purple prose (and I’m wanting more Ana/Kate, too), the roles defined are that Grey gets to take responsibility for the training, guidance and discipline of the submissive. In line with the agreed terms, he gets to decide on stuff including “agreed additionally” stuff which may come up later. If at any time, he does anything against any of the agreed terms, “the Submissive is entitled to terminate the contract forthwith and to leave the service of the Dominant without notice.”

Erm, that’s big of him. If he does stuff to her without her consent, she not only has the right to “leave without notice” but to have him charged with things. Seriously: this is fried. This isn’t about him agreeing to make her breakfast every morning and then not one day– this is about consent. And guess what, kids? You can’t actually sign off on being assaulted… in the UK, at least. (Which is where E. L. James is from and now I want to go talking about that UK case where there were those dudes doing kinky masochistoc stuff and the courts ruled it was decidedly NOT okay even though they’d consented to it. And after a very long FaceBook discussion about this, all we got was that it was “murky” about whether or not you could sign away your right to consent and to not getting assaulted in the US in situations like this. And I spent FAR TOO LONG trying to chase up relevent Washington legislation but turned up a big fat nothing on this.)

Yes, I may be overthinking this a tad. You ARE talking to someone who geeks out about case law and who likes her canon Making Sense, Dammit. Yes, I am a giant nerd. Yes, I have “too much time on my hands.” But you know when you start getting into an issue or an argument and you just kind of can’t let go?

Well.

Probably the most frustrating thing about this stupid fucking contract is that given Ana’s mental state, the damn thing is screaming “VOID” so loudly that you can hear it a few countries away. While I realise the age of consent in Washington is 16, Ana does seem to have diminished capacity given her mental state which has been demonstrated as extremely childlike. Grey is aware of this, too: he’s exploited it well before any contract-signing came into the picture. (I’m also now dead curious if any of the stuff he’s going to detail later on falls afoul of Washington law, too. Some states have some weird laws about sex toys and particular sex acts…)

I swear, this book becomes a whole lot more believable and interesting when you don’t think of it as erotic entertainment but a piece of surreal suburban literature about Stockholm Syndrome with the writer’s representation of a psychopath clinging to an outdated belief in what he believes represents masculinity in a world which is changing and deeming men like him superfluous. And then come the sex scenes and it’s like being kicked out of fantasy land.

Clause nine?

The Submissive is to serve and obey the Dominant in all things.

Subject to all the stuff mentioned above (which wasn’t much but which I can’t be arsed typing because now I want to go reading up on Washington case law), “she shall without query or hesitation offer the Dominant such pleasure as he may require and she shall accept without query or hesitation his training, guidance, and discipline in whatever form is may take.” 

 

Oh. God. The dude’s a sadist. (No, he’s not merely dominant, it’s quite obvious that he has sadistic urges, too.) He’s also a fucking psychopath whose emotions chop and change extremely quickly and for no discernible reason. (Let’s face it: you know Toreth, from the Administration? Grey makes him look like a fucking kindergarten teacher. Toreth might have state-sanctioned torture on his job description and enough psych issues to put a shrink’s octuplets through med school, but at the end of the day, he’s upfront and respectful and for the most part predictable when it comes to the people he’s having relations with. Grey is none of these things. Grey is a bully and a manipulator and he preys on the mentally weak. Toreth is drawn to a challenge who is on the same level as him. Grey has used physical force on Ana to take what he wants, reckless to her consent. Toreth pointedly won’t lower himself to doing that with Warrick. Think about it.)

Grey also won’t hear Ana out on things like her not making Jose call her, and well, to do this sort of schtick, you really, really need to have some healthy communication going on. A couple of questions on this, too:

a) what happens if he asks her to do something and she needs clarification? Remember, this is the person who didn’t even know how to masturbate before Grey showed her.

b) what happens if he asks her to do something painful or stupid but not permanently scarring, like, I dunno, douche with wasabi paste? This guy is a mean-spirited emotionally abusive arsehole. Potentially he could do SO MUCH stuff without actually going against the terms in the contract.

c) what’s he going to do if she hesitates? Sue her?

 

Next up we get the “Commencement and Term” bit which basically says that it’s effective for three months (and they’re going to be three very long months, judging by the fact that there are two more books in the series and they’re all thick enough to take up noticeable handbag space) and that they’re both entering into the contract fully aware of what they’re signing off on. Which would be nice but arrrrghghgh1!one!!!wtfbbq!!!morearrrrrghgfh because Ana is not in the position to consent to fucking anything. Literally.

“Availability” covers the next two points: Ana will make herself available to Grey from Friday evenings through to Sunday afternoons and at other mutually agreed upon times. Grey can dismiss Ana from his service “at any time and for any reason.” Ana, however, “may request her release at any time, such request to be granted at the discretion of the Dominant subject only to the Submissive’s rights [under the aforementioned clauses].”

Erm, did you see that? He gets to tell her to fuck off whenever he wants to and for whatever reason, and yet she has to request to be allowed to fuck off. Unless he, you know, does stuff to her that she hasn’t consented to, presumably. Or doesn’t tell her he has HIV. Or something else fairly extreme.

Next we move into “Location” which basically says that Grey gets to decide where stuff happens. And that he’ll foot the bill if Ana incurs any costs in getting there.

Afterwards– “Service Provisions.” Notes that “certain matters may arise that are not covered by the terms of the contract or the service provisions, or that certain matters may be renegotiated.” (I’m guessing a zombie apocalypse may cause the length of the contract to shorten significantly, especially if either party gets zombified. While zombification isn’t covered under the diseases section, someone being undead would be a bit of a game-changer. [See, if they were merely dead, the contract would be void. Ahh, the legal ramifications of a zombie apocalypse. Don’t tell me you haven’t laid awake at night wondering about this.])

 

This is the point where I go, “Fuck. There are another twenty pages of this stuff.”

 

The next section pertains to Grey and his role as Dominant, and basically outlines that he has to take Ana’s health and safety into consideration (now I’m wondering if dominatrixes have specific Occ. Health and Safety laws pertaining to their activities and now I want to go looking for that stuff). One hopes that this includes her psychological wellbeing but then again, if that ever was a consideration of Grey’s, he’d have left her the fuck alone when he realised she had the comprehension and mental capacity of a child.

15.2 is where we get to the creeptastic bit:

 The Dominant accepts the Submissive as his, to own, control, dominate, and discipline during the Term. The Dominant may use the Submissive’s body during the Allotted Times or any agreed additional times in any manner he deems fit, sexually or otherwise.

 

Technically, this could include when Ana is asleep, couldn’t it? *shudders* I bet Ana hasn’t thought about that one. On top of that… isn’t this basically Grey stating that he can do anything he likes to her provided he doesn’t think it will kill her and they’ve agreed to it?

 

There are a couple of points about how he’ll provide a stable and safe environment and training and guidance. Given that he has demonstrated his stability is on par with your average rapid cycling person dealing with bipolar disorder’s, I don’t think he’s able to provide that. Can we say “voidable,” ladies and gentlemen? This contract is SO fucked up. Let’s poke some more holes in it, shall we?

 

15.5: The Dominant may discipline the Submissive as necessary to ensure the Submissive fully appreciates her role of subservience to the Dominant and to discourage unacceptable conduct. The Dominant may flog, spank, whip or corporally punch the Submissive as he sees fit, for purposes of discipline, for his own enjoyment or for any other reason which he is not obliged to provide.

 

That last bit basically gives him permission to do whatever he wants, whyever he wants, with no explanation. Even if she’s doing the right thing, I guess. This is again, so fucking stupid. Another point on this, too: hate to be a killjoy, but if you’re trying to condition someone into behaving a particular way, it’s probably not a good idea to punish them haphazardly. Anyone else thinking about various experiments everyone learns about in first-year psychology? The learned helplessness ones with the rats in the room with the electrified floors were horrible– but demonstrated something: if you continually punish someone, without reason, and with no discernible pattern, basically you’re teaching someone that their actions have no influence on the outcome of things, that they have no control. They give up. They break. They aren’t going to try anything because they’ve learned– through such conditioning– that there’s no point. That regardless of what they do, they’re fucked.

 

But thinking about this: perhaps this is precisely what Grey wants, which is really fucking awful, and which is another point where I go, “Um, this is seriously looking more like the advanced stages of an abusive relationship than something about mutual sexual pleasure and respect.” Seriously, this isn’t looking like sexy funtimes, this is looking more like that part of Fetlife where people who get a bit into interrogation play start discussing amongst themselves how to make things “realistic,” conveniently forgetting that realistic generally goes against the Geneva Convention. (Also, a sidenote on that: Ms. Francis, if you’re reading this: there really are interrogation junkies.)

 

More subsections, summarised: Grey can’t leave permanent marks on Ana’s body or do anything to her that requires medical attention, Grey will make sure his punishment equipment is in safe and working order and that they won’t be used in a way that exceeds her limits (does anyone else not see how that could happen, and is suspecting that that addition was more to cleverly put her at ease and have her ignoring the frighteningly creepy earlier subsections?) and Grey will look after Ana if she’s ill or injured. Grey will seek medical attention for Ana if he judges it necessary–

 

Whoa. Back the fuck up there. Ana’s not allowed to seek medical attention? How the fuck does he know when she needs a doctor or not? Does this guy have a medical license that we haven’t been made aware of, or is this some sort of creepy thing where it’s about taking every last bit of control away from her and where she doesn’t even have the basic ability to seek medical attention when she needs it?

 

Oh: I forgot. A doctor might ask where the bruises came from. A doctor might realise she’s in an abusive relationship. A doctor might tell her that using body wash internally can result in painful UTIs. No doctor for you, Ana.

Boy, I know THIS is making me excited. Not.

 

More subsections: Grey will look after his own health. Grey can use mechanical restraints and binding on Ana. For whatever reason he wants to. For as long as he wants to. Grey will make sure the equipment used will be clean and in safe working order. No one wants to get the clap from a rusty chastity belt after all, do they?

 

 

Next we come to Ana’s obligations and rights.

 

15.13 The Submissive accepts the Dominant as her master, with the understanding that she is now the property of the Dominant, to be dealt with as the Dominant pleases during the term generally but specifically during the Allotted Times and any additional agreed allotted times.

 

Question on this: isn’t slavery illegal in Washington? Illegal terms in a contract will render it void, too. I don’t think Ana is legally able to “understand” that she is property any more than she’s allowed to sell crack to kindergarteners or drive on the left hand side of the road.

Also, wtf is up with this time stuff: one minute she’s required to do stuff on weekends and any mutually agreed upon extra times, now there’s a “general” component in there, too? This has very quickly snowballed into something going beyond a three-days-a-week gig.

Next bits: there’s an appendix full of rules, and Ana needs to follow them, too. Ana will endeavour to serve and please Grey to the best of her ability. Ana will look after her health, advising Grey of any health issues “that may arise” and request or seek medical attention.

Hang on, I thought the doctor thing was covered before? So basically Ana has to seek medical attention AND ask Grey is she needs to seek medical attention, so… technically the terms of this contract are contradicting one another. I believe, earlier in the book, Grey said his lawyer looked over this, so I’m having a hard time believing it’s a sexy playtimes fun representation thing which isn’t meant to be taken seriously (as a few friends of mine suggested. That sounds rational and believable and understandable. However, the weight this stupid contract has been given in the book along with the mentions of legal professionals okaying it makes it look like it’s bigger than For Entertainment Purposes Only).

 

(Forget my Inner Law Student having a hissy fit, my Inner Unpublished Writer is having a nervous breakdown and going “WHHHHHYY? HOOOOOOOOW?! DA FUUUUUUUUUUUUQ?!”)

 

Oh, back to the contract: Ana’s also gotta go on the pill. And make sure she doesn’t get pregnant whilst on it. Because NO ONE EVER gets pregnant while they’re on the pill and taking it properly. (I’ll inform my friend who managed to conceive whilst on the pill of this. Apparently her daughter is the second coming.)

 

Another point on this, too: does Grey even know what the pill DOES? I have a vague idea: it’s doing stuff with yer hormones. Hormones can already be fucked up enough without adding to the crazy. I know people who’ve gone on the pill not for the pregnancy stuff, but to deal with other female-hormone related bodily funtimes, but I’ve also known people who’ve gone on the pill for pregnancy prevention and who’ve gone off it because it’s wrecked crazyawful havoc on them in other areas. One can only wonder what will happen to Ana if this is the case. Of course it won’t happen, but seriously? I’m making That Face again.

 

The remaining items concerning Ana are does and don’ts. Ana shall accept and not question anything Grey does to her. Ana must remember her status and role in relation to him at all times. (Like it’s something she’s going to forget.) Ana can’t touch or pleasure herself without Grey’s permission. (This is the tropiest trope in BDSM fic. Yawn.) Ana must “submit to any sexual activity demanded by the Dominant and shall do so without hesitation or argument.” *shudder* She also has to accept a whole bunch of variations on the ‘being hit with stuff’ theme and anything else Grey deems appropriate as punishment.

 

In addition to the just… fucking hell aspect of this contract, anyone else noticing the way it might as well read “Grey is allowed to do whatever he feels is appropriate” with the way every list of things tends to end with “or anything else the Dominant believes is appropriate”? It’s a bit like saying that someone can wear shoes, boots, flip flops, slippers or any other footwear, which pretty much covers anything anyone could foreseeably (or otherwise) consider to be footwear. Personally, I wouldn’t sign such an open-ended contract even if the rest if it was acceptable: there are WAY too many bits– I wouldn’t even call them loopholes because they’re not even that tricksy or covert– left open for basically anything. Yet again, I ask, “Is this contract voidable with terms like this?” (Which is a moot point, I suppose, since there is so much else wrong with it, but hey.)

 

More Ana terms: she can’t look into his eyes unless instructed to do so. (Hey, didn’t I mention this earlier? She’s already doing this!) Ana must maintain a “quiet and respectful bearing in front of the Dominant.” Does that include when he’s hitting her with stuff?

Not sure: it goes on to say that she must conduct herself in a respectful manner (whatever the fuck that means) and call him Mr. Grey or Sir. Oh, and in addition to not touching herself, she can’t touch him, either.

There are a few more sections: “Activities” says Ana can’t do anything risky as deemed by either party (I feel sorry for anyone who isn’t able to go paintballing or scuba diving or roller derbying) or “any activity detailled in Appendix 2.” Whatever that means. Given Ana’s clumsiness, it might mean walking up stairs in heels. There’s also some other bit about them discussing activities and agreeing to stuff which almost makes the whole thing look mature and considered and fair and not-creepy until you consider Grey’s little snuck-in backdoors basically giving him free reign on everything.

 

Then we get– and I don’t fucking believe it– safewords. OMFG, WTF, BBQ, we have safewords, ladies and gentlemen. If I could insert a .wav of that choir chorus going “Hallellujiah!” I totally would. Grey’s decided them, of course, and they aren’t as quirky as “plastic duck,” but hey, they exist, which is something. (One only hopes that she won’t need them when she’s unable to speak or Grey can’t hear her for whatever reason, because nothing non-verbal is mentioned.)

Then there’s a conclusion, which is basically “we accept.” Hooray. Or not.

 

More definition-y stuff. This is where I wish we’d see a “show, not tell” thing, because this list-reading is pretty boring, especially since we’re not seeing Ana’s reaction to any of it.

Appendix 1 is a list of subcategories and explanations of what is expected of Ana and what Grey will do towards helping her achieve these things. There’s some repetition on the contract (I guess the editor had filled herself up with martinis this far into the chapter) and then a bunch of orders aimed at how Ana is expected to make her entire life’s purpose about keeping Grey happy. She must sleep eight hours a night when she’s not with Grey. She must keep herself clean– and shaved and/or waxed at all times. Grey will decide which beauty parlour she will attend and what treatments she will get there. And he’ll pay for it… that’s big of him.

It gets creepier and more controlling: there’s then stuff about food which basically states she will eat for health (as opposed to, you know, enjoyment), and that she will not snack between meals and that she will only eat foods on a prescribed list. (I’m guessing this isn’t because Grey is so deeply anaphalactic that he’s liable to drop dead if he catches so much as a whiff of her having consumed peanuts. I’m also guessing this isn’t because since his father died of a heart attack, he’s had a serious paranoia about super-healthy foods and has a specially-qualified heart smart organic chef at his service. I’m guessing this is more because he’s a fucking cretinous control freak who knows that one way to really fuck with a girl’s head is to go straight for the kill with destroying body image. I guess if she gets an eating disorder and starts fixating on food, she’ll be easier to break mentally.)

My thoughts on this are only confirmed when he prescribes that she has to see a personal trainer for four days a week for hour-long sessions. Fuck you, Grey. Seriously. And fuck this being “romantic.” This is another one of those points where I want to throw this book across the room, only this time it’s after setting it on fire. Seriously, so much what the hell on this. It’s like every hideous trope about what it means to be female in today’s society packaged up for the impressionable and insecure and then called romantic. And it’s fucking disgusting.

 

Oh, and there are behavioural things for Ana because in case dictating how she must dress (I think in my absolute disgust about the food and exercise thing, I neglected the clothes thing: basically he gets to redefine her style for her while she’s with him, but he pays for all her clothes which I’m sure Ana’s inner goddess has some slut-shaming problems with), eat, exercise (which I suppose isn’t during the three days of weekendage he has set out for her, so he’s essentially running her life even on her days off) doesn’t break her spirit, telling her she can’t drink, smoke, take recreational drugs, or otherwise have fun probably will. She’s also meant to be respectful and modest at all times and apparently her behaviour needs to be recognised as a direct reflection on Grey. She’s also not to “misbehave” when he’s not around.

 

Ahem. Um, folks, isolating you, and controlling your life? They’re two classic abuser traits. Sure, Ana’s signing up for this, but Ana has the mind of a very simple teenager with serious denial issues and a weird fantasy world thing going on. Ana is already technologically isolated, completely sheltered and scared of Grey’s proclivities, and now he’s basically given her great sex and said he wants her in his life and now he’s laid out this. Can we say “false advertising” at all? It’s like going to a car yard, getting to test drive a brand new luxury model something, and then being told it’s pretty much the same as the old bomb with the rust spots out back which you’ve just paid for. Even if someone was a complete ditz and didn’t know shit about cars, that would be dishonest and awful, right?

Grey’s like the sleazy used car salesman of romance novels. Sure, he might look nice and seem interested and know the right things to say, but underneath… let’s not go there.

 

Anyway, Grey’s attempts at selling Ana a TPE lifestyle after a couple of fucks, particularly using a contract to make it look above board—is pretty damn dodgy. Can we say misrepresentation, much? Once you sign that contract, sweetheart, you’re screwed. Literally as well as metaphorically, because, hey, if you ain’t gonna leave when he’s got no tangible hold over you (I’m not saying this contract actually is, either, but the fact that you believe it is is what matters here and gives the damn thing its power), you’re sure as fuck not going to breach what you think is a legally binding contract.

 

Anyway, I started giving this some thought on my FaceBook and a discussion happened. Unfortunately, I don’t know any lawyers in the US on FB, but it seems that the general understanding is that the contract isn’t worth the paper that it’s written on and Grey is creepy and abusive. A friend suggested that perhaps the lawyer who Grey had mentioned looking over the contract knew and had pointed out that it wouldn’t hold up (to anyone but Ana, anyway) but I went a step further: what if there was no lawyer? What if that was all just a ruse to lull Ana into accepting it because she believed it had been okayed by some legal dude? We have a whole new level of mind fuckery going on. And normally that’s where I’d be interested, because I like mindfuckery, but you know what? Screwing with Ana’s head and perception of reality is like popping a soap bubble. Not exactly difficult, and it you’re going to take some sort of immense elaborate pleasure in doing so, well, you’re a bit fucked in the head. It’s like kicking puppies except that puppies have personalities.

Anyway, pretty much everyone is in agreement that the contract is only slightly less valid than those dodgy “CONGRATULATIONS READERS DIGEST SWEEPSTAKES WINNER!” things that mysteriously show up in your mailbox every few months.

 

Anyway, Appendix 2 is Grey’s list of stuff he says no to, which is all the same stuff he said no to a few chapters ago. Appendix 3 is about soft limits ‘to be discussed and agreed between both parties.’ Which… I believed was the definition of, um, agreement. But okay. Onto the sexy stuff.

 

Weeeeell… sort of. You know when you eat, say, low fat yoghurt, and it looks like yoghurt, and it has the same sort of consistency as yoghurt, but in the aftertaste, you go, “My brain is telling me it’s yoghurt, and I’m seeing yoghurt, but dammit, I’m not satisfied and that wasn’t really yoghurt”? Well, that’s what the next bit—the list of “dirty stuff” was like. Most unerotic list of sex stuff ever. In short, a list of stuff under the heading of “Does the Submissive consent to–?” with all the stuff they’ve already been doing, with added fisting and anal. Then a list of sex toys. Then bondage specifics, and to be honest, all this could have been summarised and a whole lot less painful, but because I’m a good-hearted person who wants to go back to meta-ing about The Administration, I will spare you the details.
There are more specifics, and my brain has started wandering off and thinking this would be so much better if he’d put a quirky twist on the contract—say, if he’d written the whole list of possible activities in Dr. Seuss rhymes, ala:

 

Would the submissive be gagged in the nude?

Or what about with some food?

Would the Submissive whine and brood

If the Dominant said he wasn’t in the mood?

 

Et cetera.

 

Anyway, the next bit is about pain. How much pain is the Submissive willing to experience?
Is Ana even able to answer that question? Honestly, until you know the joys of a fractured sacrum or drug-free childbirth, I’m willing to bet that your perception of pain is probably kind of different to most people’s. Likewise, it’s probably a big ask to expect someone to nod their head like a car ornament when you’re asking about fisting and they have only masturbated two or three times in their life.

I don’t know how Ana is expected to answer this one. Or is this some kind of test where her willingness to experience more pain shows how much she trusts him… or something? God, I don’t know.

 

The next question is iffy and creepy because it asks about pain and punishment and what Ana’s willing to do. Most of it’s variations on the spanking/sex toys thing. There’s a mention of ice. And clamps. And then hot wax. And then other types/methods of pain. Creepily non-descript. Maybe he means poking you with a finger. Maybe he means getting a nasty-arsed violet wand and cranking up the voltage until you can smell stuff burning: it’s like the lucky dip of Oh My Fucking God This Guy Is Fred Fucking West.

 

Ana actually reacts to this with a “Holy fuck” this time rather than a “crap” so we know she’s serious.

My head is buzzing. How can I possibly agree to all this? And apparently it’s all for my benefit, to explore my sensuality, my limits—safely—oh please! I scoff angrily. Serve and obey in all things. All things!

You know, like you’re already doing, Ana. Except for your pesky desire to talk to the one and only friend you have who isn’t a creepster.

 I shake my head in disbelief. Actually, don’t the marriage vows use those words… obey?

Some do. But believe it or not, plenty of people have ditched them. I’ve been to a number of weddings, and I haven’t heard those words before. I think my parents said that stuff at their wedding, but that was way back in the days where people thought left handed children were the work of the devil and that children of unmarried mothers were to be pitied. Times, they have a-changed.

Actually, how the hell does Ana know this, anyway? It seems like an obscure bit of logic for someone who is pretty much clueless about everything to have. God. I don’t know any more.

 

Ana then thinks about the women before her and realises that if she gives up every weekend, she’ll never see Kate or any friends she might make at her new job. Can we say isolation, ladies and gentlemen? She decides that maybe she should get one weekend off a month… when she’s got her period, because that would be practical.

Erm, a couple of things on that: doesn’t the pill make you stop having periods? And thing number two: which, sorry to say, folks, but I’ve been around fandom for years and this stuff just comes to mind automatically now, but– Ana, did you notice that there was something NOT on his list of hard limits? He might have said no breaking skin to make blood, but he did not say ANYTHING about menstrual blood. And remember, this dude is totally based on a fictional vampire. His creator is a woman who has been around internet fandoms, and they can get pretty kinky. Comprende?

Anyway, isn’t Ana a literature student? Surely she’d know who Hunter S. Thompson was and the whole deal with the Hell’s Angels thing, right?

‘Pparently not.

 

Ana then considers being spanked and decides that it would be humiliating, but that being tied up probably won’t be so bad because he’s tied up her hands before. She does more of that um-ing and ahh-ing thinking about Grey and there’s more talk about inner goddesses and how beautiful and fucked up Christian Grey is and Ana goes to sleep and dreams of grey eyes and shackles and four poster beds and godammit, I wanted the contract to be over and done with but I’d forgotten how repetitive the rest of the writing is and now I think I want it back.

 

When Ana wakes up, she has to sign for a package. It’s big, leading me to remember the delivery guy innuendo in Legally Blonde and now I want to go and watch that, but let’s find out about this package and…

 

It’s a laptop. It’s an MacBook Pro. It’s silver. It’s got a one-point five terabyte hard drive which is making me feel woefully inadequate because I bought MY lappie this year and it doesn’t have that much and this was written in 2011 and now I’m wondering if Apple were making their hard drives that big. Do I care? Not really: I’m one of those curmudgeonly Windows people who is decidedly not into Apple. I’m not a graphics designer, so I can’t appreciate the full awesomeness of them, but years of working in an Apple-only environment and seeing all the hardware fails was most informative. I don’t trust Apples. (Then again, my argument is kind of stupid because I don’t exactly trust Bill Gates and friends, either, and, well, Windows 8.)

 

Kate is shocked and asks why Christian sent her a laptop. Ana explains that “it’s on loan” though even though the Apple rep/delivery guy has just explained that Apple haven’t even released it to the general public yet.

I think this is meant to be continuing the theme of being made to feel special and exclusive that has seemingly been a running thing in this book, but I can’t imagine anything worse than having a first generation, pre-release Apple product. Not only will it be full of bugs, but it’ll be obsolete in five minutes and incompatible with later software upgrades. (Why yes, I am still pissed about my first-gen iPod Touch being useless…)

 

Mr. Apple rep delivery dude asks what Ana wants to use it for after giving her a rundown on the specs, and seems bewildered that she wants to use it for email, as though he expected her to say something like, “I’m going to hack the planet and free enslaved humanity!” Does anyone even ask what people want latest-model computers for nowadays (other than sales staff when you’re buying said computer)? I dunno.

Anyway, he explains to Ana how to use her email (because how many twenty one year olds can’t figure out a computer?!) and everything seems suspiciously already set up, and Kate makes a comment about how most women get flowers or jewellery and they giggle and then the delivery guy leaves.

 

And then we get the email exchanges between Ana and Grey.

Why oh why we need inclusions of every email ever is beyond me, especially when they have the delivery details listed (seriously, this is the sort of thing kids do when writing books and it’s endearing and cute then but looks painfully stupid here) so I will summarise, in point form, the next handful of pages.

 

• Grey hopes she’s using the laptop as intended. As opposed to, I dunno, letting her cat use it as a warm resting place or using it to smack people upside the head or something.
• He says it’s on loan indefinitely. (Anyone else thinking that since it’s already suspiciously set up for her, there’s a keylogger in there?)
• Grey asks if she has questions, and Ana says that she does but they’re not suitable for email and that “some people have work to do.” Whatever that’s supposed to mean because she only seems to go to work to break up events in the story a bit, and anyway, EVERYTHING is suitable for the internet.
• Grey uses “later, baby” in email.

 

Ana actually DOES have to go to work, but this is her last week there anyway, so she assumes her bosses will cut her some slack.

 

She’s giddy about the fact that he emailed her. And not at all suspicious about anything, though she wonders what would happen if his account got hacked. I’m guessing that since he’s a rich CEO dude, probably hackers would be interested in a whole lot more (like his arms dealings or whatever he’s got going on overseas) than the fact that he’s doing kinky things with a simpering idiot.

 

Jose phones her after this.

“Hey, are we doing coffee?” He sounds like the old Jose. Jose, my friend, not a—what did Christian call him? Suitor. Urgh.

 

Oh, shit. You lose one douchebag for a moment, and another one turns up.

Ana goes back to work, having agreed to the coffee date.

 

Jose is punctual. He comes bounding into the shop like a gambolling dark-eyed puppy.

“Ana.” He smiles his dazzling toothy all-Hispanic-American smile and I can’t be angry with him any more.

 

*blink* *blinkity blink* Firstly, a smile? That’s how you get over being assaulted and plied with alcohol by a dude who then continually harassed you and your room mate and done the perfect Nice Guy Syndrome demonstration to prove what a creep he is? A fucking smile.

 

Secondly, I really hope I’m not the only one who is feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the way Jose’s ethnicity gets referred to in questionable moments. He speaks in Spanish when he’s about to do creepy things. Any reference to his appearance seems incredibly othering, like it needs to be pointed out every time he gets mentioned that he’s Not White. Especially when he’s being creepy, sounding like a lovelorn stalker or being superficially nice. Before he turned into Creepy McCreepster, he was just Jose, her friend who took photos. Now that he’s crossed the moral event horizon, it’s like E. L. James needs to make reference to his Hispanicness all the damn time.

I find that shit really unnerving. It’s not like there are references to anyone else’s background popping up in the book, so it’s really noticeable with Jose.

 

Anyway, they have a thankfully short coffee date where Jose does little more than ask Ana if she’s really forgiven him, and she says yes. Awwww. Not.

 

The rest of the chapter is emailing from Grey to Ana and back again and it’s mundane ho-hum nothing conversation which makes me think of awkward first dates only it’s done over email. They sort of flirt and be silly for a bit and he tells her how to do research. Specifically, how to start with Wikipedia.

 

You know, I’m no academic, but I’m pretty sure this sort of stuff makes academics want to scream. (I remember in my last years of uni, lecturers HATED people using Wiki as a resource, and said they could tell if you got all your material from the links on there.) Better yet: Wikipedia can be inaccurate at best, hilariously hacked at worst. Some Wiki articles I recall being in existence have been about how Andrew Bolt (a hideous right-wing journalist in Australia who happens to be one of Gina Rinehart’s favourite media personalities) liked to have sex with goats (I’m not saying he doesn’t, but that he probably doesn’t broadcast it widely if he does) and that Insane Clown Posse started out as being the opening act for Britney Spears.

I type “Submissive” into Wikipedia.

Hey, this is like one of those read-along books from your childhood, where you can read along with the tape and the book while you—
Except that I actually can’t be fucked looking at what Wikipedia has to say about submissives. This also reminds me of when Bella in Twilight Googled vampires and got a bunch of links to actual vampire fiction and some BPAL perfume descriptions.

 

Half an hour later, I feel slightly queasy and frankly shocked to my core. Do I really want this stuff in my head?

 

ROFLMAO. Too bad she didn’t visit FetLife and see some of the unintentional nightmare fuel or hilarity there. Also… did it really take her half an hour to read a Wiki article?

 

Jeez—is this what he gets up to in the Red Room of Pain?  I sit staring at the screen, and part of me, a very moist and integral part of me that I’ve only become acquainted with very recently, is seriously turned on. Oh my, some of this stuff is HOT. But is it for me? Holy shit… could I do this? I need space. I need to think.

 

I don’t even know what that was. “A very moist and integral part” still sounds like badly translated something through several translation programs. And… has this woman been completely oblivious to the idea of sexual arousal up until NOW? I don’t buy it. I really, seriously, don’t buy it, unless she was living in some sort of cult or something or she’s asexual.
But you know what? It’s the end of the chapter. I feel like I’ve overthought this WAAAY too much and I deserve a reward. And booze if off-limits because I have work tonight.

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Ten

At the end of the last chapter, readers were left with the first thing that’s resembled anything close to a cliff-hanger in the entire series.

Like just about every other newly-introduced concept in this book, though, it’s made me break out the Grumpycat face and go “Why?” And trust me, I’ve done that so many times now whilst reading this that I wish to add it to the list of things that a couple of others have proposed be on the list of the “Shades” Drinking Game. Amongst these we have Ana’s inner monologue (or Subconscious or Inner Goddess or something if you’re E. L. James, or Inner George Takei if you’re me) saying “Oh My,” references to Grey wanting to bite Ana’s lip and/or being distracted when she bites her lip, the use of the word “fervent” or any variation thereof, overly-long descriptions of interior decoration or clothing, and references to Ana’s Inner Goddess doing some form or dance or another. (I’m waiting for the Inner Goddess to do the Macarena. Or the Time Warp.)

The drinking game concept is one that makes me think that maybe readers of this book who aren’t falling in love with it have some kind of hive mind thing going on, because I thought, “Hmm, Shades Drinking Game…” after noticing repetition, Jennifer Armintrout, who readthrough-blogged the whole series (and whose reviews I love and don’t read until after my reviews of specific chapters because I don’t want to be influenced by her commentary… though I’m finding it hilarious that in some cases we’re both coming to the same conclusions about things) did the same thing, and on a community for an entirely different, unrelated series, the book came up in conversation and someone else mentioned a drinking game.

My version of the Shades Drinking Game goes like this:

“Fervent” or variation

“Down there”

Lengthier-than-necessary description of interior decoration or an outfit

“Oh My!”

“Crap” (and double- or triple- crap means repeating for the multiplying factor, of course)

Inner Goddess appearance

Inner Goddess dancing

Ana’s lip being bitten references

Ana having negative body image self-talk

Reference to Grey being controlling and/or perfect-looking

Reader makes Grumpycat face

= 1 sip

 

“Subconscious” interacting with Ana

Kate’s pyjamas described

Kate referred to as “tenacious”

Grey’s hair referred to as messy in some fashion

Tess references

Pirate or nautical references

Twinings English Breakfast tea mentioned

Dubious consent issues

Musical references

Grey tilting his head or looking down at Ana

Grey getting issuey and control-freaky about Ana’s food intake

References to body hair removal

Grey described as Adonis-like

“Apex of my thighs”

Grey telling Ana to orgasm

Grey referring to Ana as “young”

Kate cockblocking

= 2 sips

While this is probably enough to get you completely sozzled after fifteen minutes of reading, I’ll add these just because you’re going to need extra doses of alcohol to numb the horror:

References to Grey doing something “gently”

References to things which should never be referred to during sex scenes: ie. children, animals, military strategy

Descriptions of orgasmic reactivity which defy what is commonly understood to be normal working order of the human body and the laws of physics

Ana blaming herself for some dude being creepy towards her

Stupid inconsistent plot issues/plot holes so enormous you could fly Grey’s helicopter through them and there’d still be room around them

Sexual practises that don’t seem well-researched at all or liable to leave someone in serious amounts of pain or the emergency room afterwards

Grey completely 180ing on his “limits,” either the ones he’s stated in the contract or the ones he’s talked about

= drain your glass and refill in anticipation of more things to be drinking at. Trust me there will be more. Hell, there are quite possibly horrors I’m unaware of and haven’t even considered, like various hazing rituals or a rotting tooth: you have a vague idea that it’s bad, but when you actually learn the truth, you realise that a part of you never actually comprehended that level of awfulness until that point in time. Unfortunately, I have a fairly vivid imagination anyway and I’m apparently a natural pessimist, so I always *think* I’ve imagined the worst of things to come, but even I’ve been caught out. And it ain’t pretty.

Anyway, the cliffhanger we ended on last chapter involved Ana being all gooey because she had her first experience with bondage, Grey was all rambly about how perfect they were for one another, and then everything was interrupted by Grey’s mother who seemingly has the same lack of understanding about people having private lives and apparently no phone recption or a dead battery (yet she has his house keys).

Anyone remember that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie hooks up with the overgrown manchild and they smoke weed in his parents’ place and Mom comes home and finds out and it’s all very awkward? (And the suggestion is that Carrie gets blamed for her son being a dope fiend?) I’m expecting that to happen here. That Lady Grey (since it is her last name and we have a tea theme going on here, ‘kay?) is going to see her tied up and accuse Ana of corrupting her innocent little darling.

Anyway, let’s find out.

I’m going to add, too, before embarking upon this chapter; there’s a trigger warning for sexual assault apologetics towards the end. And mentions of childhood sexual abuse. (Because it isn’t much fun getting hit outta left field with that shit, and most people wouldn’t expect that in, um, a book that’s meant to make you feel sexy. [And I realise that some people reading my blog haven’t read Shades themselves and might not be aware of it.]) 

The chapter starts with this ultra-romantic opening:

He pulls out of me suddenly. I wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom in a wastebasket.

I don’t think, in Ana’s vivid descriptions of the contents of the room, a wastebasket was mentioned, but continuity isn’t exactly a strong point in this book, and it’s nicer than wondering if he just left the used condom somewhere in the bed. And before someone looks at me and goes, “Now, really, no one does that,” lemme say that unfortunately, I have experiences which challenge such idealistic notions. I’ve also cleaned rich people’s houses before, and money doesn’t necessarily mean “understands the function of a rubbish bin.”

Anyway, Grey seems to take the surprising intrusion into his home and personal life from his mother in his stride, and merely grins at Ana, telling her that they need to get dressed if she wants to meet his mother. Let’s just say that having met some parentals early into relationships with their offspring, you know what? If I was Ana, I’d possibly prefer to stay tied up and hidden in the bedroom.

“Christian– I can’t move.”

His grin widens, and leaning down, he undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an indentation around my wrists. It’s… sexy.

Until people start noticing it when you’re at work, Ana.

He gazes at me. He’s amused, his eyes dancing with mirth. He kisses my forehead quickly and beams at me.

“Another first,” he acknowledges, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I suspect he’s noticed the indents in her wrists, but that’s a vague guess, and to be honest, I don’t particularly care. There are a lot of “firsts” here, too, including “First time getting busted by mom,” too, but hey.

Ana is panicked about things, and decides that perhaps it’s a smarter idea to stay in the bedroom after all.

But

 “Oh no, you don’t,” Christian threatens. “You can wear something of mine.”

Firstly: hang on: I thought he was giving her some choice in the matter of meeting his mother– and secondly, threatening her?

In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. His beauty is derailing.

I think that was meant to sound poetic. Train of thought. Derailing? Geddit? Also, fight-or-flight doesn’t work like that. Humans have evolved over thousands of years and some stuff is hardwired into base, biological reaction: one of those few things people can agree on is fight-or-flight, and extreme panic will block out everything else if you’re desperate to survive or escape that panic. Either Ana isn’t that freaked out, or Grey’s beauty isn’t that distracting. This isn’t one of those shades of grey things.

“Anastasia, you could be wearing a sack and you’d still look lovely. Please don’t worry. I’d like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I’ll just go and calm her down.”

First, he tries ridiculous, Google-translate-multi-cycled dialogue, which is almost flattering, and then

His mouth presses into a hard line. “I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I’ll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you’re wearing. […]”

So apparently he doesn’t just do the Jekyll-and-Hyde thing in bed.

And Ana, rather than doing what any sensible person in her place would do (which is wait for him to piss off, before throwing on a T-shirt and then climbing out the window and running far and fast) starts getting contemplative about meeting Grey’s mother, thinking that maybe she’ll understand him a bit more. (Which is a fair point, and the only reason I’m interested in her. Seriously, a lot of guys who hate women have mother issues. I wonder if it’s justified sometimes.)

She picks up her shirt off the floor, and because this is female fantasy reading, she’s delighted to see “that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases.” Because that would totally be a prime concern at this point in time, wouldn’t it? She finds her bra, and has a minor freakout that her knickers aren’t clean.

Again, I raise my eyebrows. Maybe I fail at “ladylike” entirely, but Ana: they’re your knickers. No one else has worn them. Put them on, meet his mother, go home, have a shower, get changed. It’s not that huge a deal. But apparently it is, and wearing his Calvin Kleins is totally less weird and awkward. She puts on her jeans and Converse, leading me to wonder why a lack of socks isn’t pissing her off if she can’t handle putting on already-worn undies.

And apparently just-fucked pigtails don’t suit her (along with every other hairstyle, it seems: just shave your head and be done with it, Ana) she fixes her hair up with more complaining.

Apparently the slut-shaming isn’t limited to Ana’s inner monologue talking about Kate, or her own statements to the girl, either.

Maybe I should take Christian up on his offer of clothes. My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word “Ho.”

Again, maybe I fail at ladylike, but you know what? If he’s offered, and since you’ve already been told the only thing you’re getting out of the relationship is him, Ana, you might as well take advantage of whatever fringe benefits you’re being offered as well. Also, if he gets to dictate what you wear, he bloody well should be paying for it. It’s not like a workplace uniform that you get to claim on your tax.

Christian introduces Ana to his mother as though she’s making her debut or something, with a “Here she is” while he’s in the living area, and then introduces her by name.

Mother is impeccably dressed in a camel coloured knit dress and of course matching shoes. Her name is Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey, which sounds like something out of a science fiction novel. At least it doesn’t sound like a romance writer’s nom de plume/porn star/Mary Sue name.

Since she sounds kind of formal and severe, I’m interested to see how this goes.

She holds out her hand.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” she murmurs. If I’m not mistaken, there is wonder and maybe stunned relief in her voice and warm glow in her hazel eyes.

Maybe you ARE mistaken, though, Ana, and this is that cool, overly-polite-but-totally-caustic thing a lot of upperclass people have down to a fine art. Or maybe the stunned relief is that she’s seen you alive and/or not covered in bruising. No, seriously: I am trying to work out why else on the stunned relief.

Surprisingly, she seems to genuinely take to Ana. I don’t know if this is E. L. James writing fantasy where the mother-in-law figure is really pleasant (because anyone who has dealt with MIL drama knows that it really sucks, and it seems to happen frequently enough for people to groan in sympathy when standup comedians start talking about it) or just being lazy and using Mom as a prop, or Ana is the Biggest Mary Sue Ever and everyone loves her and if they don’t they’re awful people in that Bella Swann kind of way, or if Grace is just a friendly person who is being nice, but she’s warmed to Ana fairly quickly.

Christian frowns when she asks Ana to use her first name and explains that Mrs. Grey is her mother-in-law.

She asks how they met, Ana explains briefly, and then her phone rings and she steps aside. Kate? Noooo: it’s Jose. Damn: I was hoping he’d gotten the message and pissed off by now. (Also, one would have hoped that Ana would have blocked his number, too.)

Jose is ringing, days later, because he’s had a lightbulb moment of “Friends don’t try to force themselves on their friends” or “I’d better apologise to her before she hooks up with Grey” or something equally asinine, and he tells her that he needs to apologise for his behaviour. Ana tells him that he’s called at a bad time. Jose then starts whinging about how Kate’s being so evasive with him.

Oh my fucking god.

DUDE. You don’t get to whinge about either Ana OR Kate not wanting to have anything to do with you, you disrespectful piece of crap. Furthermore, you don’t get to ask where Ana is or get shitty that she’s with another man.

Sheesh. Ladies: this is what people are referring to when we talk about dudes with Nice Guy Syndrome. (Ten bucks says that later down the track Jose will whine about how girls only want to date assholes, conveniently forgetting that he meets the criteria and no one wants to date him.)

Anyway, Ana hangs up on him not because she’s grown a spine but because she’s got more important issues in front of her– like Grey’s mother– and she walks back to Grace and Grey and their conversation.

“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.”

Wow: can we say passive-aggressive much? The moment Ana walks off, we get to see another side of Mommy Dearest, who, perhaps should have called him up and seen if he was available before barging into his house and saying that in front of the girl he’s with.

She gathers up her long cream coat and turns to him, offering him her cheek. He kisses her briefly, sweetly. She doesn’t touch him.

Yeah: just a touch icy. Ana, she was doing that “polite” thing rich people in movies (and sometimes real life) do to suggest that behaving in a manner depicting disapproval overtly is beneath them, but so are you. Don’t expect a Christmas card from her, kiddo.

“I have to drive Anastasia back to Portland.”

“Of course, darling. Anastasia, it’s been such a pleasure. I do hope we meet again.” She holds out her hand to me, her eyes glowing, and we shake.

Okay, I’m genuinely confused. Am I meant to understand that they like one another? Because all I’m seeing here is passive-aggressive, subtle vying for dominance stuff from Grace, and submissive cluelessness from Ana. And I really am confused: this is like when I started reading The Fountainhead with no knowledge of the book and the blurb talked about a passionate love story, and I kept waiting for Roark and Keating to have epic libertarian gay sex and I was genuinely “Hang on, wtf, they DON’T hook up?” when Dominique Francon turns up as Howard’s love interest. (And then I doubled over with even more confusion when I found out that Ayn Rand was a raving homophobe given that there’s so much homoeroticism in her books that you’d think you were in ancient Greece if you took out the technology and the “American capitalism RULES” stuff mentioned in them.) I’m genuinely not sure what is going on here.

From a plotting point, I’m not sure why Mom made her appearance then, either, but there’s a lot going on in this book that feels kind of random, so I’ll just deal.

Anyway, Taylor appears mysteriously, (again, I don’t know, and I’m not asking questions) and escorts her out, and can we say Biggest Anticlimatic Moment Ever, ladies and gentlemen? I was actually wondering about his mother.

Once she’s gone, Grey asks if it was Jose who rang because he’s a mind reader and stuff, and he glares at Ana about it because apparently it’s her fault that he’s not the only creepster stalking her.

Back the fuck up here for a moment: Grey’s sounding stern and pissed off because Ana got a call from Jose. I’m glad Jose didn’t rape her, because I’m suspecting he’d have blamed– oh, wait, he came close to it– Ana for that, too. You’d think he’d offer something macho and protective, like to send hired goons out to kneecap Jose or something, but before he can do that Taylor interrupts him with work stuff about an issue with the “Darfur shipment.” What’s Grey involved with here? Arms dealings? Does that explain what the problem is?

Anyway, Grey gets all cold and businesslike and there’s talk about the helicopter and Ana asks if Taylor lives there. Yes, he does, and Grey’s in a bad mood about something (the Darfur shipment, having to drive Ana to Portland, missing out on lunch with his mother, Jose calling? I don’t know) and there’s some boring businessy talk stuff he does over his phone, and almost like an afterthought, he nicks off into his study, grabs the contract, and gives it to Ana advising her to read it, and to research stuffs and that they’ll talk about it next week.

“Research?”

“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the internet,” he murmurs.

This is the sort of thing airheaded lifestyle show hosts would say with wonder back on TV shows in the mid-to-late-nineties before the net explosion and when the general consensus was that only nerds used modems, and when the internet was this weird novelty and a bit of a luxury. It’s the sort of thing I’d say if I was being snarky after someone asked a stupid question, or in an entirely different voice when trying to explain the diversity of fandom to people. But, I digress.

Internet! I don’t have access to a computer

Dafuq? How the hell were you writing assignments, Ana? What about online discussion tutes for your degree? What about, um, research? (Assuming, once again, of course, that you actually did some and didn’t outsource your study requirements and assessments to other people.) I was at uni, erm, more than ten years ago, and even then, the internet was pretty much a must-have for study back then. Furthermore, if you have a smartphone, you have internet access, Ana. And if not: you live in a large city where surely there’s a library or an internet cafe or somewhere for internet access.

Apparently Ana only uses the computers at school, but if they’re anything like the computers at most universities, there’ll be Net Nanny type stuff all over them and unless Ana’s willing to curry favours with some computer science students, she’s probably not going to figure out how to circumvent this stuff and get the information she’s looking for.

Grey tells her he can let her borrow one (once he’s put a keystroke logger on it, I presume) and tells her to get her stuff because they’re about to go. Ana wants to make a call. She needs to hear Kate’s voice, apparently. Nope. No subtext there at all. Right?

Either way, Grey gets pissy and jealous and goes back into Mr. Hyde mode because he’s assuming she’s trying to call Jose.

His jaw clenches and his eyes burn. I blink at him. “I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that.”

Wow. Can we say entitled little fuckwit, much, kids? Not only did he not even give Ana a chance to explain what was going on (nor should she have had to) but he’s assuming that any relationship with another person has got to be about “sharing” her with him. He either thinks she’s sleeping with everyone she interacts with, or he has problems with her having relationships of ANY type with people who aren’t him.

Which leads me to:

a)     He’s insecure

b)    He’s being abusive

This isn’t romantic. This is creepy. This is the sort of stuff which domestic violence information packs would call “alarm bells” and what I’d call a big fucking get the fuck out of there siren.

Furthermore, what the fuck does he think is going on with Jose? Jose was in the process of sexually assaulting her when Grey last saw him. One would assume that if they’re talking, Ana didn’t initiate it and that she’s certainly not going to be hooking up with him. Unless Grey truly believes Ana is a creature of Stockholm Syndromey fucked-up-ness and that she completely melts for sociopathic creeps who don’t give a shit about her consenting to stuff.

Oh. Wait. That’s why Grey’s so hot for her, isn’t it?

Holy crap. I just wanted to call Kate, I want to call after him, but his sudden aloofness has left me paralysed. What happened to the generous, relaxed, smiling man who was making love to me not half an hour ago?

Jesus fucking Christ. I really want to nitpick about Ana’s irritating inner monologue, but the last sentence just made me sad.
Ana, they are the same godamned person. This is how abuse works. You see, if he’s overtly creepy, violent, emotionally abusive, controlling, manipulative (and every other adjective I can throw in describing Grey’s shittier side) all of the time, you aren’t going to like him, especially not when he’s trying to seduce you. Once he’s suckered you in, he peppers the abusiveness with kindness, so you start doubting yourself. Then your shitty self-esteem gets even worse. Then the majority of his behaviour is creepy and abusive and controlling, but he sprinkles in some good times so you’re reminded that he isn’t all that bad. Hell, you might even start blaming yourself, especially when he’s started convincing you that it’s your fault when men are abusive towards you and when they don’t give a shit about your boundaries. By this point, he’s isolated you from your friends and any support contacts you might have so basically, you’re feeling fucking trapped.

Let’s step back from this: what are Grey’s actual good points? Okay, he’s pretty. Okay, he has lots of money, and cool stuff. Okay, he buys you things, which could be construed as generousity (or control attempts, or a way of trying to buy your affection, or a way to put down your own sense of autonomy and decision making in how you choose to adorn yourself, or a tactic to be used at a later date when he starts calling you a whore). What else? He’s introducing you to nifty sex stuff, which probably wouldn’t be such a big deal if you had figured out how to get yourself off ages ago.

Beyond this? His bad points are vastly overshadowing his good points. You know it’s pretty bad when even someone who likes bad-guy complete-mess unhinged characters gets this far and goes, “You know, um, nope. This guy has so few redeeming qualities that he’d have to get put into solitary confinement for his own safety if he ever wound up in prison. And even then, the staff would have to be bribed to actually feed him.”

If this was de Sade or American Psycho, I wouldn’t be this critical, but you know what? This is meant to be the man who is making women wetter than a Melbourne winter. This is meant to be a romantic hero. The only thing less romantic and slightly more scary that I can think of in terms of cultural icons is Pennywise from Stephen King’s It, and that’s because Pennywise is a fucking clown.

Grey puts on his mask of normal cool politeness (and I am disturbed at Ana’s realisation that it is a mask: ANA Y U WANT RELATIONSHIP WITH THIS FUCKSTICK?!) and Ana ponders about why he’s got a bag with him. I love how Ana will overthink details like THAT yet will easily neglect the fact that she’s involving herself with a man who makes Dexter look stable and reasonable. (Actually, I’ll be fair: I have a soft spot for Dex, and at least he doesn’t treat women like, well, this.) She then realises that Grey will be at her graduation.

Another ridiculous description:

He’s wearing a black leather jacket. He certainly doesn’t look like the multi-multimillionaire, billionaire, whatever-aire, in these clothes. He looks like a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe a badly behaved rock star or a catwalk model.

What, like he’s posing? Or like, I dunno, that English guy who was more famous for doing coke and Kate Moss than he was for any actual music? Or, I dunno, if we’re going to talk musos who pose and who are pretty much famous for their douchetastic behaviour, I dunno… er, Chris Brown?

Anyway, they head off, and since Taylor sees them off, Ana starts thinking that Taylor thinks she’s succumbed to Grey’s “dubious sexual habits.” Again, I can’t help but wonder why the fuck you’d be pursuing someone whose sexual proclivities clearly disturb you that much. And the only thing I’m finding dubious, to be honest, is Grey’s behaviour. And Ana’s consent. It’s not about the kink, it’s about him being a creepster, which he could very well be if he was a total lights-off-bedroom-only-nothing-but-missionary position kinda guy.

Ana thinks that she can’t ask Kate about sex, and that she’ll have to seek the perfectly warped (as she described it last chapter) opinion of Grey on the topic. Repetition again, folks.

They get in the lift, and we become aware, yet again, that Ana’s biting her lip because he tells her to stop doing it or he will fuck her in the elevator regardless of any other people needing to use it. Charming. Is that getting your motor running, ladies? It’s making me want to get mine going. Well, the motor on my chainsaw.  Also, has anyone else wondered if Ana has, like, indents in her lip from where she’s allegedly always biting it? Maybe her front teeth just naturally move into that position because over time, her lips have accommodated to that position.

Finally, he seems to get out of his scarybad mood, so Ana attempts conversation.

“Christian, I have a problem.”

Yeah, well I’d argue that you have a lot of them, Ana, but hey. One thing at a time, right?

I’m really hoping this is where Ana puts her foot down and says, “I really like you, and I want to fuck your brains out all the time, but you know what? This emotionally-abusive moody-teenager crap is really fucking unappealing and childish,” but instead it’s nothing like that and Ana—yet again—tells Grey that she needs to talk about sex with Kate.

You got it, folks: she’s asking for permission to talk about herself and her experiences. And this is sexual empowerment for women, circa 2012. Can we go back fifteen years where at least galpals could debrief about their sex lives without needing to ask permission on Sex and the City?

I pause, struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t have any terms of reference.”

He rolls his eyes at me.

Wow: there’s behaving like an adult, Grey. I suppose a shred of consideration for the poor girl is completely undoable, right? Oh, wait, you said it chapters ago: she’s not even human in your eyes, she’s just a woman. Fuck. You.

“Talk to her if you must.” He sounds exasperated. “Make sure she doesn’t mention anything to Elliot.”

This is the point where I was almost expecting him to hand Ana a pistol and say “Kill her if you have to.” Because, um, how the fuck is Ana to be held responsible for what Kate says and does? Oh, wait, Ana’s responsible for Jose’s behaviour, too, right, so it only seems fair that she’s responsible for Kate’s, too. Gender equality, Grey style.

Ana assures him that Kate won’t talk, and Grey assures him that Elliot is a nosy bastard who is apparently interested in his sex life. At which point I go, “Erm…” because I’ve never had that sort of interest in what my family members are doing in bed. Is this some sort of vaguely incestuous thing (have fandom people been writing Elliot/Christian Greycest fics?) or is Elliot just creepy? Or, more likely—is Grey just a delusional turd who thinks everyone else is fascinated with the miniature of his life? (Or, hang on: Elliot is one of the “ethical” vampire clan in Twilight, right? I can’t even remember which one he’s meant to be. Obviously not Alice or the blonde woman who is a bitch because she’s blonder and prettier than Bella.)

Grey agrees, making Ana promise to only talk about what they’ve done so far, and then mutters something about how Kate would probably have his balls if she knew what he wanted to do.

The thought of Kate with Christian’s balls is not something I want to dwell on.

Me neither, E. L. James, but cheers for the mental imagery.

His lips quirk up and he shakes his head.

“The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this,” he murmurs.

“Stop all what?”

“You, defying me.” He reaches down and cups my chin and plants a swift, sweet kiss on my lips as the doors to the elevator open. He grabs my hand and leads me into the underground garage.

Me, defying him… how?

Thankyou, Ana. There is so much mind-bogglingly wrong here that I want to scream. First off, my understanding of BDSM is that someone submits to someone because that someone has earned their trust. They feel safe submitting to them: there might be an element of danger, but there is, overall, an understanding that the person they’re submitting to is trustworthy enough to respect their limits—and that is why we have things like safewords. (Which Grey doesn’t. I wonder what he’s going to do when Ana does her internet research and finds out about safewords.)

Secondly, signing up for kinky sexytimes and other lifestyle arrangements is NOT the same thing as signing up to be a voiceless drone who can’t and won’t have an identity of her own. Remember, too: Grey only wants Ana around for the weekend: for those other four or five days of the week, she has her own life and identity, presumably. Or is she going to have to give that up, too?

Thirdly: how the fuck is it defiance wanting to talk to your friend about something girls generally will discuss with their nearest and dearest?

This is looking awfully like Grey’s attempting to isolate Ana from this angle, but wtf would I know? I’m not a romantic, after all.

They move to his car, and Ana notes that it is

one of those cars that should have a very leggy blonde, wearing nothing but a sash, sprawled across the hood.

Grey, your creepiness is making Ana think about near-naked women draped over cars. (Also, that Ana associates sexy with blonde makes me smile: Ana/Kate ftw.)

“Nice car,” I murmur dryly.

He glances up and grins.

“I know,” he says, and for a split second sweet, young, carefree Christian is back. It warms my heart. He’s so excited. Boys and their toys. I roll my eyes but can’t stifle my smile.

The irony, of course, Ana, is that you’re just another one of his toys. This conversation is a bit like how they feed animals in fur farms their dead, skinned former neighbours, isn’t it?

She asks about the car (Audi R8 Spyder—again, I ask, why this particular type of car? Why not a vintage Jag or something insanely rare and obscure like one of those Italian bat-cars with the nifty suicide doors if we’re thinking sporty? Come on: the guy loves cars and is a gazillionaire. He’s not going to just stroll into a posh showroom and choose something a salesperson has told him is trendy. Also, the car could be TOTALLY used to give some insight into his personality, E. L. James: give him something individual that shows the reader what type of person he is. If I had even a tenth of Grey’s riches, I would have a completely reworked 1975 Falcon XB which I would happily pay other people a shitload of money to make into my dream, customised ride for my main form of transport. [I would also have a completely redone hearse—I’m not overly picky on make and model because pretty much anything would make me happy— from the 1940s. Because seriously, that would be fucking cool.]

And… I’m not even a huge car buff. But even I wouldn’t be just grabbing something off the showroom floor.) and it seems that for all the excitement, Grey doesn’t geek out about his car and its specs like a good little car buff would, and instead tells her they’re going to take the top down and go for a drive and that there are baseball caps and sunglasses for both of them if she wants.

They listen to Bruce Springsteen as they drive along uneventfully, and Ana analyses the significance of the baseball cap. People stare at them, because I think being stared at when you’re in a sports car with a dude who’s a millionaire is a female fantasy, too.

He asks if she’s hungry, which is just Christian-speak for “You WILL Eat, DAMMIT” and so they pull off and he decides they’re going to eat. De ja vu, for the hundredth time, folks.

Funny that I should mention some French here, because next up on the menu is their arrival at a chalet in the woods with rustic décor, clichéd gingham tablecloths, and the name Cuisine Sauvage. I’m no foodie, but I’ve heard about people talking about homestyle cooking in restaurants, though it’s always bewildered me why you need to eat out to get stuff that’s meant to be “homestyle.” That’s sort of like doing your homework at school. And trust me, the reverse doesn’t work, either: I don’t make restaurant-quality food when I’m at home.

Anyway, Grey explains that there’s no menu, and you just get what you’re given. He seems to think that’s funny. Let’s home Ana isn’t severely allergic to anything because that could be a mood killer. Or just a regular killer.

Things get interesting when the waitress arrives.

She flushes when she sees Christian, avoiding eye contact with him, hiding under her long blonde bangs. She likes him! It’s not just me!

News flash, Ana: if you’re rich and attractive, people with flirt with you. Hell, you could be as ugly as sin and people will still flirt with you. Seriously, you could be ugly as sin, a thoroughly mean and hideous person, and have awful politics which are all about screwing over people and ideas about women that belong in the 1950s, and a toupee that makes some of my cosplay wigs look realistic, and women will still be flirting with you. Why are you so surprised, Ana? Honestly.

Also, has anyone noticed that there seems to be some complete oddness about hair colour distribution going on here? Grey’s got auburn hair, right? Ana is a brunette. Everyone else significant to this story—well, significant enough to get a haircolour ascribed to them—Jose being the exception, I believe—is blonde. And if Stephanie Meyer taught us all something important, blondes are the bad guys. Everyone wants to fuck them and they are out to steal your men, ladies. And be prettier than you. And make you feel insecure.

As a blonde, I have to say, I really fucking hated this shit in Twilight and I’m making my unimpressed face seeing it again here. Hair colour is a really fucking stupid measure of attractive, anyway, and from my understanding, and I believe, at least one study someone commissioned, brunettes are actually the mates of choice from respondents, anyway. Also: boo hoo hoo: you feel inferior to people who are blonde, Bella. You hate your hair. Home hair colouring is quick and easy and cost-effective. I mean, FUCK. Or you could rock your sexy-arsed brunette ‘do and be your hair’s best friend. I hate seeing author bias like this.

Grey orders wine for them even though Ana wanted a diet coke instead, the two of them smile back at one another, and then Grey tells her that his mother liked her. Here’s where I’m raising my (blonde, boyfriend-stealing) eyebrows at this since Dr. Grey (OMG, I just noticed it then: cue corny Grey’s anatomy jokes from me now) was coming across as little more than cordial towards Ana and passive-aggressively clingy towards Grey. Apparently she always thought that Grey was gay, and I think the suggestion is that she’s relieved that he’s dating a girl otherwise I’m not sure why it bore mentioning.

Grey explains that since his mother hasn’t seen him with a girl, that’s where her assumptions came from. The logic here is making me roll my eyes. (Furthermore, it’s flawed: how many gay people will date or otherwise have romantic-looking interaction with people of the opposite sex to placate homophobic parents?) Anyway, Ana asks “not one of the fifteen before me?” and Grey is touched that she remembers the number, and this is where I wonder if Dr. Grey never saw them because he disposed of the bodies before she came over (and perhaps that’s why she makes unannounced visits? She’s suss and she wants to catch him in the act?).

Grey reels off a list of firsts he’s had with Ana: never slept with anyone, never had sex in his bed, never flown a girl in the helicopter, and never introduced one of them to his mother. Taking credit for the latter seems a bit cheeky since it wasn’t like he planned to, though.

Over the table, there’s some smiley moments between them, another “stop biting your lip” and they get their wine, and Ana blurts out

“What’s vanilla sex?” I ask, if anything to distract myself from the intense, burning, sexy look he’s giving me. He laughs.

“Just straightforward sex, Anastasia. No toys, no add-ons.” He shrugs. “You know… well, actually, you don’t, but that’s what it means.”

Okay, that’s interesting. Firstly, way to be a condescending twat, Grey. Just because she didn’t have sex before she met you and she hadn’t kissed many people, doesn’t make her completely naïve. What’s to say she wasn’t reading her mother’s Black Lace novels or watching Real Sex  on TV or reading and writing anonymous Dr. Who fanfiction on her parents’ computer or something as a teenager? Sex education starts long before you actually have sex. I cannot believe that a woman who is writing porn doesn’t seem to realise this. Anyone else seeing the irony there?

Also, “vanilla,” from my understanding, was more “conventional.” There are plenty of fairly weird things you can do without toys or add-ons that most people are going to not consider vanilla, and in the age of books like this being sold in the supermarket, and pretty much everyone over thirteen knowing what a vibrator is, toys don’t necessarily make something non-vanilla.

“Oh.” I thought it was chocolate fudge brownie sex that we had, with a cherry on top. But hey, what do I know?

Please, Ana, no more chocolate fudge comparisons. Please.

The waitress brings them nettle soup and then apparently flounces off to the kitchen, in Ana’s opinion because she doesn’t like to be ignored by Christian. Um… perhaps the girl has work to do? Unless of course, Ana is correct and she’s one of the fifteen and he’s being a bit of a shithead bringing Ana here knowing full well it’s going to piss her off, which sounds exactly like the sort of snitty, arrogant, just jerky thing he would do, actually.

Ana then asks why he’s never had vanilla sex before.

He gets visibly nervy and then tells Ana that one of his mother’s friends seduced him when he was fifteen.

Um.

Er.

Oh-no, not, o-kay.

Whoa: there’s knocking someone outta left field with something really unexpected and fucked up.

A few things on this: a) unless that friend of his mum’s was around the same age as him, that was child abuse. Thing b) What the fuck kind of paediatrician manages to miss that? While kids will go to effort to hide sexual abuse, seriously, there will be signs that pop through and as someone who works with kids, not to mention his mother, you should fucking well have some vague notion of a clue.

There’s more, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around this much. By the way, I have seen situations like this written so much better. At this point, I’m assuming it was only a one-off incident (though still, one-off incidents can completely fuck people up: I buy that) though am still failing to get that his own mother had no idea and didn’t even suspect a shift in his behaviour.

I’ll give E. L. James this much: it at least offers SOME reasoning behind why Grey seems to be competing with Charlie Sheen and Chris Brown for the Misogynist of the Decade award.

Ana’s subconscious even doesn’t offer commentary on this, and Grey admits he didn’t get a run-of-the-mill introduction to sex. No kidding, dude.

Ana then asks if he didn’t date in college then, and this is where the dial gets cranked up on the creepyfactor.

“No.” He shakes his head to emphasise the point.

The waitress takes our bowls, interrupting us for a moment.

“Why?” I ask when she’s gone.

RRARRAARRRRGH. Shut up, Ana. This guy has just disclosed that he was sexually abused by one of his mother’s friends—someone he should have been able to trust and who should have been a grownup, and you know, not molested her friend’s son—and you’re asking him why he didn’t date in college. You might want to rethink journalism, sweetie, because I can see you in the middle of interviewing some poor person who’s just lost their house in a bushfire or had to bury their kid or something and you’re asking them inane questions when you should just let them talk.

He smiles sardonically.

“Do you really want to know?”

(Well, we can assume that’s why she asked, Grey, but at the moment I’m prepared to cut some slack here.)

“Yes.”

“I didn’t need to. She was all I wanted, needed. And besides, she would have beaten the shit out of me.” He smiles fondly at the memory.

Oh, this is way too much information—but I want more.

Ana has the tact of a five year old in a crowded elevator. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m glad she didn’t do a social work degree or if I’m just too busy being horrified at her nosiness and just… information harvesting with very little consideration as to what it means and how difficult it is for Grey to talk about it, as well as the hideous implications. Yeah, he’s a shithead. He has no self-awareness in relation to that. But neither do you, Ana. If it weren’t for your inability to use the internet and your crippling stupidity, you guys would be AWESOME for one another.

Grey admits that this mysterious woman was old enough to know better  and that they’re still friends and that of course his mother doesn’t know. I call horse shit. Clearly the relationship went on for long enough (unless Grey was a child prodigy who was in college at 15) to raise at least a couple of alarm bells. Surely the friendship between Dr. Grey and Mrs. Robinson changed in some feasible manner in that time. Or are all the characters in this book really oblivious and stupid?

I will say this much, though: I can’t complain too much about Grey’s reaction to what happened nor the way he describes it to Ana. Perhaps this is something E. L. James has done her research on, and I get that talking about and dealing with (especially if it’s something assumed to be buried and dealt with in the past) abuse is a difficult area, and there aren’t any hard and fast rules about how someone discloses such information. Grey could be blasé about it because he truly has dealt with it, because he’s covering up a heap of shit he hasn’t sorted through, or from shock, just as much as he could be a lazily written character. I guess time will tell with how it’s handled down the track.

A forewarning: it is an enormous pet hate of mine seeing abuse—especially something as hideous as childhood sexual abuse—dealt with flippantly and like some sort of gimmick. When you start writing this stuff, you owe it to yourself—and your readers—to do it well and to treat the subject with dignity and give it sufficient gravity. I don’t mind if survivors and victims aren’t all cowering tearful I-can-barely-talk-about-it types (actually, I’ll be honest, I hate stereotypes like that about abuse survivors, too, though I realise people will react like that so it’s at least believable if it’s consistent with characterisation for them to act like that) but I will mind if I get the impression from the writer that they don’t know what they’re doing and they are using abuse to excuse someone’s shitty behaviour. That’s a big fucking insult to people who have suffered all sorts of awfulness and who haven’t repeated the cycle. While it sometimes does happen like that, the abuse doesn’t excuse repeating the cycle. I have seen this shit happen in one of my fandoms (oh gawd, it was a fic that contained a heap of hideous inaccuracies about BDSM too) and it was horrible and offensive and triggery. I really, truly hope that something as terrible as that made it past an editor, but who the fuck knows?

The waitress comes back with lunch but Ana isn’t hungry even though it’s venison—excuse my biased sarcasm here—and thinks

What a revelation. Christian the submissive… Holy shit.

Um, to quote you, Ana: holy shit. Way off the mark: being submissive and being a sexually abused teenager are actually very different from one another.

He’s so overwhelming, so alpha male, and now he’s thrown this bombshell into the equation. He knows what it’s like.

“But it can’t have been full time?” I’m confused.

“Well, it was, though I didn’t see her all the time. .It was… difficult. After all, I was still at school and then at college. Eat up, Anastasia.”

So it wasn’t just a one-off thing. Don’t you really hate it when you get all optimistic and stuff and hope that the worst possible scenario isn’t the case, and then it gets spat back in your face?

On the upside, Ana can at least recognise, to some degree, that he’s been sexually abused, and that this wasn’t just extreme kink or something. Alle-fucking-lujiah.

Grey reverts to being a complete douche, though, and makes Ana eat. Ana actually considers if this is what she wants, you know, him acting like a power-hungry motherfucker with a feeding fetish—and then she even asks him about that aspect of things.

I want to cheer Ana on.

“Is this what our, er.. relationship will be like?” I whisper. “You ordering me around?” I can’t quite bring myself to look at him.

See, Ana? Told ya you’d nail this in no time; you’re being a good little submissive and already not looking him in the eye.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

“I see.”

“And what’s more, you’ll want me to,” he adds, his voice low.

I sincerely doubt that.

Don’t worry, Ana, No one actually wants Stockholm Syndrome. And then, when you get it, you actually don’t mind, which is part of the crazy, from my understanding. Also, for anyone who thinks this is how it works: no. BDSM isn’t Stockholm Syndrome.

For the first time ever, Grey actually tells her that she should read the contract and do the research, and I’m actually not sure if he’s playing headgames or not. I think this is Grey trying to be written as a non-psychopath. This is him advising informed consent or something. He even says he’s happy to discuss things, though that’s probably because he’s scared of Ana asking Kate about stuffs.

Ana then asks the question I’ve been wondering about because I read and watch too many crime thrillers:

“What happened to the fifteen?”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise, then looks resigned, shaking his head.

It was not an unreasonable question, Grey.

“Various things, but it boils down to…” He pauses, struggling to find the words I think. “Incompatibility.” He shrugs.

Did anyone else get creeped out about that completely vague answer? See? All my suspicions that Grey is in fact a serial killer aren’t that far fetched when you consider this sort of stuff, though perhaps they are because I don’t think any serial killer would be this obvious about revealing this to his next victim. Then again, if he’s already killed fifteen people, he probably thinks he’s master of the universe and that he can get away with anything and he won’t get caught.

He explains that he’s not seeing any of them any more (he’s not into necrophilia, remember), and this news, in combination with the wine, and Ana’s memories of the way those pyjama pants were hanging off Grey’s hips (described as “like that” if I recall accurately) makes her a little distracted and put off her food. So she starts thinking sexy thoughts, and there’s some inane “I wish I knew what you were thinking” banter between them (God, I had an ex who used to do this, and I believe the relationship lasted as long as it did BECAUSE of the fact that this person had no idea what I was thinking. Actually, that could accurately describe a couple of relationships I’ve had.)

Anyway, they drive back to Vancouver (I keep thinking “Canada” although I don’t think I’m meant to, but eh), and he’s awkward about going into her place, so they do farewells in the car and agree to catch up later in the week. She then shows him she’s wearing his underwear. Christian is shocked. Ana’s inner goddess is thrilled and she sashays into the house.

Kate’s there, packing, and she’s anxious about Ana’s involvement with Grey.

 Crap… I have to deal with Kate’s persistence and tenacity, and I’m in possession of a signed legal document saying I can’t talk. It’s not a healthy mix.

Okay, first off, I will not be held responsible for any liver damage sustained by actually playing the Shades Drinking Game. It is all in good parodic fun only, though if you want to drink, I trust that you’re informed and responsible adults and that’s your business.

Secondly, the signed legal document wasn’t actually viewed by Ana, which I have a tiny suspicion might make it just as open to challenge as the idea of Grey/Ana’s relationship being romantic and consensual. I do not believe Ana is of sound mind. Her signing ANYTHING is on par with a ten year old getting their own credit card.

Thirdly, he finally relented and said that she could talk to Kate, just not about the BDSM stuff.

Fourthly: Ana, you are completely terrible at discerning intentions. On one hand, you go melty about a control freak who may or may not be a serial killer, swooning at his terrible get-in-my-bed lines, on another, you blindly accept that his mother’s cool friendliness means “She likes me” (in spite of her passive-aggressive comments to her son afterwards), on another, you completely dismiss and minimise the actions of a would-be rapist who tried to assault you after plying you with booze, and yet the one person who seems to have your back and show some genuine concern for you? You talk about her like she’s some nosey-arsed inconvenience.

Kate asks how the sex was, in that wink-wink-nudge-nudge kind of way, but Ana’s allowed to talk about that… she’s just coy about talking about it. She tells Kate that it was good, Kate asks more questions trying to ascertain how good, presumably, and then admits that her own “first time” was awful, and that she’s impressed that Ana had orgasms on her first time. Is this meant to be another female fantasy? Making your girlfriends jealous because you’re having an awesome sex life? I dunno.

Kate asks if it’s a Thing, and Ana tells her they’re doing dinner on Wednesday but she’s not sure if it’s going to be permanent. There’s more talk around that, which is really fucking dull, but does include Ana wondering what will happen if she breaches a nondisclosure agreement. I dunno, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Grey isn’t going to know unless Kate talks or Ana tells him. Furthermore, I doubt he’s going  to drag her arse into court and sue her because she’s talked to her best friend about stuff that he probably doesn’t want a magistrate getting wind of.

I must remember to Google “penalities for breaching a nondisclosure agreement” while I’m doing the rest of my “research.” It’s like I’ve been given a school assignment. Maybe I’ll be graded. I flush, remembering my A for this morning’s bath experiment.

Oh god. Here’s an example of bad localisation. Presumably Ana has completed assignments since being in high school since she’s been at college, right? All the editor needed to do was suggest “college” instead of “school” and this wouldn’t have sounded creepy. But no, it does. Again, combined with Ana’s childlike narrative and naivete and now this: ew. I have read fanfiction where characters have been aged up more convincingly. Hell, Ana seems younger than the main character in Enzai and the character’s possible age in that was probably the least disturbing thing about that game.

Kate notices Ana looking a little funny at that thought and comments that she looks different, and Ana says she feels different—sore—Kate says she is, too, and they laugh girlishly about men being animals.

And apparently the Grey magic has worked on Kate, too, who is dewy-eyed  and gushy and in love with him. Ana’s never seen Kate like this before, but instead of it being shippy, it’s just really fucking boring. They compare notes on what they got up to, and Kate says that Elliot is helping them move.

Stepping aside here, does anyone else think that things could get mighty awkward if one couple has a breakup or brothers or best friends have a falling out? I realise that if we were talking about well-balanced adults here, that wouldn’t necessarily be the case, but, er, we’re not. I’m waiting for someone to suggest double-dating. Interesting times ahead, especially if this is after Ana’s all submissive and stuff. I can hardly wait.

Anyway, Ana says she’s giving Grey back his fourteen-thousand dollar books for some reason (she’s lost interest in Tess and moved onto other literary references?), and Kate explains that Jose has been calling for her. There’s some chatting about their respective lives after college—Kate has an internship lined up at The Seattle Times and is going away on holiday with her family beforehand. Which is obvious!speak for “Ana will have their shared accommodation to herself for awhile.”

Then Jose rings.

In the most anticlimactic confrontation of the year, their discussion goes like this:

“Can I see you? I’m sorry about Friday night. I was drunk… and you, well. Ana—please forgive me.”

I think the only part of that line that was important was the last bit because the first would have made more sense to me if he’d said it in Spanish. (But it seems that he only speaks in Spanish when he’s being creepy.)

“Of course I forgive you, Jose. Just don’t do it again. You know I don’t feel that way about you.”

What. The. Fuck? Ana was fucking TERRIFIED when he was forcing himself upon her. She couldn’t fight him off. She was drunk. He had been feeding her booze to get her drunk. “Just don’t do it again” is probably the most offensive, ridiculous thing I’ve heard on this. Unless, of course, she’s keeping her enemies closer and she’s planning on throwing him to the wolves down the track or getting Grey to exact revenge upon him. Which she probably isn’t.

 He sighs heavily, sadly.

“I know Ana. I just thought if I kissed you, it might change the way you feel.”

Yeah, usually forcing yourself on someone, while they are drunk, when you damn well KNOW they don’t like you like that, will change the way they feel about you. My gawd: EVERYONE IN THIS BOOK SUCKS.

“Jose, I love you dearly, you mean so much to me. You’re like the brother I never had. That’s not going to change. You know that.” I hate to let him down, but that’s the truth.

Holy fucking god, I don’t even. Also, brothers don’t do that. Well, most brothers don’t do that.

“So you’re with him now?” His tone is full of disdain.

Bada-bing, folks, add seriously passive-aggressive to all of Jose’s other hideous traits. Ladies, this is a personification of Nice Guy Syndrome.

“Jose, I’m not with anyone.”

“But you spent the night with him.”

“That’s none of your business!”

“Is it the money?”

“Jose! How dare you?” I am staggered by his audacity.

Yep, because implying that someone is a golddigger is worse than sexually assaulting them. Nice going, Ana.

“Ana,” he whines and apologises simultaneously. I cannot deal with his petty jealousy now. I know he’s hurt, but my plate is overflowing dealing with Christian Grey.

“Maybe we can have coffee or something tomorrow. I’ll call you.” I am conciliatory. He is my friend and I’m very fond of him. But right now I don’t need this.

Rolling my eyes here. He is not your friend. And you don’t need this treatment EVER. Jesus fucking Christ.

“What was all that about?” Katherine demands, her hands on her hips. I decide honesty is the best policy.

Since when did she become “Katherine?”

Anyway, in the understatement of the year, Ana says that Jose “made a pass at [her]” which is a bit like saying that maybe Robert Downey Jr. may have dabbled with coke during his earlier years. Kate’s response is to assume that the Jose thing was consensual and to assume that Ana’s pheromones are going haywire.

Anyway, they eat dinner, Elliot rings Kate, and Ana wonders what it is about the Grey men, thinking about Christian and how deep and complex he is and about the contract. Kate goes to bed soon afterwards, suggesting she’s suss on Christian, and Ana goes to bed. But before she does, she tears open the contract.

Somewhere amongst all this, Ana doesn’t go to work like she was meant to, which was her whole reason for needing to come home then, but who cares about continuity, right?

 

And the next chapter—yes, I continued on—will be short as all hell because most of it is the contract. And my inner law student had more fun reading that chapter than she did reading any of the others so far. Watch this space, people.

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine begins on the sunny note of Ana waking up in post-coital bliss, with a previously piano-playing Grey sleeping next to her. For a man who doesn’t sleep with his fuckbuddies, he’s already crossed the line. I call horseshit: he sounds more like one of those guys who says he doesn’t cry in movies but will be sobbing his guts out at everything from The Notebook to Happy Gilmore and who just wants to look like a tough impenetrable shield of testosterone but who is kind of not.

What else don’t you do, Mr. Grey? Now that I’m thinking about the stuff you’ve listed– which includes dead people, children, and animals, I’m hardly waiting here with bated breath in anticipation to find out what other limits you’ll cross. More like I’m thinking, “Please, for the love of everything that is good and holy– and, erm, everything that ISN’T, can limits actually be kept, E. L. James?”

Anyway, for some reason, Grey, who doesn’t normally sleep with girls, and who seems to have at least one decently furnished spare bedroom that he could have utilised for sleeping purposes, decides to come back from his late night piano playing to sleep next to Ana.

There is so much I want to raise an eyebrow at, but I won’t, because this is a long chapter, ladies and gentlemen, and we have a lot to get through.

Ana watches him while he sleeps.

His lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep. His sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and his shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess.

Okay, enough, E. L. James, with the ADHD on the adjectives. Choose a couple which illustrate your point, preferably don’t make them contradict one another or be insanely similar in meaning, and go from there. I can’t help but think that cutting this shit down would have shortened this book by at least 100 pages. Another thing it does is cut down on repetition if you use words a bit more sparingly, and one of the biggest issues I have with the writing in Shades is the repetition. I think we’ve heard of Grey’s hair being described as a “glorious mess” at least three times now. And we aren’t even a quarter of the way into the book yet.

How could anyone look this good and still be legal?

He’s twenty-seven, Ana: he’s legal. You were the one I had questions about, since your inner narrative sounds like it’s about 14 years old. Also, there are plenty of perfectly hot people who are well over the age of consent. Cases in point: Helen Mirren. Richard Gere (before the gerbil rumour). Hell, with what pop culture is putting out lately, I’m hard pressed to name anyone under 40 who is hot stuff.

I remember his room upstairs… perhaps he’s not legal.

Huh? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN THIS TO ME? To my knowledge there is nothing in US law which prohibits BDSM activities between consenting adults in Washington. I know some states have legal discrepancies (California has some really out there laws: did you know lawyers can sleep with their clients and it’s only a problem if they’re doing it as payment for their services?) but I haven’t come across BDSM being regarded as criminal activity in the states under normal, consensual circumstances.

It’s tempting to reach out and touch him, but like a small child, he’s so lovely when he’s asleep.

Two things on this: a) small children and sexiness are two concepts I don’t want to see married together, and b) WTF does Ana know about small children, anyway? E. L. James, your parenting experience is showing. People who appreciate sleeping kids the most are the people who’ve dealt with them on end while they’ve been awake (and noisy/grumpy/hyped up/horrible). People who don’t like kids won’t describe nice things using children as a simile. And people who don’t have kids but who love them can’t imagine why anyone would say such things because kids are GREAT when you aren’t seeing them from all angles 24/7.

I don’t have to worry about what I’m saying, what he’s saying, what plans he has, especially his plans for me.

Um, Ana: have a look at what you’re saying here. This doesn’t sound like a happytimes relationship. This sounds like fear. And it makes me sad.

Anyway, Ana needs to go pee, and she gets out of bed, slipping on Grey’s shirt for some reason (who is going to see her naked? You’re in his house, Ana, not his office) and finds that behind Door Number One isn’t his bathroom but an enormous closet. I don’t know why so much attention is devoted to this, but it is.

Ana, I’m starting to feel, is like that friend you have who starts gushing about their new beau, and after awhile you realise they’re not all about the person, but all about the stuff. So much of the narrative has been devoted to pointless description of crap that no one really cares about, but which I believe is meant to be impressive. Size is a huge (no pun intended) factor and yet mysteriously, the only time we haven’t seen any comparative analysis of the size of something is when Ana’s ever-so-briefly mentioned Grey’s dick. So far, hotel decor has been mentioned more than Grey’s dick.

E. L. James uses this moment for Ana to remember Kate and freak out a bit, because… well, I don’t know why. Kate is with Elliot, remember (and might be, wink wink, nudge nudge, busy if you know what I mean, and may not be thinking about Ana), and even if she’s not, it’s not like Kate has no idea what Ana is up to. And even so: she is aware that Ana is a 22 year old woman who is getting into the wonderful world of dating and mating.

Anyway, Ana comes out of the closet (you all KNEW I was going to say that, didn’t you?) and tries Door Number Two, to find the bathroom. Like everything else Christian Grey has, it’s enormous. Ana notices there are two sinks and gets disapproving about it, because apparently you can only have two sinks if you’re involved with someone else. Maybe Grey has OCD and one of those sinks has to be for brushing his teeth and the other has to be for washing his hands after using the toilet? (I actually have met people who’ve had issues which have come close to this.) Maybe he bought the place and it came with two sinks?

Ana looks at herself in the mirror and has a reflective Wonder Years style moment where she realises that she feels different because she’s had sex for the first time ever, starts wondering if she looks different, and then realises that she feels like she’s never done any exercise in her life because she’s a bit sore. Don’t worry, Ana, you’re about to embark upon the Christian Grey approved diet and exercise plan. Hopefully that won’t get explained in microscopic detail, but by this point, I’m not holding out much hope.

You don’t do any exercise in your life. My subconscious has woken. She’s staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot.

Oh, here we go again. I thought Ana’s “subconscious” was doing that about the fact that she hadn’t done the deed yet a few chapters ago.

 So you’ve just slept with a man, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you.

Oh god. The book which is apparently all about liberation still talks about virginity in a revoltingly paternalistic fashion. Anyone would think that Ana’s “subconscious” is Tony Abbott. (An Aussie politician who has made far too many creepy comments about women’s virginity– including that of his own daughters– to be taken seriously, IMHO.) Why is sex considered such a huge deal that we talk of it being “given” or “taken”, anyway? It’s having a new experience for the first time. Yeah, it might be eye-opening and life-changing, but so was watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the first time ever. Sheesh.

Anyway, Ana does some more looking at herself in the mirror and thinking about this, and this is where his playroom starts getting referred to his “Red Room of Pain.” I’m sure there’s some literary reference there, but frankly, I can’t be fucked finding out what it is, and I’m hardly taking lit recommendations from the person who describes female body parts as “down there” in allegedly erotic sex scenes and who doesn’t know the difference between “inner monologue” and “subconscious.”

Ana decides that “just fucked hair” doesn’t suit her, which makes me wonder WHAT type of hair (Sinead O’Connor hair!!!) does suit her, because it seems that whatever is going on with her hair, it’s horrible.

She heads out in search of her handbag, remembering Kate again, and realises that she has three missed texts from the girl.

And here I go, yet again, waving my little shipper flag, because Kate’s texts don’t sound like those of a friend but of a jealous lover:

RU OK Ana

Where RU Ana

Damn it Ana

No punctuation whatsoever, either. (Kate’s a journallist who can’t even do question marks?)

Lemme ask you this: if you’re out with some dude you’ve just met and are apparently nuts about, are you REALLY going to spend that time worrying about the girl you live with? Methinks Kate’s doing some serious cockblocking there. And remember, from all descriptions, Kate is good at getting her own way and manipulating things.

And curiously, instead of just texting back and getting on with her day, Ana decides to call her.

When she doesn’t answer, I leave her a grovelling message to tell her that I am alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard– well, not in the sense she would be worried about– or perhaps I have.

Huh? I’m lost here now. Can we stop using coy euphemisms, Ms. James, and just get on with the story? This is meant to be a light read. I am not meant to be scratching my head figuring out what the fuck you just said there. Also, when did Grey become Bluebeard? I don’t think there was a Bluebeard in Tess.

I find two welcome hair ties at the same time in my bag, and quickly tie my hair into pigtails. Yes! The more girly I look perhaps the safer I’ll be from Bluebeard.

Oh dear GAWD. Firstly, Christian has hinted stuff about Ana being attractive because of her sweetness, her youthfulness and her, well, girlishness. Adding a hairstyle traditionally associated with little girls, or women wanting to be “sexy” is possibly the most idiotic thing ever. Secondly, and more worrying: does the idea of turning someone off you seem consistent with the behaviour of someone who has had awesome, consensual, funtimes sex with someone she’s really into?

She then decides she’s going to cook breakfast. With her iPod plugged in. I don’t even…

iPod in pocket, Ana starts dancing around the kitchen and helping herself to the stuff in Christian’s kitchen like you can imagine Robin Williams would if they cast him in a film about a main character with bipolar disorder tryingg to win over a less-than-impress, far-too-uptight girl who needs to learn what fun is. All the while, she’s daunted by his kitchen, because like everything else he has (except his mysteriously absent-from-description penis) it’s huge. And none of the cupboard have handles. And it’s sleek and modern.

Anyway, she decides that she wants pancakes and bacon and starts cooking. Because that’s what you do, right? Having sex with someone at their house means you get to raid their kitchen afterwards, right?

Given that Ana’s a klutz and completely failboat at everything, you’d be expecting some serious calamity to go down, wouldn’t you? Fire alarms being set off, mess made, stuff set on fire, inedible food resulting? Nope. Ana gets to distractedly think about Grey sleeping with her, and about how she got to be the only one he slept with afterwards and how oohy and special that made her feel, and there are no kitchen calamities.

My subconcious scowls at me… Fucking– not lovemaking, she screams at me like a harpy. I ignore her

but not enough to neglect mentioning “her”

 but deep down I know she has a point.

 There is a state of the art range. I think I have the hang of it. I need somewhere to keep the pancakes warm, and I start on the bacon.

Huh? My method is to chuck a tea towel over the cooked pancakes, or to have something warm– or cold– on top of them, rendering their temperature unimportant. I’ve never played around with the range hood, except when I used to smoke and I’d use it to suck up the smoke so I didn’t stink out the house with smoker smell. I haven’t touched cigarettes– or the rangehood– since June last year.

Amy Studt is singing in my ear about misfits. This song used to mean so much to me; that’s because I’m a misfit. I have never fitted in anywhere and now… I have an indecent proposal to consider from King Misfit himself.

*sigh* I’ve never heard of Amy Studt. A quick check on the internet reveals she’s a UK singer who sounds something like Avril Lavigne meeting Liz Phair’s poppy self-titled album phase. I’ve never heard her song before, and judging from the comments on the YouTube video, neither has anyone else until they read Shades. Not sure if I feel glad that E. L. James has done one bit of community service in unintentionally promoting a mediocre artist who’d probably be lost amongst the noise otherwise, or if I’m irritated because this song is so irritating and forgettable and sounds so… produced that it’s another letdown. I remember getting into The Smiths when I saw Reel Around the Fountain mentioned in a rather poignant scene in Bret Easton Ellis’ Rules of Attraction when I was eighteen. Generally when I see music mentioned in books, I will seek it out to add to the experience of reading it, especially if it’s something I’m unfamiliar with.

This was a bitter disappointment.

Also, Ana is a misfit? How? The fact that we don’t know anything about her backstory means there’s no proof of her misfittedness, and lately it’s like being “weird” is the new “interesting,” so I don’t buy it. I think this was meant to make me sympathetic towards Ana, but I’m not. I just want Ana’s inner monologue to STFU and go back to playing housewife.

She returns to her cooking after briefly wondering about why Christian Grey is the way he is. She turns around, and who should be sitting there, watching her, but Christian Grey himself, looking thoroughly amused about the whole thing.

“Good morning, Miss Steele. You’re very energetic this morning,” he says dryly.

Eurgh! Another one of those sentences my inner editor is cringing at. Also, what’s with Grey commenting on Ana’s energy, too?

 “Are you hungry?”

“Very,” he says with an intense look, and I don’t think he’s referring to food.

“Pancakes, bacon and eggs?”

“Sounds great.”

Grey goes in search of placemats, and asks Ana if she wants some music put on so she can continue dancing because it’s entertaining for him to watch.

I purse my lips. Entertaining, eh? My subconscious has doubled over in laughter at me. I turn and continue to whisk the eggs, probably beating them a little harder than necessary.

I’m really getting tired of this whole subconscious malarky. *sighs*

In a moment, he’s beside me. He gently pulls my pigtail.

Nope, not creepy at all. Oh, excuse my sarcasm, this guy is making so many creepy people I’ve encountered, look really harmless in comparison. And here comes the best bit–

“I love these,” he whispers. “They won’t protect you.”

And what was that, ladies and gentlemen? Oh, never mind that, that was just me, shuddering with the kind of ferocity which might suggest that I’m having an epileptic seizure of epic proportions. Also, creepiness multiplier: he’s a mind reader, now? How did he know that the pigtails were for her protection? How did he know that on some level, at least, she viewed him as threatening?

Anyway, Ana make him breakfast, marvelling at his playfulness, and finds that quelle surprise, he’s even got Twinings English Breakfast teabags on hand.

Ana deduces that they’re for her and gets annoyed about it, and there’s some suggestion that she’s implying that he wants her to agree to this contract-relationship-trainwreck-thing, and he’s all cryptic and mysterious without making much sense about anything, and she winces as she sits down to her breakfast leaving him asking just how sore she is.

When she asks why he asked that, he says that he’s wondering about continuing her basic training. This is enough to make her clench up and start getting excited again.

There’s some more talk about how she needs to eat up (if this is meant to be erotic fantasy stuff for women, I wasn’t aware of how many women apparently like being ordered to eat– is this some sort of “fantasy of being freed from the Western obsession with thinness and dieting” thing?) and she keeps thinking about sex while she’s eating and yet again– and god, this is getting fucking old– he asks her to stop biting her lip again.

Ana asks what sort of training he’s thinking about, and since she’s sore and they never actually went there last night, it’s blowjob time. Once again, Ana’s hormones are going haywire within her.

Ana then says she needs to be home by evening because she’s got work the next day. Grey argues with her in a fashion that bothers me since he was all fine and well with her being able to leave “any time [she] wanted to” and now it seems like he’s changes his mind a whole lot. Ana wants to get changed. Grey argues that he’ll just buy her new clothes. Finally he agrees to let her back home for the evening and tells her to eat up. There is more Groundhog Day arguing about how she needs to eat and how she’s not hungry and finally

“What is it with you and food?” I blurt out. His brow knits.

“I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat,” he snaps. His eyes are dark, pained.

And admittedly, now I’m wondering what his issues about food are too. Could it be something to do with his past as an orphan? Surely E. L. James hasn’t somehow…? Gawd, I don’t know. More and more this is just moving into Godawful Fanfiction territory, but thems my suspicions. Maybe Grey has issues about wasted food in the same way that one of my cats does. Since Fiamma grew up on the streets, and then lived in a shelter for awhile, food wasn’t readily available. Now she’s living with me– and has done for nearly a year– you’d assume that she’s calmed down and realised that there will always be food available, right? Not really. I now have a cat who is triple the size of the one I adopted and who has the appetite of a goldfish. Fiamma doesn’t like wasted food, either, and will eat anything she sees as remotely available to her. I can only deduce that years of not knowing if that would be her last meal has made her weird about food. And I’m willing to bet that E. L. James has done the same thing with Grey. And… I’m doing that cringey thing where I’m embarrassed for the writer.

Also, if he’s so weird about wasted food, then why the fuck did he order everything off the menu at the hotel for her? Or did he donate that to the homeless afterwards?

Anyway, Ana even finds it weird, though decides that in order to stop him being weird about her food, she simply has to put less on her plate in future. Incoming trigger warning for people with eating disorder issues, I suspect, though I’ll reserve my judgement.

“You cooked, I’ll clear.”

“That’s very democratic.”

“Yes,” he frowns. “Not my usual style.

“Democratic” seems like the wrong word here. Though yeah, I suspect he’d be a Republican since they’re in America, so maybe it works better if you consider it in those terms.

After I’ve done this, we’ll take a bath.”

Oh boy! Thankfully, Kate interrupts the scene by ringing, only to scold Ana for not texting her back. Ana explains that she was “overtaken by events,” Kate asks how she is, and suddenly Ana’s inner monologue is deciding that Kate is fishing for information when she is asking if Ana is okay. Ana doesn’t want to talk to Kate because she’s signed a nondisclosure agreement (which she hasn’t even seen). Kate deduces that Ana’s done the deed and asks how it went, and Ana hangs up on her.

Yet another instance of Kate being described as “tenacious” and Ana ponders what to do since she knows Kate’s going to ask questions and she’s signed that I Can’t Believe We’re Discussing It Like It’s Legal contract.

She then asks Grey what is covered in the contract and he asks why. We get this totally non-creepy (excuse my sarcasm there) exchange:

“Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex.” I stare down at my fingers. “And I’d like to ask Kate.”

“You can ask me.”

Ummmm… NO. That’s creepy as all fuckery. The girl’s allowed to get information from places. To be honest, I don’t know why Ask Jeeves didn’t occur to her, but perhaps she is so fucking clueless that she’s managed to not figure out the internet in the same way that E. L. James hasn’t (or else this story would be a better representation of BDSM).

At least Ana stands up for herself… sort of, even if she does it in a way that suggests that she really, really shouldn’t be involved with this guy.

“Christian, with all due respect…” My voice fades. I can’t ask you. I’ll get your biased, kinky-as-hell, distorted worldview regarding sex. I want an impartial opinion. “It’s just about the mechanics. I won’t mention the Red Room of Pain.”

He gets pissy about her calling it that. And about wanting to talk to Kate. Can we say control freak, ladies and gentlemen?

“Red Room of Pain? It’s mostly about pleasure, Anastasia.”

Mostly. Furthermore, let’s be fair: she’s completely clueless about this. She knows nothing, besides the very subjective stuff you’ve told her– about BDSM. And you’re making her feel like shit for getting things wrong and being at least somewhat wary and intimidated, dude.

“Besides,” his tone is harsher, “your room mate is making the beast with two backs with my brother. I’d really rather you didn’t.

Hang on: wtf has THAT got to do with anything, Grey? That’s the most piss poor excuse for “You are not allowed to talk to your bestie about sex with me EVER.” You are a douche, Christian Grey. She could be having sex with Barney the Dinosaur and still, her best friend should be able to ask her questions about sex, dude. You’re a useless, bullying, mean, petty, childish, pathetic flaming bag of douche.

He sort of changes the topic and rather than talking about sex in general with her, talks about the previous evening’s incidents, and admits that he’s never had vanilla sex before. Oh yeah? I call horseshit on that, too, douchepony.

Anyway, he then says its bath time, and Ana has a peculiar reaction:

My heart leaps and desire pools way down low… way down there.

Every argument I’ve used before about “down there” as appropriate phrasing in a book about sex aimed at an adult audience still stands, but it’s happened a few times now that I’m beginning to get desensitised. There is no excuse for this shit unless a) we’re talking about someone who gets tingly in the toes when they’re horny, or b) the narrator is a Judy Blume heroine who is coming to terms with her puberty. I could buy it in conversation in the throes of passion, but as a description in this sense? Hell no. Seriously, fuck you, E. L. James. Be a grown up.

Anyway, onto the bath, which is apparently “a white stone, deep egg-shaped affair.” Whenever I think of eggs in interior design, I think about those chairs in A Clockwork Orange, but that’s a side topic. Grey effortlessly fills the bath and adds bath oil.

Now, one discrepancy which bugs me here: ever waited for a big, deep bath tub to fill up? It isn’t instant. Even with the water on full pelt it takes awhile. Instead of using the time for some conversation between them or some fucking thing, we’re meant to ignore the passage of time there. Again, this is a simple case of “my disbelief could have been suspended with simple consideration of what you were writing, E. L. James,” but nope.

Anyway, he gets half naked, and she’s biting her lip. Yet another “You are biting your lip and that is making me want to fuck you” warning from Grey, and Ana gasps.

 “Yeah,” he challenges. “Get the picture?” He glares at me. I nod frantically. I had no idea I could affect him so.

Sure you did, Ana, but you know what else? He’s a grown up. He can, believe it or not, control himself. And right now he’s being creepy.

Anyway, there’s some humiliation thing going on where he stares at her and she’s naked and she doesn’t like it.

 I peek up at him, and his head is cocked to one side.

That has been mentioned a few times. I can only think of that “head tiltingly kinky” trope in TVTropes or that he probably does have an inner ear concern since he’s done this a fair bit, lately, too.

“Anastasia, you’re a very beautiful woman, the whole package. Don’t hang your head like you’re ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a real joy to stand here and gaze at you.”

Urrgh. My inner editor is already cutting from that dialogue and making him sound more like a sexy dom and less like an afterschool special and now I’m wondering what an abridged version of this book would look like. I used to be friends with someone who was all snotty about abridged versions of the classics and merely tolerated them because they were capable of bringing books to the poor uneducated masses, but I think this could actually sound far better and maybe a little bit sexy if it were pared down a bit. And by a “bit,” I mean a lot. There is absolutely no justification for this book being five hundred and something pages long.

Anyway, he tells her she can sit down in the bath, and after she does, she asks him to join her. He takes his pants off and does. They sit together in the bath and he sniffs her hair and

tells her she smells good.

Er, dude, you dumped a heap of jasmine scented bath oil in there. That’s prolly what you’re smelling.

A tremor runs through my whole body. I am naked in a bath with Christian Grey. He’s naked.

Well, you’d hope so because if he was doing this with any amount of clothing on, it would just up his freak factor a bit, Ana. (Then again, anyone else seen that yaoi manga called The Man Who Never Takes Off His Clothes or whatever it is? I’ll admit a certain curiousity there, though I assume the idea was to get around archaic censorship and ratings issues in yaoi manga.) Do you even consider how inane your own train of thought is? Seriously, it’s fucking painful. Don’t you ever wish your brain would just shut the fuck up? On another hand, though, I guess this explains her subzero self-esteem: I’d hate myself as much as she seems to if I was as dim as her. Anyone would.

Grey gives her a shoulder-and-neck massage with the jasmine body wash and she’s glad Kate made her shave her arm pits.

 His hands glide across to my breasts and I inhale sharply as his fingers encircle them and start kneading gently, taking no prisoners.

Um, “take no prisoners,” E. L? You do realise what this term of phrase is actually referencing, don’t you, or do you just spew forth words in the hope that stuff sounds good? Somewhere in the Top Ten of writing soft, fluffy, romantic misty-lensed porn rules, there is “Do not use phrases that reference extreme, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-I’m-out-to-win-and-conquer-everything brutality.” Or there should be, because for fuck’s sake, that shit isn’t sexy.  Not here, anyway.

He plays with her breasts some more, and then, for what feels like the billionth time ever, she feels his erection pressing up against her behind.

He then masturbates her with a washcloth. And soap. In the water. And this is where I get so bored with the unspectacular sex scene and unconvinced that my brain goes to, “Ladies and gentlemen, this may just result in a completely unfabulous UTI.” On the downside, I cringe thinking about that, because I wound up with one when I came down with some random infection thing once, and I swear to god, I thought I had fucking kidney stones. UTI = Unbelievably Terrible Infection.

On the upside, if she has a UTI, I guess there won’t be any god-awful sex scenes for awhile. Unless he doesn’t care that she’s in pain, which is kind of the point of him, isn’t it? Shit.

Anyway, at the moment, they’re enjoying themselves, and Christian’s having so much fun that he loses his billionaire vocabulary and goes back to porn star dialogue.

“Feel it, baby,” Christian whispers in my ear, and very gently grazes my earlobe with his teeth. “Feel it for me.” My legs are pinioned by his to the side of the bath, holding me prisoner, giving him easy access to this most private part of myself.

And that was where I lost it, because all I could think when I read “this most private part of myself” was “Doesn’t that sound like a poorly-translated label on something you’d buy in a Daiso Store? Once again, though, through giggles, I have to say this much: For fuck’s sake, woman, learn the names of body parts. This unintentional comedy is gonna get pretty fucking old, very fucking quickly.

Anyway, just as she’s really getting into it, he stops.

“Why are you stopping?” I gasp.

“Because I have other plans for you, Anastasia.”

Nope. Still sounds creepy. Also, the idea of him having plans for her has been mentioned several times by her inner monologue, so it just comes across as creepy when he’s actually saying it now.
Anyway, he gets her to turn around and says that he needs “washing” too. The shock of it all makes her mouth open. The next line makes mine roar with laughter.

“I want you to become well-acquainted, on first name terms, if you will, with my favourite and most cherished part of my body. I’m very attached to this.”

Oh god. Is there anything NOT hilarious about this? Firstly, I’m having flashbacks to when I was a kid and there was this Judy Blume book everyone wanted to get their hands on which featured a sex scene. I can’t even remember the title of the book, but I do remember that it got stolen from the local library by someone who surprisingly wasn’t me (or not so surprisingly; my mother had been a firm advocate of me having respect for books and libraries) and that the boyfriend’s penis was christened “Ralph.” This was the first thing that came to mind when I read this.

Then I got to thinking about men in fiction having attachments to things and naming them, and all I got was Jayne from Firefly with his gun, tenderly explaining “Her name is Vera.”

Then I thought, “OMG, did he just say he’s very attached to it? Way to make a fucking dad joke in the middle of a sex scene.” Of course he’s attached to it, unless… cue King Missile song from the mid-nineties which I think everyone at some stage has learned to play the chords from on guitar.

It’s so big and growing. His erection is above the water line, the water lapping at his hips. I glance up at him and come face-to-face with his wicked grin. He’s enjoying my astounded expression. I realise that I’m staring. I swallow. That was inside me!

 

I realise that I’m just a grotty little perve, but the whole description there just has me thinking of those few bars of the Jaws theme, and now I have this idea that the penis is named “Bruce” and I will be very upset if it isn’t.

Anyway, long story short, she masturbates him. With soap, just like he did to her. Why should only one of them have all the burning fun of a pee pee infection? Seriously, I’m not a doctor, but… you know when you get shampoo and body wash and it has “Not for internal use” on the label? I don’t think the manufacturers are assuming people will try to eat it, which leaves only a couple of other ways people could try to “use” it internally. I’ll leave everyone ponder that one and cross their legs while I continue on with this scene.

 “Like this,” he whispers, and he moves his hand up and down with a form grip around my fingers, and my fingers tighten around him. He closes his eyes again, and his breath hitches in his throat. When he opens them again, his gaze if scorching molten grey.

“That’s right, baby.”

And then she sucks him off. It’s all quite sudden and abrupt, which normally I’d get snarky about, but you know what? The sooner this ends, the happier we’ll all be, so let’s pretend that Ana knows exactly what she’s doing and stuff.

And it seems that even E. L. James is with me on this, because suddenly Ana “I haven’t even masturbated until I discovered your body wash, Mr. Grey” Steele is a converted blow job queen in the space of a few lines. Enough to send him off into murmuring rude words, and enough to make her inner goddess thrilled.

 He reaches up and grabs my pigtails and starts to really move.

“Oh… baby… that feels good,” he murmurs. I suck harder, flicking my tongue across the head of his impressive erection.

Two things: a) this girl seems so naïve about sex that it seems doubtful that she’s even opened an issue of Cosmo, and suddenly she knows what she’s doing, and b) if his erection was that impressive, why is it only being described as such this far into things? Also, c) if it’s so huge, why isn’t Ana thinking “How the fuck can I fit all this in my mouth?” Or is she one of those girls who shoves her fist in her mouth and a party trick and doesn’t need to go to the emergency room afterwards?

Wrapping my teeth behind my lips, I clamp my mouth around him. His breath hisses between his teeth, and he groans.

“Jesus. How far can you go?” he whispers

I’m sure we’ll find out. I just want him to blow his load and get over with it, because honestly… *yawn*

More tongue swirling and then we get this delightful description:

He’s my very own Christian Grey flavoured popsicle.

*blinkblink* Um, wow. That’s all I can say to that. There is too much to say to that that I’m overloaded. But, yeah. Wow.

More tongue twirling and inner goddess dancing (she’s doing the merengue with some salsa moves now) and writhing and

“Anastasia, I’m going to come in your mouth,” his breathy tone is warning. “If you don’t want me to, stop now.” He thrusts his hips again, his eyes are wide, wary and filled with salacious need—need for me. Need for my mouth… oh my.

This is actually the second or third time that Ana’s inner George Takei made his appearance during sex scenes, but this is the funniest one so far hence why I’ve mentioned it here.

Grey grips her hair, Ana mentally tells herself she can do this like she’s doing some kind of intensive marathon or something, and he comes. Ana’s all smirky about it, and Grey is all “You never cease to amaze me” but in all honesty, people will say all kinds of crazy shit on the edge of orgasm, so I’m unconvinced, personally. But Grey asks if she’s done that before, and when Ana says “No,” he awards her an “A” in oral skills and announces that they’re going to bed so he can give her an orgasm.

Quickly, he clambers out of the bath, giving me my first full glimpse of the Adonis, divinely formed, that is Christian Grey.

Oh dear god. That’s possibly the third or fourth time he’s been described as Adonis-like. Find some new words, Ms. James. Or at least some new conventional standards of male beauty.

 My inner goddess has stopped dancing and is staring, too, open-mouthed and drooling slightly.

Maybe that’s not drool coming out of her mouth. Just sayin’.

Anyway, he wraps her up in a towel, there’s some smoochytimes, and then

“Say yes,” he whispers fervently.

I frown, not understanding.

“To what?”

“To our arrangement. To being mine. Please, Ana,” he whispers, pleading, emphasising the last word and my name.

Um, hang on: the last word of that sentence was her name. Also, fervently. Also, funny how he can use her preferred name when he wants something, isn’t it?

Anyway, more smoochiness, and he leads her to his room, He then asks if she trusts him, which is easily the most superfluous question ever in this book, because Ana hasn’t done a single thing to suggest that she doesn’t trust Grey. Seriously, she fell into his office and trusted him from there on in. Hell, even in spite of his increasingly questionable and creeptastic behaviour, she still trusts him. (I’m wondering if the book becomes more interesting and less icky if you read it with the idea that it’s about Stockholm Syndrome and a sociopath rather than just a typical regular romance.)

Anyway, of course Ana trusts him, and rather than thinking, as most sensible people would, “Why is he asking me this now?” she gets an electric, anticipatory thrill wondering what he’s going to do to her. Not with her, to her. Important distinction, IMHO, but your mileage might vary there.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his thumb brushing my lower lip.

He steps away into his closet and comes back with a silver-grey silk woven tie.

Presumably this is the tie that is on the cover of the book and here we get a marriage of themes and Grey and the colour and Ana’s first experience with bondage and blah blah blah. Because, yeppers, we all knew where this was going, right? Wrong? Well, spoilers: he ties her hands together with the tie. Tightly. So tightly and skilfully that Ana wonders about his boy scout credentials, ignoring the fact that there were fifteen women prior to her whom he got to practise this stuff on. Remember, this is the man who’s never ever had vanilla sex before. Ever. (No, I still don’t buy it.)

 What now? My pulse has gone through the roof, my heart beating a frantic rhythm. He runs his fingers down my pigtails.

“You look so young with these,” he murmurs, and moves forward.

You sound so creepy with that, Grey. And seriously, dude, I mean creepy. The fact that it was murmured wasn’t a mere observation, it was appreciation. And while your hard limits exclude children from things, so much of your interest in Ana has been because she’s naïve, fragile and young. And it’s gross. Seriously, dude, you’ve got all the self-awareness and conscience of Humbert Humbert and your creator has about a gazillionth of the talent.

Anyway, he goes from being all breathy and “What shall I do to you?” to sounding like he’s organising a hostage situation. One minute it’s creepy-but-meant-to-be-sexy murmurings, then it’s

“Keep your hands up here, don’t move them, understand?”

His eyes burn into mine, and I’m breathless from their intensity.

Actually, I just mistyped that last word as “insanity,” and I think it was a fitting Freudian slip which I’m surprised I caught. It’s like getting a Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde in bed thing with this guy, and factoring in bondage only makes it even more disturbing. Even Ana realises that he’s being fucking scary.

This is not a man I want to cross… ever.

Oh, great: the moment she trusts him, he does this. A perfectly good start to a relationship, right? I’m just sitting here blinking, thinking  “I realise you want to get to the pr0nz, E. L., but this is kind of not a good way to move things along.” Like, really not a good way to move things along.

“Answer me,” he demands, his voice soft.

“I won’t move my hands.” I’m breathless.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and deliberately licks his lips slowly.

I swear, when this is made into a movie, they need to include this scene, just so I can include it in my edited trailer which I’ll make showing the true horror of this whole mess. Because that, my friends, sounds like it belongs in a horror movie. Or some really fucked up thriller featuring a serial killer who lacks the style and finesse of, say, your Hannibal Lector style serial killers.

Anyway, he tells her he’s going to kiss her all over, and that includes down there of course, and between the kissing and the telling her to stay still and her extended narrative, we get kissing.

“Hmm. You are so sweet, Miss Steele.” His nose glides along the line between my belly and my pubic hair, biting me gently, teasing me with his tongue.

Godammit, he’s done this stuff already. Groundhog Day sex, this is. Also, the thing about him telling her she’s sweet is really creepy.

Anyway, if you haven’t worked out where this is going, you’re probably too young to be reading the book (or my blog) or you’re Ana, who at first seems genuinely mystified about what’s going to happen next in the latest instalment of Predictable Cunnilingus Theatre.

Also, Grey likes kissing feet.

I will get this out in the open, because, hey, I try to be upfront about stuff, but you know how there are people with foot fetishes? Yeah? I’m not one of them. I never have been, though since skating and becoming intimately acquainted with all the fun stuff roller derby does to your feet, the idea of feet as sexy has just become even more squicky to me. I realise they’re just body parts which have a perfectly valid and awesome use. I realise they can be washed. I realise that they’re an erogenous zone for people, and that people who indulge in foot fetishism aren’t hurting anyone and there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just Not My Thing. But it crops up vaguely enough in the middle of the sex scenes to throw me a trifle.

Anyway, Ana figures out what’s next in the chain of events.

 And I know what he’s going to do, and part of me wants to push him off because I’m mortified and embarrassed. He’s going to kiss me there! I know it. And part of me is glorying in the anticipation. He turns to my other knee and kisses his way up my thigh, kissing, licking, sucking, and then he’s between my legs, running his nose up and down my sex, very softly, very gently.

Oh god no. You did not just refer to your ladyparts as “my sex.” I know (now that I checked this out with the dictionary) that this is technically okay, but it sounds wrong. It’s only one step up from “down there” which still sounds like something a 1950s nurse would use when telling teenage girls about periods in what passed for sex ed back in those days.

I’m at the point where I am actually thinking that awful, ultraviolet prose would be an improvement upon the shamey, depressing “not-names for body parts” we have now. And I can’t believe I’m saying this, because I’m pretty sure every time I read about love tunnels and beef curtains, a little part of me dies.

Anyway, it begins. Ana gets all blushy blushy and thinks “I can’t watch him do that!” for some reason and then comes this curious action

 He blows gently up the length of my sex.

Um. Yeah. I know people call them “blow jobs” but I don’t think blowing air, erm, to use an E. L. James term, up there is a great idea. But apparently Ana likes this, so hey.

 “I like this.” He gently tugs at my pubic hair. “Perhaps we’ll keep this.”

Um, what the everloving shit? Okay, folks, I think we just crossed over into “Nothing will redeem this book ever” land, too. Ignoring, of course, that everything Grey does, he does gently (which shows lack of creativity on the writer’s part and which also makes Grey come across as kind of unintentionally leery and slimy, IMHO) he’s acting like a grown man who a) has never seen pubic hair before, and b) who seems weirdly fascinated with Ana’s.

Also, this is the second or third time I’ve come seen this “fantasy” before in erotica (and I use that term really loosely here), where some dude is admiring of, and all “don’t get rid of it” about some woman’s pubes. I guess in this era of Brazilians as Norm, it’s to be expected, but surely I’m not the only person to think that we wouldn’t have this weird fantasy thing about pubic hair if we weren’t weird about it to begin with?

Also, people, if you’re sleeping with someone who is horrified by grown adults having pubes, guess what? You’re not the one with the problem.

Anyway, Grey continues the oral-sex-foreplay-taken-literally-blow-job thing, though this time we get mentions of things like her body singing because of his voice. No, E. L. James, I don’t see how someone this creepy can produce orgasms with his voice. Unless he’s got some sort of variant of the brown note going on where he hits some perfect pitch that makes women orgasm. (And if he does, that would actually be interesting to read about because can you imagine what sorts of fun he could have with that?)

He swirls his tongue around and around, again and again, keeping up the torture. I’m losing all sense of self, every atom of  my being concentrating hard on that small, potent powerhouse at the apex of my thighs.

So much I could say to all of this, but you’re probably thinking it already. Also, “apex of my thighs”? If I could never hear that term again in my entire existence, I’d be fine with that. I’d never heard it until this book, by the way.

My legs go rigid and he slips his finger inside me, and I hear his growling groan.

“Growling groan” sounds like the noise a lion would make when its defeated in battle or in severe agony. Now having flashes of Be Prepared again. Fuck, man. Next time the kids want to watch The Lion King, I’d better not be around. I remember when I was a kid and my dad made an awful comment about opening a venison restaurant when we went to see Bambi. (Right after Bambi’s mum died, too. Thanks, Dad.) It’s a family curse that Disney animated features about animals get ruined for or by us, I guess.

More porntalk from Grey

“Oh baby, I love that you’re so wet for me.”

Which sounds ridiculous, but it could have been worse—if he’d said it while they were in the bath, I suppose.

Anyway, in amongst Ana losing her shit, he rips open a condom, and then they’re having sex, and

“Come for me, baby.” His voice is harsh, hard, raw at my ear, and I explode around him as he pounds rapidly into me.

Again, baby. Does anyone remember that late-90s one-hit-wonder from Madison Avenue? No? It was called Don’t Call Me Baby, and it contained lyrics that Ana should have memorised lest she encounter a dude like Grey.

Also, how the fuck does one explode around someone while they are having sex with you? Perhaps I lack imagination, or possess a bit too much of it, and maybe I’m a bit literal, but what the everloving sweet fuckery was that? Which would be a reasonable reaction if you were having sex with someone and they suddenly exploded around you. I mean, for reals: HEY AMERICA, I HAVE FOUND THAT WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION YOU WERE LOOKING FOR. It’s in Seattle. They were going to test it out on hipsters, apparently.

Also, then we get her Pavlovian orgasm-on-command thing, except that thankfully Pavlov wasn’t doing that with dogs (that I’m aware of, anyway).

Orgasm in fanfiction and otherwise usually means one thing, though: the chapter is coming to an end, so here are the closing actions.

Ana is mindblown because of the tie bondage.

 The wonder that he’s introduced me to, it’s beyond anything I could have imagined. And he wants to take it further, so much further, to a place I can’t, in my innocence, even imagine. Oh… what to do?

Don’t worry, Ana, you got the hang of sucking a dude off and orgasming on command pretty damn quickly, I think you’ll nail this shit in no time.

Grey then leans up (presumably while he’s still inside her, even though he’s already orgasmed? Sheesh, I dunno…) and starts waffling on about how great they are together and tells her that he can take her to places that she doesn’t even know exists. Which, of course, makes me wonder if he is a mindreader, since how the fuck does he know what she doesn’t know exists? She might be like that girl in American Pie who looks completely innocent and naïve and then admits to doing things with flutes that even made me go “DAFUQ?” and reminded me of that bandslash fic which was only memorable because someone fucked some other dude with a guitar, and one of the comments was “A Gibson, OMG.” (True story. I don’t even remember what bandom it was. I never did bandom, but let’s face it, when a friend mentions she’s seen a fic about someone using a guitar as a dildo, you’re going to click and read out of morbid curiousity.)

As if things couldn’t get any worse, there’s more creepy: Ana and Grey can hear voices around them outside. Someone talking to a woman who is being referred to as “Mrs. Grey.”

My first thought was, “He’s married? Explain that while making Ana a sympathetic character, E. L. James, and I might actually develop some respect for you and your, um, craft.

But nope: it’s Buzzcut Taylor (and unless Taylor is his surname, it does not work for the guy) and Grey’s mother. Because, yep, men in their late twenties have invasive mothers who rock up whenever they feel like it into their son’s houses, right? A phone call wouldn’t have been more appropriate? (Then again, perhaps this is where Grey learned his attitudes about personal boundaries from, so this might explain a few things and is plot-consistent.)

Better yet, Taylor, being a man of tact and scruples, tells Mommy Dearest that he’s not alone. Instead of her going, “Oh, shit, this is really embarrassing, I am so sorry,” she reacts with shock that her single, 27 year old son who is frightfully rich and devastatingly handsome could be possibly having sex with someone.

I’ll spill it now: I have two sons. They’re only little people at the moment who are more interested in Minecraft and Pokemon than getting it on with anyone right now, and to be honest, I’m perfectly fine with not having to worry about them getting broken hearts and STDs and involvement with people who I may have to consider as part of the family one day, but I realise that unless they fall into that small portion of the population who are asexual, some day, they’re, in all likelihood, going to be hooking up with people. By the time they’re out on their own and independent, what and who they do, and when they’re doing it, is their business and has sweet FA to do with me. If they don’t want me to know what they’re getting up to (as long as they’re not violating anyone else’s rights) it’s their right to not tell me about it. Hell, even when they’re at home, they have a right to privacy to a reasonable level.

So my reaction to this is: WHEN DID THIS TURN INTO EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND?

Also, wow: way to kill the mood. The “baby”s and other weirdness was bad enough, but Mom rocking up? Coffin, meet final nail, people.  And she’s still tied up.

I think this was the chapter ending on a cliffhanger. Will Mommy Dearest wander in and see that her son is into tie!bondage? Will Ana meet her future mother-in-law? What WILL Mom be like, anyway? (I want a Grandma Mazur type mother! Please!) Watch this space…

50 Shades of Grey, E. L. James; Chapter Eight

My first thought upon approaching this chapter was “Crap; it’s another long chapter.” Which was then brightened somewhat by the understanding that, hey, this is apparently where the pornish revelations happen. And trust me, after more than 100 pages of pretty much nothing happening in a book that’s been hailed as all kinds of sexeh, I have been chomping at the bit to read the stuff that’s apparently responsible for womens’ sexual liberation and the saving of marriages and the curing of cancer and everything else this book has been credited with.

As with most things in life, though, I have the expectation that I will be disappointed. Nonetheless: AWAY! To the pornz, I say.

Previously, Christian learned that Ana was *gasp* a virgin, and he reacted in a manner that I think can only be accurately described as “bugfuck crazy.” After all, I was expecting that he’d LIKE it if Ana was a virgin: that would mean she wouldn’t be comparing him to, you know, normal, sane people who don’t have hangups and some really disturbing issues like he seems to have. But, nope: apparently there is some part of dating and relating that I missed where one is supposed to disclose whether they’ve had sex before in casual conversation and apparently one isn’t meant to know about kink until they’ve had regular vanilla sex.

Even Ana is bothered by this, which seems to suggest a level of “Wow, this is so seriously fucked that even a non-objective, completely stupid character can see something problematic about it,” though Christian seems to think that “virgin” also equals “has never heard of kink,” and flips out about the fact that he’s shown Ana his playroom as though that’s actually the worst thing he’s done so far.

(I am failing to see what the big deal is. Hell, I knew about kink long before I did the deed with anyone, and now I’m wondering if somehow that’s weird and wrong, and, well, my sexual liberation ain’t happening.)

Christian asks whether she’s been kissed by someone before (clearly kissing is only notch away from sex…? Or something: I don’t know) and then comes out with:

“And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet?

Dafuq? Who talks like that? I’ve dated, erm, people considerably older than me, and they didn’t speak like that. Even my mother doesn’t talk like that, and she’s in her sixties. Besides, I think it’s more than established: Ana isn’t into “nice young men,” or else she wouldn’t be following you into this mess of a story, dude.

 “I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.”

Firstly: huzzah! We finally have an age for Ana. (Beats the shit out of me how he found out, though.) Though I’m shocked: she comes across as maybe fifteen. And I’m dead certain the age inclusion thing was so E. L. James didn’t get accused of writing underage characters doing sexual things because wasn’t this Twilight fanfic and wasn’t Bella, like, 17, and wouldn’t writing about a seventeen year old having hawt sexytimes sex with a guy who’s hundreds of years old be like writing kiddy porn?

Ana, however, makes me think of that argument about Teddie in the Persona 4 fandom: sure, Teddie might be as old as all of the other characters, who are at the age where they are hormonal little monsters and would be possibly getting it on, but mentally Teddie is like a little kid, and a lot of people feel it’s creepy and gross when people feature him in porn. Teddie might talk about scoring with chicks but he clearly has absolutely no fucking idea about, well, fucking.

And this is how Ana comes across to me: hell, the “Are you going to make love to me now?” question in the last chapter was indicative of how naive the girl is. As I said earlier: this is like watching one of those made-for-TV movies about a teenage runaway who believes the nice man who says she’s beautiful and then he turns out to be a pimp or a porn producer who’s just found some new talent. It’s creepy and quite sad.

I want a twist, E. L. James. I want Ana to be merely putting on the naivete, like that girl in Hard Candy. And to then dom the living crap out of Grey because that would be unexpected and kind of cool.

I already know I am going to be disappointed.

 

Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Christian Grey thinks I’m beautiful.

Godammit, reading that made me have another one of those moments where I wanted to hurl the book across the room. Ana’s self-esteem is horrendous. Seriously: repeat after me: “Just because he says you’re beautiful, it doesn’t mean shit.” There are lots of beautiful things in the world. If you’re Andy Warhol, you think everyone is beautiful (or no one is). Beauty isn’t some sort of elite quality that means anything. Someone recognising you’re attractive doesn’t mean that they love you. Fuck.

And: people lie. People will say all sorts of ego-stroking crap to other people to get what they want from them: including sex. This is possibly the oldest line in the book. Once again, I’m wanting crossover fic where Toreth– or Kristoph Gavin– or damn near anyone— shows Grey what actual headfuckery looks like and wipes the godamned floor with him. Because this is fish-in-a-barrel stuff and Grey deserves it.

Ana, of course, doesn’t believe him– well, she does, sort of, because he’s Grey Almighty who can’t be wrong, but she wonders if he’s far-sighted.

Because she couldn’t actually be, you know, the perfect model of Western civilisation’s definition of attractive. Nope. Not at all.

 

My subconscious has reared her somnambulant head.

Whatever the fuck that means. Who cares anymore? This book is insulting my intelligence and my understanding of human psychology and now E. L. James is making references to “subconscious” which don’t make sense: is this an attempt to confuse me into just going along with whatever other stupidity gets thrown at me?

 

“And you’re seriously discussing what I want to do when you have had no experience.” His brows knit together. “How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please.”

Given that she and Kate seem so bloody hot for one another, I guess that is a mystery, but still, it’s none of his business. Ana, repeat after me: you don’t have to justify your virginity, kiddo, any more than you’d have to justify things if you already were sexually active. And given that she’s a product of a culture that is sex-obsessed, it isn’t so much that she’s avoided sex (unless she spent her childhood locked up in an experimental research facility or something… which might explain the naivete and poor self-esteem, actually) she just hasn’t had sex with anyone. (There’s a difference between avoiding something and just not encountering it. Sheesh.)

Then again, when you take Kate out of the equation and look at the other shining examples of awesomeness she’s surrounded by (the guy who can’t take no for an answer and a would-be rapist) it’s not exactly surprising that she hasn’t raced off to have her merry way with these people.

Grey gets weird about sharing about his sex life and asks Ana if she wants to leave. Of course she doesn’t. There’s more talk about biting Ana’s lip. (And there I was thinking that bloodplay was off the cards: lips are sensitive: bite them and they’ll bleed. I guess when it’s something Grey wants to do, it’s different and suddenly those hard limits dissolve.)

And then things get, um, wrong.

Firstly, grammatical errors:

I gasp… how can he say things like that to me and not expect me to be affected.

I believe that an ellipsis is used to denote missing words, therefore a simple fullstop should have been used here instead. Furthermore, the lack of a question mark is just irritating. Where the fuck WAS the editor? I realise it’s a painful, difficult book to get through, but for fuck’s sake, when you’re an editor, you get paid to right this shit. So people like me aren’t doing reviews like this of it and managing to attack something as petty as the terrible editing.

“Come,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“We’re going to rectify the situation right now.”

“What do you mean? What situation?”

“Your situation, Ana. I’m going to make love to you, now.”

Surely I’m not the only person who read that last line in Chef from South Park‘s voice? And horrifyingly, I believe that actually made it sexier.

“I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard.”

Oh, Ana, there you go bringing logical argument into this. What’s the point of that? We all know how this is going to play through.

“I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work but you really need to have some idea of what you’re getting yourself into.

Hang on; I didn’t think she agreed to the arrangement yet. (She agreed to the nondisclosure, but she didn’t agree to anything else. Then again, since she didn’t read the nondisclosure, you, Mr. Grey, could say there’s anything in there, now, couldn’t you?)

“We can start your training tonight– with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers; it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do, too.”

So, um, lemme get this straight: Grey doesn’t do non-BDSM sex unless it’s with Ana because she’s a virgin, and she is, if I understand correctly, to have no belief whatsoever that this means he’s going to take into account the idealised romance that she thinks she’s getting, but he’s prepared to offset that because he thinks that’ll make her want him in a BDSM-y sense after some vanilla sex? And after he does his one-off “don’t get used to this” thing, he’s going to start training her?

And… this is meant to make him look like the romantic hero? Seriously?

He’s just getting creepier with every statement.

Apparently the rules don’t apply now (who needs rules when Christian Grey has made it more than obvious that he’s in control of the situation, right…? Aren’t the rules just about him having control anyway?) and he wants Ana to spend the night with him. He’s wanted her since she fell into his office. He pulls her into his arms.

 

And this is the stuff that I think is meant to be the romantic fantasy aspect of these books. I think at the heart of it, the fantasy is about a woman being so explicitly wanted by a rich, cold, impressive and apparently classy guy who everyone else has trouble getting close to. Finally, I think I understand how the genre works. We’re meant to identify with Ana because that’s how we feel and it would be awesome for some guy to say that he wants you that much so early into a relationship and to change his normal way of behaving with women for us, we want to be the special one who seduces him without realising it and without doing more than being ourselves…

Except for the fact that this is really creepy and I want to go back to reading about Toreth investigating complicated corporate criminal (see, E. L, I can do alliteration too) stuffs and interrogating the living crap out of people and having sizzling tension with Warrick and all the rest of it because you know what? I’ve known people who get this caught up in people this early into things. And they are fucking scary. And when you don’t bend to their will or you express a desire to do your own thing, they start threatening self-harm and expecting you to bend to their will or play psychiatrist/love interest. And when they hear you’re out on a date with someone else (because you were under the impression that they weren’t that interested in you), they threaten to off themselves and then never ever contact you again leaving you to wonder wtf happened after you rang their mother out of exasperation and horror because you actually were on a date with someone else and when they realised that, they threatened to jump off the top of an eight-storey building and you were going “WTF do I do?” so you ring their mother and ask her to talk some sense into them.

And then there’s the exception thing. You’re not like all the others who came before: you’re SPECIAL. Um, you know what happens when people put other people up on pedestals? Generally a hell of a lot of bitter, crushing disappointment when they realise that the person is actually, in fact, just as flawed and human as they are. But with that comes rage, like they’ve been ripped off because even though you never said you were perfect, they decided you were, and suddenly it’s your fault that they’re a misguided creepster who had false illusions about you.

Combine that with control freakish behaviour and violence, and it’s a whole lot scarier, especially when it’s occurring in a country where firearms are pretty fucking easy to come by.

Just sayin’.

Ahem.

Now to return to your scheduled programming.

Grey tells Ana she is a brave young woman and that he’s in awe of her because she is apparently up for it. Eurgh. And him calling her a young woman is just weird: he’s, what, five or six years older than her? Who DOES THAT? Like I said before, I’ve dated people twice my age and none of them have called me a “young woman.” I also wouldn’t DREAM of calling anyone “young [gender]” and that includes my own kids, even when they’ve done the sort of thing that warrants a stern First-middle-last name WTF IS THIS SHIT reaction. It’s just wrong, Grey.

 

There’s some dilly-dallying around where they talk about how they want one another, and he leads her through to his bedroom.

He has a nautical theme going on, with white walls and pale blue furnishings (Ana, you are about to do the deed for the first time ever, with the only guy you’ve ever wanted to have sex with, and you’re looking at his interior decoration?) and an “ultramodern” bed made out of “grey wood like driftwood.” I have no idea what a driftwood bed would look like or why it’s particularly relevant, or even why you’d be focussing on that while you’re wanting to get your rocks off, but there is lots of stuff I don’t understand about all this so I’ll just let that fly for now.

Once again, Ana’s inner Patrick Bateman describes Grey’s outfit as he starts removing items of clothing. Apparently he wears Converse shoes as well. Two guesses as to E. L. James’ favourite brand of shoes when she wrote the book.

After the weird little partial striptease (there is NOTHING about the description of his body, either– surely Ana would be noticing THAT rather than his CLOTHES) he then decides to muster up his romantic charm and state:

“I assume you’re not on the pill.”

Which is where I want Ana to lecture him about safe sex or to say, “Yeah, I am, because I get the most HORRENDOUS period pains without it” or something to rival his level of romantic competence here, but she doesn’t and thinks “What? Shit.” instead which to be fair is what I’d be thinking in this day and age about a dude all but implying that oh dear, he’s going to have to use condoms because I’m not on the pill. I mean, FUCK: he’s had HOW MANY sexual partners? The pill ain’t gonna stop STDs. Their level of stupid is making me want to slap them. Or hope that karma gives him the clap in a sort of Darwinian law deal for being complete fuckwits about safe sex.

“I didn’t think so. He opens the top drawer of the chest and removes a packet of condoms. He gazes at me intently.

“Be prepared,” he murmurs.

Obviously E. L. James has never heard the score from The Lion King and her editor hasn’t, either, because now I have singing hyena camping it up in the back of my head and I cannot stop laughing. (Actually, days later someone posted a Lion King meme on FaceBook and I spent a good two minutes giggling like someone had said the word “penis” on Sesame Street thanks to this. I am never going to not giggle at the bloody Lion King now. Fabulous.)

All that said, though: can you imagine this being the first time you had sex? Seriously? “Be prepared”? What the fuck is that? (Other than the line in the song that follows “My teeth and ambitions are bared.”)

Ana comments that she didn’t think he let anyone sleep in his bed, to which Grey points out that no one said anything about sleeping.

And then, it dawns on her that they’re going to, you know, HAVE SEX. Because him grabbing the frangers and saying “Be prepared” wasn’t obvious enough. He needs to state that they’re not actually sleeping in the bed for the lightbulb to switch on.

He strolls slowly toward me. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing, and my heart begins to pound. My blood’s pumping through my body.

Blood tends to do that, sweetheart. If not, there are problems.

Desire, thick and hot, pools in my belly.

HUH? What the hell WAS THAT? Oh-kay: again, I got nothin’.

He takes her jacket off and asks if she has any idea how much he wants her. Again, I think this is meant to be the fantasy aspect.

 

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” he adds, caressing my chin.

One would fucking well hope so because otherwise, that’s just even squickier and disturbing and kind of sad and horrible, not to mention trigger-warning-worthy for people who’ve been forced into sexual situations when they couldn’t give informed consent. No, seriously, sarcasm and snark switched off now, and I’m just feeling kind of ill. She’d better fucking have at least SOME sort of idea, Grey, or that’s a felony, arsehole.

He doesn’t actually give Ana a chance to reply, so we’re all hoping Ana has at least some vague idea of what heterosexual intercourse generally involves.

The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of me clench in the most delicious fashion.

As I think mine did: the heart is a muscle, right? My delicious clenching was in anticipation of more awkward euphemisms like “deepest, darkest place.” I love horrible coy descriptors for body parts and sexual happenings. In that way I love corny jokes and The Benny Hill Show and intentional badfic and when some little smartarse in fandom goes, “I am going to think of the wrongest, grottiest pairing in fandom and write it just because no one else has.”

The pain is so sweet and sharp I want to close my eyes, but I’m hypnotised by his eyes staring fervently into mine.

Fuck. Someone loves the word “fervently” don’t they? I’ve gone whole books without reading that word, yet it’s appeared so frequently in this that you’d think it’s a word that everyone uses daily.

Also: is Ana having a heart attack? FUCK. Chest pains, and staring like that? Does not sound good. Or sexy. Unless you’re into panic!sex and paramedics.

Some flowery language later and he takes her top off. She’s wearing her exquisite French lingerie, thankfully. Grey compliments her on her flawless pale skin. Ana swoons. Or something.

 “I like brunettes,” he murmurs, and both of his hands are in my hair, grasping each side of my head. His kiss is demanding

(like his lips were a couple of sentences ago)

 his tongue and lips coaxing mine. I moan and my tongue tentatively meets his. He puts his arms around me and hauls me against his body, squeezing me tightly.

Hold on: hauls? Dafuq? E. L. James: you use all this flowery, English-lit-student look-how-educated-and-clever-I-am language, and then you throw a word like ‘hauls’ into what is, I think, meant to be the opening of a soft fuzzy-lens porn-for-women sex scene.

Hauls. Hauls is one of those completely unromantic words like “discharge” or “mildew” or “pustule” or “discombobulation” or “faecal material” which should be avoided at all costs in what is meant to be a sensual love scene. Hauling someone around is what a fucking scary, grunty, unappealing caveman would do after clubbing a potential mate over the head. Using a word like that in a sex scene should automatically relieve you of a position as a number one best selling purveyor of porn. It is like someone farting loudly in the middle of Unchained Melody.

You just don’t do these things.

One hand remains in my hair, the other travels down my spine to my waist and down to my behind. His hand flexes over my backside and squeezes gently. He holds me against his hips, and I feel his erection, which he languidly pushes into me.

This is what is driving women all over the world crazy. With desire. Allegedly. Frankly I’m surprised that doing OMG WTF AM I READING HERE readthroughs like this hasn’t become a national Pintrest passtime to share with your loved ones, but hey. I would also like to say this to people, though: honestly, you can read stuff that is better than this, on the internet. Y’see, there’s this thing called fanfiction. And generally in the sexy stories, it doesn’t take this long to get to the smut. And the smut is better. And “fervent” doesn’t get used as …fervently. And I’ve never seen “haul” turn up in a sex scene. And it’s free. You can browse for it in the comfort of your own home on your own computer and you can read it on your ereader in public without having people looking at you thinking, “Aha! You’re reading PORN! BAD porn.” And generally the authors go all merry shades of happy when people give them positive feedback and I’d argue a lot of those people have more talent and need more encouragement than this stuff does.

Another point on this: for a first-time scene, Ana’s pretty fucking blase about it and it already feels very mechanical. Hell, I’ve read seasoned-couple scenes which have been more interesting and innovative and… exploratory… than this. This sex scene reads like tired, world-weary, moan-in-the-right-place make-with-the-het-porn clichés from two people who just don’t care any more.

I moan once more into his mouth. I can hardly contain the riotous feelings– or are they hormones?– that rampage through my body.

God, I apologise for every time I’ve written someone moaning into someone else’s mouth. Not going there again. Also: hormones? Feelings? Does anyone care at this point, and is anyone expecting her to control them?

I want him so badly.

Hooray! Achievement unlocked: Consent.

 

Gripping his upper arms, I feel his biceps. He’s surprisingly strong… muscular.

Um, why is this surprising? We know that the dude works out from an earlier chapter, and generally when people work out, they gain muscle… and strength. Plus, Ana’s watched him remove clothing, so even if she had forgotten what he looked like, surely she’d have seen some muscle definition.

She moves her hands up to his face and hair and he eases her onto the bed. Which is better than hauling her there, I suppose.

Releasing me, he suddenly drops to his knees. He grabs my hips with both his hands and runs his tongue around my navel, then gently nips his way to hipbone then across my belly to my other hipbone.

And if all the slashfic in the world is to be believed, I think EVERYONE knows what happens after this and then after that. For the rest of you, formula goes like this: dominant partner performs oral sex on recipient whom he then fucks in the ass. It’s like a universal law of slashfic. But that probably won’t happen here where we’re dealing with virgin!Ana, and anal is like the “”Hardcore” setting on a FPS where you have to get through the game on “Normal” first. Or something.

He takes her jeans off whilst making come-hither eyes at her, and then we get… um, this:

He stops and licks his lips, never breaking eye contact. He leans forward, running his nose up the apex between my thighs. I feel him. There.

There? Where?

Let’s not get coy or weird or anything, E. L. James: you are a grown woman who is writing a sex scene. Please.  You’re a writer. Surely you can use words to tell the readers what’s actually going on. “There” is fairly fucking vague.

And so, foreplay. There’s some more twiddling around but it’s actually the most boring foreplay scene in the entire history of everything ever and I can’t be fucked retyping it let alone subjecting anyone else to it, so you’ll just have to believe me on that.

“Oh, Ana, what I could do to you,” he whispers.

It’s what he doesn’t do that’s the key point, unless somewhere in amongst the boring foreplay I was meant to pick up that he did eat her out but I think he didn’t because there weren’t enough turbulent hormones being fervent there. And it says in the next sentence that she’s still wearing her undies, so I suspect nothing happened.

 

“You’re very beautiful, Anastasia Steele. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

Holy shit. His words. He’s so seductive. He takes my breath away.

Hang on, I thought they’d agreed not to do the asphixiation thing. Oh, wait. Not literally. Also, how a student of classic literature could rate this as being up there in terms of seductive is completely beyond me. It’d be like being a four-star, world-renowned chef and going, “Holy fuck, he took me out to McDonald’s! Best meal ever,” and being completely not sarcastic. Unless …Ana didn’t actually read a single book in the entire however many years she was studying there and got other people to do her assignments.  Seriously, I know I’m just being snarky, but stupid little inconsistencies like this piss me off. Ana’s degree is irrelevant; if she’s going to think this is seductive, don’t have her studying the English language and its crafting; make her an Engineering student or something.

And if I wasn’t already irritated, then comes this: he asks her to show him how she pleasures herself.

I shake my head. “I don’t know what you mean.” My voice is hoarse. I hardly recognise it laced with desire.

Um, when I first read that, I assumed she was feeling a bit awkward about this being her first time and this dude asking her to do that in front of him, but–

“How do you make yourself come? I want to see.”

I shake my head.

“I don’t,” I mumble.

I call horseshit. Fine, she hasn’t slept with anyone, but wha—? She’s nearly twenty-two. Furthermore, she seemed to be enjoying herself just fine in the shower with his body wash the other day.

“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” His voice is soft, challenging, a delicious threat.

Imagine learning everything you know about getting yourself off from a creepy control freak when you’re 22. I dunno, but this doesn’t feel very liberating to me, just very, very depressing, especially since the consent still feels like it falls into the “dubious” category.

 

Anyway, there are another four hundred pages of this book and this is pretty much yet another “time to pull out Old Red” section where the editor was getting paid far too much for substandard editing, so here’s the SparkNotes version:

 

He kisses her through her knickers, driving her to sheet-clawing craziness and pulls her bra down, insisting that she “keep still.” Then we get more pornytimes sex which seems far too blase to be first-time stuff, but who really gives a shit when you get lines like

“We’re going to have to work on keeping you still, baby.”

Ew. This time he’s not using “baby” in an ironic, quirky impersonation of his more-normal younger brother, I think he’s actually meant to sound sexy. The dialogue is about as sexy and original and non-cliched as you’d find in your average porno. From the seventies. With terribly non-sexy cliched porn music which we laugh at nowadays.

Anyway, continuing the SparkNotes version: he plays with her nipples a lot and she grabs the sheets, and then achievement unlocked: first orgasm.

(There’s some serious dissonance with the earlier coy mentions of “there” and I wonder why the hell someone can talk about nipples and wetness and other “naughty” bits and pieces quite normally, but can’t use the word “labia” or some hilarious euphemism, or hell, just drop the c-bomb and be all Inga Muscio and liberated about it. Seriously: we’re grownups, and one body part isn’t unmentionable any more than any other is. Sheesh: if you can talk about clitorises and nipples, you can talk about vaginas. The dissonance actually feels like when bad fanfic writers go poaching bits and pieces from other works and sort of smushing it together and changing names of characters but not looking at the bigger picture and neglecting to address the fact that the narratives are all different and it’s like having a conversation with someone with multiple personalities.)

And when it happens, demonstrating every failing ever when it comes to the American education system’s ability to provide teenagers with sex education, Ana wonders what the hell is happening to her in the same way that kids in sex ed videos freak out about growing body hair and having randy feelings and getting erections and stuff.

Godammit, this is not what I’d call liberating.

Somewhere amongst the mystery, Ana works out that she’s having an orgasm, (thank christ Grey didn’t have to dictate THAT to her) and there’s more creepy dialogue from Grey about how she’s responsive and how she’ll have to learn how to control that. (Even though I think he said he liked sleeping with responsive women because to do otherwise would make him a necrophiliac. But this is Grey, who’s already contradicted himself more than the Bible, so I think I was meant to have overlooked that.)

Anyway, what follows is possibly one of the most embarrassing sex scenes ever written. Seriously, I’ve got friends who have a serious sympathetic humiliation squick. and who get really icked off by seeing other people unwittingly humiliate themselves. I would recommend that if that’s you, skip this sex scene. Ana’s internal monologue and the quality of the writing and the porny cliches are actually making me feel embarrassed because I remember writing shit like this when I was a teenager who a) was only slightly more switched on than Ana, and b) hadn’t even read that many porny scenes herself. I actually feel guilty for not feeling sympathetically embarrassed for E. L. James, though I think that part of the reason that I don’t is because she’s riding on thirty mill and I’m still working a low-level govi job. Also, the internet wasn’t as widely used when I was a teenager and I wasn’t inflicting bad porn on it.

I will spare you the details except for the ones that stand out.

Grey basically tells her how to position herself, he does the underwear removalage for both of them, Ana has a momentary flash of “Will he fit inside me?” when she sees his penis which she mysteriously doesn’t comment on (COME ON: she’s never had sex before and she’s seen an actual, real penis belonging to the dude of her desires: one would think if she can offer commentary on his bedroom décor and she’s noticed other  small details—like his preferred brand of shoes—she would have something to say about his dick. But nope.) and realises that he’s still wearing his shirt.

Grey informs her he’s going to fuck her now, and specifies that it will be “Hard” just in case she questions his manliness or something, and then

[…] he slams into me.

“Argh!” I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity.

I’m thinking there’s a bit of biology fail here but I’ve read so many instances of really wrong things being used for lube, magical self-lubricating anuses, penises that might as well ejaculate silly string from the descriptions offered when someone comes, and all kinds of other madness that ripping through someone’s “virginity” (does she mean this in an abstract sense or is she weird about the word “hymen,” and if so, how the fuck did she fail to learn about how that works?) is fairly low down on the list of stuff I could WTF about. But still, I naturally shift towards pointing it out because it sounds fucking ridiculous.

Also, “Argh.”

Is just argh-worthy.

One thing I am curious about is how E. L. James is going to write the subsequent sex scenes without getting repetitive and topping the reactions Ana is having to this because at the moment it’s like the sex is The Most Amazing Thing Ever. Except that it kind of isn’t. Maybe this is why it had to be kinky sex: because props are going to be needed for variety

So they’re at it, and Grey tells her how to move, or not move, Ana says she likes it, and somewhere in the middle of this, he tells her to come on command even though Ana’s only just worked out what an orgasm feels like.

“Come for me Ana,” he whispers breathlessly, and I unravel at his words, exploding around him as I climax and splinter into a million pieces underneath him.

 

Good timing. (Or a great coincidence.)

And the description gives me visions of video game bad guys getting vapourised into particles like they do when you shoot them and the game’s rated too low for Grand Theft Auto style bloody splatters.

And as he comes, he calls out my name, thrusting hard, then stilling as he empties himself into me.

Erm, technical point: I thought he was wearing a condom, which is what he’s meant to be “emptying himself” into since we’re using such delightful terminology here.

 

And you know what? It’s around this point where I actually put the book down and start reading the next chapter of Mind Fuck. This is unprecedented: I have never put something down and stopped reading it and started reading something else in the middle of a sex scene. Even in the really disturbing gross ones in American Psycho. Even in some shockers I’ve beta-read through where I’ve been a nastier editor than E. L. James’. I’ve generally persevered through. But you know what?

I’m bored.

This is sex that is meant to have rocked a generation of women. This is sex that turned a fanfic writer with a ridiculous pseudonym into a bazillionaire.

Maybe I’m being unfair in my assessment and it will get awesome or liberating or something when BDSM gets factored into it, but the cold-hard truth of things is that I have no interest in, or investment in these characters, so watching them get off is about as erotic as watching a couple of animated stick figures grind against one another.

He pulls out, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear (he’s into that, isn’t he?) and asks if he hurt her because apparently it would be problematic if he did that now. Nah, he’s only going to start hurting her once she’s truly fallen for him and believes that the sex is all magical sparkly orgasms, I suspect.

There’s more blah-blah-blah conversation and Ana makes it clear that she wants more. And then she realises something: he’s still dressed. Partially.

So she asks why he’s still wearing his shirt. He doesn’t answer which I’m sure is meant to indicate something but instead of explaining, or just taking his shirt off, he says they’re going to go at it doggy style. How to avoid simple questions, Christian Grey style. It’s super-effective.
(Now, if Grey tried this on with Certain Other People, they’d probably be smart enough to ask him questions about things while he’s in the middle of sexytime and highly distracted by sensory overload or so desperate to blow his load that he’d give out his PIN and internet passwords and the name of his favourite One Direction member, but of course Ana doesn’t think of this. Instead of Ana using the situation to her advantage, they drop the subject and go at it and Grey does his whole uber-dominant thing with an added kick of creepy.)

“You are mine,” he whispers. “Only mine. Don’t you forget it.”

This doesn’t feel like role playing. If they’d been clear about that sort of stuff, I could buy this. But they’re not. It just comes off as possessive and creepy and more like the sort of thing an antagonist would say during a horrific rape than during hot sexytimes.

He fingers her and tells her that he likes that. A lot. That she’s responsive (didn’t he say the same thing only a few pages ago that other time when they were having sex? And didn’t he tell her to stop being so responsive?) and then makes her suck her fingers. And tells her he’s going to fuck her mouth and that she’s a naughty, sweet girl.

“Naughty sweet girl” doesn’t sound erotic. It sounds like a badly translated ad for mail-order brides, but what the fuck would I know? Actually, I know by this point that I’m really fucking fucked off by this whole mess. If this is erotic, clearly I’m doing something wrong because this ain’t grinding my gears.

And you know what? If it does it for you, that’s awesome. But the writing is terrible. The romance is creepy. The representation of BDSM is woefully terrible to the point of being scary. Shades is to BDSM what Froot Loops are to fresh organic produce. And before someone says “But no one actually believes Froot Loops have fruit in them,” someone actually DID try to sue Kelloggs over it for misrepresentation of goods (it got thrown out of court because apparently the misspelling of “fruit” was indicative of artificial fruit flavours being used in the cereal) and I’ve come across WAY too many stories about real live people who already have some fucked up ideas about BDSM being domestic violence with added kinky accessories.

And while you’re not going to see me decked out in skintight rubber and brandishing a whip at the Mardi Gras any time soon, it pisses me off when I see stuff that’s just stuff taht some people like to do for kicks get misrepresented in a way that’s grossly offensive. I don’t find the idea of deviance and subculture offensive (though I realise many do) but when that gets mixed up with abuse of any kind, it’s nasty. (And anyway, BDSM is pretty damn mainstream and was before this series came out. It’s hardly the domain of rich psychopaths and the naïve young things who fall for them.) And there are already plenty of people who seem to have some seriously fucked up ideas about what BDSM is—a quick trip to FetLife and you don’t have to poke around too much to find these people who advertise all their social inadequacies on the internet like it’s their godamned birthright to be creepy because They Are Special And Kinky. And it bugs me: the BDSM community generally works hard to educate people about what it’s not— and there will always be someone talking about how everything’s above-board and safe, sane and consensual. So there’s no excuse for E. L. James not doing her research, (especially in the age of the internet) but nope, this series of books becomes mainstream and suddenly it’s tied up (no pun intended) with total power exchange lifestyle stuff, a complete lack of informed consent or safety catches, or any kind of self-awareness from either party.

If you’re mature enough to be into this shit, you bloody well need to act like a responsible adult about it

 

Oh, I forgot: they’re about to have sex, round two. We haven’t even gotten to the actually BDSM stuff yet and I’m already ragey about it. (I’ll give the book this much: it’s capable of raising my blood pressure and getting my heart racing, though probably not in the way the publishers intended.)

Grey grabs Ana in a completely clinical, painful, non-erotic sounding fashion while he tears open a condom packet and then we start getting porno dialogue.

You think I’m kidding, don’t you?

Well. What the hell do you make of this, then?

“We’re going to go real slow this time, Anastasia,” he breathes.

Oooooh YEEEEEEAH. Cue seventies porn music, heavy breathing and an orgasm faker than that famous scene in When Harry Met Sally.

And slowly he eases into me, slowly, slowly, until he’s buried in me. Stretching, filling, relentless. I groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable.

And so on and so forth.

More porn!speak from Grey:

“You feel so good,” he groans, and my insides start to quiver.

(Didn’t they do that after your temporarily trip to Margaritaville, Ana? Right before you puked their contents onto the azaleas?)

He pulls back and waits. “Oh no, baby, not yet,” he murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, he starts the whole delicious process again.

It’s like fucking Groundhog Day. Literally. I keep feeling like I’m reading the same godamned sex scene over and over again, and I sort of am because there are bits and pieces I’ve heard before, and I don’t mean from choice quotes on the internet that friends have shown me so I can raise my eyebrows in horror with them.

“Oh please,” I beg. I’m not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight, craving release.

“I want you sore, baby,” he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward. “Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”

Oh my god. That actually was one of the choice quotes, and even in its context, it’s creepy and possessive. And shows up Grey’s insecurities like they’re spots of cat pee under a UV light. Of course she’s going to remember this, and that you’re the only one who’s “been there.” (And EW: “been there” is NOT a respectful way for talking about someone’s vagina.) Does he really think she’s going to run into a football team on her way home and go “ORGYTIMES, everyone!”

Jesus fucking Christ. I am making my unimpressed face.

Anyway, she says she wants him, he makes her tell him she wants him, and his dialogue moves from overly porntastic to overly punctuated.

“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs between each thrust. “I. Want. You. So. Much.”

Ew, we’re back on the sweet thing. I realise people get a bit vague when they’re on the brink of orgasm, but ANY other word than “sweet” would have made this hot rather than creepy. Hell, he could have said “You. Are. So. Fervent” and it wouldn’t have been as bad.

Also, he wants her? He’s having sex with her. Unless he wants to get her pregnant, marry her or eat her heart, I think where he’s at is the common understanding of “having” someone.

“You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby,” he growls.

Nope, not creepy at all. And I love how Ana seems to have learned how to orgasm on command like that. That’s fairly fucking impressive for someone who hasn’t even masturbated properly prior to this.

Another earth-shattering Anagasm and more “I Can’t Work Out If He Ejaculated So Hard It Vaporised the Condom” from him, (there’s another description of him filling her with semen despite the condom) and thank fuck, he pulls out and Ana falls asleep.

 

If you thought this was the end of the chapter, well, you’d be very wrong. There’s still another five pages. By the way, this is the longest chapter review I’ve done and I’m now on Part Four of sitting down and writing/reading it and I’m in fucking Starbucks and deeply mortified that someone’s going to see the cover of the book and wonder what I’m doing.  So let’s make this quick and painless.

 

Ana awakens to… not hearts and flowers, but piano music. Because this is totally not inspired by Twilight of course. Personally, if we’re talking love stories and piano music, I love the piece from The Piano. (That movie where Holly Hunter doesn’t talk, Anna Paquin is an adorable little kid, and we get full-frontal Harvey Keitel nudity for those of you who’ve missed out. The piano theme in that is glorious. And intense. And haunting, because the piano is like a voice for the non-speaking Holly Hunter character. And on the surface the music sounds like a sweet, peppy little traditional Scottish melody, and at closer inspection, you realise how fucking furious the song is. Gimme piano music like that. Not Edw—I mean Grey—being moody and mopey and playing piano because having not-quite-protected sex with Ana has given him a case of emo.)

Grey is looking pretty and playing an Alessandro Marcello transcription by Bach which I’ve never heard of and can’t be fucked looking up because it’s probably been chosen because E. L. James knows it from a TV commercial for something that’s meant to be classy, because it has some personal significance to the writer or because it sounds just like the Twilight piano music.

 

Ana stands around admiring Grey’s prettiness and the music, Grey sees her and tells her to go back to bed because she’ll be tired tomorrow. He admits he has issues sleeping (which makes sense because he’s really a poorly translated fanfiction vampire after all), there’s a recognition of “OMG, blood on the sheets from first-time!sex”  (is this one of those het sex tropes that doesn’t happen much in real life? I honestly don’t know because I haven’t read much fictional virginal hetsex) and she touches his chest and he gets snappy with her and tells her to go to bed. And then he tells her, softly, to “sleep, sweet Anastasia.”

Sleep, and the end of the chapter, thankfully arrive around now.

 

 

A little side note: I haven’t abandoned the blog, I’ve just not gotten comment notifications (which makes me feel bad, because I feel like I appeared to be ignoring people: I wasn’t!) and I’ve been offline and out of it lately anyway. But hopefully we’re back on track. Sort of, I guess.