Fifty Shades of Choad: 9er and Baraka do chick lit crit

How's it going Plan9 ?? Did you give up too?

 

Maybe he's busy building his own red room of pain?

 

Hell no. I've been busy. Yard work. Playing doctor to a 3 year old Betta fish. Doing a small mountain of paperwork.

You really want more, ZS? Fine. Time for Chapter 7. I'm going to eat first. Then I'm going to drop the bomb!

 

YAY!!! Your public NEEDS it.

 

*grabs crotch*

Yeah, I got something they need.

 

A smoothspot?

 

I swear this chick can read my mind.

 

In the name of Jeff, God of Biscuits, please let there be some form of fucking in this chapter. For a book that has received such rave reviews from the crotch end of women everywhere, it feels like the only way there are gonna be any orgasms in this text is if I squirt a fat dollop of KY somewhere in the middle and use it like the world’s least comfortable Fleshlight. It’s not that I’m that impatient or anything… okay, I totally am.

Seriously, though… I know women are all about foreplay. Big secret, huh? I mean, they’re often denied the proper amount of warm up time by their “Alright, I spit on it… time for the stickin’! Giggity!” partners and thus the idea of a little body kissing and proper groping and gentle tugging and that thing where you try to put their whole breast in your mouth like a catfish and suck hard while flicking the nipple… … Wait, where was I going with this? Oh, yeah… we’ve already set the stage with six chapters of earlobe biting, so please let there be action. Or at least the hint of action to come.

Super Important: I haven’t had sex in over two weeks. This book better make me feel like choking my current girlfriend. In that good way.

Now, follow me in as we get balls deep in the next exciting chapter.

Chapter 7:

We left off with our mentally-two-left-feet heroine standing in the doorway to the infamous Grey love dungeon, appreciating the vast bondage study / sadism museum that is his “Playroom.” It’s decorated in early Dracula (“Hey, everything in oxblood was on sale!”) and she notes that it “smells faintly of citrus.” Citrus, huh? So, you’re telling me that Grey has a cleaning staff that rubs Pledge w/ orange oil onto his various wood sex-torture racks while he’s out of town? And I can only assume that his swirly Pyrex dildo collection, hand cuffs, leg irons, rubber zipper masks and that extravagant 48-piece silicone buttplug set is cleaned by the same lucky Mexican woman, probably named Juanita. Poor Juanita. The things she’s seen.

Grey’s got it all. Restraint furniture. Chains hanging from the fucking ceiling. Racks of creepy punishment tools straight from The_Jazz's personal collection. Drawers of exotic sex toys. A red leather-covered mattress the size of Lodi, New Jersey with a couch that has to be for an intimate audience.

Anybody else hear this song in the background? I can’t be the only one.



After a nearly wordless tour of the facilities, we learn the obvious: Grey likes to dominate women. He wants to tie Ana up, hit her with a rolled up Washington Post and tell her what a bad, bad puppy she’s been. He wants her to comply with his every OCD whim. And he wants her to like it.

Grey offers her a large bedroom down the hall from the love dungeon as a place to crash on the weekends. It’s decorated in what can best be described as Ikea Showroom White. Grey will not be sleeping with her, of course. He only sleeps with drunken chicks. Oddly nurturing, don’t you think?

Over a disgustingly French snack of cheese and grapes, Grey says that he’ll need her to sign another document that lays out the rules of their strictly “I only fuck… hard” relationship. I tell ya, lawyers really have stuck their fingers in everyone’s pie. And apparently their pants. I mean, how did this kinda stuff get brought up to a lawyer? Is this something that has actually been done before? That and I’d love to hear legal speak as related to sex.

KirStang! Humor me with your legal-eagle presence.

Awkward silence? Let's try for some background info! As such, we learn that Grey’s only sex-tortured 15 women. Or had 15 of 'em sign contracts. Not really clear and it doesn't seem like the author really wants to delve into details that develop the characters yet. Or at all. Either way, not really an impressive number for a guy with a helicopter made of solid gold and genuine baby-killer bodyguards. Pretty sure World’s King has dispensed the shocker to twice as many girls… and, hell, that was just in 2008 alone. When asked, Grey adimits that he has “hurt” some of these girls, but he refers to it as punishment. Grey also admits that he himself has been beaten before. A real shocker. Will we get more info on any of this? Probably not.

Not content with staying in one cavernous, opulent room for more than 15 minutes, Grey forces a dozen cheese wedges into Ana’s mouth, holds her nose until she swallows each one and then proceeds to drag her to his study to go over the, uh, “You Can’t Poop On Me, I Can't Poop On You” contract. Or, more accurately, something I've come to understand as the Christian Grey Santa Claus Clause.

So, yeah, he’s not just Batman, he’s also Santa Claus. You know how the old song goes, “Santa Claus is coming to town.” Here, let’s sing along to the Christian Grey Sex Contract remix of that holiday classic:

“He knows if you are sleeping, he wants you to lift weights…
He lays out what you are eating, he doesn’t want you half-baked…
He pays for your fancy panties, he wants your pussy shaved…
You’ll do what he says when he says or he’ll hit you with a rake!
Hey!
You better not shout, you better not cry, you better not pout, I’m tellin’ you why:
Christian Grey has got your ass... locked down!”​

Yes, I just sang that aloud to make sure the rhyme flowed okay. I really hope the neighbors can't hear any of this.

So, that’s basically the whole sex contract. Obedience, sleep, exercise, food, clothes, etc. Ana is basically agreeing to be a RealDoll that poops. She’ll do everything he says, dress the way he wants, not fuck other dudes and all the other basic control freak bullet points. Speaking of that, the “hard limits” appendix in the contract basically says that there won’t be golden showers, Glory’s Sun-style scheisse action, piercings, gyno tools or choking. This is good for two reasons: It keeps us from being totally grossed out later and makes us wonder exactly what this dude is going to do to this curious virgin. I mean, I'm not a "Dominant" or anything and even I've played the my-hands-your-windpipe game with girls before. Is he gonna dress up like Harry Potter and refer to his dick as his "magic wand" and yell incantations when he blows his load onto her shaved golden snitch? I gotta know, man.

Grey asks her if the arrangement is agreeable. She says she doesn't know because, well, golly-gee-shucks, she's still a virgin and has zero experience with straight sex, let alone jacking him off using a reverse grip while riding a Sybian with a car battery juicing her nipples through some alligator clips. Grey curses at this tidbit and seems a little pissed to find out she's never been split. Something tells me that he'll overlook this deficiency given that he's already given the grand tour and had her sign the papers. Or maybe not. Maybe he'll just decide Kate "Fuck Yeah" Kavanagh is a better choice.

Maybe he'll be all:

Odds Juanita is tired of cleaning the anal beads: 56%
Odds of a Makita power tool being in one of the drawers: 17%
Percentage of women that stopped reading when they saw "No Breath Control": 8%
Wetness level of the female audience’s panties: Reduced to "Damp"
Odds that I'll be able to wear this suit and not think of this stupid book: 2%



"Is that your Grey suit?" "Why, yes... yes, it is." *bites lip* "What is it about elevators?" "Oh, baby..."

Kill me now.

 

Oh happy days.

 

That book sounds deeeeep. Almost as deep as the intricate multi-layered plot in Twilight.
So I should be treating woman like mere sex objects and use them only for my pleasure with no real regard for their feelings? My parents must have really screwed then, not imparting those valuable ideals to me.

 

I can't speak for most women, but that's all I want........until the guy tries to fuck up my beautiful no strings attached and drama free thing by making ridiculous 3some requests. Don't fuck up the thing. It's beautiful.

 

What if I bring my brother Elliott so we can take turns?

 

*Taking down notes*
So two of us* no strings attached is fine, and Three is an unwelcome crowd.
So where does the 4+ people Roman orgy style fit then?


*automatically implies that the_jazz is excluded from said list and maintains the 5 state restraining order since that incident with the rubber chicken, 1964 Porsche, and as yet unidentified substance....

 

Oh, that's fine.
--- merged: Aug 1, 2012 at 7:50 PM ---
Y'all can make 3some requests....just not ridiculous ones.

 

See? That's the ticket to threesomes. Ya gotta bring in another dude and absolutely demolish your girl.

Hah, I'd get French toast in bed every morning for the rest of the fucking year. Totally worth it, folks.

"Okay, I'll take this end, you take that end." "Work harder, goddamnit! My breakfast depends on it!"

...French toast.​

 

As a guy that has had to fill out 40+ page job applications (AMERICA!), I'm wondering if I actually wanna know what you mean by this.

Uh, no. I was thinking more along the lines of receiving a bumpy blowjob with my arms behind my head while he does all the real work.

Why you guys gotta ruin my French toast fantasy? Why must you deprive me of the one thing in life that she actually bothers to make?

 

You guys, I swear.