Category: Uncategorized

Look, I do this for you out of the goodness of my heart. Out of the goodness of your heart (and the survivor guilt you’re going to feel when you realize I threw my body on the grenade of chapter thirteen for you, all for you!), check out my interview at The Qwillery.

Chapter thirteen begins like this:

The following day, I call my mom when I’m home from work. It’s been a relatively peaceful day at the Clayton’s, allowing me far too much time to think. 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. Perhaps he’ll call the whole thing off.

So, right away, I’ve got good feelings about how this chapter is going to go down. After all her angst in the last chapter and her unwillingness to sign the contract, Ana is now worried that she’s blown her chance to enter into a relationship with Christian solely on his terms (the only choice she has besides cat ladydom).

Ana’s mom is “oozing contrition” about missing her daughter’s college graduation. Her boyfriend Bob twisted a ligament, so they can’t travel. Bob could probably get some crutches and still manage to be there, but I recognize this tactic. It’s “keep the parents out of the picture so I don’t have to write about them.” It’s why all my characters are orphans. I’ll cop to that one. I do not like writing about relationships with parents and children (okay, I have written a few books with parents in). I recognize this lazy writing, as I am nothing if not lazy, and we can smell our own. I think if E.L. James was going to go this route, though, she needed to make it something a little more dramatic, but not necessary life threatening. Instead of a sprained ankle, why not a broken femur? Or gall bladder surgery? It seems like a pretty weak excuse, for missing your only daughter’s college graduation.

When Ana checks her email, Christian has responded to her list of concerns with a pithy remark about the definition of “submissive”, as well as the definition itself. Ana replies with the definition of “compromise”, because she’s still holding out hope that she can have her naive fairy tale romance she’s imagined. They fight over whether or not he’s picking her up or she’s driving.

He’s even grumpy by email. Doesn’t he understand that I may need to make a quick get-away? Not that my Beetle is quick… but still – I need a means of escape.

This is a sign that your date is going to go well. When you’re planning it like a bank robbery.

 I call Ray, who is just about to watch the Sounders play some soccer team from Salt Lake City, so our conversation is mercifully brief. He’s driving down on Thursday for graduation. He wants to take me out afterward for a meal. My heart swells talking to Ray, and a huge lump knots in my throat. He has bee my constant through all mom’s romantic ups and downs. We have a special bond that I treasure. Even though he’s my stepdad, he’s always treated me as his own, and I can’t wait to see him. It’s bee too long. His quiet fortitude is what I need now, what I miss. Maybe I can channel my inner Ray for my meeting tomorrow.

See, he’s nothing like Charlie! I mean, besides the quiet fortitude and the fact that he’s constant where Bella’s mom, sorry, Ana’s mom, is flaky and undependable. Oh, and he likes sports. But Bella didn’t feel this way about Charlie in the first book of her series, so Ana feeling this way about Ray in the first book of her series means it’s totally fair game. And wait, Ana has an inner Ray? Isn’t it getting kind of crowded in her head, what with her inner goddess, her very conscious subconscious, and now her inner Ray? I knew I wasted that Herman’s Head joke when I used it in the chapter ten recap. A bonus to her inner Ray going on her date with her is that I’m now imagining Charlie Swann in a relationship with Edward Cullen.

Just to make your lives complete, I have ventured into the Pit of Voles (also known as Fanfiction.net) to make my dreams real for you lucky people. Here was my favorite Charlie/Edward slash I found over there. Fast Lane, by HotHearts18. You will probably not be shocked to learn that it’s much better than 50 Shades.

Kate and Ana keep packing up their apartment and drinking wine, because these bitches need AA. Seriously, every single scene, every goddamned one, they’re drinking wine. If Ana had taken a water bottle on her jog, I’d be pretty convinced it was full of gin.

Kate has lent me two dresses and two pairs of shoes for tonight and graduation tomorrow. I wish I could feel more enthused about clothes and make an extra effort, but clothes are just not my thing.

Damn that Kate, always doing nice things for Ana. Remember how Ana doesn’t want to make an extra effort? And remember how she won’t do anything she doesn’t want to do?:

I shower, shave my legs and underarms, wash my hair, and then spend a good half-hour drying it so that 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. I rarely wear make-up – it intimidates me. None of my literary heroines had to deal with make-up – maybe I’d know more about it if they had. I slip on the plum-colored stilettos that match the dress, and I’m ready by six-thirty.

What about signing sex contracts, Ana? Did your literary heroines do that? Also, stilettos? I think you’re structurally unstable enough in flats, sweetie. Kate tells Ana she looks hot, and Ana complains that she wasn’t going for hot, she was going for demure and business-like. Because nothing says “demure” like stilettos. Kate keeps flattering Ana for a few lines, and Ana accepts her compliments with grace. HA! No, she gets annoyed and leaves for her date. When she gets to the bar, Christian is just so impossibly beautiful that she can’t even give much thought (beyond a fleeting acknowledgement of her clumsiness) to how hideously grotesque she believes she is. Christian orders her some wine, even though she just got her one hour sober chip. They both confess to being nervous, although Christian is pretty cool and smooth for someone who’s supposedly nervous. Christian acknowledges that the contract is legally unenforceable. He’s obviously been reading the comments you guys have been leaving:

“You know this contract is legally unenforceable.”
“I am fully aware of that, Miss Steele.”
“Were you going to tell me that at any point?”
He frowns at me.
“You’d think I’d coerce you into something you don’t want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?”

Well, you made her sign what seems to me to be a legally enforceable non-disclosure agreement (anyone want to confirm or debunk my suspicions in the comments again?), you made a big deal about needing her signature, the whole thing is written in pseudo-legalese, and you never once told her that it wasn’t a legal document, she had to find that out for herself. So yes, Christian. That is exactly what you were doing, you creepy, creepy rapist. He dances around that point with a lot of bullshit about trust:

“Anastasia, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not. 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. If you do sign, and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?” I take a long draft of my wine. My subconscious taps me hard on the shoulder. You must keep your wits about you. Don’t drink too much.  

You know what the biggest “get-out” clause is? THE FACT THAT IT ISN’T LEGALLY ENFORCEABLE, DICKHEAD. He’s still trying to make it sound official, like his cock is so fucking important, it needs insurance forms. Every time he opens his mouth in this scene, I hate him more:

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

Okay, Chedward, let’s talk about trust. Trust means not making a girl you have sex with sign a form saying she won’t tell anybody. Trust means having an open communication with another person about what you want from the relationship, not handing her a stack of forms and a laptop and hoping she comes over to your side as a result. Trust means not swooping down on someone when they’re out with their friends because you’re afraid they’re going to make a choice you don’t approve of. In fact, up until this point, Chedward, you have done nothing to build Ana’s trust in you, other than demand it before you tie her up and spit in her mouth. And it certainly is not built by pressuring a young woman to enter into BDSM as a full-time lifestyle when she hasn’t even had the opportunity to experiment with it in a lighter capacity.

Because he’s a creepy dick, Christian demands to know whether Ana trusts him or not. She doesn’t answer, but asks him if he had this conversation with the last fifteen subs he’s had. He tells her that since they were experience submissives, he didn’t need to, because they knew what he expected and what they expected to get out of the relationship. So, he didn’t need to earn the trust of experienced subs? Is that what he’s saying? He doesn’t want to talk about his past subs (probably because they’re all dead in a landfill somewhere), and says they should get down to the little details of the contract, or, as he puts it, “Your issues,” because yeah, Ana is the only person with issues here.

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

No, he had a snit when Jose called you. That’s a pretty important difference. But we abandon that line of rational thinking so they can fight over what and when Ana has eaten that day.

“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.” He smiles sardonically.
“Do you think that would stop me?” he says softly, a sensual warning.
My eyes widen, and I swallow again.
“I hope so.”
“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” He smiles at me enigmatically and climbs out of the booth, holding his hand out to me.

Excuse the ever-living fuck out of me? I don’t know what’s making me angrier, the fact that he basically just openly threatened rape and then denied her request to stay in a safe public place, or the fact that E.L. James keeps tagging one character’s dialogue with another character’s actions. A waiter shows them to the private rapetorium that Christian has reserved:

We follow him through a plush seating area to an intimate dining room. Just one secluded table. The room is small but sumptuous. Beneath a shimmering chandelier, the table is all starched linen, crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and white rose bouquet. An old-world, sophisticated charm pervades the wood-paneled room. The waiter pulls out my chair, and I sit. He places my napkin in my lap. Christian sits opposite me. I peek up at him. “Don’t bite your lip,” he whispers.

Or else you’ll rape her, Chedward? He’s already ordered their dinner. They start to get their contract on, and Ana has to “steel” herself again. I was missing that particular pun for the last few chapters, actually. They get to the clause about STDs, and Christian has this to say:

“My sexual health. Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I’m vehemently anti-drugs. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing.

Wow… control freakery gone mad. I blink at him shocked.

No, Ana, this isn’t the mark of a control freak. This is shit that pretty much all sexually active adults and/or business owners should be concerned with. If you agree to randomly drug test your employees, your insurance ends up a lot cheaper, because you’re not going to be paying for claims when your forklift driver comes to the warehouse all hopped up on PCP and hurts himself or someone else or your property. This is just common sense, Ana.

He’s still a creepy potential rapist, though.

Christian tells her that she can walk away from the contract at any time, but once she does, that’s it, they are completely over. It’s nice when two people with absolutely no middle ground can find something they have in common, even if it’s that aforementioned lack of middle ground. Their first course arrives:

“I hope you like oysters,” Christian’s voice is soft.

I hope so, too, because otherwise I’m going to have to read about the fight they have when she doesn’t want to eat them, and be annoyed when she finally does eat them just because he wants her to. Luckily, she likes them and we are all mercifully spared. There is some innuendo re: oysters, nothing you probably couldn’t find in an early ’90’s straight-to-video erotic thriller, and then Christian admits that he did once hurt a submissive by accidentally tying her too tightly in rope play. That’s actually a really realistic injury, so good job, E.L.. I was afraid it was going to be like, “I lost control and beat her too much,” but rope injury is so much more likely. He won’t agree to just one month of the contract, he wants her to try for three, and he doesn’t want her to have a weekend a month off. Instead, he’s willing to give her a day every weekend, so long as she makes it up midweek. This is fine by me, because I’m not really interested in reading about her going to work or whatever she does during the time that she’s not with Christian. Being alone with Ana and her headful of people is not something I want to do for a week at a time between sex appointments. He explains that when she comes into his house as his submissive, he’s going to literally do whatever he wants to her, and she’s going to have to put up with it, but he assures her that he’s going to earn her trust. How, Chedward? By just asking for it?

“Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?”
Ana!
“Yes, I do.” I respond spontaneously, not thinking… because it’s true – I do trust him.

No! He earns her trust by using her first name! Of course! It all falls into place now! That’s clearly enough to make a sane woman throw aside all her misgivings! Problem solved, none of this is wrong from an objective standpoint anymore! I’m so glad that got taken care of!

“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.” I swallow. Peel me out of Kate’s dress. I feel the pull deep in my belly. Muscles that I’m now more acquainted with clench at his words. But I can’t have this. His most potent weapon, used against me again. He’s so good at sex – even I’ve figured this out.

So, Ana is completely aware that he’s using sex to manipulate her, and she’s still sitting there. He openly admits to using sex to control her, like it’s no big thing, because whether or not he’s manipulating her, “Doesn’t change how much I want you.” Well, so long as you’re still happy.

“If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy.” His voice is soft, seductive. “All those decisions – all the wearying thought processes behind them. The – is this this right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now? You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I’d do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Anastasia.”

This is easily the most insulting thing I’ve ever seen a hero say to a heroine in a romance novel. She has had no problem at all saying yes to anything he’s wanted sexually so far, and she’s thought about all those choices. Yes, there is freedom and excitement in the unquestioning obedience of sexual submission, but Ana doesn’t know that yet. She’s coming to you with very real concerns and you’re basically telling her, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about what you want.”

Next, Christian tells Ana that he knows she’s aroused because, and you’re not going to believe this one, he felt the tablecloth move and he knows from years of experience that it’s because she’s clenching her thighs. Does Christian Grey work for the CIA? Because he tracked her cell phone, and now he’s reading body language via tablecloth. Then we get a really telling paragraph from Ana:

I flush and stare down at my hands. That’s what I’m hindered by in this game of seduction. He’s the only one who knows and understands the rules. I’m just too naive and inexperienced. 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.

This is another one of those flashing neon “she cannot give informed consent” signs I’ve been talking about for many, many chapters now. She is not in a position where she can confidently say, “This is what I want out of this experience,” because she has no frame of reference. And I have to say, I think Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy might be into a little D/s play behind closed doors. But that’s another issue entirely. Someone has probably written a fucking terrible sequel about it already, anyway. It’s probably called, “Darcy’s Peculiar Proclivity” or something fucking awful that will make me want to burn the author’s house down. Please, no one leave recs for this book in the comments, I don’t have that many matches left.

Then, basically the scene from Flashdance where Alex eats the shrimp all sexy happens, but with asparagus.

“I could make you stay,” he threatens.
“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”
He runs his hands though his hair, regarding me carefully.
“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 you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.”

Again with the Prince Charming routine. No, you could not making Ana stay with you against your will. There’s this crazy thing called “the law” and they frown on stuff like forcing people to bend to your will against theirs, contract or not. I’m guessing the restaurant doesn’t want that kind of publicity: “Let’s try that place where the girl was wrongfully imprisoned!” No one has ever said that about a restaurant in the history of the entire world. So, Christian basically thought that since she was clumsy and nervous, he’d be able to exploit that as his sex fantasy. Again, women across America are resenting their husbands for NOT ACTING THIS WAY.

He leans down to kiss me, but pauses before his lips touch mine, his eyes searching mine, wanting, asking permission. I raise my lips to his, and he kisses me and because I don’t know if I’ll ever kiss him again, I let go – my hands moving of their own accord and twisting into his hair, pulling him to me, my mouth opening, my tongue stroking his. His hand grasps the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss, responding to my ardor. His other hand slides own my back and flattens at the base of my spine as he pushes me against his body. “I can’t persuade you to stay?” he breathes between kisses.

See how he does that? She says no, he thinks, “I’ll overcome her silly objections to what I want with ravishing kisses. No damsel could dare refuse me!” He is openly manipulating her, and we all know she’s going to keep falling for it. Not just because I’ve already read the book, either. Because this is the way Ana believes the world should work. She should be pursued, like the heroine of a classic novel, and in classic novels, those heroines had very little say in how their lives would turn out. There is a reason Ana is obsessed with classic literature. It’s all pre-sexual revolution. Ana wants to believe that she’s helpless and unable to refuse the broodingly handsome hero, because then she won’t have to think for herself. She’s already mastered the art of letting everyone else steer her course through daily events, she just has to figure out how to make this whole thing with Christian seem like it’s on her terms. That way, she can keep believing that she’s strong and independent, without ever having to be either of those things.

“I’ll escort you to the lobby.” He holds out his hand. Leaning down, I grab my purse and place my hand in his. Holy crap, this could be it. I follow him meekly down the grand stairs and into the lobby, my scalp prickling, my blood pumping. This could be the last goodbye if I decide to say no.
My heart contracts painfully in my chest. What a turnaround. What a difference a moment of clarity can make to a girl.

 That’s it, right there. Ana isn’t giving up all her aspirations for romantic love. She’s having a moment of clarity. A moment of clarity that doesn’t send her straight to the nearest weekly meeting, no matter how much she needs it. Christian makes a bunch of weak attempts to keep her from leaving, like giving her his jacket (so she’ll have to see him again, I presume), to arguing that her car doesn’t look safe (maybe she should spend the night with him after all?). To her credit, Ana resists all of these and balks at his suggestion that he buy her a car, but of course, he’s going to do whatever he wants to do. Contract or no, he owns Ana, because he believes that he is entitled to every woman he wants. This is rape culture, folks. This book is rape culture, distilled to it’s most potent form.

Ana drives back home bawling her eyes out, wondering if she decides to do this, will he be her boyfriend and do normal boyfriend things like meeting her friends and, you know, letting her touch him?

What if I do say yes, and in three month’s time he says no, he’s had enough of trying to mold me into something I’m not. How will I feel? I’ll have emotionally invested three months, doing things that I’m not sure I want to do. And if he says no, agreement over, how could I cope with that level of rejection? Perhaps it’s best to back away now with what self-esteem I have reasonably intact.

I would say you just gave yourself your answer there, Ana. Luckily, Kate isn’t home to stop Ana from talking herself out of her good decision. What is at home is the computer, and an email from Christian, that he has clearly sent while Ana drove the five miles home. She asks for space, and he can’t wait ten minutes before contacting her to guilt trip her about not fucking him.

I don’t understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give my proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow.

Trust me.

Wow, you clearly don’t understand the concept of trust, Chedward. You couldn’t trust her to spend a few minutes out from under your manipulative thumb, you had to fire off that email before she was out of the parking lot. “[…]Answered all your questions to your satisfaction.” Really? You were evasive and gave very cryptic answers to everything she asked, leaving her more confused than when she got there.

Ana puts on her pajamas and Christian’s jacket, which I’m telling you right now is absolutely a worse look than any pink pjs Kate might dig up:

As I lie staring into the darkness, I think of all the times he warned me to stay away.
‘Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you.’
‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing.’
‘I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of guy.’
‘I don’t make love.’
‘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.

After a night of obvious, unashamed emotional manipulation, after a threat to rape her in the middle of a restaurant, after a threat to force her to stay with him against her will, after an email that blatantly disrespects her request for space, Ana has come to a solution. A brilliant, elegantly simple solution, one that has been staring her in the face this whole time.

So, there’s chapter thirteen. May God help us all.

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.

Oh, he would definitely turn you down, Ana, because you were coming to him on something other than his terms. You shouldn’t be running as in “out for a jog,” you should be running as in, “far away from this creepy dude.” She balked at the idea of exercising when it was mentioned in the contract, but she’s still doing it. She’s still doing exactly what Christian Grey wants, because his emotional manipulation has driven her to it.

I pace through the park. What am I going to do? I want him, but on his terms? I just don’t know. Perhaps I should negotiation what I want. Go through that ridiculous contract line by line and say what is acceptable and what isn’t. My research has told me that legally it’s unenforceable. He must know that. I figure that it just sets up the parameters of the relationship. It illustrates what I can expect from him and what he expects from me – my total submission. Am I prepared to give him that? Am I even capable?

Several smarty-pants commenters called this one: a contract like the one Grey has drawn up would not be enforceable. Ana figures it’s just for laying out “the parameters.” You know how people usually lay out the parameters and what to expect? By dating. By dating, like normal adults. Talking, getting to know one another, before the whole, “commit to a BDSM lifestyle with me” thing comes up. Because he’s not just proposing BDSM play in their sex life, he’s wanting her submission round the clock, even when they’re not together. That, to me, seems like a bigger commitment than marriage. What’s wrong with hanging out a little bit, first?

I am plagued by one question – why is he like this? Is it because he was seduced at such a young age? I just don’t know. He’s still such a mystery.

This depiction of BDSM as a symptom of mental trauma is really insulting, and yet here we are. I’m sure that sometimes, people are into BDSM because of some unresolved issue, just like sometimes people get really into fitness or hobbies or recreational drug use because of unresolved issues. But I’m pretty confident that most of the time, people get into BDSM because it makes their no-no parts all tingly. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar, as the old saying goes, and sometimes, people just like being spanked. There doesn’t have to be a dark secret behind it.

I stop beside a large spruce and put my hands on my knees, breathing hard, dragging precious air into my lungs. Oh, this feels good, cathartic. I can feel my resolve hardening.

Yes. I need to tell him what’s okay and what isn’t. I need to email him my thoughts, and then we can discuss these on Wednesday.

We see here that Ana has had to psych herself up to tell Christian that she’s not down for certain things in this contract. This is the girl who would never do anything she didn’t want to do, but she can’t figure out how to tell this guy that she isn’t really even dating that she’s not pro-anal fisting? She jogs back to the apartment, where Kate has been shopping for her trip 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.

ANA WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING THAT SHE DID NOT WANT TO DO.

 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, old t-shirt, sweat pants, and sneakers ass into my room on the pretext of packing more boxes. Could I feel any more inadequate?

 Could you whine anymore about your roommate being pretty? Because I’m pretty sure no one is tired of that yet.

Ana goes into her room to sulk about not being pretty enough, and to email Christian. She sends him the message I was hoping to see for a very, very long time:

To: Christian Grey
Okay, I’ve seen enough.
It was nice knowing you.

But then:

I press send, hugging myself, laughing at my little joke. Will he find it as funny? Oh shit – probably not. Christian Grey is not famed for his sense of humor. But I know it exists, I’ve experienced it. Perhaps I’ve gone too far. I wait for his answer.

Of course she didn’t mean it! I mean, she totally doesn’t want to have anything to do with the contract or the lifestyle he wants to introduce her to, but she doesn’t actually mean it when she gives him the brush off. Afraid that she’s just blown her chance with Christian (why she is afraid of this outcome, I cannot say), she starts packing and worrying. When she still hasn’t heard anything from him at nine o’clock, she does what any sane, rational doormat of a person would do and sits down to pour over the contract again.

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. He’s wearing his grey flannel pants and a white linen shirt, gently twirling his car keys. I pull my ear buds out and freeze. Fuck!

So, Ana has sent him an email telling him that the deal is off, but he still shows up at her house. I’m holding out hope at this point that he realized it was all a joke. Of course, the first thing Ana does is blame Kate for this, for that evil, pretty, blonde bitch who pays for everything is clearly responsible:

Damn Kate for letting him in here with no warning. Vaguely, I’m aware that I’m still in my sweats, unshowered, yucky, and he’s just gloriously yummy.

First of all, that’s a lot of specifics for something you’re only “vaguely” aware of. Second, how is it Kate’s fault that you’ve been sitting around in your sweaty workout clothes for hours? That grossness is on you, not Kate, okay?

Christian tells Ana that he wanted to reply to her email in person, hence the random drop by. Ana is shocked that he would just turn up, but is it really that unexpected, Ana? You told him not to just show up at the bar, and yet he did. Christian sits on her bed and says that he wondered what her room would look like, and then Ana gives us the most unintentionally telling line of the entire book so far:

I glance around it, plotting an escape route, no- there’s still only the door or window.

If that’s not a fear response, I don’t know what is. Now, I’m no E.L. James, okay? But I have written one or two or twenty-ish of my own books, many of them romances. While there is something of a thrill factor in having the heroine be a little afraid of the super alpha hero, you have to walk a really delicate balance. You don’t want the reader to think that the heroine is actually super afraid of the hero, or that she has a reason to find him literally dangerous, because that’s when the fear stops being sexy. Right now, Ana is acting like Hannibal Lecter just strolled up into her apartment. That does not scream sexual tension to a reader. At least, not to a reader using critical thinking skills. I’m just going to put a little excerpt here, and I want you to read it while listening to the following music. Just ignore the fact that Harry Potter’s patronus is here, listening with us. Or don’t, maybe it adds to the ambiance if you’re a Potter fan:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2fwY99c7GQ]

“How…?”
He smiles at me.
“I’m still at the Heathman.”
I know that.
“Would you like a drink?” Politeness wins out over everything else I’d like to say.
“No, thank you, Anastasia.” He smiles a dazzling, crooked smile, his head cocked slightly to one side.
Well, I might need one.
“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.
“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.

Creepy, right? Now, just in case you feel I’m being unfair in that assessment of the scene, let’s try it with romantic music, instead. Re-read that same excerpt, with this music:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fc0IBXQYD0Q]

It doesn’t fit, does it? It doesn’t sound like Brad Pitt and Julia Ormond falling in and out of love over the course of a movie that should have been at least 50% more stroked out badass Anthony Hopkins, does it? It still sounds like Ana is afraid. Her voice is “small and pathetic”. She’s worried about having to dig herself out of the situation. This is not a romantic encounter. And yet, when he reaches out and undoes one of her pig tails, she’s all electricity this and hypnotized that.

Ana is “all rabbit/headlights, moth/flame, bird/snake…” so I guess you can pick your own metaphor from the ones the author has provided. Although, I don’t quite pick up on the bird/snake one. Maybe it’s one of those “Americanisms” like “bloody” and “throw toys from the pram” that Ana uses. She also points out that there are no nipple clamps in the Bible, and really, I don’t need to fact check that, I’m pretty sure I would have done better in religion class if there had been nipple clamps. All we got was a movie about Sodom and Gomorrah where a woman had relations with a goat, and I slept through that.

Christian tells Ana that he’s there to remind her how nice it is knowing him. So, he’s there to have goat relations sex with her. What if she had been totally serious in the email, Christian? What if it was a real turn-down? Of course, it wasn’t, because Ana has been feeling a little down about her appearance, so she’s ready to rumble:

He wants me, and this does strange, delicious things to my insides. Not Kate in her little bikinis, not one of the fifteen, not evil Mrs. Robinson. This beautiful man wants me. My inner goddess glows so bright she could light up Portland.

Let’s really look this one over, dear readers. She’s excited that he wants her instead of the girl who is seeing his brother, the fifteen partners he already has broken things off with, and the woman who raped him for six years from the time he was fifteen years old. Maybe Kate’s inner goddess finds this some kind of triumph, but is it? Is it really, Ana?

Christian asks Ana to trust him. For him to trust her, she had to sign paperwork, but she should just trust him because he asks her to. Makes sense. He ties her to her bed with his gray silk tie (that he brought for just such an occasion), and starts to undress her, before she panics and realizes that she’s still wearing her sweaty, gross work out clothes from hours before. He pulls her t-shirt over her face, leaving only her mouth and nose uncovered, so she’s basically wearing the most ridiculous blindfold ever (and really, that is kind of hot, so props to E.L. on that one), and he goes to get a drink. He’s out in the other room, talking to Kate, half undressed, and then he comes back with that drink. He asks her if she’s thirsty, and then… oh God.

Let me put a trigger warning here. I have OCD, and one of my biggest triggers is germs. I wash my hands way too much, and I rarely, if ever, kiss my husband on the mouth. It is a miracle I’ve survived this long with pets and children without going crazy, and it is for that reason that I warn anyone with similar hang ups, DO NOT READ THE NEXT PARAGRAPH:

I hear the ice clink against the glass, and he puts it down again and leans down and kisses me, pouring a delicious crisp, liquid into my mouth as he does. It’s white wine. It’s so unexpected, hot, though it’s chilled, and Christian’s lips are cool.

He spits. Into her mouth.

Okay, I realize that to people who aren’t mentally ill, this might be really sexy. But since we’re talking about my experience with this book and not other people’s experiences with the book, I feel free to say:
NO! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!

And he keeps on in this fashion, like she’s a baby bird, spitting wine and ice into her mouth, and then eventually dribbling it out over her entire body until he fills up her belly button with it. He warns her not to move, because she’ll get wine all over the bed, and if she gets wine on the bed, she’ll be punished.

“Come on, Anastasia, again,” he growls through clenched teeth, and unbelieveably, my body responds, convulsing around him as I climax anew, calling out his name.

Okay, here’s the part where I realized that, right up until now, every time Christian wants Ana to go somewhere or follow him, he has said, “Come,” followed by direction. Here, when he wants her to have another orgasm, he says, “Come on.” How could he have gotten these two phrases flipped around in daily usage? If you’ve read the book, did you notice this, too?

When they’re all done, and Christian is getting dressed, he drops the bomb that I was waiting for through the entire scene:

“Only certain things are funny, Anastasia. I thought you were saying no, no discussion at all.” His voice drops.

This whole showing up uninvited, tying her to the bed, spitting wine all over her? He did that because he was angry with her. She told him no, so he showed up to fuck her into agreement. Now, here’s my question: what would he have done if she was serious? Would he have taken her “no” for an answer? I think it’s pretty clear here, Christian Grey isn’t terribly concerned with how he gets Ana’s consent, so long as he gets it. If he has to wear her down (see also: coerce), that’s as good as real consent. And if she says no? He’ll just show up and randomly fuck her, because how could she possibly say no once he’s brought his little Chedward to the bargaining table?

Christian lets it slip that he is still in contact with the woman who raped him when he was fifteen, and Ana, rather than being horrified that he’s got such a terrible case of Stockholm syndrome, gets jealous and points out that it’s unfair that he has someone he can talk to about all this D/s stuff, and she doesn’t.  Rather than saying, “Hey, good point, go ahead and talk to Kate,” he offers to introduce her to one of his ex-girlfriends, so she’ll have someone to talk to. Ana is rightly offended, and is even more so when he tells her that he’s not planning on staying over, or ever sleeping with her (in the literal sense) ever again. So, she kicks him out. But he stays around for a minute, talking about how much he’d like to beat her so he would feel better, so of course, she’s keeping her dinner date with him because he’s such a charmer.

Ana thinks of how bad her hair is and how Kate is going to ask her questions about stuff (and as you’ll remember, Kate speaking to Ana in any way is the single most obnoxious thing ever) as she walks Christian to the door.

For the first time, I’m wishing he was – normal – wanting a normal relationship that doesn’t need a ten-page agreement, a flogger, and karabiners in his playroom ceiling.

FOR THE FIRST TIME. I’m pretty sure words mean things, Ana, and you’ve been lamenting the fact that you don’t have a normal relationship since you got involved with this guy. WORDS. MEAN. THINGS.

This is the first time I have ever had sex in my home, and as sex goes, I think it was pretty damn fine. But now I feel like a receptacle – an empty vessel to be filled at his whim. My subconscious shakes her head.

You wanted to run to the Heathman for sex – you had it express delivered. She crosses her arms and taps her foot with a what-are-you-complaining-about-look on her face.

Oh, how rape culture rears its ugly, ingrained head in Ana at this moment. She doesn’t feel good about the sex they just had, she doesn’t feel good about their relationship, but she was asking for it. She wanted to have sex, and she got it, so even though Christian has basically just shown up to fuck away her resistance to signing the contract and brought up his exes within like, .04 seconds of being inside of her, Ana’s “subconscious” feels like she shouldn’t complain, and be careful what you wish for and all that. Ana reaches a crisis moment:

I feel a paradigm shift. 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. Much more. The surge of jealousy I felt only moments ago tells me that I have deeper feelings for him than I have admitted to myself.

So, she tells him that she’s not interested in signing the contract, and they go their separate ways, and the book ends. Psych, she kisses him instead, and “something changes”. Chedward asks the rhetorical “what are you doing to me?” that all romance heroes, tossed upon the heretofore unexplored seas of love are bound by formula to ask, and then he leaves. Ana runs to her room to cry, and Kate comes in to check on her.

Patiently, I explain the essence of my email without giving anything away.
“So you thought he’d reply by email.”
“Yes.”
“But instead he turns up here.”
“Yes.”
“I’d say he’s completely smitten with you.” 

Oh, is that the conclusion you arrived to, Kate? I thought you were the smart one. But when Kate finds out that he turned up just to have sex to put Ana in her place, she’s rightly horrified. She also informs Ana that her mom won’t be coming to her graduation on Thursday, so, you know, here’s a cherry for your shit sundae, Ana.

After Kate leaves, Ana sits down and emails Chedward the list of all the things she finds wrong with the contract, including how much she’s willing to sleep and exercise, that she’ll sign on for one month, not three, and fisting? No fucking way. I’m impressed that she’s showing some spine, and she’s actually being the Ana she thinks she is while she’s letting other people run her life. Christian’s response to these concerns is to ask her why she’s still awake. She replies saucily, and he sends her an email with “GO TO BED” in all caps. Since she would never do anything she didn’t want to do, she gets intimidated by his “shouty caps” and goes straight to bed. So much for that spine I was praising a moment ago.

And thus, chapter twelve ends on condescending Wonka:

If you haven’t yet checked out the Name Chedward’s Penis contest, I highly encourage you to give it a try. You stand to win some awesome prizes.

Also, did everyone see the 50 Shades of Grey/Amazon spoof on SNL? I combination love/hate it, because it falls in step with the media praising these books for being erotic, but it’s super funny, so I guess I have to give it a pass. Plus, it depicts female masturbation in a pretty positive, normal light, unlike the book that actually inspired it.

Hopefully, embedding it here doesn’t result in some huge formatting catastrophe, because Hulu sometimes insists on operating that way:

So, last time we saw Ana, she had just opened the sex contract Christian had given her. Her heart is pounding as she starts to read it. My heart starts pounding when I realize that the contract is actually in the book. No glossing over it, the entire contract is here, and we’re going to have to read every last boring bit of it.

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 wellbeing.

No, it’s not. The fundamental purpose of this contract is so Christian can get his rocks off and she can’t tell anybody about it. Let’s be completely clear on that point, okay? Because nothing up to this point has been about Ana. There is a clause about safety procedures and about either of them informing the other if they happen to get le herpes during the course of their relationship. There is a clause allowing Christian to “discipline” Ana, and a clause stating that she must obey Christian “in all things”:

Subject to the agreed terms, limitations and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above 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 it may take.

Stop with your sexy talk, binding legal document. So, just for how long does Ana have to offer Christian “such pleasure as he may require” and do it “without query or hesitation”? Three. Freaking. Months.

11 This contract shall be effective for a period of three Calendar Months from The Commencement Date (“The Term”). On the expiry of The Term the parties shall discuss whether this contract and the arrangements they have made under this contract are satisfactory and whether the needs of each party have been met. Either party may propose the extension of this contract subject to adjustments to its terms, or to the arrangements they have made under it. In the absence of agreement to such extension this contract shall terminate and both parties shall be free to resume their lives separately.

Now I know why Christian Grey has never been married. Too much paperwork. He might have millions in the bank, but he can’t afford the lawyer’s fee to draw up the document needed to make that kind of commitment.

Let’s keep in mind, too, that Christian is asking Ana to agree to three months of submission when she still doesn’t know what it is. There’s no way for her to know if she’s going to be down to be caned, but she has to sign a piece of paper saying she’s okay with Christian caning to her for three months, or else he’s going to withhold emotional intimacy entirely. What a charmer this guy continues to turn out to be.

Ana is expected to “make herself available” from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon. And then we got to this part:

13 The Dominant reserves the right to dismiss the Submissive from his service at any time and for any reason. The Submissive 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 clause 2-5 and 8 above.

Excuse me? Christian can kick Ana’s tail to the curb for any reason, whatsoever, but if she decides that this isn’t her scene, Christian gets to decide whether or not she can get out of the contract? Yeah, the third clause in this nightmare of paperwork that passes for a chapter specifies that everything has to be consensual, but the second she wants out, he has the right to consider whether or not she’s breaching the terms of the contract? That’s some bullshit. Don’t sign it, Ana.

Christian’s terms are pretty simple. He gets to do whatever he wants with Ana’s body, including using physical punishments on her for his own enjoyment and without reason, just so long as he doesn’t endanger her health or leave permanent marks on her. If he does hurt her, or if she just gets sick, he’ll take care of her and get her medical attention if needed. Oh, and he’ll stay healthy, too, so he can “maintain a risk-free environment”. I stopped when I read that and thought, “How is him not being healthy enough going to affect maintaining a safe environment for this kind of thing?”

There is also a clause stating that Chedward has to keep all his bondage equipment clean. Because if there is anything a woman hates, it’s getting sloppy seconds from the ping pong paddle.

Ana’s terms are a little more involved. She has to agree that Christian is allowed to use her any way he wants, at any time, because she is his property. She can’t masturbate (not that it’s going to be a hardship for Polly Pureheart, anyway),  and she has to stay on the pill. Then come the even weirder ones:

15.22 The Submissive shall not look directly into the eyes of the Dominant except when specifically instructed to do so. The Submissive shall keep her yes cast down and maintain a quiet and respectful bearing in the presence of the Dominant.

Why, is he a big fan of Memoirs of a Geisha? His desire to see Ana with her eyes cast down seems like a ploy to get her to walk into a lot of shit, when seriously, man, you could just wait for it to happen organically. I wonder if falling down constantly is part of “respectful bearing”.

15.23 The Submissive shall always conduct herself in a respectful manner to the Dominant and shall address him only as Sir, Mr. Grey, or such other title as the Dominant may direct.

I understand this one isn’t all that weird during BDSM play, but this contract covers the entire three months. “Who have you been seeing for three months, Ana?” “Oh, this guy, Mr. Grey. I’m not allowed to call him by his name.” She’s also not allowed to touch him without his permission, which seems like it’s going to make the sex scenes from here on out even more tedious.

The paperwork goes on for quite some time in this chapter, so you’ll have to forgive me for skipping over a lot of it. As you can tell from the excerpts I’ve already posted, it’s about as juicy and titillating as burnt toast, and by the time I reached the end I still had no idea what would happen if Ana broke the agreement. I suppose she loses the privilege of being with Christian Grey but not being able to tell anyone about it.

There is a safe word, not one picked by the Submissive, as would be the safest possible option, but one that Christian dictates. The word is “Red”. That will certainly never come up by accident or in a confusing way in the Red Room of Pain. For all his paperwork, Christian is really bad at the basics. He’s also super bad at logic:

The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant.

How, genius? How is her behavior a reflection on you, when you made her sign a non-disclosure agreement that keeps her from telling anyone she’s had sex with you? When there is a clause in this very contract that says everything you do together is confidential. It’s not like she can tell anyone that she’s connected to you, in any way, without some vague legal ramification, so how does her behavior reflect on Christian Grey? I’d also like to point out, there is no similar clause for Christian. He can apparently bang anybody he wants, without consequence.

By the time Ana gets through the Hard and Soft limits pages, where she has to decide whether or not she’s up for anal fisting, among other things, Ana is about ready to self-destruct:

Holy Fuck. I can’t bring myself to even consider the food list.

Yeah, because the list of what you are and aren’t allowed to eat is going to be somehow more shocking than the list of what orifices you’ll allow a man’s fist in.

My head is buzzing. How can I possibly agree to all this? And apparently it’s for my benefit, to explore my sensuality, my limits – safely – oh please! I scoff angrily. Serve and obey in all things. All things! I shake my head in disbelief. Actually, doesn’t the marriage ceremony use those words… obey?

What in the actual fuck, Ana. You don’t want to do this. You’re straight up saying that you don’t want to do this, but as long as you can pretend it’s just like being married…  She is not okay with pretty much all of the contract, and she doesn’t want to do any of it. Ana realizes that this is not the relationship she wants, and she’s not going to sign the contract. That is, she’s not going to sign the contract until:

My inner goddess is jumping up and down, clapping her hands like a five-year-old. Please, let’s do this… otherwise we’ll end up alone with lots of cats and your classic novels to keep you company.

The only man I’ve ever been attracted to, and he comes with a bloody contract, a flogger, and a whole world of issues. Well, at least I got my way this weekend. My inner goddess stops jumping and smiles serenely. Oh yes… she mouths, nodding at me smugly.

There’s one of those references to children in a moment of serious consideration of sexuality. Just, you know, in case you’re keeping a box score or something. So, right about here, Ana puts a real fine point on my argument that she’s too immature to consent to the type of relationship Christian is wanting. No part of the arrangement sounds beneficial to her, to the point that she feels traumatized by reading the contract, but she’s considering signing anyway because this might be her last chance. At twenty-one, she’s either got to enter into a D/s type relationship she does not want to be involved in, or she’s going to die alone, surrounded by cats. No middle ground at all. Now, obviously, if she spoke to someone, perhaps someone a little wiser in the ways of relationships, she would see that OH THAT’S RIGHT. He’s made her sign a non-disclosure. She can’t talk to anyone – except him – about her misgivings or concerns.

Am I submissive? Maybe I come across that way. Maybe I misled him in the interview. I’m shy, yes… but submissive? I let Kate bully me – is that the same?

Maybe you come across as submissive? Because you misled him? Ana, you have yet to display any backbone at all, through this entire book. In fact, the only reason you know Christian Grey is because you went and interviewed him despite the fact that you did not want to. Of course, Ana can’t say no to Kate, because Kate is a bully. Just because we’ve never really seen Kate “bully” Ana into anything (but we have seen Ana agree to do whatever Kate asks, internally complaining while outwardly protesting that she really, really wants to do these things) that doesn’t matter. Kate is a bully, because Ana believes her to be. Just like Ana believes that she’s not a walking doormat. The problem can’t be with Ana’s total lack of self esteem or inability to say no. Ana is actually a strong-willed, independent woman who would never do anything she didn’t want to. She doesn’t have to ever actually be strong-willed or independent; if she tells the reader that she is strong-willed and independent, that makes it so.

 She’s so freaked out by the contract, she has to sleep it off, but when she does, she has oddly literal and specific dreams about Christian Grey. The next morning, Kate wakes her up, and Ana is so exhausted, she’s slept until eight in the morning. Nine whole hours! Jeepers. A guy is there with a delivery, and Kate is super excited because “‘It’s big'”. I’m wondering if it’s a piano or something:

“I have a package for you here, but I have to set it up and show you how to use it.”
“Really? At this time?”
“Only following orders, ma’am.” He smiles in a charming but professional he’s-not-taking-any-crap way.

She can’t even tell a delivery person that no, she doesn’t want him to come in and set up what’s in the great big box he’s carrying. And honestly, I’m surprised that Mr. Jealous McHypersensitive allowed the package to be delivered by a man, the way he reacted to her getting a phone call from another dude. What is in the big package, you ask? It’s a Macbook Pro. One of the most compact, sleek machines on the market right now. If you’ve never bought an Apple laptop, here’s a hint: they don’t come in excessively large packaging (my Macbook Pro came in a box smaller than an average briefcase) and they don’t require set up. Like, at all. You literally just plug the thing into the wall and go.

Kate points out that Ana could have just used her laptop, but Ana knows that she just can’t use Kate’s laptop to look up sexual things. She tells Kate that the computer is just on loan, because Christian wants her to try it out. So, already, Christian Grey’s demands for this relationship involve Ana lying to her friends. But there’s no time to dwell on that, the messenger guy has to tell Ana all the technical specs of her Macbook, right down the 1.5TB hard drive (that Apple does not put in their Macbook Pro models). Christian has even gone so far as to give her a Me account with an email address. Because Ana, a college graduate in the 21st century, did not have an email address.

When Ana checks her email, she finds that Christian has already sent her a message regarding the laptop, and saying he looks forward to having dinner with her. This results in an email exchange that would be kind of cute, if taken out of the context of this specific book with this specific weird relationship. Ana is totally psyched that he emailed her:

I’m like a small, giddy child. And all the contract angst fades.

So, here we are again, feeling like a child because a man paid attention to her.

Saturday morning, while getting dressed for a wedding, I slipped on my go-to pair of heels, and within two steps my left ankle decided that this was a day for formal tennis shoes, instead:

Yes, I do have a pair of “formal” tennis shoes, to the dismay of pretty much everyone I know who has a vagina and/or interest in shoes in general.

But even after I changed shoes, my ankle still hurt. In fact, my ankle still hurt on Monday morning, and I was still blaming it on the heels. But deep down, I knew that just putting on a pair of high heels and wearing them the length of my bedroom was not enough to injure my heel. I’ve had this happen before, back when I used to figure skate.

Good [insert time of day where you are so this seems like a very specific to you alone greeting] everyone! Before we dive into the recap, I want to let you guys know that the Name Chedward’s Penis contest is indeed going to happen. I’ve been in the process of rounding up prizes, and some great authors like Michelle M. Pillow, Mandy Roth, Billy London, Bronwyn Green and Leigh Ellwood have offered up books for the winner or winners, so keep your eyes peeled and your penis names on the tip of your tongue.

He pulls out of me suddenly. I wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom in a wastebasket.

 Christian tells Ana to get up and get dressed, she’s about to meet his mother. Only, Ana can’t get up, because her hands are still bound by this tie, and she needs Christian to help her. I’m enjoying the tie-as-super-strong-rope thing even more after this past weekend, when I watched my husband continually fight to keep the knot in the tie he was wearing – just as a regular old tie and not a bondage accessory – from coming undone at the slightest provocation while we attended a wedding. I’m also thinking that if Christian Grey tied his silk tie around Ana’s wrists tight enough that she can’t slip free pretty easily, he’s just ruined that tie. Christian puts on his jeans without underwear and Ana exclamation points like she’s never heard of going commando. Since Ana has no clean clothes, she suggests she stay in the bedroom, since his mother “practically walked in on us in flagrante delicto.” It’s pretty hilarious that Ana knows “in flagrante delicto” but not “fellatio”, but hey, she’s not a Latin major.

If you follow me on twitter, you are probably aware that I love puns. Love ’em. They’re such a source of happiness in my life, I kind of want to have another child, just to name him Pun McPunnerson. And then I remember how much it sucks to be pregnant and how much kids cost and the fact that my husband always shoots down all the names I like until we give up and name our kids after television characters or one of the Beatles. But I love puns.

I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful man?
His beauty is derailing.

She loses her train of thought, because his beauty derails it. Bravo. Well done.

Chedward goes to calm his mother down (because it’s totally normal for a mom to be outraged at the idea of her adult son having sex and not at all creepy and smothering) while leaving Ana behind to get dressed and think about how awesome it will be to meet the mother of the guy who wants you to sign a bunch of paperwork to fuck him.

Holy shit. Christian’s mother. This is so much more than I bargained for. Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help me understand why Christian is the way he is… Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pull my shirt off the floor, and I’m pleased to discover it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. I find my blue bra under the bed and dress quickly. But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s not wearing clean panties.

If there is one thing she hates.
ONE.
THING.
I’m practically rolling at this point. If there’s one thing she hates? IF? Ana, you hate everything. There isn’t any if about it, and “one thing” is such an incredible understatement that I’m not sure numbers have any real value or meaning anymore. That’s what that sentence does.  But I get where she’s coming from, because if there is one thing I hate about this book (do you see what I did there?) it’s the way Ana seems to find enjoyment of BDSM a symptom of some larger mental problem. Yeah, you better run on out there and meet his mother, so you can understand why he wants to cane you. We get another whole paragraph of Ana complaining about her hair and mentally calling herself a ho, because all sex is dirty nasty bad, but it’s Christian who has some kind of problem.

Ana goes into the living room, where she meets Christian’s mother:

The sandy-haired woman beside him turns and beams at me, a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She’s impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.

Why does Ana feel like she has to be the prettiest girl in the room? Oh, and it’s personal share time. My son’s name is actually Christian. That makes reading this book really hard. To pay me back for the mental anguish I’m experiencing, I’d like you to erase that description of Christian’s mother, and replace it with a lovely photo of myself. This one should do:

“Dios mio! Ana!” Holy crap, it’s Jose. He sounds desperate. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to contact you. I need to see you, to apologize for my behavior on Friday. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

Um, because you sexually assaulted her? Off the top of my head. But Ana doesn’t say that, she just says it’s not a good time, and she’s in Seattle, and promises to call him back. Remember, this is the girl who fell head-over-heels for the guy who bought the Dexter starter pack right in front of her, so she doesn’t have a lot of self-preservation instincts. When she goes back to the living room, Christian’s mother, the Chevalier Trevelyn-Grey, is talking about how she wants to take Christian out to lunch. Christian turns her down, because he has to drive Ana back to Portland. Drive? Does the helicopter only go one way? After Christian’s mother leaves, this happens:

Christian glares at me.
“So the photographer called?”
Crap.
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to apologize, you know – for Friday.”
Christian narrows his eyes.
“I see,” he says simply.

Moments before, Christian was upbeat and charming. Then Jose calls Ana – an action Ana herself has no control over – and suddenly, Christian is glaring at her? He then goes on to act snappy to an assistant on the phone, and becomes weirdly formal as he hands Ana an envelope with the sex contract in it. He advises her to read it and then do research on the internet to educate herself before signing. Considering she couldn’t look up his name on the internet before interviewing him and refused to even read the nondisclosure agreement he asked her to sign, are we really holding out hope that she’s going to research this at all? Ana realizes she can’t research the contract, because… wait for it… she doesn’t have a computer, or access to a computer. As the reader, I am expected to believe that Ana has somehow navigated through college without access to a computer? There are no computers at WSU? She mentions Kate’s laptop, but come the fuck on. A computer is basically a necessity for a college student these days. This is so blatantly unrealistic that I want to throw the book through my office window, but then I remember that it’s on loan, and the loaner actually wants it back for some reason.

Christian is basically done with Ana. He’s had sex with her, he’s been charming, now he apparently just wants her gone, because from this point out, he acts like a total dick. And when Ana says she wants to make a phone call, he becomes a jealous, controlling total dick:

“The photographer?” His jaw clenches, and his eyes burn. I blink at him. “I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that.” His quiet, chilling tone is a warning, and with one long, cold look at me, he heads back to the bedroom.
Holy crap.  I just wanted to call Kate, I want to call after him, but his sudden aloofness has left me paralyzed. What happened to the generous, relaxed, smiling man who was making love to me not half an hour ago?

You see this? You see this horseshit? Ladies, this is not how a man is supposed to make you feel. It’s not romantic. It’s manipulative and emotionally abusive. He’s withholding emotional intimacy because another man called her. She has no control over what other people do. She could not stop Jose from calling her. If a relationship starts out this way in real life, do you know how it ends? With a dead woman. But by all means, let’s keep fantasizing about this guy. He’s a fucking prize.

I was honestly almost too furious to continue reading this book once I got to this chapter. In fact, it was this chapter that led me to want to dissect the book piece by piece in the public eye. Because this shit is dangerous. This is dangerous the way I found Twilight dangerous in the last two books. It’s dangerous because it tells women, possibly young, innocent women who are just like Ana, that it’s okay for a man to treat you like garbage if he really, really loves you, or if you want him to really, really love you, you need to put up with it.

Ana doesn’t even really see anything wrong with his behavior, apart from the fact that she can’t talk to him about the amazing sex they had. So, rather than think, “This guy is clearly not for me,” she decides that she needs to find a way around the nondisclosure agreement so she can talk to Kate. He only grudgingly accepts that it might be okay for her to talk about sex with her best friend, but that’s after he threatens to fuck Ana in the elevator if she doesn’t stop biting her lip, so, you know… get used to that kind of treatment, if you sign the thing. But he warns her to keep her conversations with Kate pretty basic:

“She’d probably have my balls if she knew what I wanted to do to you,” he adds so softly I’m not sure I’m supposed to hear it.

No, that’s not a creepy thing to do at all, to quietly talk to yourself in the company of another person about all the socially taboo and slightly threatening things you want to do to that person. Not at all. Also not creepy?

“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?

Yeah, that’s what I want to know, too, Ana. How is she defying him? By not having the power to stop another human from dialing her phone? By wanting to talk about her personal life with her best friend, especially since she has questions about sex you don’t seem concerned with answering? Damn her, she’s nearly a blue stocking. Next thing you know, she’ll be demanding the vote and riding a bicycle! They go to Christian’s car, which is better than the last car I had to bitch about:

“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder. It’s a lovely day, we can take the top down. There’s a baseball cap in there. In fact there should be two.” He points to the glove box. “And sunglasses if you want to.”

Oh, are the ball caps for when you and your family go out in the woods to play super secret vampire baseball? Interestingly enough, remember when Ana borrows Kate’s car at the beginning of the book? It’s a Mercedes CLK. Quick, what car did Rosalie drive in the first Twilight movie? Bingo. So, I’m starting to get the Audi theme. In Twilight, the Cullens all drove Volvos. In this, Chedward drives Audi. They’re about parallel, I would say, in terms of quality and price and range of vehicles. But still, while this car is a little bit better, in terms of a really rich young guy owning it, wouldn’t he spring for something a little more expensive? Something more befitting a control freak who practically recites an ode to his penis while he waves it in a girl’s face? Actually, now that I’ve put it that way, he should be driving a Nissan 370Z coupe.

Once they’re on the road, there’s another reference to someone being hungry but not for food, and at this point that is becoming a recurring theme. I can’t wait for them to fight some more about how much Ana should be eating, and Christian’s obsessive need for her to clean her plate. When Ana says she’s not hungry, Christian decides they’re going to stop and eat in Olympia. When they get there, it’s another scene straight out of fucking Twilight:

The waitress takes our drinks order. 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!

Christian orders them some wine, and when Ana tells him she’d prefer a soda, he just tells her that the wine will be fine, and when it comes she drinks it immediately because he’s Christian Grey and she’s going to do whatever he says, despite her earlier assertion that she’s not going to do anything she doesn’t want to do. The waitress comes back and acts bitchy because Christian doesn’t acknowledge her, and this is the second book she’s been in where this has happened. Then, because it makes good lunch conversation, Christian tells Ana about how he was “seduced” by one of his mother’s friends when he was fifteen. Let’s just all be on the same page here, that’s rape. Having sex with a fifteen year old is rape, because a fifteen year old cannot consent, at least, not to an adult.

“She had very particular tastes. I was her submissive for six years.” He shrugs.
“Oh.” My brain has frozen, stunned into inactivity by this admission.
“So I do know what it involves, Anastasia.” His eyes glow with insight.

Ah, so, this is a good advertisement for BDSM, right? “I’m into BDSM because I was raped by my mother’s friend for six years!” That makes it seem like part of a normal and healthy sex life, right? Ana asks if he ever had sex with anyone at college:

“I didn’t want to. She was all I wanted, needed. And besides, she’d have beaten the shit out of me.” He smiles fondly at the memory.

So,  Chedward has Stockholm syndrome. He couldn’t end his relationship with this woman, he couldn’t explore any other kind of sex during his teen years, he just had to learn to like rape. But we need to gloss over that for a minute, because Ana hasn’t eaten, so they have to argue about it. I’m guessing Chedward was an Italian grandmother in a past life, the way he obsesses over people eating. At least Ana realizes that Christian’s relationship with his mother’s friend was abusive, and that leads her to ask some questions of her own.

This is what it will be like if I sign, him ordering me around. I frown. Do I want this?
Reaching for my knife and fork, I tentatively cut into the venison. It’s very tasty.
“Is this what our err… relationship will be like?” I whisper. “You, ordering me around?” I can’t quite bring myself to look at him.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
“And what’s more, you’ll want me to,” he adds, his voice low.
I sincerely doubt that.

I sincerely doubt anyone would want to live with a man like Christian, dominant/submissive roles not withstanding. But he reassures her that he really wants this to work out, so he hopes she’ll sign the contract. Of course, he doesn’t want a relationship with her so badly that he’d condescend to skip the paperwork and maybe not get to order her around every minute of every day, from the clothes she wears to the food she eats. You know. Treat her like a human, instead of a doll. At least he’s monogamous in relationships, that’s a bonus, right?

They fight some more about how much Ana should eat, and it never gets old, let me tell you. Neither does the blushing and flushing as they set a dinner date for Wednesday night. They go back to her apartment, and Ana is “bereft” at having to leave Christian for a few days, but she tells him that she’s wearing his underwear and her inner goddess is super psyched. I wonder if Ana’s subconscious and her inner goddess like, hang out together in Ana’s head.

Crap… I have to deal with Kate’s persistence and tenacity, and I’m in possession of a legal signed document saying I can’t talk.

Okay, in the first place, be nicer to Kate, jackass. Second, Chedward told you that you could talk to Kate. Yeah, you can’t tell her about the “Red Room of Pain”, but you can tell her about the sex, and that should be enough to ease her curiosity, right? Kate then talks about orgasms like they’re something you train for – “Yeah, took almost a year to have my first orgasm through penetrative sex and here you are… first time?” – and counsels Ana to not worry about the differences between her and Christian, she should just go for it. That’s nice, but I bet it won’t last. Kate has run hot and cold about Christian and Ana from the start. Interestingly enough, Ana is actually hungry now that she’s not with someone who commands her to eat all the time. While she’s cooking, Jose calls:

“Ana, you’re back!” Jose shouts his relief at me.
“Obviously.” Sarcasm drips from my voice, and I roll my eyes at the phone.

Ana, he can’t see you.

He’s silent for a moment.
“Can I see you? 

No, damnit, Jose, we just covered this!

I’m sorry about Friday night. I was drunk… and you… well. Ana- please forgive me.”
“Of course, I forgive you Jose. Just don’t do it again. You know I don’t feel like that about you.”
He sighs heavily, sadly.

Okay, Jose, what did you think you were going to get out of this phone call? Obviously, he thought Ana was going to be all, “When you forced yourself on me, I finally understood that we’re meant to be together.” Then he accuses her of being into Christian Grey because she’s a gold digger. I’m guessing from the characterization of Jose/Jacob that E.L. James is Team Edward, then?

The chapter spirals off into Ana’s musings on the “love” triangle she’s caught in between Chedward and Joceb. It’s pretty obvious that she’s going to end up with Chedward, though, because after one mention of Jose wanting something from her, she’s back to Christian, thinking about him and everything that’s gone on, and she comes up with yet another stellar Anastasia Steele all-or-nothing choice:

If I’d not met him, I’d still be sweetly and blissfully oblivious. My mind drifts to last night, and this morning… and the incredible sensual sexuality I’ve experienced. Do I want to say goodbye to that? No! Screams my subconscious… my inner goddess nods in silent zen-like agreement with her.

Oh my god, I knew it! I knew they hung out in there! Basically, Ana seems to think that if she doesn’t agree to be Christian’s sex doll, she’ll never have any sex ever again. That’s a healthy way to deal with it, right? She keeps thinking about how she’s faced with this choice, but as we’ve already seen, Ana never has any choices. She says yes to everything. So, pretending she has some control over her life, she sits down and opens the sex contract envelope. End of chapter ten.

I really hate to keep bringing up the GoodReads controversy, but I find that in some ways, coincidences spur you on to greater things. Like, this one time when I really wanted to go to a gay bar, but also I wanted to go to a strip club, and I ended up going to a gay bar that was also a strip club. Or, when something awesome happens to prove my point about something really important.

During this whole GoodReads thing, several people pointed out (and thank you for doing so) that it seems like only female authors are expected to be nice to each other. Male authors can say whatever they want about their fellow writers, they can write satire, they can express their opinions, and it’s all fine. There are some spectacularly douchey male authors out there (not the one I mention later in this post, he’s totally cool and non-douchey, from what I understand), but it’s okay, because they have penises, and that makes their opinions important. If a female writer passes judgement on a fellow writer, it’s due to jealousy, a desire to self-promote on the back of another author’s success, and shallow, catty envy.

Now, check out this link: “A satirist goes for non-too-subtle shading” It’s a story from the New York Times about Andrew Shaffer, a reviewer for Romantic Times and an author in his own right, who wrote a soon-to-be-released parody of 50 Shades of Grey. Okay, I think this guy is awesome. So, when I point out a few things, it’s going to seem kind of harsh, or like I’m saying I don’t agree with his right to do this. That is not the case, he has just as much right to poke fun at a cultural phenomenon as anyone does. I don’t begrudge him the fact that he’s making money off it. After all, didn’t E.L. James also make money off someone else’s book? So, for the record, I am a big fan of Andrew, aka Evil Wylie, and I think this book is going to be great. Still, let’s break this down: I was accused of jealously trying to hook my money-gobbling wagon to E.L. James’s star, because I’m blogging here about 50 Shades of Grey. Andrew Shaffer, who I will presume identifies as a man based on name and dress, writes a book lampooning 50 Shades and is paid actual money to do so and yet I see only one instance on the book’s GoodReads page where he’s being accused of mean-spirited envy. Not, you know, two hundred-ish comments where he’s lambasted and assigned shady motivations. And I’m pretty sure no one is down voting Peter Shaffer’s plays in retaliation.

Again, I’m super psyched for Andrew Shaffer, I think it’s going to be a hilarious book, and I highly encourage everyone to make fun of 50 Shades of Grey because it is re-damn-diculous. And thank you, universe. Thank you for the beautiful gift of throwing the double standards in male and female author behavior into razor sharp relief.

Previously, on 50 Shades:

• From here on out, these are probably all going to be even more NSFW.
• If you’re reading via GoodReads.com, you’re probably reading some messed up formatting. Come join the properly formatted post at my blog.
• Abed is Batman now.

It’s a beautiful May morning. Seattle at my feet. Wow, what a view. Beside me, Christian Grey is fast asleep. Wow, what a view.

Please click here.

Christian is gorgeous, even asleep. Ana thinks he looks younger. I think, “Younger than twenty-seven?” I remember when I thought twenty-seven was ancient, too, Ana. And then she thinks he looks like a small child, so, you know. Let’s continue with that theme I was enjoying so much. Ana really enjoys Christian being asleep, because, “I don’t have to worry about what I’m saying, what he’s saying, what plans he has, especially his plans for me.” You know, I get her comparison to small children now, because I feel the same way about my kids when they’re asleep. Only, I’m less verbose about it. Silent, actually, because it’s hard to talk when you’re chugging back a bottle of White Zin.

I could gaze at him all day, but I have needs – bathroom needs. Slipping out of bed, I find his white shirt on the floor and shrug it on. I walk through a door thinking that it might be the bathroom, but I’m in a vast walk-in closet as big as my bedroom. Lines and lines of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties. How can anyone need this many clothes? I tut with disapproval. Actually, Kate’s wardrobe probably rivals this. Kate! Oh no. I didn’t think about her all evening. I was supposed to text her. Crap. I’m going to be in trouble.

She’s staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you’ve just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has very odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.

 ARE YOU CRAZY? She’s shouting at me.

Okay, this right here, this is not going to be a criticism of the book. This is just a general question, and if anyone wants to weigh in on it, feel free to jump at it in the comments. Why do we talk about the “giving” and “taking” of virginity? Like it’s a tangible object than passes from hand to hand? I don’t understand it, but it’s definitely in the parlance of our society. The woman “gives” and the man “takes”. I’ve always hated that. I don’t feel like I gave anything away when I lost my virginity. I feel like I shared an experience. But then again, the kid who punched my v-card was also a virgin, so maybe in that case we just swapped virginities. I don’t know. But I really hate the give/take terminology.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, Ana starts to consider everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, but then she just gives up and starts complaining about her hair. She goes to get some hair ties and finds three texts from Kate, all wondering where she is. I’m wondering how Kate doesn’t understand the concept of sleeping over a man’s house. They’re what, twenty-one, twenty-two?

Remember the complaints I’ve had all along about Ana thinking of sexuality in some way, then immediately thinking of being childlike? Ana laments the fact that “just fucked” hair doesn’t look good on her, so she puts her hair up in… wait for it… pig tails. Her thinking? “Yes! The more girly I look, perhaps the safer I’ll be from Bluebeard.” I would say that this line, and the character’s actions, affirm my suspicion that Ana is sexually immature and unable to confront her own desires in a way that would allow her to consent to Christian’s arrangement. She sees herself as a victim of Christian’s sexuality, casting him as Bluebeard now, because we’ve apparently abandoned Tess of The D’Urbervilles as a literary theme. As Bluebeard’s thematically innocent young wife, she has no recourse to refuse him.

You know what movie uses Bluebeard as a really effective metaphor? The Piano. If you’ve never seen it, stop reading this recap and go watch it.

So, hair in pigtails, wearing Christian’s shirt, listening to her iPod turned up impossibly high, Ana dances her way around his kitchen and just makes herself at home, setting out to make pancakes and bacon. She applauds herself for managing to sleep in Christian’s bed, “even though he doesn’t let anyone in his bed. I smile, mission accomplished. Big time.” So, even though he’s made it clear that he’s not looking for a traditional relationship, this right here tells me that she thinks she’s going to be the woman to change him. She even goes so far as to remind herself that it wasn’t “making love,” but “fucking” (hard) that happened the night before, but then decides to ignore that. This is all following a really healthy path of open communication, right? Christian is sleeping away in the other room, secure in the fact that he’s made the nature of their relationship clear to her, and she’s wearing his clothes and playing house. By the way, this is a scene that is playing out every Saturday morning on every college campus ever. Except Christian is a married English prof and he doesn’t have a sex dungeon so much as a one-bedroom apartment he’s staying in while he “figures things out” and “works on his novel”.

Ana thinks about how she’s a misfit and Christian is also a misfit, and I think, “the word you’re looking for is misanthrope, not misfit.” Then she turns around and quelle surprise! like we didn’t all see it coming, Christian Grey has been sitting there, watching her for some time. Probably thinking, “Okay… I need to get her out of here like, yesterday.”

Oh, and he looks gorgeous so Ana flushes. I thought by now that was probably a given, but I should mention it in case y’all have short term memory loss.

After some morning chatter, he pulls her pigtail and says, “They won’t protect you.”  Well, that’s not… threatening. Ana asks how he’d like his eggs, and he replies, “Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” because while some men get morning erections, Christian Grey wakes with a major hard-on for puns. There is a fair amount of back-and-forth flirting in this section, but honestly, it’s so impossibly tangled up with the most clinical and boring descriptions of cooking bacon and eggs than I just cannot bring myself to spork it.

“Just how sore are you?” he asks as he sits down. His gray eyes dark.
I flush. Why does he ask such personal questions?
“Well to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” I snap at him. “Did you wish to offer your commiserations?” I ask too sweetly.

Ana responds to another person’s consideration with pissery, as is her wont. Seriously, Ana, do you want to be with a guy who isn’t going to ask you how you’re feeling? Especially when he wants to dominate you and involve pain-play at some point in the future? Or would you prefer an inconsiderate jerk who just doesn’t give a shit if you’re in agony? Christian is so considerate of her, he suggests she stay to continue her “training”, but nothing that’ll disrupt her saddle sore:

“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.” I choke on my tea, and I stare at him, eyes wide and gaping. He pats me gently on the back and passes me some orange juice.

So, the first thing we’re going to work on is your gag reflex, then? Then, he asks if she wants to stay, and promises to get her home in time for work at nine the next day. When she says she needs to go home and get clean clothes, he tells her they can buy some, and when she says she’d really prefer to be home that evening, his mouth goes into a “hard line”. Control freak much? You brought her by helicopter, you told her she could leave at any time. Now she’s all, “I’d rather not spend the entire weekend with you after we just slept together the first time,” and you’re disappointed in her? Christian, Christian, Christian. If you could see her internal monologue, you’d see her leaving tonight as a good thing. It’s less time for her to monogram your towels against your will.

They argue about food again. Every single time there is food in a scene with them, he forces her to clean her plate. I assume this is foreshadowing. Either that, or he reminds me of when one of my friends is on a diet, and then all our other friends insist she just try a cookie. Kate calls while Christian is clearing up the dishes:

“Ana, why didn’t you text last night?” She’s angry.
“I’m sorry, I was overtaken by events.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Did you?” She’s fishing for information.

She’s not really fishing, so much as asking outright if you slept with him. But Ana can’t say a thing, because she signed a legal document saying she wouldn’t say a thing. Ana decides the best way to get around the non-disclosure is to ask if she’s allowed to talk to Kate, in a strictly sex-ed kind of way. Christian tells her that if she has sex questions, she can ask him, but Ana thinks, “I can’t ask you. I’ll get your biased, kinky-as-hell distorted world-view regarding sex.” So, again, clearly this is a person who can give fully informed consent.

They go to the bathroom to take a bath together, and Christian tells her for the second time this chapter to stop biting her lip. Let’s add that to the drinking game, shall we? Not every time she bites her lip, just every time he tells her to stop biting her lip, because it’s turning him on so damned much.  We also get another description of how desire feels “down there.” Then they get into the bath.

He stands back to gaze at me. I’m naked for heaven’s sake. I flush crimson and stare down at my hands, level with the base of my belly, and I desperately want to disappear into the hot water and foam.

Okay, last night you were all, “Fuck my mouth,” and today being naked in front of him is too much. She really fixates on their nakedness in this scene, like she can’t believe that they’re both naked, together. Even though they had sex twice the night before and she just served him bottomless breakfast. But it’s shocking that they’re naked in the bathtub? I wonder what kind of baths Ana usually takes. Full wet suit? Christian masturbates Ana with a washcloth, but leaves her hanging at the crucial moment to direct attention to his penis. Ain’t that just like a man?

“I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms if you will, with my favorite and most cherished part of my body. I’m very attached to this.” 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 realized that I’m staring. I swallow. That was inside me! It doesn’t seem possible.

Hey. If she’s supposed to be on a first-name basis with your cock, you should probably tell her what you named it. It’s just manners.

I think I should run some kind of contest, some kind of “name Chedward’s penis” contest. I’ll have to think up what the prizes would be. Stay tuned, because that’s coming up, I promise.

Ana starts to give Christian a soapy handy-j, and then this happens:

Fuck my mouth… hmmm.  I remember him pushing his thumb in my mouth and asking me to suck, hard. His mouth drops open slightly as his breathing increases. I lean forward, while he has his eyes closed, and place my lips around him and tentatively suck, running my tongue over the tip.

“Whoa… Ana.” His eyes fly open, and I suck harder.

Hmm… he’s soft and hard at once, like steel encased in velvet, and surprisingly tasty – salty and smooth.

What about soapy, Ana? Because you didn’t wash the soap off. Look, I’m not trying to over share here, but can I just speak as the voice of experience and say that 1) I’ve heard a lot of guys say that the soapy handy-J seems like a great idea… until you get soap in your urethra, and 2) if you’re going to turn it around into a blowy, you want to be damn good and sure you got all the soap off. But this is a fantasy, as I have been reminded so often in the past few days, so I just have to let that slide. But please, we get that Ana is sheltered and innocent and all that, but are we really supposed to believe that she doesn’t know about oral sex and she’s come up with the idea for a bj all on her own just because he put a thumb in her mouth in the last sex scene. Like, if he hadn’t done that, she would have had no idea what to do with a cock at mouth level? I’m not buying it. Of course, she’s an expert right out of the gate:

Hmm… I pull him deeper into my mouth so I can feel him at the back of my throat and then to the front again. My tongue swirls around the end. He’s my very own Christian Grey flavor popsicle. I suck harder and harder, pushing him deeper and deeper, swirling my tongue round and round. Hmm… I had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on, watching him writhe subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.

Based solely on the number of times Ana says “Hmm…” in this scene, I’m conjuring up a mental picture of her inner goddess, and I’d like to share it with you now:

I long to reach round and embrace him… touch him… but he has my arms trapped in the towel. I’m soon lost in his kiss. He cradles my head, his tongue exploring my mouth, and I get a sense he’s expressing his gratitude – maybe – for my first blowjob?

Maybe he just likes the taste of his own spunk, you ever think of that? I don’t remember seeing “no snowballing” on his list of “hard limits”. Then, after kissing her breathless, he begs her to accept his proposed agreement, and Ana thinks, “He really wants this.” Well, she did just give him the perfect blowy-j. I’m surprised he’s not rushing her via private jet to Vegas to marry her. Truly, he is a man like no other. And that’s not even sarcasm.

After asking Ana to trust him – and come on, she clearly does, she came to your inner sanctum after she saw what you bought at the hardware store – Christian goes and gets the tie from the cover of the book. He uses it to tie her hands together, and then:

He runs his fingers down my pigtails.
“You look so young with these,” he murmurs and moves forward.

I pull my tied hands over his neck and hold him the best I can. I know in that moment that I would do anything for this man. I am his.
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 imagined. Oh… what to do?

“See how good we are together,” he murmurs. “If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Anastasia, I can take you places you don’t even know exist.”

“But if he’s still in bed, then he must be ill. He’s never in bed at this time. Christian never sleeps in.”
“Mrs. Grey, please.”
“Taylor. You cannot keep me from my son.”
“Mrs. Grey, he’s not alone.”
“What do you mean he’s not alone?”
“He has someone with him.”
“Oh…” Even I hear the disbelief in her voice.Christian blinks rapidly, staring down at me, wide-eyed with humored horror.“Shit! It’s my mother.”

Thanks, Christian. We didn’t get that from the part where she was like, “You cannot keep me from my son.” Unless Christian is afraid Ana is going to think he’s married and he’s got a baby in a car seat in the closet, like in The Hangover.

Actually, that would be pretty funny. I wish the chapter would have ended that way.

So, I’ve spent the better part of the last two days in a constant state of combined anger, offense, and just general “oh my god, people are talking about me, and I don’t know how to handle it” stress. I want to make it clear that just someone saying, “shut up, I don’t like what you’re saying,” would never stop me from speaking my mind. That has never been the issue here. What was the issue was that another author was getting caught in the crossfire.

Last night, I had my most improbable and often recurring stress dream. It is also my least favorite, and it goes something like this: Unbeknownst to me, I have been secretly married to Gerard Butler for some time. Then he dies. I have to go to the funeral and bring home his ashes (much of this dream is modeled on P.S. I Love You, as you can plainly see). Because I have no memory off our marriage or the courtship that preceded it, I know nothing about dead Gerard Butler and I have to play it off to his grieving family and friends like I totally knew him, while my teeth fall out for no explained reason. Not just one or two teeth, either. More teeth than a healthy human mouth is expected to hold. When I get home, my real husband is furious with me. Not because I had a secret double life, but because it is clear to him that I did not love Gerard Butler enough.

I hesitate to post about the GoodReads furor a second time, but overnight my email inbox exploded and there are some things I felt I should address before further speculation drags them out into further absurdity, or I have more stress dreams (which inevitably become recurring Bill Murry sex dreams that put me off Ghostbusters for months).

1. I did not post reviews of 50 Shades to my GoodReads account. I posted a blog here, and it is somehow linked to my GoodReads author account. No one has attacked me for using GoodReads.com as a reviewing tool. If I could keep my blogs from posting there, I would, because GoodReads always fucks up Blogger’s formatting. But I don’t use GoodReads regularly enough to know how to work it. See also: my experience with Facebook.
2. I did not post recaps of 50 Shades out of professional jealousy or to “destroy” E.L. James. This was a theme in several of the emails and messages I’ve received, sometimes with the admonition to worry about my own writing and not the writing of others, and then maybe I would be just as successful. This allegation confuses me on two levels. The first being, how on earth someone would get the impression that I don’t know this business. My first book came out in 2006. I made my first sale in 2004. I started writing for publication almost ten years ago. I’ve worked (briefly) as an editor. I fancy myself somewhat knowledgeable about the writing “biz”, so I don’t understand how someone would get the impression that I’m dumb enough to think, “Muahahaha, I can reverse the popularity of a book millions of people are buying by bitching about it on my blog, which gets twenty hits on a good day! Muahahaha!” Think of all the really controversial blockbuster best sellers there have been this century so far. Millions of people bitched about James Frey, and he still sells like peanuts at an all-elephant pro-am soccer game. Millions of people have bitched about Twilight, but it’s not going anywhere. So, why would I think that I could sabotage E.L. James using the same tactic? Why would I want to sabotage another author in the first place? Making someone else fail wouldn’t make me succeed. I just find the book unintentionally hilarious and felt like that might connect with other people out there in Internetville. Clearly, I was right, or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
   The second part of this allegation that confuses me is the idea that I don’t need to be worrying about other people’s writing, just my own. What a shitty piece of writing advice that is. Writers who don’t read are bad writers, pure and simple. Not reading 50 Shades would have been professionally irresponsible of me. It’s a book in a genre I write for, and it’s garnered huge success and publicity. Why wouldn’t I read it? Granted, reviewing it publicly is another faintly-peanut scented soccer ball altogether, but I’ll cover that in the next point,
3. I do not cease to be a reader because I am a writer. I don’t really need to elaborate on this one, because the previous item just about covers it. History speaks for me, courtesy of GoodReads.com user Calisto: 50 best author vs. author put-downs of all time Please note that nothing I’ve said in any of my recaps comes close to expressing the desire to exhume the corpse of an author and abuse it. I have blogged about the similarities between Mark Twain and myself during a past “author feud” that was hardly a feud at all. If you care to read that post, it’s right here. But what I fail to address in that post is the fact that I’m a woman, and I’m being held to a much different standard than a male author would be. No one would ever tell a male writer that he wasn’t entitled to read and negatively review a book by a male counterpart, and yet here we are.
4. I am not a “nobody” or “wannabe” trying to make a name for myself. I hate, with the passion of an elephant who really hates soccer, blowing my own horn, so to speak. I rarely mention my own books on my twitter or even on this blog. When I put my covers in the sidebars there? I felt cheap for days. But right now, I’m going to blow my own horn, just a little. I’m not a “nobody”. I’ve been writing for years. I even made the USA Today Bestseller list once, which is going to look awesome in my obituary some day. I have readers that I love, because they all seem to be a little bit weird, like I am. I feel like I’ve made a name for myself, and even if that name is not on par with Nora Roberts or J.R. Ward, I feel like I’m entitled to say that I’m not a nobody. I’m just not a somebody.
5. I did not “copy” my name from Jennifer L. Armentrout in a bid to steal her readers or mess with her career. This one has come up not only last night, but quite often in the past year or so, and I’ve never addressed it. It just didn’t seem like it was worth my time, because both Jennifer L. Armentrout and myself knew the truth and that seemed like all that was important. But now I kind of have to address it, as it’s picking up speed and was a theme in seven hateful emails I received overnight. No, I did not “pick” nor “steal” my name as part of a calculated decision to sabotage Jennifer L. Armentrout. My mother picked my name for me when she filed my birth certificate in July of 1980. I sold my first book with this name, and it came out in 2006. I have been Jennifer Lynne Armintrout since the day I was born, and I’ll be Jennifer Lynne Armintrout until the day that I die, much to my husband’s old-timey dismay. I endured the “Arm & Hammer” jokes all through elementary school, the classic, “Did your dad get his ARM stuck in a TROUT?” taunt (which I’ve never really understood… isn’t it catfish that people catch that way?), and the well-meaning, but racially and culturally insensitive, “Is that a Native American name?” I’m sticking with it, but not out of spite or the desire to harm another writer. I don’t know if Jennifer L. Armentrout is receiving these kinds of accusations, as well, but they are super unfair. Having similar names does not mean that one of us is gunning for the other, and as I have established above, I’m doing pretty okay on my own. I don’t need to “steal” anyone’s success or readers. Plus, if I were going to do something like that, I would have gone with “Dora Roberts”*. Go big or go home, I always say.
6. I do not now, nor will I ever, delete comments in GoodReads.com discussions. I don’t want to censor anybody. I am not an Etsy forum admin, I’m not going to “wrap this up” because it’s not as nice as a vintage barn wood doorstop. If your comment disappeared, tell it to GoodReads.

Thanks to the miracle of GoodReads.com, I realize I have to clarify that I have read the entire book. My recaps give the impression that I started out reading the book with the intent to criticize it, a chapter at a time. That makes me seem like a bullheaded weirdo who sets out to dislike something. When I started the recaps, of course I knew I had read the whole thing and was presenting it as a read-a-long for comedic effect, but I failed to realize that you didn’t know that. So, yes, I have read the entire book. I found it a surprisingly fast and easy read, so it has that going for it.