EL James: ‘Grey’ – in seven paragraphs

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  1. I wake up in a sweat colder than the inside of my luxury AEG freezer, which cost $6,999. Damn, another dream about my Troubled Childhood. Probably explains why you’re only sexually aroused by nipple clamps and fisting, my subconscious chimes in. I go for a run. Today I’m meeting the tenacious Kate Kavanagh for an interview with the WSU student newspaper. I don’t usually give interviews, but I need a plot device. I read some emails about my incredibly successful business before arriving at my office at 5am. After closing a few multi-billion dollar megadeals, my phone buzzes. “Miss Anastasia Steele is here to see you,” my assistant informs me, using her voice. “Steele….but I was expecting the tenacious Kate Kavanagh,” I reply. “Never mind, show her in”. I catch sight of Miss Steele as she enters the room via the rectangular doorway. She has a small, sweet face that is a picture of romantic beauty. A pale rose, as Austen or Brontë might have said. My massive throbbing cock signifies its approval. She sits down nervously on a four-legged chair, explaining that she has taken the place of the tenacious Kate Kavanagh who has conveniently fallen ill. Her words bounce off me as I imagine her suspended from the ceiling of my playroom with a marrow in her anus. “G-g-g-gosh,” she stutters, literally a bag of nerves. After the interview concludes, in customary fashion she leaves. I must have her.

  1. I immediately order a comprehensive background check on Miss Steele, which reveals everything from her blood type  (A) to her bank balance ($623.14). Days later, I wait in my car outside the hardware store in which she works, for once my heart pounding harder than my gigantic member. Her face has haunted my dreams since our meeting, briefly taking over from the cliched recollections about my Troubled Childhood. I have never stalked a woman before. Or at least, no-one has pressed charges. I wander into the hardware store and spot her immediately, and my mind is consumed with romantic images of taking her to dinner and reading poetry together. Then flogging her senseless with a tree branch while she wears nothing but high heels and a pained expression. “Hello, Miss Steele,” I murmur. “Hello, Mr Grey,” she murmurs back. She looks flustered and vulnerable – just the way I like it – and I feel my huge penis stirring in response. I purchase some cable ties, masking tape and a chainsaw, all the while looking at her suggestively. I ask if she would like to have a coffee with me, or a glass of cool Sancerre. Her lips say “No”; her eyes say “Read my lips”. Playing hard to get are we, sweetheart? I persist until she agrees. After coffee, I save her from being hit by a car and inhale her scent, which is intoxicating, like alcohol. She’s the one for you, Grey.

  1. No! I scream as I awake from yet another tedious nightmare about my Troubled Childhood. I can’t stop thinking about Miss Steele. This is ridiculous, Grey. I go for a run. I track her to a nightclub, where she is drunk and defenceless. Perfect. I sling her over one of my two shoulders and take her back to my expensive hotel suite, where I watch her sleeping for five hours and seventeen minutes. When she wakes up, she bites her lip and looks bashful. My cock begins to harden, etc. An unimportant, cardboard minion emails me a non-disclosure agreement for Miss Steele to sign before we get down to ‘business’. By which I mean some world-class kinky bonking. We take a trip in my helicopter, which flies like a big mechanical bird over the pretty Seattle skyline. I can tell she’s impressed by these unnecessary displays of my dripping wealth. Not the only thing that’s dripping my subconscious interjects, in another diabolically awful innuendo. We land at Escala, my metropolitan abode. Ana looks nervous as we descend in the elevator, biting her lip and looking bashful as bloody usual. “Would you like to see my playroom where I tie up my women and brutalise them?” I whisper, sipping a glass of cool Sancerre. Her eyes widen and she gasps. I show her. Her eyes widen and she gasps. “I want to dominate you in all ways,” I say. “Keen?” Her eyes widen and she gasps. But she doesn’t say no. Bingo.

  1.  We run through the various things I would like to do her, such as painting her green and calling her a naughty avocado while I thrash her until she resembles Mel Gibson’s Jesus. “But Christian, I’m a virgin, so can’t we just have sex?” she bleats. “Don’t be absurd, Miss Steele,” I murmur, “that wouldn’t cause as much of a publishing sensation.” I also make several unsubtle hints at my Troubled Childhood, which as we know means that vaguely normal behaviour is out of the question. All the while, my cock is stirring like a rapey snake. “Let’s go baby,” I pant. “Spread ‘em.” I fondle her perfect mounds (i.e. breasts) and moist love glove (i.e. fanny). After several pages of thrusting we both literally erupt in juddering orgasms. Not satiated by my gigantic member, after a moment’s pause she’s back for round two. More juddering orgasms etc. The next morning, after I go for a run, we have breakfast. “How do you like your eggs?” she asks. “Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” I reply. Like my women. I explain to Ana that she will now have to obey my every command. She seems uncertain, so I buy her a new laptop and a car. This seals the deal. I drop her home before settling down to read a book by two economists about inequality. Joking! I consume a glass of cool Sancerre and begin stroking my stiffening penis and think about Ana’s round breasts [cont. 20 pages]…

  1. I find it difficult to concentrate on my interesting work while Miss Steele and I exchange grim flirtatious emails too awful even for parody. But then, just as I’m finishing a glass of cool Sancerre, Ana emails to say that she’s read the dominant-submissive contract I drew up using the keypad on my 512GB, 1.2GHz dual-core MacBook, and that she doesn’t want to see me again. My response, after I go for a run, is to track her down and confront her, as any sex pest would. Shit, this isn’t good, Grey. Her roommate, the tenacious Kate Kavanagh, forbids me from entering their apartment, but I charm her into submission. As usual. At first Ana is cold, as cold as the freezer I mentioned earlier. Like any strong independent woman, she relents and we bonk. “Do you like this?” I ask, as I do something utterly unmentionable to her special place. “Yes…Sir,” she quivers in response, which is like a magic flute awakening my gargantuan love truncheon. Her demeanour is cheeky. Almost as cheeky as rewriting the same appalling book from a different perspective and charging £8.99 for it. She agrees to review the contract. “Sir,” she purrs, “it’s about fifty pages since we last made love, and the readers are probably getting bored. Take me now!” I drone on a bit in my unconvincing internal voice about my Troubled Childhood before administering a masterful drilling.

  1. Ana and I meet for dinner. I pour an oyster down her throat followed by a glass of cool Sancerre, and imagine my penis taking a similar route later on (i.e. oral sex). I imagine chaining her to a crucifix and whipping her with barbed wire, but it’s important to note that I’m only turned on by this because my mum was a drug addict and one of her friends rammed a dildo up my arse. No wonder I’m so fucked up. Ana gets freaked out again and refuses to reply to my many, many emails. This displeases me greatly, so I go for a run. Later that week, I give a speech at the WSU graduation ceremony: an opportunity to stalk Ana whilst giving a poorly researched lecture about progress in solar technology, battery life and wireless distribution [citation needed]. I present Ana with her degree scroll and give her hand a rapey squeeze. “Why aren’t you returning my emails?” I hiss. She does not reply. My cock twitches at the sight of her beautiful features etc. Later, I schmooze my way back into her affections by being nice to her dopey Southern stepfather and plying her with champagne. Nice work, Grey. We review the contract for the eighty third time. After some negotiation, we agree that the use of antique Victorian genital clamps is off limits. Frigid bitch.

  1. We shag relentlessly for over two hundred pages, punctuated by some glasses of cool Sancerre and some early-morning running. Ana eventually warms to the idea of our dominant-submissive relationship, and takes several spankings and whippings until her pert behind looks like a dog’s cushion. It’s like she is literally talking to my cock. I occasionally break off to discuss my business operations in Darfur that literally no-one could give two shits about. It’s a charitable project, because actually deep down I’m a nice guy: it’s just that my Troubled Childhood (about which I’ve been dropping subtle hints) has affected my personality. Got that? This means Ana and I never sleep together, which makes her upset. We communicate over more interminable emails. She complains at my tone: I respond by thwacking her divine love bean (i.e. clitoris) with a riding crop, which she loves, and flogging her in much the same way the author is flogging this dead horse of a series. “This is torture!” she whines. “Mainly for the readers!” I shoot back. Eventually, my ridiculous personality alienates her. The atmosphere is like a paedophile’s funeral after another round of flogging followed by frustrating conversation. Ana leaves me. I am devastated so I go for a run, close a few more business deals, and make a shitty model glider out of balsa wood. Ana’s gone, but like any unstable stalker, I know I can win her back. That’s for the sequel though…
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1 Response to EL James: ‘Grey’ – in seven paragraphs

  1. hi yo says:

    thanks for giving me enough of a summary to be able to quote from without having to read the fucking thing. genuine love xx

    Like

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