Posted in Uncategorized Once again, the excerpts in this post are riddled with format errors that are not present in the text of the book. I would really appreciate it if you would do me a favor and read the next excerpt while listening to this. I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him. After she asked him, once again, to give her space, what has he done? After he promised via email to give her space.
Or the police, which is probably the better idea. My heat leaps, beginning a juddering thumping beat as he makes his way toward us. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from her chaise longue.
Moving smoothly through the crowd, his hair glints burnished copper and red under the recessed halogens. His bright gray eyes are shining with — anger? His mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense. Oh holy shit… no. I am so mad at him right now, and here he is. How can I be angry with him in front of my mother. What about the rest of him? Third, why would he have any right to be angry?
Finally, you have every right to be angry with him, even in front of your mother, because he has no concept of boundaries whatsoever. Her full name is Carla Adams, something Ana has not divulged.
How does he know her name? He gives her the heart-stopping, Christian Grey patented, full-blown-no-prisoners-taken smile. That actually gives me an idea. I know that there are a lot of big names flying around, who should play Christian Grey in the movie. Most of them are too old to play twenty-seven. But not one guy. Not one very special guy, with a winning smile: Ridiculously Photogenic Guy for Christian Grey.
I am thrilled to see him, but completely thrown off balance, my anger about Mrs. Robinson simmering through my veins. Of course she wants to throw herself into his arms. But when Ridiculously Photogenic Christian Grey does it? She also said that she wanted time away from you. Interesting how you missed the mark when you aimed to please on that one.
Crap — Is he mad? I wish, so very, very hard, that I could reach into the book and shake Ana. Just shake the ever living shit out of her. So what if she has a few drinks? He gets her drunk on purpose to manipulate her. I was distracted thinking about your most recent email, and I glance up and there you are.
Quite a coincidence, eh? Thank heavens — we may be able to save the evening after all. All is forgiven, I guess, because he makes her happy in the pants region. So what work could he have to do in Savannah? He assures her that his sexual relationship with Mrs. Robinson was over a long time ago, and now Ana is the only person he wants. He releases my hand. How is it judgmental to call it what it is? However, I would be remiss if I did not point out that Ana only thinks of Mrs.
Robinson as a child molester as a cursory stop en route to jealous lover town. Ana points out that if the roles had been reversed, if Mrs. Robinson had been Mr. Robinson and Mia had been in the relationship with him, Christian would probably feel differently.
But Christian feels that Mrs. Think about how you are when I get anywhere near Jose. Jose is a good friend. I have never had a sexual relationship with him. And as for your jealousy, put yourself in my shoes. I do as I wish, Anastasia. I like my autonomy. I may not be a smart man, but I know how to track a cellphone, Jen-nay.
That reminds me, I need to do a blog entry at some point about how that movie ruined my fucking life. Okay, where were we? Ana asks why Christian stopped sleeping with Mrs. That earns something stronger than a Jeez! I think you need to talk to each other.
What the fuck is an UST? Carla tells her daughter that she needs to go see Christian, even though Ana points out that she came to visit her, not her boyfriend from back home who has horned in on shit. Hey, stalking is a form of love!
When he comes back, he says something about being interested in some land there. So, not only will he stalk Ana, he will buy property near her family so that he can continue to stalk her? What the fuck are you doing here, Chedward?
Christian bends and runs his nose along my shoulder and up to the base of my ear, his fingers slipping into my hair. But now, my lovely, lovely friends. However, I do suffer from OCD, and my feelings about bodily fluids are that I would like them to stay, you know, contained.
For the most part. But period blood is a waste product. My crippling disorder is my free pass to mock the shit out of this scene, take it or leave it. Ah, this song should do nicely: I moan and reach up and grasp his arms. Does nothing slip by him? Jeez… He stops and looks down at me.
I should be jilling off to this in the tub, right? Apologies to my friend Jill, who hates that expression.
He takes me into the bathroom which is two rooms, all aquamarines and white limestone. Steam rises gently above the foam, and I notice a stone seat all the way around. This is a hotel suite. So just imagine the number of people that have been murdered in that tub.
He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string… what! And… a gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Sweet mother of all… Jeez. We sink slowly to the floor, and he wraps his arms around me, imprisoning me. I am curled on his lap, my head against his chest, as we both calm. Very subtly, I inhale his sweet, intoxicating Christian scent. I must not nuzzle. I repeat the mantra in my head — though I am so tempted to do so. We are both quiet, lost in our thoughts.
I am lost in him… lost to him. I remember that I have my period. I know, intelligently, that having sex while on your period is no big deal. Just like I know, from a feminist standpoint, that to have a scene like this in a groundbreaking for whatever sad reason bestseller is a coup for women everywhere.