Grey, Chapter 11: Thursday, May 26th, 2011, PART 1

This chapter is 79 pages.  I’m not getting through all of this at one.

Jessa and Jill Duggar: Yes, We’re Victims – Of the Media

What happens when you have people conditioned to believe that an abuser is okay?  You get those two girls.  Despite a first sentence about Josh doing something wrong, Jessa decided to, “speak up in his defense against people who are calling him a child molester or a pedophile or a rapist, some people are saying. I’m like that is so overboard and a lie really, I mean people get mad at me for saying that but I can say this because I was one of the victims. So I can speak out and I can say this and set the record straight here. Like in Josh’s case, he was a boy, a young boy in puberty and a little too curious about girls. And that got him into to some trouble. And he made some bad choices, but really the extent of it was mild, inappropriate touching, on fully clothed victims, most of it while girls were sleeping.”

Because she was taught otherwise, she thinks Josh molesting four of his sisters (according to police reports, he digitally penetrated a five-year-old, and did have his hands under the clothing of other sisters, including trapping one in the laundry room) is just a mild thing, not a big deal, since he was a “young boy” old enough to have a driver’s permit, and he was merely curious about girls.  If you’re familiar with the Duggars and this case, then you’ll see the numerous holes and twisting in what those girls are saying.

Telling today’s generation of young girls that what creeps like Christian Grey does is acceptable helps set them up to be abused, like Jill and Jessa, and for then to defend their abuser.

(Directory of recap links)

Oh yippee skippy.  A symbolic dream of symbolism.  For once, this is a dream that would suck to have.  His mom isn’t home, and he doesn’t know where she is or when she’ll be home.  He plays with his toy cars, and plays with the light switch when it gets dark outside.  He gets hungry, and so eats the “cheese with blue fur” from the fridge.  Sometimes his mom comes home with “him,” who we know is her pimp.  He snuggles up in his mom’s closet, where it smells like her.  He’s cold and still hungry and doesn’t know when his mom’s coming home.

Two thinks of note.  I wish Grey wouldn’t narrate his dreams by talking about “macrami and cheese.”  Use your big-kid words when narrating your dreams as an adult.

Also, if we’re supposed to see Ella as “the crack whore,” when we need to not like her.  All we see if a little kid Christian who loves his mother and knows she’s doing all she can for him.

As much as that dream is sad, there’s nothing there to startle Grey awake, complete with a cold sweat and racing heart.  It Tiny Christian had huddled in that closet to escape his mom’s pimp who was on a rampage, I could see that reaction.

Flynn sucks, and James sucks.  She’s still not made it clear tar Flynn is Grey’s therapist.  I only know because I read the other books.  Flynn sucks for many reasons, but this time he sucks because he went on vacation and didn’t have anything in place for his clients who have urgent needs.  Yes, Flynn and James suck.  Did you know they suck?  Suck suckedy suck suck suck.

Or something like that.  In less than half a page, he goes from whining about Flynn being gone to running while pissed he hasn’t heard from Ana and deciding to text her with the order to call him to complaining that he hasn’t heard from her by breakfast,  and that at least he’ll see her that night.  You see, he needs to know she’s safe.

She’s safe.  She’s safe because she’s not with him.  But he means her car.  He’s so incredibly sure she’s going to die in that car.  How dare she be driving it.

Nine thirty and still no word from Ana. Her radio silence is worrying—and frankly rude.

No, rude is expecting her life to revolve around you so much that she calls the second you think she should, especially when it’s early enough that she might not even be up yet.  I know a lot of people are awake much earlier, but since the night before was…  Well, she probably slept in a bit.

His computer dings with a message!  It’s just from Mia.  Mia is even more twee here than in the other books.  Lots of e-squealing and pouting about having to fly coach.  now I’m far from rich, but if I was flying from Europe all the way back to this state, I’d try my best to get first class just because I don’t want my butt to be dead when I get home.  So I do think it’s mean of her filthy rich parents to maker her fly coach.

He gets ready, and wears “that tie” so that she knows he wants sex.  As if she could forget.  And as if he has any variety in his wardrobe.

My wardrobe has a lot of black in is, but there’s variety.  Grey is just plain boring!

He gets to the school and the chancellor’s secretary shows him to a small room.  We don’t call them secretaries anymore since that’s no longer PC.  It implies a woman, which is bad these days, and so we now say the more neutral “assistant.”

Meet Holly Clarke.

I’m sure this very nice lady is oh-so-thrilled that she could barely contain her lust for Grey.  She’s probably over the moon to have been painted as that unprofessional.

Oh snap.  Kate’s in the room.  She’s walking confidently, the way only the “well-heeled” can.  Good to know we plebs can’t be confident.  He’s also surprised to find out she’s valedictorian.  How the ever-loving hell can someone be in charge of the graduation ceremony without knowing who the valedictorian is? He immediately demands to know about Ana, and…

I’m relieved that Ana is in one piece, but pissed that she hasn’t replied to any of my messages.

It’s not a good sign.

It’s so meta.

Together they walk into the ceremony, and the entire auditorium rises to clap for him.  It’s not like he’s this guy.

But we’re supposed to think he is.

Once the chancellor begins his welcome address I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. Where is she? Methodically I inspect each row.

There you are.

I find her huddled in the second row. She’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on her whereabouts last night and this morning. Her brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and she shifts in her seat, a slow flush coloring her cheeks.

Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages. She’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto her breasts and her squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.

I’m pretty sure Steve Jobs didn’t walk on stage and start thinking about fucking one of the students.

Oh!  Remember, Ana’s free to go when she wants!  And the stupid, stupid fans of this book don’t see how she’s not free.  She knows he’s mad.  She can’t leave.  She’s too scared.

Grey somewhat listens to Kate’s speech, and wonders how someone confident like Kate can possibly be friends with a shy girl, like Ana.  He really doesn’t like Ana having friends.

Grey gives his speech, and it’s so boring that I’m not going to bother summarizing it.  All you need to know is Mr. Modest makes sure to inform people that he’s richer than they are while talking about poverty.

As I sit down to rousing applause, I resist looking at Ana and examine the WSU banner hanging at the back of the auditorium. If she wants to ignore me, fine. Two can play at that game.

She spent the morning getting ready and some time with her dad.  How dare the whore talk to another man, I guess.

Diplomas are handed out, and when Ana’s name is called, right there on stage, where she’s already looking worried, and right in front of the chancellor, he lets her know he’s pissed she didn’t reply, and isn’t the computer working?  Why didn’t she reply to him?  See?  There are strings.  Ana doesn’t know what email he’s talking about.

“Later.” I let her know that we’re not finished with this conversation as she moves on.

The chancellor should have kicked his sorry ass off the stage.

I’m in purgatory by the time we’ve reached the end of the line. I’ve been ogled, and had eyelashes batted at me, silly giggling girls squeezing my hand, and five notes with phone numbers pressed into my palm.

Yeah, because Washington girls just can’t keep our pants on.  We’re a bunch of whore-bags too.  I don’t know many people in Washington who are fans of these books.  I can think of exactly one person by name, who both lives in this state, and likes these books.

Afterward, the chancellor, whose name is Emile Netzhammer

makes it know how pleased he is with the guy who made sure to clearly let a student know he’s pissed off at her while on stage.  Grey accosts Kate to demand he tell her where Ana is.  Kate’s worried about Ana.  Grey doesn’t care.  He doesn’t care whose watching as he storms to Ana, yanks her by her arm, and shoved her into a locker room.

Locking the door, I turn to face Miss Steele. “Why haven’t you e-mailed me? Or texted me back?” I demand.

She blinks a couple of times, consternation writ large on her face. “I haven’t looked at my computer today, or my phone.” She seems genuinely bewildered by my outburst.

She should be learning by now that he is volatile and dangerous.  And other people should be trying to get into the room where an openly-angry man just physically forced a scared girl into another room that was then locked.

He tells her he’s just worried because she drove home in her shameful poor-person car.  He tacks on, in thought, and he was worried she wouldn’t willingly give him the sex he’d take anyway.

Ana tries to reassure him that Jose regularly services the car, which used to be his mother’s, and Grey starts YELLING at her that it “probably her mother and her mother before her. It’s not safe.”

Older cars are generally safe.  Solidly built.  They get crap for gas mileage most of the time, but that wasn’t the worry.  His concern, though, isn’t the general safety of an older car.  It’s that it’s old.  Old things are bad, and worthless.

He should look at some classics. That 1955 Lincoln Future was converted into an original Batmobile. I 2013, it sold for a paltry $4.6 million.

Right then and there, he tells her she MST give him an answer.  She’s flustered, but to be “nice” to he, he’ll give her tomorrow.  And since no “no” means “yes,” he takes it, for the time being, as him still owning her.

And decides she’s going to introduce him to her dad.  She’s not comfortable with it.  But, as usual, he doesn’t care one bit about her.

I open the door and follow her out but stop when I reach the chancellor and his colleagues. As one they turn and stare at Miss Steele, but she’s disappearing into the auditorium. They turn back to me.

Miss Steele and I are none of your business, people.

I give the chancellor a brief, polite nod and he asks if I’ll come and meet more of his colleagues and enjoy some canapés.

Yes, Miss Steele and you ARE their business.  You are an open threat to one of the students.  Netzhammer should have kicked you out long before this.  At least the chancellor buys Ana half an hour of peace.

Grey gets away and stalks Ana.  He sees Kate’s brother with her, and I’m surprised he didn’t beat Ana black and blue right there.  He’s FURIOUS she, who hasn’t said “no,” which means she’s saying “yes,” is daring to talk to someone else with a penis.

Ana glances up, sees him, and gets really pale.

In doubt and discouraged

I’m sure every writer goes through this, times of doubting their writing and feeling discouraged.  While working on the first draft of my third book, I keep finding myself wanting to rewrite Sacred Blood to make the male lead protag into a Christian Grey character.  I fully believe the writers whose advice to other writers is “just write for yourself” only say that because they have nothing more to offer.  If I was writing purely for myself, I’d be writing a different type of story altogether!

The persisting popularity of books that feature abuse is hard to handle sometimes.  There are many days when all that keeps me wanting to write is the love I have for this little girl.

I know my writing, and what I stand for in wanting abuser to cease to be considered to be romantic, isn’t going to make any real impact, especially when the books that keep getting all the notice are the ones where the “heroes” are abusers.  That doesn’t stop me from wanting to make an attempt at making a difference, but it sure does make me wonder if I could be doing something else, like maybe suck it up and write that abusive crap with lots of abusive, non-consensual sex, and if those get mainstream notice, then put out the kind of books I want to write.  But I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.  I can’t sell out.

So I sit here thinking maybe I should give up writing my own books and instead dedicate that time to trying to debunk the romanticism ideas in books about abuse, and trying to find wants to bubble-wrap my daughter and install alarms around her to alert us all if a predator is getting to near to her.  When 35% of women have been the victims of abuse, the odds are just plain high enough that I feel sick to my stomach.  Whenever I see her and two of her friends together, I can’t help but think about how at least one of them in statistically likely to be abused by a partner, and while I hope it’s not my daughter, I’m left with the sinking realization that I have to hope that one of those other innocent kids is the one hurt instead.  It’s sickening, and I feel angry at myself for it.

But I feel angrier at the readers who demand the idealization of abuse, and I’m angrier still at the writers who feed it.  If readers are like kids demanding cake for every meal, then writers are the parents who can either indulge, or say no, here’s something that isn’t likely to lead to an early dead from whichever diabetes is is that can be triggered by too much sugar.

As I write this, it’s 6:46 pacific time.  Im watching my daughter play with a bracelet-making kit, ignorant of how the world operates, and what the adults in this world think is acceptable, and I get so mad that the adults who should be wanting this world to be a better place instead help make it worse by saying Christian Grey, Edward Cullen, and so many others, aren’t abusive, who the go off and ask how we can have a world where Rhianna goes back to Chris Brown repeatedly…while women also say they’d let Chris beat them.  I get furious because they’re helping make the world more dangerous for my daughter, her friends, your own little girls, and they’re even setting young boys up to be sex offenders with the clear message that abusive behavior is good.

I can’t combat it by myself.  My books won’t make a bit of difference at the end of the day.  I’m treading water as hard as I can, but feel like I’m taking two steps back for every one step forward.  I don’t know if I should quit writing to save my energy and redirect it to something else, or what I should do.  I’m lost right now, because I feel that trying to fight back the adoration of abusers is a lost cause.

Grey, Chapter 10: Wednesday, May 25th, 2011

I apologize for the delay.  I had two unexpected volunteer projects come up, both very time-intensive, and I worked so long on then each day that I ended up injured on Thursday.  On Wednesday, a needle was driven through my fingernail and out the other side of my finger, but on Thursday, my back ended up so strained that I literally couldn’t get up off the floor, and had to call my husband home from work to help me.  Thank goodness my daughter was home.  She had to get the phone for me.  I couldn’t.

So now let’s get this shitshow back on the road.

#ThisDoesntMeanYes

(Directory of recap links)

When we last left off, uh…I don’t remember.  It was a bunch of filler.  Lunch with a president, blah blah nitrates.  I think no-name hot dogs have more meat to them than last chapter.

Aside from being nervous about his “first date” with Ana (someone needs to tell him that this is a “business” meeting, not a date), he has had a fairly normal day.  He sat through meetings, bought a business, and fired a few people.  Two of those things really aren’t business as usual.  I think he gets a thrill off of firing people.  Also buying a business isn’t like buying a car in cash.

Ana arrives in that purple dress she borrowed from Kate so often that she finally “forgot” to return it.  Grey approves of her in a dress.  Access, you know.

She orders wine, and here is another place where James knows jack about how things go here.  If you look under 26, you’re getting carded.  The OLCC (Oregon Liquor Control Commission), which issues licenses to dispense alcohol, which is required if there’s even a remote chance you’ll sell a bottle of beer (a friend of mine worked at the coffee bar at Whole Foods, which has beer, and she had to get licensed) is STRICT.  They might run the official webpage on Blogspot, but they’s a government division you don’t want to cross.  Many places card if you look 35 and under, and some places card everyone, even if you’re clearly in your senior years.  Penalties for selling alcohol to people under the age of 21 run the gamut from major fines to jail time to a business being closed.   Since Ana’s supposed to be so tiny that she can be mistaken as a child, she’d be carded.  Grey’s wealth wouldn’t impress a server enough to ignore the law for her.

The waiter has no problem serving Miss Lightweight some Liquid Courage.

She asks him something important.

“She purses her lips to stifle her smile. “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?”

What? I didn’t think I’d have to…and you’ve worked it out for yourself. “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, yes.”

Wow.  Why didn’t he think he should tell her?  He knows how ignorant she is about the world, to the point of never having touched herself, and he knows she doesn’t know hot to use the internet.  The answer to why he didn’t think he should tell her is he was hoping she wouldn’t find out.

But bigger WOW is that she admits she thinks he’d force her to do what she doesn’t want.  He already has raped her.  So.  She knows he would.

“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?”

What does she take me for?

I’ll take “What is a rapist, for $2000, Alex.

Alex Trebek still looks wrong without his ‘stashe.  I don’t even care that it’s years since he cut it off.

And also the only “get-out clause” she needs is to say NO.

What I need her to understand is that this contract isn’t about the law, it’s about trust.

HAHAHA! No.  You don’t get to say that a slave contract, which he’s using instead of a submissive contract, is about trust when it not only is actually about making sure boundaries are crystal clear and in writing for future reference, but right after you’re caught lying about the contract to her (lying by omission is still lying when you should know the other person won’t likely know the omitted info) and right after you’re tried that crap about “get-out clauses,” which would only be needed for something legally binding.

“As she takes a sip of her wine I rush on, endeavoring to explain. “Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust. 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.”

She has no reason to trust him.  He won’t take NO, LEAVE ME ALONE, for an answer.  He can’t be trusted.

“So it’s quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?”

And if she thinks so little of me, then we shouldn’t do this at all.

DING DING DING!!!  This shouldn’t be happening!  He’s trying to railroad her, and a moment’s hesitation means something’s wrong with her.

“Did you have similar discussions with, um…the fifteen?”

“No.” Why is she going off on this tangent?

“Why not?” she asks.

“Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”

She asked a fair question. It’s troubling that they were established, yet he’s expecting Ana to fall in line with the experienced women, especially when she has noticeable hesitations.

I’m skipping the next page of him internally whining about Ana’s lack of appreciation for Elena.  I’ll pick back up with him realizing she hasn’t eaten much that day.

“You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. Which would you prefer?”

She’ll never go for this.

“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”

As predicted—sensible, Miss Steele.

“Do you think that would stop me?” My voice is husky.

She swallows. “I hope so.”

Put the girl out of her misery, Grey.

“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.”

Why ask her what she wanted if it didn’t matter anyway?

But this part:

“Do you think that would stop me?” My voice is husky.

She swallows. “I hope so.”

That’s fear.  Intimidation on her part, fear on hers.  In no way does he respect her.  My heart aches for her right now.  She’s trying to stay safe because part of her knows there’s danger.  He notes her swallowing.  He doesn’t care.

Grey orders, ORDERS, her to get her wine and follow him.  He gets pissy when the other patrons stare at Ana with “admiration”, and “one handsome, athletic guy” openly ogles her.

If we’re supposed to believe the tripe about how Ana’s a meek, average-looking girl who is beautiful to Grey because he luuuuuuves her (mentally add teenage-girl-handwriting hearts around that word),  don’t have a woman he so drop-dead gorgeous that strangers who don’t know her literally stop to stare in awe.  The waiter who helps them to the mezzanine (private room…?) ogles her too.  No one who wants to keep their job will openly drool over a patron.

…she takes a large gulp of wine and her cheeks color. She must be looking for courage. I’ll have to watch how much she’s drinking, because she’s driving.

She could always spend the night here…then I could peel her out of that enticing dress.

Freaking fantastic.  He knows she’s trying to lower her inhibitions for courage, and he thinks, “Hm, I could keep her here and fuck this drunk chick.”

“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away anytime, Anastasia. I won’t stop you. If you go, however—that’s it. Just so you know.”

No. Second. Chances. Ever.

“Okay,” she replies, though she doesn’t sound certain.

Uh…  So what does he call it when he thought she walked, and he raped her?

We both fall silent as the waiter enters with our appetizers. For a moment I wonder if I should have held this meeting at my office, then dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Only fools mix business with pleasure.

Grey gets horny over oysters, then tells us Ana asked why he chose them.

James?  Hey. You.  JAMES.  Listen, lady.  SHOW, don’t tell, when the dialog is happening while we’re reading.  Don’t have Grey tell us.  Show us by having Ana ask.

Moving on.  Grey tells us, rather than Ana, that the reason he expects her to obey him in all things, without question, is for her own safety.  The safest thing for her to do is run.  We know the truth.  He is an abusive asshole who wants his sex toy ready when he beckons.  It has nothing to do with her safety.

When they get to the issue she has of the contract term being three months when she wants one, he bitches about how one month isn’t enough time to train her.  In ten days from this meeting, he full-out beats her.  In just twenty four days, they’ll be engaged.  So if he thinks a month isn’t enough time to train her in the ways of BDSM…well, it’s not.  It’s also not enough time to be together before getting engaged.  Time stands still in these books, I guess.  It drags, like like the time it takes reading them.

“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you, then you can walk away anytime.”

“Three months,” she says. Is she agreeing? I’ll take it as a “yes.”

NO “NO” IS NOT A YES!!!

He gives a speech about how he will do with her what he wants, when he wants, and her wants really don’t matter.  He will beat her, because she will fail.  But she has to go into this willingly, even though she’s being railroaded.  Then he asks if she wants more wine.  Yeah, lube those inhibitions even more.

Drunk consent isn’t consent.

Thankfully, she wants water instead.  She doesn’t speak much.  Grey can tell she’s overwhelmed.

He monologues about how pain is pleasure, he won’t do more than she can handle, and so on.  Sure.  In ten days, she walks away because it was too much for her.  He again demands her trust, and she says she trusts him right away.  Like the braindead idiot he is, he thinks he really has it instead of realizing she may be saying yes because he keeps bugging her about it, and she’s scared of him hurting her, which she is.

Once again he harps on her about food.  He doesn’t know her well enough to be making comments on her eating habits.  He doesn’t know how much she eats on days they don’t see each other, or even earlier on the days they do.  We know she eats little enough that her family and close friends should be concerned.  Grey doesn’t know her so well.  He really needs to lay off.

It is worth noting that Ana, and Grey’s sister, Mia, have a couple names commonly strung together in eating disorder communities.  Ana-Mia is viewed as a friend of sorts to those living with eating disorders.  It stands for anorexia and bulimia.

Ana, at least does hold her ground on the food issue, and tells him to trust her on this one issue.

He tells her she’s not allowed to look at him, to touch him, and she’s not allowed to touch herself because he owns her.  Briefly, he contemplates forcing himself on her.  He admits he booked that room (mezzanines aren’t rooms…) so he could fuck her and see if she could keep quiet.

She’s “squeamish” at this point, and it’s understandable that she has no appetite when told by this guy that he expects her to give over ownership of her body so he can fuck and beat her at his will, and it’s all about him.

“You’ve not eaten very much.”

“I’ve had enough.”

This is getting old. “Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you’ve not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”

Her eyes widen.

Yeah. I’ve been keeping count, Ana.

“Christian, please, it’s not every day I sit through conversations like this.”

“I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia.” My tone is adamant.

“I know.”

“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers.

I’m only surprised he “trusted” her as long as two pages to make her own food choices.

He procedes to make his desire to take her right then and there known.

“Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair.” She looks down at her lap, and her voice is low and a little melancholy.

According to the dictionary, “Melancholy” means:
Naturally, Grey is aroused by this.  He spends the next two pages trying to confuse her enough so he can have sex with her in the mezzanine.  Ana takes a stalk of asparagus, and starts to simulate a blow job with it, which arouses him into silence.  This could be taken as a defensive measure, or an offensive one.  I think it’s defensive since she doesn’t want sex right now, and it’s getting him to shut up when he was trying to confuse her.  A waiter enters, which stops all shenanigans.

Was Grey really going to risk a waiter walking in on him fucking her in a public place?  In Oregon, this is a crime.

Get caught twice, and you’re going to find yourself on this thing known as the sex offender registry.

“Would you like some dessert?” I ask.

“No thank you. I think I should go,” she says, still staring at her hands.

“Go?” She’s leaving?

You know how he said she could leave whenever she wanted?

“Yes,” Ana says, her voice firm with resolve. She gets to her feet to leave. And automatically I stand, too. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow,” she says.

This is not going according to plan at all.

“I don’t want you to go,” I state, because it’s the truth.

See, HE doesn’t want her to go.

“Please, I have to,” she insists.

“Why?”

Well, not only does she not need a reason, but she already gave one.  They’ve got graduation the next day.

“Because you’ve given me so much to consider, and I need some distance.” Her eyes are pleading with me to let her go.

If she was really free to go, she wouldn’t need to plead with him.

But we’ve gotten so far in our negotiation. We’ve made compromises. We can make this work. I have to make this work.

In the end, he made no compromises.  Also a nice little switch there from “we” to “I” there.  Clearly he matters, and she doesn’t.

“I could make you stay,” I tell her, knowing that I could seduce her right now, in this room.

She’s had a bit to drink, is overwhelmed, and giving off signals of fear and intimidation.  There wouldn’t be any legal consent here.

“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”

He has no excuse.  He knows she wants to go.

“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.” I walk the few steps that separate us and look down into eyes that shine with determination.

This is a very intimidating thing to do.  He’s causing her adrenaline response to go into overdrive.  That’s what happens when you’re scared.  Adrenaline also plays a part in sexual arousal.  He’s intentionally conflating the feeling fear with arousal to try to get his way with her.  This is manipulative and sick.

After they kiss, he keeps pestering her to stay.  I’ve lost track of how many times she said no.  He’s just going to keep asking and asking until she says yes, then consider it consent, the way fans of this book do, right?

Close.  She stands her ground, though he does keep asking.  Finally, he realizes she’s not staying.

“Why do I think you’re telling me good-bye?”

“Because I’m leaving now.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Christian, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”

A guilt trip for the road.

“This cannot be the end. I have to show her—demonstrate what this all means, what we can do together. Show her what we can do in the playroom. Then she’ll know. This might be the only way to save this deal. Quickly I turn to her. “You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” I ask.

“We’ll see. Maybe,” she says.

That’s not a “no.”

I really wish he’d start seeing her as a human being instead of a Real Doll.  There is nothing “together” about any of this.  It’s all about what she can take from her.  “If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” is MANIPULATIVE AS FUCK.  He doesn’t mean the right decision for her.  Oh, no.  He means the right decision for him, which really is to be tossed in the slammer with Pornstashe.

“I notice the goose bumps on her arms. “It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?” I ask.

“No.”

This woman needs looking after. I take off my jacket. “Here. I don’t want you catching cold.” I slip it over her shoulders and she hugs it around herself, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.

Is she drawn to my scent? Like I am to hers?

Yes, Edward.  She’s so drawn to your scent that her panties are disintegrating…  It’s not uncommon to forget a coat sometimes.  Doesn’t mean we need a keeper.

The valet brings her vintage VW Beetle.  Grey starts insulting everything about it.  I don’t know about you, but if someone started insulting everything about my car, I’d be offended and hurt, especially if the reason is that that someone is so rich that they don’t understand that not everyone can go buy new, off-the-lot cars with their idea of pocket change.  I had a real-life friendship end when a friend of mine started acting like that.  Ana tells Grey NOT to buy her a car.  This will be important to remember in a moment.

He contemplates having Taylor take her home since he doesn’t trust her car, until he remembers Taylor is off that night. Something is confusing me here.  Grey asks Ana if her car will make it to Seattle sine they’re in Portland.  But he considers having Taylor take her home, but remembers Taylor’s off, right?  So does that mean James forgot their location and thinks they’re in Seattle?  Or was Grey going to make her wait a few hours for Taylor to drive her home?

Regardless, she she says good bye, she’s trying not to cry.  Who can blame her, after how he treated her?

She leaves, and he gets more alcohol to take to his room.  Right away he starts an email to her, and beretes her for “running off,” and says they can make it work and he promises to take it slow.  Being engaged in 24 days is taking it slow?  They’ll break up in ten days, and be broken up for five days.  None of this is slow.

Then he sends Taylor an email telling him to have a new Audi delivered the next day.  Remember how I said Ana telling Grey not to buy her a car would be important?  Here it is.  He’s buying her a car against her wishes.

When Ana doesn’t reply to his email the second she gets home, he starts pestering her by text, and sends her another email where he insults her car again.  Then he hosts a pity party for himself because he isn’t getting his way right that very second.

Grey, Chapter 9: Tuesday, May 24th, 2011

A link with some brevity today, since this chapter is BORING enough that it’s okay to add a bit of humor:
4 Ways the ’50 Shades of Grey’ Film Is Worse Than You Expect (from Cracked.com)

(Directory of recap links)

Right away, he’s whining about stuff not being good enough for him.  He’s pissed about the new electronics plant being sited in Detroit because he doesn’t like that city.  It gives him bad memories.  Boo hoo.  Know where I come from?  A town so terrible that I don’t even claim it.  Winton is a town that shouldn’t exist.  Its claims to fame are a Hell’s Angels bar, and having the highest crime rate for a small city in the entire US.  That’s it.  And you want to talk about abuse and trauma?  Oh, I can give him worse than a loving mother who happened to die.  But I’ll spare you all, my dear readers, because there are enough horrors in this book without getting into the real-life horrors of Winton.

So he’s whining about Detroit, even though the car factories closing down does mean that there will be a lot of people with relevant experience who need jobs.

Who wants to wager that that’s how he wants things run?

He gets an email two minutes past midnight.  It’s from Ana, and he’s annoyed she’s still awake.  He’s awake, but she can’t be.  What a controlling hypocrite.  Anyway, she says she’s sending her list of issues, and Grey pulls up a copy of the contract.  Rather than just telling us this, he tells us, and we get literally fourteen pages of the contract.  So I was just spared from fourteen pages of reading.  I swear, this book is full of whatever is worse than nitrates and fecal matter in cheap hotdogs.

She starts off on calling him out on how a contract really isn’t for her benefit, but for his.  He gives us that “Fair point well made” tripe.  At least he acknowledge it isn’t for her.

She then tells him that, since he’s her only partner and she doesn’t do drugs and has never had a blood transfusion, she’s disease-free.

Another fair point! And it dawns on me that this is the first time I haven’t had to consider the sexual history of a partner. Well, that’s one advantage of screwing a virgin.

This angers me.  It reminds me of an ex of mine who I found out, after we broke up, that something he liked about me was not having to worry about me getting pregnant since I’m infertile (my daughter’s the product of a few rounds of in vitro).  I don’t like guys who see things like infertility and virginity as Super Awesome Bonuses, especially since it’s always SOLELY for their own selfish gains.

8: I can terminate at any time if I don’t think you’re sticking to the agreed limits. Okay—I like this.

I hope it won’t come to that, but it wouldn’t be the first time if it did.

I’m now extremely curious who else walked out on him, and where he hid their bodies.

11: One-month trial period. Not three.

Only a month? That’s not long enough. How far can we go in a month?

How far?  Let’s see…  The rest of Fifty Shades of Grey AND Fifty Shades Darker happen before a month from “today.”  They’ll have a break-up AND be back together AND engaged within three weeks.

Yeah.  This isn’t even a whirlwind abusemance.  This is one hell of a category 50 tornado.

12: I cannot commit every weekend. I do have a life, or will have. Perhaps three out of four?

And she’ll have the opportunity to socialize with other men? She’ll realize what she’s missing. I’m not sure about this.

Oh, Lordy, she might see her roommate’s brother, and want to hang out with her best friend.  The “I’m not sure about this” clearly means that he thinks he has the right to decide whether or not she’ll get the concessions she wants.

He’s mad that she doesn’t want to be hit in any way.

Food—I am not eating food from a prescribed list. The food list goes or I do—deal breaker.

Well, this is going to be an issue!

Why?  She’s not a child.  She doesn’t have medical issues.  Honestly, I can understand someone trying to ban a loved one from eating cake all day if they’re diabetic, but that’s not the case here.  Ana is healthy and has no dietary restrictions.  She has a right to eat what she wants.

He’s ultimately pleased that there’s “hope for [their] relationship,” and he responds to ask why she’s still awake.

If you recall, I was going through this list when I was distracted and bedded by a passing control freak.
Good night.
Ana

Her e-mail makes me laugh out loud but it irritates me in equal measure. She’s much more sassy in print and she has a great sense of humor, but the woman needs sleep.

That’s not humorous.  It’s putting mildly what he did.  Maybe he thinks the funniness is that he got away with rape.

He orders her to bed.

I need to remind her of what I expect from our relationship. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. I’ve strayed too far from my goal.

Yeah.  Stop yanking her around.

So he heads to bed with his computer, and has to think about how to manage her.

Opening my laptop, I read through her “Issues” e-mail again. I need to manage her expectations and try to find the right words to express how I feel.

Finally, I’m inspired.

Guess what he does.  He copies and pastes the dictionary definition of “submissive” into an email with some of the etymology of the word.  So more filler.

That’s it. I hope she’ll find it amusing, but it gets my point across.

Proof he has no sense of humor.  A dictionary definition isn’t amusing.

Oh, look.  A dream again.  He and Elliot are kids, and Elliot wants to know why he doesn’t talk.  Grey beats the hell out of him, gets in trouble, and smugly thinks about how Elliot knows he’s a monster.  Grey used the word “monster.”  I just didn’t put it in quotes because it’s too true for quotes.

Following morning, he’s having a video conference with Ros, and a solar-powered tablet computer prototype is almost ready.  On May 24th, 2011, Samsung was less than six weeks from releasing a finished solar-powered device to the public.

Ros wants to know why he’s in Portland, and why he’ll be there so long. Fair question.  He bolted without saying anything when there was work to be done.  He quips that there is a “merger” happening, but not the kind the mergers and acquisitions department would handle.  Ros gets the meaning, and if I was her, I’d be angry that my boss left to go wet his dipstick.

JFC.  I’m interested in business, legitimately interested, and have a background in tech and currently own a real-deal business.  The business talk in this book?  Boring.  And not needed.  It’s only in there to fluff the word-count and to try masking the lack of plot.

Over the past year, we’ve acquired three tech companies. Two are booming, surpassing all targets, and one is struggling despite Marco’s initial optimism. Lucas Woods heads it up; he’s turned out to be an idiot—all show, no substance. The money has gone to his head and he’s lost focus and squandered the lead his company once had in fiber optics. My gut says asset-strip the company, fire Woods, and merge their technology division into GEH.

But Ros thinks Lucas needs more time—and that we need time to plan if we’re going to liquidate and rebrand his company. If we do, it will involve expensive redundancies.

“I think Woods has had enough time to turn this around. He just won’t accept reality,” I say emphatically. “We need him gone, and I’d like Marco to estimate the costs of liquidating.”

“Marco wants to join us for this part of the call. I’ll get him to log in.”

That ends the scene, and we don’t need to know any of it.

And it’s followed by two pages of him talking to his mom about his sister coming to town and her wanting Grey to tell Ana hi.

*siiiiiiigh*

I HAVE MANAGED TO keep Anastasia Steele out of every waking thought today. Almost. During lunch there were times when I found myself imagining us in my playroom…

I’m recycling this gif:

Lunch was a meeting with the president, the head of the environmental sciences department, and the vice president of economic development.  He’s comforted by the thought that surely she must be in the school’s library reading a classic book.

Grey shows that he doesn’t understand the meaning of “provocative” when Ana sends him an e-mail telling him about compromise. That should only provoke him if he’s dangero-

Oh.  That’s right.  He is.  He replies that he’ll “collect” her from her apartment at 7.  Elliott calls, and it’s more filler.  We’d miss nothing by not knowing that Kate asked Elliot to have Grey help.  He’s not gonna help, so there was no point to this other than making this book longer.

Look at how little there is on these pages:

The email he referenced is the one with the “submissive” definition.  She hasn’t agreed to be a sub (kind of hard to be a sum when there’s only an abuser, not a Dom).

He takes issue with the subject line.

Intractable? Me? Fuck. If our meeting goes as planned, her contrary behavior will be a thing of the past. With that in mind, I agree.

He agreed to let her drive, and that’s this chapter.

Nothing.  NOTHING.

Why are beautiful funny women so hard to find?

I’ve been sitting on this post for a few hours, and am still hesitating to post it because of how easy it would be for someone to think that this post means that beautiful women are inherently unfunny.  In reality, the problem isn’t with funny and beautiful women.  The problem is with us.

---

Today, Michael Eisner came under fire for his statement on beautiful women who are also funny being hard to find.

From my position, the hardest artist to find is a beautiful, funny woman. By far. They usually—boy am I going to get in trouble, I know this goes online—but usually, unbelievably beautiful women, you being an exception, are not funny.

I’d like to go on the record as agreeing with him.  Do you know why?  Because beautiful women aren’t taken seriously as comediennes.  We are conditioned to see beauty things and beautiful people as something to be revered instead of laughed at.

Let’s take a little trip back to the 1950’s, when Lucille Ball was the top funny woman of the day (and still is one of the top of all time).  I Love Lucy was groundbreaking in so many ways.  The show portrayed an interracial marriage where the wife was very much the equal to her husband.  While Lucy Ricardo would appear to defer to her husband she was conniving and would scheme to get her way.  Never was she truly stupid.  Sometimes she just got caught up in her own tangled web.  Most comedy was based on things not going according to plan.  She was anything but a mild and meek housewife.  This is the Lucille Ball we all know and love:

Wide-eyed, silly, looking somewhat daft at first glance.  Would we still laugh at her antics if she looked like the Lucille Ball few of us are familiar with?

By the way, she co-founded and co-owned DesiLu Productions.  Without her, we wouldn’t have Star Trek.  There’s your daily dose of WTF? trivia.

Another popular show of the time was The Honeymooners.  Audrey Meadows, as Alice Kramden, stood up to her blowhard of a husband.  She was a strong, determined, loving woman.  Here is semi-frumpy Alice:

You can see she’s pretty, but she’s playing frumpy.  Off set, this was Audrey:

These women had to downplay their beauty to be taken seriously as comediennes.  True, there are some women who’ve been seen as funny without downplaying their beauty:

Marilyn Monroe as Pola Debevoise in How to Marry a Millionaire:

Mary Tyler as Laura Petrie in The Dick Dan Dyke Show:

Marilyn was expected to play the dumb blonde, despite being highly intelligent in real life, and having a major love of reading and learning.  Mary lucked out, and was allowed to play smart women.

But the unfortunate reality is that funny women have the cards stacked against them in the best of times.  John Belushi straight-up sabotaged women, and wrote sketches for them so unfunny that the chance of them being selected for SNL was nearly nil.

Take a look at this list of 30 of the funniest women of all time.

Go on.  Look.  Save me from having to ad a bunch more photos here.

You’ll probably notice that only a few of them are women who are beautiful in the typical sense.  Most are homely or, at best, look like the “girl next door.”  With rare exception, we just plain don’t see women as funny when they look beautiful.

Why is this?  Is it because our modern comedy, in an era when slapstick comedy is a relic of the past, would rather see beautiful women as sex objects, and a women being funny challenges that?  Spoken comedy and stand-up these days are sex jokes and one-person bantering about sex and penises, and in sitcoms, women are either stupid…

(I openly admit I love Married…With Children)

Angry…

Or nerdy…

Stand-up comediennes are definitely expected to downplay their looks.  Would you believe that this gorgeous woman:

…is Sarah Silverman?

Sarah Silverman

Imagine how well her acts would go id she didn’t try to look boyish and crash, and instead delivered her act while looking typically beautiful.

When women in comedy are allowed to be beautiful without being stupid nerdy nags who aren’t supposed to be pretty, it’s a plot device, usually to remind us that they can look pretty, but ha ha, look at the contrast of how their characters are stupid nerdy nags.

When women have an uphill battle to climb to be seen as funny without having to try to make themselves look physically unattractive, why bother trying?

Eisner didn’t say anything sexist.  He merely pointed out how women are given the choice of getting to look beautiful, or being funny.  Since most women want to look the best we can, and downplaying beauty means going against what most of us want (we can thank society, once again, for conditioning us to be embarrassed and apologize if we don’t look perfect), it’s a touch choice.  More value is ultimately placed on beauty.

Until we have more Mary Tyler Moores willing to break more ground by not apologizing for their beauty while going out there and splitting sides with their comedy, this is a problem that can’t be fixed.  But what incentive is there to break that ground when we, as a whole, won’t laugh at beautiful women thanks to life-long conditioning?  Breaking ground in the 50’s was easier when there was less to choose from.

Without a doubt, there are women who are beautiful who can also be funny…but only is beauty is downplayed.  So yes, beautiful funny women are hard to find because, for the most part, society doesn’t allow women to be beautiful and funny at the same time.

Grey, Chapter 8: Monday, May 23rd, 2011, PART 2

Today’s first link is to After Silence.  It’s not a news article.  In their words: “Welcome to After Silence, an online support group, message board, and chat room for rape, sexual assault, and sexual abuse survivors. You are not alone, you are not broken, and you can heal.”

Additional links, which are extremely important:

What Science Say About Arousal During Rape
How the Body Reacts to Sexual Assault
Sexual Arousal & Sexual Assault
Arousal During Rape: The Science Behind Why It Doesn’t Equal Consent
“What if my body had a sexual response during rape?”
A biological mechanism that protects against rape?

(Directory of recap links)

This is a long recap that includes two long quotes from Fifty Shades.  What happens here is horrifying, and I wanted to wait until after out Independence Day to post this.  It’s a hard read, but I think an important one, since people are defending this, and it’s important to know what they’re defending so it can be rebutted.  I’m deeply unsettled by how believable Grey’s mindset is for a rapist to have.

Grey pulls up outside the apartment, and wonders if this is a good move.  How about…NO, for $200, Alex.

Opening the door of the car and climbing out, I’m uneasy; it’s reckless and too presumptuous of me to come here. Then again, I’ve already been here twice, though for only a few minutes.

That’s a new one.  “I’ve been here before, so it’s really okay for me to come back, even though…”

You’re here because you think it’s a “no.”

There you go, Folks.  He’s there with the intent of having sex with her, even though he thinks she said no.

How are people defending this?  HOW??

Kavanagh answers when I knock at the door. She’s surprised to see me. “Hi, Christian. Ana didn’t say you were coming over.” She stands aside to let me enter. “She’s in her room. I’ll call her.”

“No. I’d like to surprise her.” I give her my most earnest and endearing look and in response she blinks a couple of times. Whoa. That was easy. Who would have thought? How gratifying. “Where’s her room?”

Not only does he want to use the element of surprise on Ana (turn her into a deer in the headlights, stun her so she won’t be able to think about saying no), but he’s using charm to get his way.  Ted Bundy was said to be extremely charming as well.  By the time he was fried in the electric chair, he’d confessed to 30 murders.  He was also attractive, and drove a WV Bug (like Ana).  He was also from Washington, and looked first for college girls in Washington.

Grey sounds an awful lot like Ted Bundy.  Any chance he’s based on the guy?  Except for the name.  It’s either highly coincidental, or extremely creepy, that Grey’s first name is the same name as Stephenie Meyer’s husband.  Yup, CHristian Meyer.  And since we all know how much James idolizes Meyer to a “stay 1000 yards away” degree…  Just idle speculation, of course, that James named Grey after her idol’s husband, and gave him some characteristics eerily similar to a serial killer.

Just as an FYI from the link on Bundy: “Serial Killers can come in all shapes and sizes: do not be fooled by charisma, charm, and attractiveness.”

He finds her room, and stands in the doorway watching her.  She doesn’t notice him, and doesn’t hear him since she’s listening to music with headphones.

Perhaps she’s been for a run this evening…perhaps she’s suffering from excess energy, too. The thought is pleasing.

Well, if she had energy, it is probably gone now, and people exercise even without a lot of energy sometimes.  Of course he’s thinking that, if she has energy, this means sex.

At least she has a double bed—with a white wrought-iron bedstead. Yes. That has possibilities.

That’s from the same paragraph.

So he believes she broke u with him, yet he planned on sex, showed up unannounced, and is surveying her room to make a sex plan.

Then she notices him.

Ana suddenly jumps, startled by my presence.

Yes. I’m here because of your e-mail.

She pulls out her earbuds and the sound of tinny music fills the silence between us.

“Good evening, Anastasia.”

She stares at me dumbfounded, her eyes widening.

He thinks that line, “Yes. I’m here because of your e-mail.”  The indication is that she should be able to read his mind.  After all, he already convinced himself she can see right through him and read his thoughts, like she’s Edward and he’s anyone but Bella.

She’s also acting every bit the startled deer in the headlights.

“I felt that your e-mail warranted a reply in person.” I try to keep my voice neutral. Her mouth opens and closes, but she remains mute.

Miss Steele is speechless. This I like. “May I sit?”

She nods, continuing to stare in disbelief as I perch on her bed.

Yes, her actions are with his dialogue.  I’d love to see someone recap these books with a red pen.  Das_Sporking does to a degree, though it’s not the focus of their initial trilogy recaps.  But anyway!

No, her reply doesn’t warrant any in-person reply.  She told him via email, and he could have responded that way, or perhaps a single phone call.  Showing up unannounced, especially in her bedroom, is very aggressive.  If a man I knew liked to hit people showed up in my bedroom after I broke up with him, I’d probably grab the lube to get it over with because it would be easier on me, physically, to cooperate than to fight and risk further harm.  Society would probably say I asked for it either way, right?  So many as well minimize harm when NO isn’t accepted as an answer.  Somehow we’re always asking for it…

“I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” I offer as an icebreaker, though chitchat is not my area of expertise. She scans her room as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” I add, though I feel anything but serene or peaceful right now. I want to know why she’s said no to my proposal with no discussion whatsoever.

“How…?” she whispers, but she stops, her disbelief still evident in her quiet tone.

Angry.  He’s very angry, and trying to lay on the charm still.  She’s startled, having trouble, speaking, and is searching around with her eyes wide.

He has every reason to see that her no is still a NO.  And in the first Fifty Shades book, she tells us, “I glance around it, plotting an escape route, no – there’s still only the door or window.”

“Would you like a drink?” she squeaks.

“No thank you, Anastasia.” Good. She’s found her manners. But I want to get on with the business at hand: her alarming e-mail. “So, it was nice knowing me?” I emphasize the word that offends me most in that sentence.

This is menacing and creepy beyond belief.  Defenders of these books say Ana consented to sex.  Look what he’s doing.  He’s intimidating her, and he does know it.  Consent through intimidation isn’t consent.  When the options are to cooperate or be harmed worse, cooperation can help mitigate the damage.  And we all know, through his own words and actions, through his eyes, that he’s there for one thing, and he has every intention of getting it.

She examines her hands in her lap, her fingers nervously tapping against her thighs. “I thought you’d reply by e-mail,” she says, her voice as small as her room.

“Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?” I inquire, my voice sterner than I’d intended.

“I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip,” she whispers, her face pale.

Nervous.  Grey can see that she’s nervous, and she’s pale.  Her eyes aren’t bright and her cheeks flushed.  Oh, no.  Tapping her thighs nervously, and she’s gone pale.

We gaze at each other.

And the air almost crackles between us.

Fuck.

Can’t you feel this, Ana? This tension. This attraction. My breathing shallows as I watch her pupils dilate.

Fear causes tension.  It causes pupils to dilate.  Dilation can indicate desire, but given all the other signs that he is observing clearly enough to tell us about, her pupils can’t be taken as a sign of sexual desire.

“During anxiety attacks, your body gets a rush of adrenaline. That adrenaline prepares your body to fight or flee, and one of the ways it does that is by dilating your pupils.”

While she’s sitting there, he decides to squeeze an exposed erogenous zone.  It’s a way to make the rush of fear-induced adrenaline feel like a sexual response, since sex also brings on adrenaline.

“So you decided on some exercise?” My fingers trace the soft shell of her ear. With great care, I tug and squeeze the plump skin of her earlobe. She’s not wearing earrings, though she does have pierced ears. I wonder what a diamond would look like twinkling there. I ask her why she’s been exercising, keeping my voice low. Her breathing quickens.

“I needed time to think,” she says.

“Think about what, Anastasia?”

“You.”

“And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the biblical sense?”

It’s manipulation.  I am convinced that the only people who don’t see this are people who don’t want to see it.

She tells him plainly that she needs time to think.

Fuck what she wants.  He wants something else, and because he doesn’t care jack about her, he’s going to get what he wants.

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.” The challenge is there in my voice, and now between us. Her mouth drops open in surprise, but I glide my fingers to her chin and coax it closed. “What do you say to that, Miss Steele?” I whisper, as we stare at each other.”

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.”

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.”

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.”

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.”

He just admitted his plan is to have sex with someone he thinks broke up with him.

This.  Is.  RAPE.  She said no.  Her actions since he arrived still say no.  She just said she needs time.  THIS IS RAPE.

---

I’m sure that some people who’ve read this book have forgotten or “misremembered” the scene through Ana’s eyes.  I want to share that here, before continuing with this recap.  Presented, without commentary, to show that her thoughts about escape, and that she’s scared:

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!

“Good evening, Anastasia.” His voice is cool, his expression completely guarded and unreadable. The capacity to speak deserts me. Damn Kate for letting him in here with no warning. Vaguely, I’m aware that I’m still in my sweats, un-showered, yucky, and he’s just gloriously yummy, his pants doing that hanging from the hips thing, and what’s more, he’s here in my bedroom.

“I felt that your email warranted a reply in person,” he explains dryly.

I open my mouth and then close it again, twice. The joke is on me. Never in this or any alternative universe did I expect him to drop everything and turn up here.

“May I sit?” he asks, his eyes now dancing with humor – thank heavens – maybe he’ll see the funny side?

I nod. The power of speech remains elusive. Christian Grey is sitting on my bed.

“I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” he says.

I glance around it, plotting an escape route, no – there’s still only the door or window.  My room is functional but cozy – sparse white wicker furniture and a white iron double bed with a patchwork quilt, made by my mother when she was in her folksy American quilting phase. It’s all pale blue and cream.

“It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” he murmurs. Not at the moment… not with you here.

Finally, my medulla oblongata recalls its purpose, I breathe. “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.

---

Ana lunches at him in both versions, again clearly the result of her emotions and physical responses to fear being expertly manipulated.

It’s VERY important for me to say this right now:

There’s a small sign that James has at least paid attention to one bit of criticism.  Non-fans have pointed out how Grey tied her up quickly and without consent.  Ana tells us, “He moves so quickly, sitting astride me as he fastens my wrists together, but this time, he ties the other end of the tie to one of the spokes of my white iron headboard.”

The lack of consent is clear.  It happened so fast that she didn’t have time to respond at all.  She didn’t participate.  It just happened.  But in this book:

From the back pocket of my pants I extract the tie so she can see it, then sit astride her and, taking both of her offered wrists, bind her to one of the iron spindles of her bedstead.

Suddenly Ana “offered” her wrists to be tied.  James just deviated from her own canon to try making this scene more acceptable.  That’s a change that was in the movie as well, clearly to try softening the visual rape in this scene, and to try making it a mutual thing, even though it’s not.

She wriggles beneath me, testing her bindings, but the tie holds fast. She’s not escaping. “That’s better.” I smile with relief because I have her where I want her.

We know, Grey.  You have her where she was going to end up, no matter what.

He starts to undress her, starting with her shoes.  SHE VERBALLY SAYS NO.

SHE SAYS NO.

He tells us that she can’t possibly be anything but worried about being sweaty, but it doesn’t bother him, so why should it bother her?  Because the only feelings she’s allowed to have at the ones he approves of.  He tells her:

“If you struggle, I’ll tie your feet, too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you. Keep quiet. Katherine is probably outside listening right now.”

She stops. And I know that my instincts are right. She’s worried about her feet.

Not only is he wrong (Ana tells us, “Gag me! Kate! I shut up.“), but it doesn’t matter.

SHE SAID NO.

A small detail that stuck out in both books is that Grey moves the quilt out from underneath Ana in both books, so that it won’t get messed up.  This is out of character for Grey, and so leads me to think that the quilt James had in mind may be one she owns that is sentimental.

He gets undressed, and ruins one of her shirts by stretching it out over her head without removing it.  Without getting dressed, he heads to the kitchen and startles Kate.  This is another rage-inducing scene.

Kavanagh looks up from where she’s sitting on the sofa, reading, and her eyebrows rise in surprise. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a shirtless man, Kavanagh, because I won’t believe you. “Kate, where would I find glasses, ice, and a corkscrew?” I ask, ignoring her scandalized expression.

Slut-shaming aside, it’s pretty damned rude to walk around someone else’s home primed for sex.

“Um. In the kitchen. I’ll get them for you. Where’s Ana?”

Ah, some concern for her friend. Good.

Do you know who has no concern for Ana?  GREY.  He really isn’t one to chastise anyone about their concern for Ana, whether snarkily or otherwise.

“She’s a little tied up at the moment, but she wants a drink.” I grab the bottle of chardonnay.

He’s just presuming Ana wants a drink.

“We still have to pack in here. You know Elliot is helping us move.” Her tone is critical.

“Is he?” I sound uninterested as I open the wine. “Just put the ice in the glasses.” With my chin I indicate two glasses. “It’s a chardonnay. It’ll be more drinkable with the ice.”

Typical Grey.  Just ordering a woman around.  Also, I love Kate in this scene.

“I figured you for a red-wine kind of guy,” she says, when I pour the wine. “Are you going to come and help Ana with the move?” Her eyes flash. She’s challenging me.

Good job, Kate!  He deserves to be called out.  But this will lead to him admitting something.

Shut her down now, Grey.

“No. I can’t.” My voice is clipped, because she’s pissing me off, trying to make me feel guilty. Her lips thin, and I turn around to leave the kitchen, but not before I catch the disapproval in her face.

Fuck off, Kavanagh.

She has EVERY reason to disapprove.

No way am I going to help. Ana and I don’t have that kind of relationship. Besides, I can’t spare the time.

I’m undecided on which part of that is the worst, his lying about not having time when he has plenty time to stalk Ana, or him “not having that kind of relationship” to help people.  I think the latter.  Not only does he think helping someone involves “that kind of relationship” (I guess I’m doing the friend-thing wrong since I try to help people even without “that kind of relationship”), but he knows, HE KNOWS, Ana wants more than just a casual sex fling.

He heads back into Ana’s room, and takes a sip of wine, which he spits into her mouth without warning.  Now I m not bothered by one person taking a sip to pass to another person.  We swap spit with we French kiss, right?  What does bother me is the lack of a warning.  If she had been inhaling, that could have ended badly.

He gives her two sips.

“Let’s not go too far; we know your capacity for alcohol is limited, Anastasia.”

That makes his use of alcohol the first night of sex that much worse.  He knows she’s a light-weight, yet gave her several glasses.

“Whining and panting beneath me, she’s tensing but managing to stay still. “If you spill the wine, I won’t let you come,” I warn.

“Oh. Please. Christian. Sir. Please,” she begs.

Oh, to hear her use those words.

There’s hope.

This is not a “no.”

Right after he threatened to punish her.  Again, he operates on “no no means ‘yes,'” despite the time she told him NO.  He’s selectively deaf, I supposes.

“Oh, baby,” I whisper with reverence. She’s wet. Very wet.

See. See how nice this is?

His constant hammering on the word “nice” really shows that this is all about being vindictive because he’s still offended that she sent him an email saying it’s over and was “nice” knowing him.

“Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There’s an endless choice,” I murmur.

What way, or what way, or what way?  We are neither shown nor told the options, though it’s clear that the one acceptable way, which is to NOT, isn’t on the table.

“How nice is this?” I ask, as I wrap my fist around my erection.

“I meant it as a joke,” she whimpers.

Joke?

Thank. The. Lord.

While we know she did mean it as a joke, Grey really can’t know that.  He’s intimidating and sexually tormenting her.  In this sort of situation, it isn’t uncommon for someone to say whatever she thinks will make things easier for her.

I once told my ex, the one who raped me for years, that I didn’t mean it when I said “no” earlier, just because I was too scared of what was going to happen if he thought I means it.  So I told him I didn’t mean it, even though I did, just to make him less mad about it.

He shoves himself into her, they both orgasm, and he still sounds angry.

“How nice was that?” I hiss against her ear as I draw air into my lungs.

He can’t get over it.

She tells him she’s still considering the contract, though she really should be counting down the time until she can call the police.  His former Domme comes up, his mother’s friend who had a years-long fling with him starting in his teen years.  He said he’d tell Elena that Ana called her Mrs. Robinson.

“You still talk to her regularly?” Her voice is high-pitched with shock and indignation.

“Yes.” Why’s that such a big deal?

“I see.” Now her voice is clipped. She’s mad? Why? I don’t understand. “So you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I’m not allowed.” Her tone is petulant, but once again she’s calling me out on my shit.

She’s calling you out on your hypocrisy, you fuckwad.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson is part of that lifestyle. I told you, she’s a good friend now. If you’d like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to her.”

“Is this your idea of a joke?” she demands.

“No, Anastasia.” I’m surprised by her vehemence and shake my head to reinforce my denial. It’s perfectly normal for a submissive to check with exes that their new Dominant knows what he’s doing.

Except she’s not a sub, and he shouldn’t be forcing her to only talk to people he’s controlled.  While it may be typical to research a Dom by talking to former subs, a sub should be able to freely seek out other info.  Remember, Ana still needed someone to talk to about “the mechanics” of sex.

And as well see with former-sub Leila, he’s left at least one mentally scarred, and physically harmed at least one more, though we never get much info on how.

“No—I’ll do this on my own, thank you very much,” she insists, and reaches for her comforter and quilt, pulling them up to her chin.

What? She’s upset?

“Anastasia, I…I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended. I’m appalled.”

“Appalled?”

“I don’t want to talk to one of your ex-girlfriends, slave, sub, whatever you call them.”

She has EVERY RIGHT to be mad about this.  And he genuinely can’t see how he’s wrong.

“Anastasia Steele, are you jealous?” I sound bewildered…because I am. She flushes beet red, and I know I’ve found the root of her problem. How the hell can she be jealous?

Sweetheart, I had a life before you.

A very active life.

She could be jealous, or she could be, y’know, pissed off that he’s trying to control her access to info.

“Are you staying?” she snaps.

What? Of course not. “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow at The Heathman. Besides, I told you, I don’t sleep with girlfriends, slaves, subs, or anyone. Friday and Saturday were exceptions. It won’t happen again.”

He did that just to emotionally stab at her.  He knows she wants more, he just manipulated the hell out of her, knows her emotions are heightened, and decided to stab her with that.

She presses her lips together with her stubborn expression. “Well, I’m tired now,” she says.

Fuck.

Emotionally, more than anything.  if she was a sub, what he’s doing now would be known as a sub-drop, and he’d need to provide after-care to help her through it.  Since he’s an abuser, not a Dom, Ana won’t get this care.

“Are you kicking me out?”

This is not how this is supposed to go.

“Yes.”

What the hell?

Disarmed again, by Miss Steele. “Well, that’s another first,” I mutter.

Kicked out. I can’t believe it.

Can’t blame her for kicking him out.  Think he’ll talk to Kate on the way out about making sure Ana’s okay?

“So nothing you want to discuss now? About the contract?” I ask, as an excuse to prolong my stay.”

“No,” she grunts. Her petulance is irritating, and were she truly mine, it would not be tolerated.

Shut up, Grey. Get the hell out.

“God, I’d like to give you a good hiding. You’d feel a lot better, and so would I,” I tell her.

“You can’t say things like that. I haven’t signed anything yet.” Her eyes flash with defiance.

Get out, Grey.  It’s clear she wants you GONE.

Oh, baby, I can say it. I just can’t do it. Not until you let me. “A man can dream, Anastasia. Wednesday?” I still want this. Why, though, I don’t know; she’s so difficult. I give her a brief kiss.

“Wednesday,” she agrees, and I’m relieved once again. “I’ll see you out,” she adds, her tone softer. “If you give me a minute.” She pushes me off the bed and pulls on her T-shirt. “Please pass me my sweatpants,” she orders, pointing to them.

Wow. Miss Steele can be a bossy little thing.

Why should she say no?  It’s painfully obvious he’s going to push until he gets his way.  And on what planet is “Please pass me my sweatpants” being bossy?  Where I come from, she’s being more than polite by not crunching his balls, and even more polite by saying “please.”

She opens the door, but she’s staring down at her hands.

What is going on here?

She’s HURT.

“You okay?” I ask, and brush her lower lip with my thumb. Perhaps she doesn’t want me to go—or perhaps she can’t wait for me to leave?

“Yes,” she says, her tone soft and subdued. I’m not sure I believe her.

What’s new?  He never believes her.  Just because he’s right this time, that she’s not okay, doesn’t mean he’s right all the time.  He still hasn’t done anything to make sure she’ll be okay.  At the least, go tell Kate Ana’s had an emotional time, and to please check on her.

“Wednesday,” I remind her. I’ll see her then. Bending down, I kiss her, and she closes her eyes. And I don’t want to go. Not with her uncertainty on my mind. I hold her head and deepen the kiss and she responds, surrendering her mouth to me.

Oh, baby, don’t give up on me. Give it a try.

When he wants nothing more, trying her emotions like this is cruel.  It’s emotional abuse.

He heads back to his car, and get pissed that she didn’t wave goodbye.  Seriously.  He’s mad.

Shit. What just happened? No wave good-bye?

I don’t need to summarize what just happened, and he wouldn’t understand anyway.

I start the car and begin the drive back to Portland, analyzing what’s taken place between us.

She e-mailed me.

I went to her.

We fucked.

She threw me out before I was ready to leave.

No.

She emailed you to break it off.

You went to rape her because you wanted sex.

You had your way.

You found out the email wasn’t serious.

You emotionally jerked her around.

She threw you out.

For the first time—well, maybe not the first time—I feel a little used, for sex.

WHAT.  THE.  FUCK.

WHAT THE FUCK!!

HE feels used?  HIM?!

I honestly don’t even know what to say to that.

I just ate an entire back of cookies after that last sentence, while trying to think about how to respond.  I can’t.  I can’t figure out what to say in response to him saying he feels Ana used him for sex just now.

Hell! Miss Steele is topping from the bottom, and she doesn’t even know it. And fool that I am, I’m letting her.

I have to turn this around. This soft-sell approach is messing with my head.

But I want her. I need her to sign.

Is it just the chase? Is that what’s turning me on? Or is it her?

Not only if she not topping from the bottom (he really doesn’t understand that she’s not a sub, despite acknowledging the contract), but this sort of thing shouldn’t take a hard-sell approach.  If someone doesn’t want to, and you go hard-sell, you’re forcing them.

Oh.  That’s right.  That’s how he operates.

“Fuck, I don’t know. But I hope to find out more on Wednesday. And on a positive note, that was one hell of a nice way to spend an evening. I smirk in the rearview mirror and pull into the garage at the hotel.”

He’s still stuck in that “nice” bit.

Do you know how she spent the evening?  From Fifty Shades:

I have an overwhelming urge to cry, a sad and lonely melancholy grips and tightens round my heart. Dashing back to my bedroom, I close the door and lean against it trying to rationalize my feelings. I can’t. Sliding to the floor, I put my head in my hands as my tears begin to flow.

Kate knocks gently.

“Ana?” she whispers. I open the door. She takes one look at me and throws her arms around me.

It wasn’t a nice evening for her.

But it was a nice evening for Grey, and that’s literally all that matters to him.

Grey, Chapter 8: Monday, May 23rd, 2011, PART 1

‘I like submissive sex but Fifty Shades is not about fun: it’s about abuse’

(Directory of recap links)

WARNING: Prepare yourself.  This is the beginning of THE ONE.  The infamous chapter 12 rape.  I haven’t trigger-warning’d any of these posts yet since the sheer fact that this is a recap about one of the books in the Fifty Shades series should serve as warning enough.  But this recap, at the big bright red trigger warning image, begins the chapter widely considered to be the most blatant rape.

I’m going to snip this recap right before he reaches her place so we can all have a chance to work ourselves up to reading rape through the eyes of someone who doesn’t care about consent.  If you don’t think you’ll be able to get though the rape scene, don’t read the next recap.  I’ll post another post with a bunch of kitty pictures and other cute stuff as an alternative.  I won’t blame anyone for wanting to bury heads in the sand for that one.  Some of us have lived it.  I’ve only skimmed part of it, and it’s bad.

After this, I will be moving recaps to every other night because these are getting hard to handle.  It’s like getting into the head of my physically and sexually and mentally abusive ex, and it’s just really difficult.  So take a few minutes.  Get yourself into a zone where you can compartmentalize this.  It’s pretty safe until the trigger warning, which will also be at the top of the next recap.

So…let’s go.

I hope to have a new project: Miss Anastasia Steele.

Do you know what you don’t see in downtown Portland?  People jogging through it.  The city blocks aren’t long, and there are tons of stop lights.  But that doesn’t stop Grey from running anyway while he anticipates his new “project.”  He passes the elk sculpture, which not only actually exists, but has a Wikipedia page.

That summed up a section of this chapter.  It wasn’t needed.

Hotdog nitrates are preferable compared to the mundane details of him letting Andrea, Gail (so much for preferring surnames), and Ros know how to rearrange the week since he won’t be back in Seattle, and screw the people who bothered showing up for appointments with him.  Companies don’t stay in business the way he runs them.  There’s also a pointless email to Elena about how he’ll be in Portland.

An incoming email from Ana is a response to one Grey sent, but we didn’t see that one.  She mentioned understanding the computer as a loan, and that frustrates him.  He tells her it’s a loan “indefinitely.”

More filler about people he’s emailing…  It’s mildly amusing to me how hard James is trying to make him sound like a good guy.  He’s messaging someone named Fred about his, as in Grey’s, supposed pet project that he’s not even involved in, regarding solar powered computing technology.  He wants to develop it, see, or at least have someone else do it and claim credit.  It’s a wonder no one else ha-  Wait….  Oh, look!  Already done in 2009.  Get with the program, James!

Another email comes from Ana, and she reiterates that she doesn’t want the computer indefinitely.  He’s pissed, which is his norma state, and compares her to Leila, who wasn’t a gold digger.  He also thinks,

Ah, Leila. She was a good submissive, but she became too attached and I was the wrong man. Fortunately, that wasn’t for long.

Grey’s already admitted knowing Ana wants something different than he wants.  He admits that Leila wanting the same thing makes him the wrong man for her.  How is he suddenly the right man for Ana when he hasn’t changed?

He’s also mad that she implied he doesn’t do any work for a living.  Well, she IS right.  No CEO who is also literally the only person in charge of such a large company is going to have the free time he does.

Taylor knocks on the door, and something is confirmed, and it’s startlingly blunt.  non-fans have said for a while that Grey pays for Taylor’s daughter’s schooling to blackmail him into staying.  Well, that is officially the reason.

I pay for his daughter’s schooling as another incentive for him to stay in my employment.

Couldn’t be clearer.  Grey is using a child’s education to make sure her father stays in line.

His back-patting for this is interrupted by a conference call from Ros and the politician in Grey’s pocket.  Mercifully, we get no details.

Time skips, and he emails her.  She replies quickly that her day’s been going good.  What kind of hardware store comes with so much free time that employees can reply to emails immediately?  It sounds like she’s home now, at 5:30, but was also at home at 8:30.  If she replied right before she left for work, which I don’t care to go check in the first book since this book should stand alone, and right after she got home, then, with traffic over the freaking Interstate Bridge (I hate that bridge in rush hour…HATE IT–too many merges onto I5 in both directions at the point of getting into the bridge, making for hellish traffic), this means that she realistically couldn’t have worked longer than from 10am until 4pm.  Part-time worker.

He chastises her for replying instead of researching, then gets upset when she doesn’t reply right away.

That’s a sign of an abuser.  It’s not just an unrealistic expectation.  It’s impossible.  Damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t.  But hey, this is romance!  Who doesn’t love a man who sets you up to fail so he can justify hitting you later?

Just as he’s leaving, his inbox dings.  Ana wants to know “What would you suggest I put into a search engine?”  To be frank, if she’s graduating college in 2011, and doesn’t know how to use the internet to research, then she was in some made-up special education program.  There’s literally no way you’re getting through college in this century, in any first world country, without the internet for research. It’s getting harder and harder to get through high school without the internet.  When I was in high school in the 90’s, when a 56k internet connect what opened a webpage with one image in three minutes was lightning fast (you kept a book by the keyboard), we were often expected to do a little internet-searching, even though computers were far from in most homes.

In 2011, graduating college just isn’t happening.

Shit! Why didn’t I think about this? I could have given her some books. Numerous websites spring to mind—but I don’t want to frighten her off.

Two thinks immediately spring to MY mind.  First, give her books?  This makes me think about how, in the movie Twilight, Bella used the internet to look up a bookstore that would have some information on a topic instead of using the internet to thoroughly research that topic.

Second, if she can’t handle those websites, she can’t handle the real Lifestyle.  It’s easier to read about getting hit than it is to be hit.  This should tip him off that she’s not sub material.  I’m surprised he didn’t spring an erection fast enough to tear through his pants at the thought of this.

He sends her “Always start with Wikipedia.”  He doesn’t tell her any terms to use though.  If she can’t figure out to put “BDSM” into Google, she’s not going to know what to put into a Wiki search.  Also if she doesn’t know that, she won’t know how to verify the references in the footnotes of each Wiki page.  I love the Wiki like crazy, but you need to make sure the info comes from credible sources.  I wonder if either of them are familiar with the phrase “credible source.”

Then he tells her not to reply until she’s researched, and of course she does, to tell him he’s bossy, and he has to warn himself,

Show some restraint, Grey.

What’s he got to restrain himself from?  Raping her?  Just until tonight.  Then he’ll have at her again.

He takes off out the door and goes running along the river, and can somehow tell that the people riding bikes are tourists.  I’m a local, and I can’t tell.  It’s not like San Francisco (my home) where the people wearing anything warm with the city’s name (no matter how many times I warned visiting friends to pack warm for summer, they never listened, and always ended up having to buy something warmed down at Pier 39, and it always say the city’s name), carrying big cameras around their necks, or both, is a tourist.   Even locals wear stuff advertising Portland to Portlanders.

He ponders pondery thoughts.

Miss Steele has questions. She is still in the game—this is not a “no.”

This is why we need affirmative-yes laws.  No “no” doesn’t mean yes.  YES means “yes.”  “She didn’t say no” has been used as a defense in rape cases where a woman wasn’t even conscious.  Remember the Steubenville case?  That defense was used.  Thankfully, the rapists didn’t get off entirely.  They got a whopping one-year and two-year sentence….

As I run under the Hawthorne Bridge I reflect on how at ease she is with the written word, more so than when she’s speaking. Maybe this is her preferred medium of expression.

Her emails have consisted entirely of the following:

Sir… I had a very good day at work.
Thank you.

Mr. Grey, stop e-mailing me, and I can start my assignment.
I’d like another A.

Mr. Grey,
What would you suggest I put into a search engine?

Yes…Sir.
You are so bossy.

If you can see how those emails are “at ease with the English language” enough to warrant his admiration, please tell me.  Maybe he’s just impressed a woman can write a sentence.

Which do you hate more, women or the English language? #AskELJames

— Ian Robinson (@eyeswideshut75) June 29, 2015

Well, that was too easy.

Well, she has been studying English literature.

Ramon B. pointed out in this comment, Heathcliff, their swoon-worthy romantic hero, dug up the heroine’s corpse, and the text implied, had sex with it.  I doubt someone who really studied literature would think Heathcliff is romantic.  Literally nothing about Ana screams that she’s studied English lit, nor that she’s studied at all.

James should realize that name-dropping streets doesn’t make her look like a local.  When Grey says,

I’ve seen the Willamette at dawn, now I want to see it at dusk.

James and Grey both sound like tourists since the river isn’t so wide that you’re going to see the sun rising or setting over the water.

I’ve eaten the wild Oregon salmon for dinner, courtesy of Miss Dark, Dark Eyes again, and I still have half a glass of Sancerre to finish.

How sweet.  Reducing a woman to a physical attribute because she’s not a human.  And the salmon is all Oregon salmon, either wild-caught or farmed.  I’m sure there are some stores that carry farmed stuff from other places, but that’s not common.  The salmon’s about to be forgotten.

Here we go.  He just got the email.

Okay, I’ve seen enough.
It was nice knowing you.

Ana

As we all know, he’s not going to react well.

Shit!
I read it again.
Fuck.
It’s a “no.” I stare at the screen in disbelief.
That’s it?
No discussion?
Nothing.
Just “It was nice knowing you”?
What. The. Fuck.
I sit back in my chair, dumbfounded.
Nice?
Nice.
NICE.
She thought it was more than nice when her head was thrown back as she came.
Don’t be so hasty, Grey.
Maybe it’s a joke?
Some joke!

This is where a partway decent guy might lick his wounds, and then move on.  be upset she turned you down.  Be upset all you want.  That’s okay.  What’s not okay is doing anything like tracking her down.

How could she dismiss me so easily?
Her first fuck.

Being someone’s first doesn’t mean you own them!  My ex tried pulling this, and I fell for it.  I was 17 and naive, though not as naive as Ana.  Yet I fell for it.  I fell for the “I was your first, doesn’t that mean something?” line of crap that he’s thinking right there!

A lot of fans say that Ana was joking and that she was thinking about going to the hotel for sex anyway.  As we can PLAINLY see here, HE DOENS’T KNOW THAT.  He believes she said no.  What does he do?

Get it together, Grey. What are your options? Maybe I should pay her a visit, just to make sure it’s a “no.” Maybe I can persuade her otherwise.

More like “persuade.”  When a person says no, BACK THE FUCK OFF.  Don’t go visit.  Don’t try to persuade.  Don’t do anything more than a brief reply saying okay, you’ll respect their wishes.

Perhaps she’s looked at some particularly hardcore sites. Why didn’t I give her a few books?

Oh!  So control her a bit more!  Make sure she can’t give informed consent!  He’s admitting right there he regrets not limiting her information even more!!

I don’t believe this. She needs to look me in the eye and say no.

No.  She.  Does.  NOT.  No means NO no matter how it’s delivered!  If you tell a guy it’s over, and he shows up at the door, that’s intimidating!!  Especially when he admits HE must be in charge!!  Any “consent” at this point is based on fear, which is stopping her from having a safe choice!  That means consent is invalid.  NO CONSENT.  Sex without consent IS RAPE.

Yep. I rub my chin as I formulate a plan, and moments later I’m in my closet, retrieving my tie.

That tie.

Slick.  James is trying to avoid him coming right out and saying his plan is to take her by force because he wants her.  I think she’s more than aware of what’s happening here, which is why she completely glossed over the plan, despite first-person narration.  We shouldn’t be blocked out of the narrator’s thoughts like this.

This deal isn’t dead yet. From my messenger bag I take some condoms and slide them into the back pocket of my pants, then grab my jacket and a bottle of white wine from the minibar. Damn, it’s a chardonnay—but it will have to do. Snatching my room key, I close the door and head toward the elevator to collect my car from the valet.

Oh yes, it’s a dead deal since she said no.  Resurrecting it should be her choice to make.  Even though we know it was meant as a joke, he doesn’t, and he should have left it here.

But look.  Look what he’s doing!  He’s not going there with the intention of having her merely look him in the eyes and say NO.  He’s going with the intent of having sex with someone he believes has just broken up with him.

My, how pop-up books have changed! And two local references I can’t believe ELJames missed!

Yesterday, instead of coming home after my daughter’s ballet class and working on today’s Grey recap, I decided to take her to Powell’s City of Books and VooDoo Doughnuts.  While at Powell’s, I discovered something.  I’ll get there in a moment.  Since I think some of us could use a brevity-break from the stress and appalled shock at what’s passing for romance these days, even in the new Grey book, which is making the initial Fifty Shades trilogy look mild, I’m going to make a more light-hearted photo-post about Powell’s and VooDoo in what passes for a yuppy day in Portland, Oregon.

When we first got to Powell’s, we went to one of our favorite sections, the fashion section.  We alternated between looking at pretty dresses and makeup:

And then we went to the Rare Book Room, but her request.  She knows to look with her eyes, not with her hands.  This is the oldest book on display:

On the way out, we saw this massive Marvel book on the history of its comics (the book is literally too large to display anywhere else safely), and I particularly liked this:

Then we headed to the children’s section.  When we got there, my eyes very quickly landed on a Snow White book I had as a child!  I got in in a book order when I was in kindergarten.  Remember those?  It’s one of the truest versions of the story in children’s books.  I remember thinking it was so cool that the tree would pop up, and that I could pull that tab to rock the cradle.

Snow’s mother looks so much like a woman in the early 80’s.  Blue eyeshadow and all!  80’s gloriousness.  Here’s the evil queen:

But then I saw a popup of The Little Mermaid by Robert Sabuda.  I opened it up, and…

OH EM GEE.  Colorsplosion of intricacy!  The white block in the bottom corner there opens several pages, with more pop-ups on each page.  Let’s take another look at that coral:

It’s amazing that that all closes nicely and neatly into a flat book, and each page is the same in how impressive it is.  The wedding scene between the prince and princess at the end (nope, the mermaid doesn’t marry the prince in the original story) is even grander.

Next I picked up Beauty and the Beast, also by Sabuda.  You can practically hear Beast roar!

I’m pretty amused that, although my daughter was so enchanted with those books that I couldn’t say no to either (Beast’s pic was taken at home, literally right before inserting it into this post), the book she loves best is the Snow White book.  For myself, I got the Puff the Magic Dragon pop-up book by Peter Yarrow.  If your’e over 25, I challenge you to get through this Peter, Paul, and Mary video without getting misty:

I can’t.

While looking at these books, I just marveled at how they’ve become so much more than my child-self ever would have imagined.

Just for good measure, to wrap up the morning and early afternoon, we went to VooDoo Doughnut:

where a film or a TV show (I don’t know which since I wasn’t interested enough to ask) as shooting in the background, and all those people you see alongside the building are waiting to doughnuts.  They’re spelled that way since they’re yeast-raised, hence dough, instead of leavened.  But that wasn’t the entire line.  From where we were, forward was walking away from the entrance to a u-bend.

She matches the technicolor railing!

And in front of me was this marquee:

Animated hentai every Sunday from 10pm until midnight.  I hope they bleach the place after each show.  In the background you can see the sign for Burnside Street.

Yes, Mr. Burns was named after Burnside.  Matt Groening confirmed it.  Portlanders, and Oregonians in general, have known that show was set in Oregon for many years.  I swore on it back in the 90’s, but everyone wanted to think it was somewhere else.

But there is a point to adding in this part about VooDoo.  For, you see, is Madame James wanted to inject some actual humor into her books that made her characters seem like real locals, she could have worked this in somehow:

Yes, they are entirely aware of what those mean.

Oh yes, they went there.  The tip and the “balls” are filled with Bavarian cream.  It’s so large that Ron Jeremy would be jealous.  I’m surprised he doesn’t order them by the gross for his adult club, Club Sesso, which is just nine blocks from the Heathman.  (And Grey never went there?)

So after our exclusion to a huge bookstore for ages (there are more shelves than this map shows, and this is just one of Powell’s)…

(at the bottom…should I try to start a group of authors book-signing?):

(it is a poster on the other side):

and standing in line fore doughnuts for 45 minutes, in the heat, by the time we got home, I was too tired to work on a recap for today.  So I’ll get caught up on that tonight for a post shortly after midnight PST. 🙂