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I read an article this weekend on CafeMom that absolutely infuriated me, but I’m not going to share it here because my blood pressure will spike. Also, I’m saving it for my wrap-up post, because it fully encapsulates everything that is wrong with a culture in which a book like this can thrive. But in short, it was written by a dude saying, “Buy your wife this book, because you’ll have crazy good sex!” And then there were a bunch of ignorant comments about how great the book is and how it doesn’t matter if it promotes abuse because OMG IT’S FICTION U GUIZE DOEN’T LIEK DOEN’T READ!

“Don’t,” he murmurs, then kisses me lightly.
“Why don’t you like to be touched?” I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes.
“Because I’m fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia.”

“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.

Now, I’m not an expert in etiquette or anything, but don’t you usually have the conversation about being emotionally fucked up when you’ve already put your penis away? This conversation is taking place literally moments after orgasm. So, it’s basically been, Ah! Ah! Yes! Oh yes! Spurt, collapse, I had a fucked up childhood. WHO DOES THAT?

Ana is totally frustrated by his reluctance to share anything personal with her, but she makes “an enormous effort to smile at him,” and tells him that she knows she was never really in charge during the sex. In an exchange that doesn’t seem to follow her statement in any way, he reveals that he’s been keeping count (and creepy possession) of her orgasms.

“Miss Steele, you are not just a pretty face. You’ve had six orgasms so far and all of them belong to me,” he boasts, playful again.I flush and blink at the same time, as he stares down at me. He’s keeping count! His brow furrows.“Do you have something to tell me?” his voice is suddenly stern.I frown. Crap.
“I had a dream this morning.”“Oh?” He glares at me.Double crap. Am I in trouble?

Why would you be in trouble, Ana? Isn’t the man you’re sleeping with the totally normal kind of sex-contract guy who understands that there are things in this world that are out of your control, like the quality of wine at your graduation and whether or not another person calls your phone? Oh, shit, no, that’s right. You’re with Christian Grey. Luckily for her, she was dreaming about him whipping her with a riding crop, because he lets the sleepgasm slide. I guess it still counts as “his” orgasm if she was dreaming about him. He gets up and starts to dress, and Ana is totally bummed because she wants him to stay. He’s more interested in her lady health, though, demanding to know when she’s going to get her period. He hates wearing condoms (and actually throws this one on the floor. Pff, who the fuck are you, Chedward? My lazy husband?) and tells Ana, “‘You need to sort out some contraception.'” Of course she does. She’s the woman. If you have the vagina, that responsibility falls directly on you. Ana doesn’t have a gynecologist (because she’s a fucking idiot. I’m sorry, if you’re reading this and you’re twenty-one and you haven’t been to the gynecologist, please go. There seems to be this weird misconception that you only have to go if you’re sexually active and/or need the pill, and I’m so glad to see this pop culture juggernaut reinforcing that dangerous opinion), so Christian offers to have his doctor come over and see her at his place. In terms of romance, nothing says “I love you” like meeting with your boyfriend’s gynecologist.

Ana asks Christian why he’s leaving, because she’s hoping he’ll stay. She offers to drive him home, but he points out how much she had to drink.

“Did you get me tipsy on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you over-think 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 the award for fucking amazing rationalization for getting someone drunk so they’ll do whatever you say goes to…

Ana asks him to stay and have sex with her again, since, you know, they have that extra condom he can spunk in and throw on her floor. He says he’s crossed too many lines, and he has to go. So, I’m guess this is not the one night a week he kinda maybe sort of is her pseudo boyfriend? He also says he’ll have the revised contract ready for her to sign on Sunday, so they “‘can really start to play.'”

“Play?” Holy shit. My heart leaps into my mouth.
“I’d like to do a scene with you. But I won’t until you’ve signed, so I know you’re ready.”

Do a scene? Don’t sign that contract Ana! He gets off on torturing you by making him gear up for auditions!

Oh god.

Wait a minute.

That reminds me of something.

Christian Grey won’t take his shirt off, ever.

Christian Grey… is a NEVER NUDE.

“Could get really ugly.”
His grin is infectious.
“Ugly, how?”
“Oh you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration.”
“You’d kidnap me?”
“Oh yes,” he grins.
“Hold me against my will?” Jeez this is hot.

NO IT IS NOT. Here’s why it’s not hot. Even though the author is striving for a playful tone, it doesn’t work when the hero has already exhibited threatening behavior in a way that has truly frightened the heroine. This is not some cute little exchange, because Chedward has already stalked and intimidated Ana. He has threatened to rape her, he’s locked her into a room with him. He took her from a bar when she was passed out, and brought her to another city that is hours away from her home. He has proven several times that he has the money and the power to exert his will over her, making this conversation so completely not funny, and totally not hot. He’s telling her that she no long has the option of consent in this relationship, she’s either going to sign the contract and do things his way, or he’s going to force her. The only way it would be funny or hot is if we did not already know he would be perfectly capable of doing exactly these things.


Of course, this all gets thrown to the wayside when Ana rolls her eyes at him.

“I told you what I’d do. I’m a man of my word. I’m going to spank you, and then I’m going to fuck you very quick and very hard. Looks like we’ll need that condom after all.” His voice is so soft, menacing, and it’s damned hot. My insides practically contort with potent, needy, liquid, desire. He gazes at me, waiting, eyes blazing. Tentatively, I uncurl my legs. Should I run? This is it, our relationship hangs in the balance, right here, right now. Do I let him do this or do I say no, and that’s it? Because I know it will be over if I say no. Do it! My inner goddess pleads with me, my subconscious is as paralyzed as I am. “I’m waiting,” he says. “I’m not a patient man.” Oh for the love of all that’s holy. I’m panting, afraid, turned on. Blood pounding through my body, my legs are like jelly. Slowly, I crawl over to him until I am beside him.

 Is it just me, or does this paragraph seem to imply that Ana is doing this BDSM stuff to keep Christian? I know, I know, it’s probably just me, because I’m uptight about sex or not getting enough sex or something. I hear that’s why I don’t enjoy the Anita Blake books anymore, so it’s obviously why I’m not enjoying reading about a woman making sexual compromises she’s uncomfortable with in order to keep a man’s interest.

The scene plays out pretty much how you’re thinking it does. He spanks her, it hurts like a motherfucker, she wants to ask him to stop, but she doesn’t because she doesn’t “want to give him the satisfaction.” Then he jams two fingers up her and says it’s obvious that her body loves being spanked, because she’s wet. Okay, but you did just have sex like, two minutes ago. Then he fucks her face down on the bed, and she thinks how awesome it is that she “survived” her first BDSM encounter.

“Well done, baby,” he whispers, quiet joy in his voice. His words curl around me like a soft fluffy towel from the Heathman Hotel, and I’m so pleased that he’s happy.

Are you happy, Ana? Oh, shit, that’s right, that doesn’t matter. Because this book is all about the fantasy of pleasing a man, not being pleased, yourself. Ana has a difficult time reconciling the way she feels post-spank-sex and the way she feels about the whole BDSM thing. She also slut-shames herself a little while Christian rubs baby oil into her butt. Then, he has to leave, because his man-servant has been waiting in the car this whole time, like that scene in Scent of a Woman where Charlie waits for the Colonel to fuck a prostitute.

I close the door and stand helpless in the living room of an apartment that I shall only spend another two nights in. A place I have lived happily for almost four years… yet today, for the first time ever, 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 rather numb exterior, is a well of tears. What am I doing? The irony is I can’t even sit down and enjoy a good cry. I’ll have to stand.

In other words, Ana is still not into this BDSM thing and doesn’t want to do it. Let’s refer really quick to that abuse literature Kel sent me, okay? Remember these universal red flags?

• You feel uncomfortable about something he has said or done, and the feeling remains
• You feel bad about yourself when you are around him.
• You find yourself accepting him “for now” even though you have plenty of red flags that would help you to terminate the relationship if you paid attention to them.

“Ana? What’s wrong?” She’s all seriousness now.“Nothing, Mom, I just wanted to hear your voice.”She’s silent for a moment.“Ana, what is it? Please tell me.” Her voice is soft and comforting, and I know that she cares. Uninvited, my tears being to flow. I have cried so often in the last few days.“Please, Ana,” she says, and her anguish reflects mine.“Oh, Mom, it’s a man.”“What’s he done to you?” Her alarm is palpable.

“It’s not like that.” Although it is… Oh crap. I don’t want to worry her. I just want someone else to be strong for me at the moment.

•  You make excuses for his character and minimize his behavior.

“Ana, please, you’re worrying me.”I take a big breath.“I’ve kind of fallen for this guy, and he’s so different from me, and I don’t know if we should be together.”

•  Your past and his are very different, and the two of you have conflicts over it.
• You tell your friends you are “unsure about the relationship.”

“Oh, darling, I wish I could be with you. I am so sorry I missed your graduation. You’ve fallen for someone, finally. Oh, honey, men, they are so tricky. They’re a different species, honey. How long have you known him?”
Christian is definitely a different species… different planet.

•  You think no one else in his life understands him.

“Oh, nearly three weeks or so.”“Ana, darling, that’s no time at all. How can you possibly know someone in that kind of time frame? Just take it easy with him and keep him at arm’s length until you decide whether he’s worthy of you.”Wow… it’s unnerving when my mother is so insightful, but she’s just too late on this.Is he worthy of me? That’s an interesting concept I always wonder whether I am worthy of him.

“So you don’t like the way I am.”
He stares at me, bewildered again.
“I think you’re lovely the way you are.”
“So why are you trying to change me?”
“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.

Here is a video you can watch of a nuclear explosion underwater:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ggH-ObiUWEE]

Christian explains that the control he exerts over her gives him sexual excitement, and Ana finds that a somewhat satisfactory explanation, for the time being. Christian says he’s never had to explain his predilections to anyone before, because he’s always around like-minded people. To me, that just points to a stunning lack of self-examination in his life. “I like to beat people with canes and I’ve devoted a very expensive room to just that. I’m sure I don’t need to think about the whys or wherefores, right?” Even if the only conclusion he arrived at was, “It turns me on,” he should have at least thought about it before.

Ana confesses that she feels like she’s Icarus, and he tells her she has it wrong, he’s the one completely in her thrall. Oh, that makes it okay to emotionally manipulate her then, I guess. He stays the night with her, even though he doesn’t really want to, and suggests that since she communicates better in email than face to face, she should keep showing him her real emotions in email.

Because you can delete an email, see. You can’t delete a person crying in front of you.

It’s Sex Scene Saturday again! Before I post the steamy steampunk excerpt, I should announce the winner of the drawing for BEAST! By random number generator, the winner is BRANDY. Brandy, I need your email address so I can send you your prize.

So, this week, I’m offering up another sexy scene, and another sexy prize. This time, from my steampunk erotic romance, BOUND IN BRASS:

The walk to the club and the ride in the elevating room were an exercise in impatience. Once he led her through the club, down the labyrinthine halls, to a room where they could be alone, finally, she uttered a groan of relief. He gripped her shoulders, pushing her against the closing door, his knee grinding between her legs. He pulled up her skirts in frenzy, reached between them, and she widened her stance, ready to feel him filling her.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered against her ear. Something nudged her between her legs. Not him, certainly, it was not large enough. She shivered at the memory of his huge cock. She’d actually been afraid for a moment the first time he’d taken it out. Whatever toy he pushed into her now, it did not compare.
That was not to say it was ineffectual. Cold and smooth, it hummed with urgency as he pumped it into her, and she gasped, feeling at once far too constrained in her clothing. She wanted to roll her nipples in her fingers, tightening her grasp as he increased the speed of the wonderful device inside of her. She bucked her hips, and he stepped back, leaving the toy inside her.
“Don’t drop it,” he warned her quickly. “It is a very valuable device.”
She reached down, trying to hold her skirts out of the way. All the while, the cold intruder shook inside of her. There had been other tools that buzzed and teased, he’d used those on her. This was entirely different, as though whatever drove it had a relentless, violent spirit thrashing about inside.
“No, no, not with your hands.”
As per the rules of the game, she dropped her skirts, squeezing her inner muscles around the toy. “What is it, Master?”
A smile crooked his mouth. “Lightning.”
She gasped, and almost dropped the device. “Lightning?”
“Trapped in thick glass, very safe, I assure you.” He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs. “In a moment, I shall leave you to make yourself presentable to me. When I return, that had better still be inside you, and you most certainly do not have my permission to come.”
She gaped after him as he went to the inner door and slipped through it. She stood, cunt clenching on the device that beat harder and harder inside of her, whipping and twisting its entire length. With a sob of frustration, she reached for the buttons of her dress. Every movement seemed to aggravate the lightning trapped within the glass. She struggled out of her gown, her head reeling from the sensations coursing through her body.
She’d just managed to unbuckle her shoes when Horace returned, clad in the same tight leather as when they’d met, the dark brown hide creaking as he walked toward her. The laces strained over the considerable bulge level with her eyes as she straightened. Her gaze passed over every hard ridge of muscle between the waist of the trousers and the silver hoops that glinted in his nipples. Another two bars twinkled just below his collar bones; she’d run her tongue over them while desperately pleading with him to fuck her. His entire body, from his feet to his head, covered in a sleek leather hood and attached goggles that hid his eyes, was a map to all of her most erotic memories. Just looking at him brought her perilously close to the edge.
He held out a pair of leather restraints, silver chains dangling from an impossible number of cuffs. “We are going to play a game, pet.”
“A game?” She squeezed her thighs together. A game would be maddeningly pleasurable, but delay her pleasure maddeningly. The lightning device jerked hard, taking her breath away.
He stepped behind her, one finger trailing along the black lace overlay on her corset. His finger caught the loops of the laces in the back and gave a gentle tug. “Very nice. I think you should leave this on for a while.”
As he spoke, the smooth leather of the collar closed around her neck and cinched closed. He leaned close to her ear. “The same word as before, do you remember?”
She remembered, and nodded weakly. The weight of the collar brought a sharp clarity to her, a focus she’d only experienced under his command. She strove for that almost as much as she strove for each climax.
“On your knees,” he instructed, giving her buttocks a sharp slap.
She dropped, wincing at the bite of the floor. It was not rough stone, not like the dungeon they had visited before, but cold, polished marble that was hard all the same. The device bounced within her.
“I’m afraid this chain might be a bit short,” he said with feigned dismay. “I hope you don’t mind if we proceed, anyway.”
“Not at all, Master.” She swallowed as the ankle cuffs closed around her. The chain between the collar and her ankles pulled taut, but still her body bowed, head bent back when he fastened it. Another set of cuffs slid along the length of the chain; they brushed her back when he pushed her arms into position. Trussed this way, her body arched, her hips and chest thrust forward, her large breasts slipping loose from the corset and jiggling lewdly, pink nipples pointing erect at the ceiling.
And deep in her cunt, the lighting glass still pulsed and snapped.
“Ah, the very picture of loveliness.” He walked in a slow circle around her, reaching out to twist one nipple with his gloved hand. The cool slide of the leather brought gooseflesh to her breast. “How do you feel?”
She wet her lips, faintly aware of the sheen of sweat that stood out on her skin. “Ready to die.”
“Ready to die?” He stroked a lazy S across her bottom, then smacked, his leather glove filling the air with a loud crack. She whimpered in her shock, canted her hips back for more contact. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant. Perhaps I should take you out of these restraints—”
“No!” she begged, her channel growing slipperier, her muscles struggling to grip the device. “No, please, Master.”
He tugged at the chain strung between her neck and legs like a violin string, then dropped to his knees beside her and licked a long curved path up her chest. He’d tossed the mask aside, his auburn curls glinted like burnished mahogany in the low gaslight. His hand slipped between her thighs, his fingers entered her roughly, taking her breath away. “Here is what you’re going to do. I’ll leave this right here,” he punctuated his sentence with a hard roll of his thumb over her clitoris. She cried out, swinging her hips desperately. “And you’ll crawl to me. And if you reach me without coming, not once, I’ll let you suck my cock. Would you like that?”
She wanted to cry, to scream at him and beg for release. But he had not offered that. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
He walked away, to an elegant velvet wing chair at the end of the room. He sat, his fingers already working on the laces of his trousers. She watched, fascinated, a starving woman catching sight of a banquet. He pulled out his rigid length and sighed with relief as he stroked himself. He pumped his fist up and down a few times, his eyes locked on her watery gaze. “All right then. Come to me.”


Want to win a digital copy of BOUND IN BRASS? Just leave a comment here on the blog (not at GoodReads.com, too many comments seem to get lost that way, and I want everyone who wants a shot to get one!) before next Friday, 6pm EST! Winners will be announced during the next Sex Scene Saturday! Please be sure to leave your email address in your comment, and good luck!


Want more sexy Saturday goodness? Check out these authors!:

Before we get to the recap, here are some stories that might interest you:

• An fanfiction author has offered up the finest possible commentary on the unethical success of 50 Shades by “rewriting” it as a Hermione/Draco fic. More details and a link at Crushable, including a link to a comment left by E.L. James, who asks the ficcer to remove it as it is “plagiarising”. The reviews are LOLarious and completely without situational awareness.
• A fantastic piece on consent, dub-con, and rape in fiction at Full Moon Press’s Blog, with a selection of links to other stories on rape culture in fiction (and real life).
• 5 Terrifying Secrets About Riding In Ambulances from Cracked.com. Has nothing to do with 50 Shades, I just thought it was interesting.

“If I may,” he says amused. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”

 Can no one in this story just have, I don’t know, water? Soda? I feel like I’m getting drunk at this point, and I’m not even drinking anything. Yet.

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

“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the 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 you because it pleases me for you to do so.”“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” I whisper.“No… but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.” His eyes turn wary.

“It shouldn’t. You’re over-thinking it, Anastasia. Don’t place some vague moral judgement on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have no reservations about our arrangement, that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Did you try the wine at the reception?” Christian makes a face.
“Yes, it was foul.”
“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”

“I tasted this gross thing and it made me think of you.” That’s amore!

They talk some more about the wine, because I guess it ups the word count? I don’t know, there are so many scenes and conversations in this book that go no where and seem to be shoved in for absolutely no reason other than to watch the characters go about their lives. It’s like watching a Sims family go about their day on their own, only no one pees on the floor because they watched tv for too long and nobody dies in carefully orchestrated fireworks “accidents” in a doorless shed in the backyard. Christian comments that he would help Ana move, but his sister Mia is arriving from Paris on Saturday morning. I’m going to assume Mia is Alice, since she’s the only Cullen who hasn’t been somehow accounted for. There is more interminable chit-chat, wherein we learn that Christian is vaguely displeased that his brother is dating Kate, about what Ana is going to do in Seattle and how very much she wants to do this career thing all on her own without his “undue influence”. Then we get to hear them fight about how much she’s eaten, and even Ana is getting tired of it:

“Have you eaten anything?”
Oh no… not this old chestnut.
“Yes. I had a three course me 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?!

“No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” he asks softly.
I swallow.

No, we know that, already, Ana, we’re talking about what you won’t do.

“Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”
“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I’d really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we’ll wait for that. Besides, it’s not something we can dive into,” he smirks at me. “You ass will need training.”

 I really wish my mac was not broken, else I would totally photoshop up one of those demotivator macros to say: “Your Ass: not something we can dive into.” I’m going to be having so much fun with that line, for the next six or so months. “What’s the difference between your ass and a swimming pool? You can’t dive into your ass.” “How is your ass like the shallow end? You can’t dive into it.” Okay, so this is a decidedly limited oeuvre, but I’m not making any apologies. I love that line.

I do like that Christian is all, “We’re going to try anal,” because I lose a lot of respect for people who say, “I don’t like that,” without trying it. Now, you know, as a grownup, if you don’t like broccoli or slasher movies. But I really can’t handle it when people will just throw down a blanket condemnation of something without trying it out first. Hell, even this book. I’ve seen authors making fun of 50 Shades and admitting they’ve never read it. Well, how do they know they’re not going to like it? How does Ana know she doesn’t like anal? She didn’t know if she’d like sex at all, because she’d never wanted to have it. So, shut up, Ana. Let him play with your butt. Do it for the experience.

Christian reveals that he’s had his booty plundered before, and by his Mrs. Robinson. This blows Ana’s mind, because she’s never heard of a strap-on before and has no idea how a woman fucking a man in the ass would work. She has absolutely no idea of sex toys beyond dildos and vibrators, but at least she agrees to swallow semen. Ana’s feelings are hurt because Christian finds her innocence amusing, but she quickly forgives him because:

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

“Don’t laugh at me, but what’s a spreader bar?”
“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologized twice.” He glares at me. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warns. And  I think I visibly shrink… oh, he’s so bossy. “A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists. They’re fun.”

Hey, prick, no one makes you apologize. You make yourself apologize when you exhibit bad behavior, like laughing at someone when they don’t know all the ins and outs of the BDSM lifestyle you want to induct them into. Jackass. Ana is also worried about not being able to breathe when she’s gagged. Christian points out that he’d be worried if she couldn’t breathe, too. I’m not sure why, because I’m pretty sure he has enough money to disappear a dead girl if he really needed to, and Ana is super obnoxious. It seems like it would almost be a win/win at this point. She’s all, “How do you do safe words if you’re gagged?” and I’m quite proud of her for thinking of that. Christian tells her they’ll use hand signals, but that he hopes they never have to use the safe word.

I blink up at him. But if I’m trussed up, how’s that going to work. My brain is beginning to fog… hmm alcohol. 
“I’m nervous about the gagging.”
“Okay, I’ll take note.”

Notice how he doesn’t say, “okay, we won’t do that,” just, “I’ll take note,” while she’s too tipsy to actually argue it with him? He’s already refilled her cup with champagne several times, from what seems like a bottomless bottle. Is this really a safe way to be discussing sexual limits? While she’s too drunk to consent?

“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.”

So, in other words, his plan really is to get her drunk so she’ll consent to just about anything. That’s four refills. Of course, by this point in the book, Ana is basically a pro at drinking, because she’s doing it all the time. She’s also biting her lip, so if you’re playing the drinking game along at home, you should probably dial the 9 and the first 1 right now, just to be prepared. Unless you live in some other country that isn’t America, then you’re on your own, because I have no idea what number you should pre-dial, I just know that your liver is going to melt.

Ana was never spanked as a child, so she has no idea how she feels about it. It could be awesome, it could suck, she has no clue. She asks him if he could, you know, not do that whole pain part, but it’s non-negotiable. And really, what did she think that room full of whips and canes was about? Christian promises that they’ll work up to it, and you know, as creepy possessive weird as this guy is, I can believe he’d be an okay dominant in that capacity. If he’s at the point where he’s requiring a contract about what is and isn’t okay in bed, this is a guy who takes his shit seriously. It’s all the emotional manipulation and the horror show of unresolved issues that should make her want to run, not the BDSM stuff. Then, he drops a bombshell:

“Well then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more,” he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.Oh my… where is this going?
He clasps my hand.“Outside of the time 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.”Holy cow… my mouth drops open, my subconscious is in shock. Christian Grey is up for more! He’s willing to try!

Okay, let’s maybe not start printing those wedding invitations just yet. There was a whole lot of “I don’t know,” and “I’ll try” in there. “I’ll be your boyfriend one night a week, maybe, I don’t know,” isn’t really a confirmation of anything other than his dick might be feeling sentimental right now. His “maybe, I don’t know,” act comes with a condition:

“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”
“Oh.” And deep down I know what it is. Dread spawns in my belly.
He’s staring down at me, gauging my reaction.
“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.

Didn’t the Cullens get Bella a Porsche so bad ass that it was actually make-believe? Tsk tsk, Chedward Grullen. Tsk Tsk.

One of the things I’ve been taken to task for in these recaps is for not saying anything “good” about the book. Like the old rule, say one nice thing for every three negative things, or whatever. The fact of the matter is, there are some parts of this book that are downright charming, and I would love to read them in a much, much better erotica that wasn’t a plagiarized version of Twilight. But it seems like everything cool thing I find myself liking is bookended by a lines or a scenes that I can’t reconcile with my morals and values. And believe me when I say I have very few morals and values. A perfect place where this is highlighted is after she receives the car. They argue over whether or not she’s going to accept it (she can accept the BDSM lifestyle she hates to be with him, but she can’t accept a fucking Audi? Get over it, lady!), and finally she agrees to take the car “on loan” like the computer. The Chedward says what are arguably his hottest lines in the entire book:

“It’s taking all my self control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I’ll buy you a fucking car,” he growls. “Now let’s get you inside and naked.”

That’s not just hot to me because I have fantasies of a certain Top Gear host saying something somewhat similar to me. It’s hot because it’s hot. But then, like a train arriving at Fuck You Jen station, this is next:

Boy, he’s angry. He grabs my hand and leads me back into the apartment and straight to my bedroom… no passing go. My subconscious is behind the sofa again, head hidden under her hands. He switches on the sidelight and halts, staring at me.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
His gaze is impassive; his gray eyes cold shards of smoky glass.
“I’m sorry about the car and the books,” I trail off. He remains silent and brooding.
“You scare me when you’re angry,”  I breathe, staring at him.

See? How can I go, “Ooh, hot!” and then still think, “Ooh, hot!” when he’s acting like the husband in Sleeping With The Enemy? Ana has never seen that movie, though, because like two seconds later, she’s all hot for him again.

“I like this dress,” he murmurs. “I like to see your flawless skin.” 

Maybe that’s a compliment when it’s coming from a guy who hasn’t just been so angry that he frightened the heroine, but now all I can think of is this:

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.

Even like, a peer critique should have caught that you don’t want your heroine saying she can see “holy shit” when her ripped panties are on the floor in front of her. It implies skid marks, and it kills the mood almost as fast as a hero being so angry that he actually frightens the heroine. There’s some nipple play and some grinding, and then Chedward tells Ana that she is “in charge”. Which makes me wonder if he really doesn’t understand what “dominate” and “submit” mean.

Ana clumsily undresses him and then there is some more talk about her biting her lip (DRINK!), and she compares his penis to Christmas. There’s some beej action, but of course he stops her before he comes, because she’s not really in charge, and that makes Ana’s inner goddess look “like someone snatched her ice cream.”

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, and I climax around him… shouting incoherently.

I’m not quite sure “I am in charge” is the kind of head space you want from your full time sub, but after Chedward orgasms, the chapter is over, anyway.

Let me begin this recap by being brutally honest with y’all. I am not sure, after filling out the domestic violence questionnaire for Ana, how “funny” I can find this book anymore. When I first finished reading it, I thought it was funny, because how could anyone not understand that this isn’t a good relationship? But stuff stops being hilarious when a social worker sends you all her red flag charts and you realize that the book you just read is being held up as a romantic ideal by women all over the nation.

Last night, I went out with my husband and his mom to celebrate Mother’s Day. Our celebration ended up, as so many of them do, at the casino buffet. We were seated next to a table of women who, just as we got settled into our meals, started discussing 50 Shades. One of the women mentioned that a friend was reading it, but wouldn’t refer to it by name. Another said she had read it, but she could never tell her husband, because he would be “furious”. My first thought was, “Her husband is an English teacher.” My second thought, and the one that is probably most accurate was, “He is probably a controlling freak of a man who would hate that his wife was exploring her sexuality in any way, because he feels inferior about himself and becomes jealous and unreasonable over stupid things he should have no desire to control.”

So, if this recap seems needlessly morose and utterly humorless, bear with me.

Chapter fourteen begins with Christian standing over Ana with riding crop. He’s wearing ripped jeans and she’s wearing nothing but shackles. Then he hits her directly in the clit with the riding crop, and she goes off like a firecracker on July 3rd.

But oh, snap, it was just a sexy dream. She goes into the kitchen, where Kate can immediately tell that something is different about Ana. Because she vastly overestimates everyone’s interest in her sex life, Ana is sure that Kate can tell she just had a sleep orgasm, and that’s why she says that Ana looks “odd”. Just off the top of my head, Ana, you’re wearing pajamas and Christian’s suit jacket. That might make you look slightly odd.

What can I say? His HIV status is clear, he’s heavily into role-play, wants me to obey his every command, he hurt someone he tied to his bedroom ceiling, and he wanted to fuck me in the private dining room. Would that be a good summary? I try desperately to remember something from my encounter with Christian that I can discuss with Kate.
“He doesn’t approve of Wanda.”

Last night I found it hard to sleep. My head was buzzing with various options. 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. It’s not how I envisaged 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 jeopardize what he has offered. And this is what concerns e most, because I don’t want to lose him. But I’m not sure I have the stomach to be his submissive – deep down, it’s the cans and whips that put me off. I’m a physical coward, and I will go a long way to avoid pain. I think of my dream… is that what it would be like? My inner goddess jumps up and down with cheerleading pom-poms shouting yes at me.

Kate comes back into the kitchen with her laptop. I concentrate on my bagel and listen patiently as she runs through her Valedictorian speech.

Maybe it would be more polite to concentrate on the damn speech you offered to listen to. Ana’s dad arrives to take her graduation, and they greet each other in a wholly American fashion, both of them saying they’re “pleased to see” one another. Then Ana offers Ray tea, and before he can answer, we’re in the parking lot at the college with no other transition at all. They head into the “sports auditorium”, where Ray notices that something is “off” about Ana:

“Good luck, Annie. You seem awfully nervous, do you have anything to do?” Holy crap… why has Ray picked today to be so observant?
“No, Dad. It’s a big day.” And I’m going to see him

I think that if you’re more excited about seeing the creepy guy you’re pseudo dating than the fact that you’re about to graduate from college (something that only a little over half of the people in this country get the privilege of doing), they should just keep your degree and force you to work at a women’s shelter for the rest of your fucking life.

There are a few paragraphs about Ana’s nerves as she’s waiting for the ceremony to begin. She’s not nervous about accepting her degree and symbolically stepping into a new phase of her life, of course, she’s just nervous about seeing Christian Grey. Then, he appears:

Christian stands out in his bespoke gray suit, copper highlights glinting in his hair under the auditorium lights. He looks so serious and self-contained. As he sits, he undoes his single-breasted jacket, and I glimpse his tie. Holy shit… That tie! I rub my wrists reflexively. I cannot take my eyes off him – his beauty as distracting as ever – and he’s wearing that tie, on purpose no doubt. I can feel my mouth press into a hard line. The audience sits down and the applause ceases.
 “Look at him!” One of the girls beside me breathes enthusiastically to her friend.
“He’s hot.”
I stiffen. I’m sure they’re not talking about Professor Collins.
“Must be Christian Grey.”
“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.

Ana’s obsession with gayness is immature and gross. She’s embarrassed to have asked him if he was gay in the first chapter, and her embarrassment continues through the first four, I believe. Now, she’s saying he’s gay to what? To weed out the competition? To make him seem foolish? It’s almost like “he’s gay” is, to Ana, the worst thing she could possibly say about someone. I don’t find that funny. Because I’m not in fourth grade.

As the Chancellor gets to his feet and kicks off the proceedings with his speech, I watch Christian subtly scanning the hall. I sink into my seat, hunching my shoulders, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I fail miserably as a second later his gray eyes find mine. He stares at me, his face impassive, completely inscrutable. I squirm uncomfortably, hypnotized by his glare as I feel a slow flush spread across my face. Unbidden, I recall my dream from his morning, and the muscles in my belly do the delectable clench thing. I inhale sharply. I can see the shadow of a smile cross his lips, but it’s fleeting. He briefly closes his eyes, and on opening them, resumes his indifferent expression.
Following a swift glance up at the Chancellor, he stares ahead, focusing on the WSUV emblem hung above he entrance. He doesn’t turn his eyes toward me again. The Chancellor drones on, and Christian still doesn’t look at me, he just stares fixedly ahead.
Why won’t he look at me? Perhaps he’s changed his mind?

Or maybe you’re staring at him, and it’s making him uncomfortable? I think everyone has had the experience of someone staring at them and trying desperately not to acknowledge that they’re being stared at. The very last thing you want to do is look at the starer when you’re the staree.

Her theme is What Next After College? Oh, what next indeed. Christian is watching Kate, his eyebrows slightly raised – in surprise, I think. Yes, it could have been Kate that went to interview him. And it could have been Kate that 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. I know Kate wouldn’t have given him the time of day.

Technically, Ana, you are like the two girls beside you, admiring him from afar. But let’s not pick nits, as I am so prone to do. We can’t get through even a little bit of Kate doing anything without being reminded how beautiful she is, in comparison to how utterly grotesque Ana is.

Christian gets up to give a speech about how his grant to the university is part of his goal in eradicating hunger world-wide. Because (and I know you didn’t see this coming) he knows what it’s like to go hungry. Ana begins to realize that maybe his entire life wasn’t as full of privilege as she’d imagined.

Ana waits through over four hundred students before she is called up to the stage, and when she does, Mr. Non-Disclosure Agreement decides to have a personal conversation right there:

“Congratulations, Miss Steele,” he says as he shakes my hand, squeezing it gently. I feel the charge of his flesh on mine. “Do you have a problem with your laptop?” I frown as he hands me my degree.
“No.”
Then you are ignoring my emails?”
“I only saw the mergers and acquisitions one.”
He looks quizzically at me.
“Later,” he says, and I have to move on because I’m holding up the line.

She had to sign a form letter saying she wasn’t going to tell anyone they were seeing each other or sleeping together or something, but he’s going to openly jaw with her about ignoring his emails on a stage in front of like, a thousand students and a stadium full of their associated family and friends. I don’t think Chedward actually knows what “discreet” means.

The ceremony takes another hour to conclude. It’s interminable. Finally, the Chancellor leads the faculty members off the stage to yet more rousing applause, preceded by Christian and Kate. Christian does not glance at me, even though I’m willing him to do it.
My inner goddess is not pleased.

“Thank you,” he says, and before she can reply, he takes my elbow and steers me into what looks like a men’s locker room. He checks to see if it’s empty, and then he locks the door. Holy shit, what does he have in mind?

and then he locks the door.

and then he locks the door.

and then he locks the door.

No! Unacceptable! But the fun continues:

“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? 

Why hasn’t she emailed you or texted you back? I’m going to go out on a limb here; since we know she has no problem with your repeated threats to rape or imprison her, or your recent act of actually imprisoning her,  I’m going to guess that the reason she hasn’t called or texted is because she had her college graduation to worry about. There are other things going on in her life that are not focused on you, Chedward. And beyond that, didn’t she ask you for some fucking space? It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and you’ve sent multiple emails and texts?

Chedward goes on to explain that he’s been worried about her because her car isn’t safe. She tells him that it’s fine, because Jose services it for her, since it used to belong to his mother. Of course, when she mentions Jose, Chedward is displeased. I’m displeased, because this whole “I’m worried about your car” thing is a blatant rip-off from Twilight, (wasn’t Bella’s unsafe old truck once Jacob’s dad’s?) and yet, here we are.

Bonus point for you checking off items on your abusive relationship bingo card: Ana actually apologizes to him for making for him worry.

Christian demands an answer re: BDSM from Ana, saying that the waiting is making him “crazy”. I doubt that “crazy” is a shore he landed upon after only a few weeks of sailing, but justify your weirdness however you want, Christian. He wants an answer “by tomorrow”, because love is patient, etc. Because this book is set in a universe where behavior like this is totally normal and romantic, Ana does not say, “Then my answer is no, dick, unlock the door.” Instead, she agrees and tells him she needs to get back to her stepdad, because they have plans. Christian insinuates himself into those plans through blatant manipulation, because he wants to meet Ray:

“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?”
“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.”
Christian glares down at me, and then his lips twitch up in a smile. And in spite of the fact I’m mad at him, my face is unwillingly pulled into an answering grin.
“Just so you know, I can run quite fast. Just tell him I’m your friend, Anastasia.”

Ray hands me a glass of champagne or cheap fizzy wine, I suspect. It’s not chilled, and it tastes sweet. My thoughts turn to Christian… he won’t like this.

Ana has no control over the cost, the temperature, or the flavor of the wine served at her graduation, but here she is, worrying that Christian won’t like it. What happens if he doesn’t like it? What’s the consequence? That’s a rhetorical question, of course, because there shouldn’t be any consequences for things Ana cannot control.

Kate’s gorgeous, blonde brother, Jasper Ethan turns up, fresh from Europe to surprise Kate. Ethan has his arm around Ana’s waist when Christian approaches and looks “frosty”. I’m guessing that at some point in the meeting, Christian is going to realize that Ana’s dad has probably changed her diaper or given her a bath during her childhood, and then he’s going to punch him out.

“Hello, Ray,” Kate kisses Ray on both cheeks, making him blush. “Have you met Ana’s boyfriend? Christian Grey.”
Holy shit… Kate! Fuck! All the blood drains from my face.
“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, all credit to Ray, Ray takes, not showing a hint of the drop-dead surprise he’s just had thrust upon him.
Thank you very much, Katherine Kavanagh, I fume.

“And this is my brother, Ethan Kavanagh.” says Kate to Christian.
Christian turns his arctic glare on Ethan, who still has one arm around me.
“Mr. Kavanagh.”
They shake hands. Christian holds his hand out to me.
“Ana, baby,” he murmurs, and I nearly expire at the endearment.
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!

Kate isn’t doing anything. Christian is getting jealous on his own, because he’s a possessive, controlling, creepy, creepy guy. Yet Ana still interprets his “baby” as an endearment, despite the fact that he said it only to stake a claim.

Christian and Ray have a little conversation that turns to fishing, and Ana realizes that Christian is charming her father just the way he charmed her. She goes and talks to Kate’s parents, and then criticizes Kate for “outing” the relationship to Ray. Kate admits that she did it on purpose, because she thinks it will help Christian with his “commitment issues”. Kate is clearly as romantically immature as Ana is. Then, Ana delivers one of my favorite lines of the entire book:

“I’d better go rescue Ray or Christian. I don’t know which. You haven’t heard the last of this, Katherine Kavanagh!”

Ray goes to the bathroom, leaving Ana and Christian alone together… in a tent full of people. So, naturally, this is the perfect time for Mr. Secretive to have a super secret discussion about the BDSM contract. He wheedles her, saying, “You know it’s going to be good, don’t you, baby?”, which is, I’m pretty sure, how about 60% of all date rapes begin, and Ana confesses that her reluctance to sign the contract is because she wants more from the relationship. Christian again tells her that he doesn’t really know how to do the romance thing, and then Ana agrees to the contract.

Yup. Just like that.

Then Ray comes back from the bathroom, and he and Ana are going to leave to have lunch.

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

Feeling sick is a pretty good sign that you’ve made the right choice, isn’t it?

Ana goes home and finds the missed calls, no messages from Christian, and another email sent the night before inquiring about her safety. She emails him back, and they make plans to see each other that night at her apartment. She takes the first edition books he bought her and wraps them up, putting another quote from Tess of the D’Urbervilles on it:

“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!”

Voila. Instant abusive relationship, just add water.

As you may recall, if your memory is longer than a goldfish’s, I invited readers of this blog to submit their names for Christian Grey’s penis. Unfortunately, if you entered on Good Reads, your names weren’t included in the final consideration. When we went to GoodReads.com to survey your submissions there, all of those comments were GONE. Not even like, just a few were missing, ALL of them were missing. Like no one had ever commented on the post, and I know that wasn’t what went down, because I checked over there before. Now that I know GoodReads to be as inconstant as that famous whore, the moon, henceforth all contest entries will have to be given here, rather than there, and I apologize to those of you who had great names that got eaten up by internet goblins.

However, we do have a winner, three winners, to be exact, and the honorable mentions that round out our top ten.

So, without further ado, the winner of

• Your choice of two titles from The Raven Books, graciously donated by Michelle M. Pillow and Mandy M. Roth!
• One digital title from Leigh Ellewood’s backlist!
• The Succubus Gift by BR Kingsolver!
• Long Relief and Wolf’s Honor by Abigail Barnette
• One digital title from Bronwyn Green’s backlist!
• Put Out The Zombie, by Billy London

The candles had burned low before Philipe came to her. She had dozed, but the sound of his footsteps, that sound she had anticipated with both dread and delight, woke her from her slumber. She sat up, sleepily clutching the bedclothes to herself. He halted at the door. For a moment, she thought he might turn away, that the sight of her, horrible and ugly in the candlelight had made him realize what a foolish mistake he’d made.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I suddenly realized that I have waited fifteen years for this night, without ever dreaming it might come.”

It was you. She was always you. His words, already scored into her mind through hopeful repetition, erased the last of her fears of rejection and humiliation. Fifteen years of loneliness had vanished, leaving behind only a clawing need. She wanted Philipe, as she had wanted him all those years ago, but had never been brave enough to have him. She was braver, now.

He sat on the bed to pull off his boots, and she wanted badly to touch him, to rise on her knees behind him and press her body against his, to run her fingers through his hair as he untied his laces. But she could not make herself move. It was fear of the unknown, and she supposed it was something every bride faced on her wedding night, so she did not chide herself for being silly.

Kicking aside his boots, he pulled off his rough spun tunic and pushed down his breeches and then she saw, as he climbed beneath the blankets beside her, the desire he could not fake. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked away.

“Blushing like a maiden,” he chided, his naked thigh brushing against her bed-warmed skin.

“I am a maiden,” she reminded him. “Time changes much, but not that.”

“No, but I’ll change it.” He drew her down, to lie in his arms. Johanna remembered the heady thrill of his bare skin, but his body was so different now than it had been when they’d been young. He’d been soft and hairless as a babe, now every muscle was hard and a dusting of hair shadowed his chest. There was a touch of gray in it, as in his beard, and she covered her mouth with her hands to stifle her laughter.

“What?” he laughed with her, looking down at himself. “I haven’t gotten fat from your fine northern cooking, have I?”

It took only the touch of his lips on hers to silence the laughter in her throat. It was too serious, his arms around her, his skin hot against hers in the cold of the tower room, and too bright and real. His kisses turned to soft bites, down her jaw, to her throat, her collarbones. His fingers trailed over her back, and she felt the pressure of them, if nothing else. It was enough. Her cleft grew slick and hot. She remembered that too, that feeling of aching incompleteness. If she had given in to him then, what would her life be like now?

It seemed churlish to sully the moment with regret. The world, already spinning, seemed to cant even more as his mouth roved over her breasts. He cupped one in his palm, a broken groan spilling from his lips before they closed over her nipple. She moaned at the feeling, familiar and strange, just as every time he had touched her in the past. Her head reeled, and she looked about the room, the oddest feeling of displacement coming over her. It was her bed, she slept in it every night, but it seemed a foreign landscape with him in it.

“Relax,” he murmured, raising his head and circling with one finger the wet flesh his mouth left untended.“This doesn’t seem real,” she confessed.

He stroked the backs of his fingers along the side of her breast, down her ribs, and she shivered. “Do you remember the night I came to you here? When I bribed someone to distract your nurse, so I could come inside and bar the door?”

She blushed hot at the memory. “Of course I remember. It was the night before you left.”

Gently, he urged her to turn over, so that she lay with her back against his chest, just as that night when he’d surprised her by kissing her awake in her very bed. He did not shudder or flinch away when his skin touched the mass of scars on her back. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, and whispered, “Pretend it is still that night. Do you remember what we did?”

His arm draped over her waist, he slid his hand over her stomach, down to the curls between her thighs. She held her breath as one fingertip probed the crevice there, then slipped between her folds. The contrasts of her own flesh shocked her, the dry, soft skin and hair of her mound, the smooth, slick mouth of her cleft, strangely like her scars in that respect. She buried her face in the pillow, because she couldn’t bear the sudden shyness. He rolled his fingertip over the pearl there, his breath calm and even while hers sounded thin and frightened to her own ears.

“That’s better,” he said, nipping at her shoulder. “Now show me how.”

Uncertain, she brought her hand down to join his. Though he’d done a fine job on his own fifteen years ago, she guided him to just the right place, pushed with just enough pressure. His manhood pressed against her backside, and he ground against her as she rocked her hips in time with the stroking of his finger. Closing her eyes, she gave over to the sensations that had not changed, despite the scars, despite the years. She groped behind her, between them, to close her fingers over his hard, rigid flesh. She hadn’t been so bold the last time, but now she’d need no coaxing to touch him. His mouth was on her everywhere, sucking at the back of her neck, down her shoulder, all the while his fingers working over her aching flesh, until her body tightened and her breath rasped from her throat, eager at the promise of release. He stopped, only for a second, to take up the work with his thumb, and slid one finger inside of her untried cunny. She gasped at the intrusion, and the way he curled that finger, stroking along her walls deftly. Though she remembered feeling a loss of control before, she’d never felt the desire to yield to it the way she did now. Her entire being focused on one desire, to climax as he held her sex in his hand and buried his mouth against her neck. When she did, it was with a ragged cry, almost of surprise, and she felt the heat and the wet intensify tenfold.

He brushed aside the fingers that gripped his cock and rose above her, settling between her legs, limp and splayed in the aftermath of her pleasure. The gentle slide of his fingertips over and in her flesh had drawn a new, desperate awareness from her. She lifted her eyes to his, saw the care and the passion in them. He really did want her, no matter her appearance. And then she knew, with a joy so keen that her heart felt as though it might never beat again, that when he looked at her, he did not see the monstrous scars and the youth lost. He saw the beautiful girl he had loved, perhaps had never stopped loving, all those long years ago.

She did not look away from him as he guided himself to her. She lifted her hips, rubbing against him, coating him in her wetness. When he slipped inside, she took a sharp breath at the suddenness of it. One moment, they stood on the edge of the familiar, and then they’d stepped off, easy as breathing.

Thank you, everyone, for your entries into the “Name Chedward’s Penis” contest! Comments are now closed here, but I can’t close them at goodreads.com. So, any comments at Good Reads suggesting penis names will be scrutinized for the appropriate time stamps.

The winners will be announced on Monday. May the best weenis win.

As you may recall, in chapter nine or ten or whatever, I don’t really care anymore, Christian Grey waves his dinghy in Ana’s face and tells her to be on a first name basis with his throbbing love shaft. But then he never tells her what its name is. In fact, I’ve read the whole book and I don’t remember him ever telling her what he named his penis. How is a girl supposed to be on a first name basis with it if you don’t even introduce them properly?

Kel over at Coffee and Prozac sent me some very interesting .pdfs. These documents put a fine point on everything that bothers me about the popularity of 50 Shades (okay, not everything… they don’t cover the blatant plagiarism everyone seems to be giving a pass). They were hand outs that would help a person determine if they are in a relationship with an abuser, or if someone has the potential to be an abuser.

Now, when the publicity first started snowballing out of control for this book, Dr. Drew took a lot of heat by saying that 50 Shades was “actual violence against women.” He then went on to state that people who are abused as kids are into BDSM, which sent any validity in that first statement straight down the toilet. One thing he did have right was 50 Shades of Grey‘s glorification of abusive relationships. Unfortunately, because of the size of the ass he showed to Romancelandia, you can barely bring up the abuse components of Ana and Christian’s relationship without someone shouting over you that BDSM is not abuse, and you’re a small-minded person if you conflate the two. Hardly anyone will enter into a discussion of the abusive relationship in this book without the focus shifting to the characters’ sex lives. So, you know, thanks, Dr. Drew. You just made this discussion a fucking minefield.

BDSM is not abuse. I have never, nor would I ever, claim that safe, consensual BDSM is abuse. But these handouts Kel sent me really help pinpoint what is so wrong with the relationship that is the plot of 50 Shades, without confusing spankings with beating. Let’s go through one of them, point by point, shall we?

The following “red flags” are from a hand out entitled “Universal Red Flags” taken from a book called How To Spot A Dangerous Man. The instructions read: “Check all the following that apply even if only remotely”. Let me share the ones I checked on Ana’s behalf:

You feel uncomfortable about something he has said or done, and the feeling remains. I don’t think we need to cite any one particular incident where Ana has been made uncomfortable by Christian Grey. This is prevalent throughout the book.

You wish he would go away, you want to cry, and you want to run away from him. Ana often thinks about how she can “escape” Christian, how she needs to find an exit, how she can’t handle being around him because she can’t trust herself to think clearly. In just the portion of the book we’ve reviewed so far, Ana has ended three of her encounters with Christian as a sobbing mess.

You have the urge to “love him into emotional wellness,” if that were possible. Again, based on the chapters we’ve reviewed here so far, Ana does seem to believe that she can change him, or that he has psychological wounds that need to be healed.

You feel bad about yourself when you are around him. One of the clearest indicators, to me, anyway, that there is a power imbalance in their relationship is the fact that Ana constantly compares herself – how she looks, how she acts, how she’s dressed – to Christian and his very wealthy lifestyle, and she always finds herself lacking. She often wonders why he’s interested in her.

You only feel good about yourself when you are with him. Conversely, Ana doesn’t have a nice word to say about herself unless it is confirmed by Christian. When her roommate tells her that she’s pretty, Ana interprets it as a patronizing compliment Kate can’t possibly mean, but when Christian Grey calls Ana beautiful, she suddenly believes that she is. In fact, the only time she believes anything good about herself is when it’s Christian pointing it out.

You feel that he wants too much from you. I think this one requires very little explanation. Not only does he want more than she wishes to give, he constantly pressures her to give him what he wants.

You are emotionally tired from him; you feel he “sucks the life out of you.“ Now, Ana never says, “he sucks the life out of me.” But again, even if we just look at the first half of this book, she’s doing a lot of crying herself to sleep, needing to get away from him because he’s too intense, etc.

Your value system and his are very different, and it’s problematic. I have this phrase I trot out from time to time with my friends who are dating: If you have to “work on” the relationship within the first month, it’s not going to work out. Sometimes, people are simply incompatible. Ana and Christian have spent most of their relationship with Ana trying to find ways around giving Christian what he wants, and Christian refusing to bend on his expectations. This is not going to clear up in a few more dates.

Your past and his are very different, and the two of you have conflicts over it. Spoiler alert, Christian is obsessive and controlling about food because he went hungry as a child. I know we haven’t gotten to that part of the book in the review yet, but it fits in here. And that’s just one of the ways their pasts differ in problematic ways. While Ana sees his earlier relationship with a much older woman as statutory rape, Christian believes that it was appropriate and has a continuing friendship with the woman, which makes Ana uncomfortable. Ana doesn’t even want the type of relationship Christian is after, they both are aware of this fact, and he continues to pursue her.

You tell your friends you are “unsure about the relationship” Ana has already had this conversation with Kate in the part we’ve reviewed.

You feel isolated from other relationships with friends and family. Ana doesn’t just feel isolated, she is isolated, by the nondisclosure agreement Christian asked her to sign. She finds herself living a double life in order to please Christian and still maintain her relationships with her loved ones.

You feel in the wrong because he is always right and goes to great lengths to show you he is right. This was most obviously displayed in chapter fourteen, where Christian responds to all of Ana’s concerns and questions with long explanations that dance around actual answers.

You are uncomfortable because he continually says he knows what is best for you. He isn’t pressuring her into signing a contract that allows him to act out his sexual fantasies on her for him. It’s all about her, and her happiness. He just wants what’s best for her, just like when he showed up at the bar when she asked him not to, and his concerns about her car.

You notice he needs you too frequently, too much, or too intensely. Christian goes so far as to say that he wants her too much, or that he can’t control himself in her presence because of the intensity of his passion for her.

You notice he quickly discloses information about his past or present or his emotional pain. After they go out for coffee, their first encounter that is not tied to the interview, he warns her off from him with cryptic, tortured statements like, “I’m not the man for you.”

You sense he is pushing too quickly for an emotional connection with you. Okay, this one, Ana wouldn’t check off, but I would. From an outside observer standpoint, Christian is running a very good game of  “pull her in, push her away,” which is forcing an emotional connection with Ana. After having coffee with the guy once, she’s on the floor of a parking garage sobbing. This isn’t just Ana being emotionally immature, it’s Ana being emotionally manipulated by Christian.

You find yourself accepting him “for now” even though you have plenty of red flags that would help you to terminate the relationship if you paid attention to them. Ana is already aware that what she wants from the relationship and what Christian wants are two vastly different, completely incompatible things, but she commits to the relationship despite knowing it has no hope of a future.

These weren’t all the entries on the list, but some of the questions regarding previous children or substance abuse obviously don’t apply to Mr. Grey. Looking over what we have here, is this a healthy relationship? Can we even consider this to be a romance novel, with all of these elements in place?

However, we’ve seen ample evidence of women saying they would prefer their husbands to behave more like Christian Grey. Others say that obviously, they wouldn’t want Christian Grey in real life, but it’s the fantasy they’re enjoying. What fantasy? I fully support fantasizing about a man who takes control in the bedroom. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how it would be enjoyable to fantasize about a man who takes control in all aspects of your life. And remember, I’m not talking about just a BDSM lifestyle here. I’m talking about the measures Christian takes to control Ana’s life before they even enter into a relationship together.

The more I think about it, the more I am depressed by the message of this book, a message that so many women have embraced as a romantic ideal. While in the end, Ana does not stay with Christian (spoiler alert), there are two more books in the series. I do not have enough faith that those books will rectify the glorification of emotional-abuse-as-love in the first book enough to read them. The more I delve into this book, the more disturbing I find it, and its popularity.

You may have noticed that the recaps have become fewer in the past two weeks. This is not because I am bowing to pressure or discontinuing them. I just need to maintain a balance between talking about 50 Shades and talking about other things. This is, after all, my author blog and not a blog about 50 Shades of Grey exclusively. The recaps will still go up, just not the five a week that I started with. That way, I will have time to concentrate on what I really want to blog about. INTERPRETIVE MOVEMENT!

I know what you’re thinking. “What, no 50 Shades recap? THIS IS HORSESHIT!” and then you probably threw your coffee in someone’s face. You need to get your anger issues in check, yo.

No, there is no recap today, because I am meeting with my mentee, or manatee, in any case, the pre-published writer I mentor.

I’m pretty sure when people think, “responsible career mentor,” they think something like…

• Locked her in my basement and refused to let her out until she wrote five hundred words.
• Threatened to hit her with a lead pipe if she didn’t meet her weekly goal.
• Told her that I would break into her house while she was sleeping, climb astride her sleeping body, lean over her face and slowly apply lipstick in ever widening circles to my own mouth while staring at a point somewhere just above her head.
• E has a desk in my office. When she started to slack off on her goals, I started piling shit on her desk. Just random stuff, like crafting supplies and papier mache projects I was working on.
• Threatened to run her over with a car.
• Remember the thing with the lipstick? That, but instead of lipstick, I was going to look her in the eye and slowly draw a razor blade over the surface of my own eyeball.