Happy Monday, all! It’s time for another recap of Fifty Shades of Grey. We’re on chapter twenty-five, which means we’re almost done with this trashfest. So away we go!
‘Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.’
I give her a lopsided, bittersweet smile.
‘I think I’ve kissed a prince, Mom. I hope he doesn’t turn into a frog.’
It is always painful to wrench myself away from Mom”¦ she is scatty, disorganized, but newly insightful, and she loves me. Unconditional love ““ what every child deserves from its parents.
Yeah, Ana, this is why you should be a little nicer to your mom. As a matter of fact, why can’t this be about Ana’s mom instead?
It’s true, and in a moment of startling clarity, I see it. It’s very simple: I want his love. I need Christian Grey to love me. This is why I am so reticent about our relationship ““ because on some basic, fundamental level, I recognize within me a deep-seated compulsion to be loved and cherished.
The sex is amazing, he’s wealthy, he’s beautiful, but this is all meaningless without his love, and the real heart-fail is that I don’t know if he’s capable of love. He doesn’t even love himself. I recall his self-loathing, her love being the only form he found acceptable. Punished ““ whipped, beaten, whatever their relationship entailed ““ he feels undeserving of love. Why does he feel like that? How can he feel like that? His words haunt me: “˜It’s very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you’re not perfect.’
Who cares why he feels like that if you’re just in it for the sex?
I sigh. He’s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory, that this man has bought me underwear. In fact ““ and the thought unsettles me ““ he’s the only man who’s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray’s never had to endure that hardship.
I’m jealous of Ray, then. Thank God he’s never had to deal with the hardship of your pathetic introspection, either.
He pushes a few buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel’s canon fills the space between us. Oh yes”¦ this is what I need.
What you need is a one-way ticket back to your mom’s.
As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand butterflies stretch their wings and flutter erratically in my stomach. Why am I so nervous? And I know it’s because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian’s going to be in when I arrive. My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood; my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.
Why are you so apprehensive about his moods? This isn’t making sense to me. Really, is it all worth it, Ana?
There’s a desperate, primal quality to his kiss. He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time, and I have never felt so desired and coveted. It’s dark and sensual and alarming all at the same time. I kiss him back with equal fervor, my fingers twisting and fisting in his hair. Our tongues entwine, our passion and ardor erupting between us. He tastes divine, hot, sexy, and his scent ““ all body wash and Christian– is so arousing.
Yup, and I’m sure desire is pooling there and undulating within you or some crap like that, since you can’t bring yourself to say vagina.
I am rendered speechless by the look of hunger in his eyes. Wow”¦ to be this wanted by this Greek god.
‘How was your journey?’ he asks mildly. He seems so much calmer now, his apprehension gone, dissolved by sexual congress.
Yup, congress. Sexual congress. We’ve timewarped to Tudor times, now.
I sit on the bar stool, momentarily stupefied, trying to assimilate this morsel of information. He’s bought me clothes. I roll my eyes in an exaggerated fashion knowing full well he can’t see me. Car, phone, computer”¦ clothes, it’ll be a damn condo next, and then I really will be his mistress”¦Ho! My subconscious has her snarky face on.
I’m not understanding. If you’re fucking him, and you like it and you like him, why aren’t you just taking the gifts he gives you and saying thanks? After all, a kiss may be grand but it won’t pay the rental on your humble flat…
The man is insatiable, or maybe all men are like him. I have no idea, no one to compare him to. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself down, to connect with my inner sub. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my inner goddess.
Okay. A musical interlude. Not what I was expecting. Does he ever do what I expect? Jeez, I hope it’s not rap.
Jeez, rap is pretty good, Ana. Don’t dismiss a whole musical genre and expression of poetry because it’s associated with African-Americans. Methinks Ana is a racist.
Abruptly, the soft silent hiss and pop of the iPod springs into life. From inside my head, a lone angelic voice sings unaccompanied a long sweet note, and it’s joined almost immediately by another voice, and then more voices ““ Holy cow, a celestial choir ““ singing acapella in my head, an ancient, ancient hymnal. What in heaven’s name is this? I have never heard anything like it.
It’s your requiem mass, Ana, because you’ve been selected to participate in the Red Wedding and so Fifty Shades of Grey will end in Westeros.
And that’s all for tonight, folks! We have just one more chapter of this shit show to go and we’re done! Ta-ta till then!