Well, it’s Wednesday, Persephoneers, the middle of the week, the halfway point to the weekend, and what some of us call Hump Day, if ya know what I mean. But don’t let this Hump Day be a slump day. I have my run-down of Chapter Six of Fifty Shades of Grey for you to read. Surely these passages, along with my witty, winsome commentary, will bring some sunshine to your cloudy day.
It hardly seems real, my first proper, no-holds-barred kiss. As the time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. Perhaps I imagined it all. No. I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I’m a changed woman.
She imagined it all, but shhh…don’t tell her or it’ll break her heart.
“It’s the Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera LakmÃ©. Do you like it?”
I sit and listen to the angelic voices, teasing and seducing me….The music is caressing me….It’s a gentle, slow, sweet, and sure assault on my senses.
He pulls up outside my duplex. I belatedly realize he’s not asked where I live – yet he knows. But then he sent the books; of course he knows where I live. What able, cell-phone-tracking, helicopter-owning stalker wouldn’t.
I flush at the memory of his mouth on mine, and the thought that I’d been unable to touch him enters my mind. I wanted to run my fingers through his decadent, untidy hair, but I’d been unable to move my hands. I am retrospectively frustrated.
Under Kate’s tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, my legs and underarms are shaved to perfection, my eyebrows plucked, and I am buffed all over. It has been a most unpleasant experience. But she assures me that this is what men expect these days.
Christian mentioned some kind of paperwork, and I don’t know if he was joking or if I’m going to sign something. It’s so frustrating trying to guess.
And on top of all the angst I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves. Tonight’s the night. After all this time, am I ready for this? My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small foot impatiently. She’s been ready for this for years, and she’s ready for anything with Christian Grey.
Well, if you’re not sure, then, maybe she should go on the date with him in your place.
I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clinch deeply in my stomach. I have a serious case of the butterflies. They are flourishing in my stomach.
Ana has a butterfly farm in her stomach. Quick, cut her open, so they can be set free to fly, fly away! All the beautiful butterflies! All the beautiful colors!
And tucked in the corner is a full size, shiny black grand piano. Oh yes…he probably plays the piano, too.
As I sit, I’m struck by the fact that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec d’Urberville. The thought makes me smile.
“What’s so amusing?'” He sits down beside me, turning to face me. He rests his head on his right hand, his elbow propped in the back of the couch.
“Why did you give me Tess of the D’Urbervilles specifically?” I ask. Christian stares at me for a moment. I think he’s surprised by my question.
“Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy.”
“Is that the only reason?'” Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. His mouth presses into a hard line.
“It seemed appropriate. I can hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec d’Urberville,” he mutters, and his gray eyes flash dark and dangerous.
“If there are only two choices, I’ll take the debasement,” I whisper, gazing at him. My subconscious is staring at me in awe….”That’s why I’m here.”
Okay, aside from the fact that there is some major confusion as to how many people are in the room, does anyone else have a problem with this? I mean, doesn’t it squick you the hell out, too? So he’s basically propositioning her by telling her he’s going to treat her like Alec d’Urberville treated Tess? Is it just me, or is there something terribly, disgustingly wrong here?
“This is a nondisclosure agreement….My lawyer insists on it….If you’re going for option two, debasement, you’ll need to sign this….”
“Okay. I’ll sign.”
He hands me a pen.
“Aren’t you even going to read it?”
“Anastasia, you should always read anything you sign.”
“Christian, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn’t talk about us to anyone, anyway. So it’s immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not.”
A few things here. This hearkens back to the gothic and sensation novels of the Victorian era, when the villain would try to pressure the young, wealthy heroine in his thrall to sign her fortune over to him without actually letting her read what she was signing? Remember that part in Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White, Ana, since you seem to think life imitates art so much? You don’t?
“Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck…hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.'” But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified.
I let him lead me back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where we came in, another door leads to a staircase. We go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath….He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath, I walk in.
And it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.
And of course, we end on a cliffhanger with…
And that’s all for today, Persephoneers! And just remember, I do all of this for you! And for sparkly glitter rainbows and unicorns, of course!