Captain’s Log 4,465
The wheels keep turning on this well-oiled machine called I Think I Look Like Angela Lansbury With Fifty Shades of Grey contest. WAHOOO! And a big thank you to everyone who has played along so far. I got two entries yesterday, and in the name of fairness, I will present them in the order they were received. There are still a few days left. You have until September 30th to make your presence known. Get busy. It’s really not that hard. First prize is a container special candy from Trader Joe’s. Yummmmmm!
So, on with things. This entry was sent in by someone I have been reading online for quite some time. I cannot exactly remember how we met, but I like her. If she lived in San Diego, I would hire her in a heartbeat to run the education program at the museum. She is History Teacher Exceptionale from the great state of New Jersey! She is funny and sharp. I wish my college history teachers had been half as good. I just wonder where she actually got her….um…. props.
Pretending to be shy and demure, she offers Christian a new “game” for their thrice daily playtime. Whilst chained to the chair, he forces her to draw her sexual fantasies using only muted tones. When she whines that her desires are beyond Technicolor, he tightens the handcuffs even more. “Please, Mr. Grey! Do not confine me so! I cannot bear the thought of you and me doing the horizontal samba without fireworks shining in the sky!” He smiles and runs his fingers through his moppish copper locks. “When I was growing up deprived and depraved, I was only given grey colors to play with. You WILL not complain, Ana! If you do, I will force you to eat an omelette!” Ana twists and turns as he brings out his big gun – an expandable marker. Heavy and turgid in his hand, he approaches her with the hooded eyes of a hungry wolf. He holds it to her mouth. With great gentleness, she bites the tip until the full head of color emerges. Slowly, he runs his marker all over her body that is now twisting with pleasure. He traces all her fine lines. Making two dots just above her navel, he sits back to be enthralled with himself. “Wow! That looks like a portrait of Colonel Sanders….before his hair turned white.” He laughs as he releases her from the cuffs. In one swift move, she grabs the turgid marker and holds it with menacing power. Wide-eyed, he realizes his “mistake” as she swifty slaps cuffs onto his wrists. She twists the cap over and over until the marker runs dry. It takes several hours. My inner goddess is running off to the art supply store to buy a variety of Sharpie pens.
WOW! That was exhausting! The hardest part was trying to work in some back-story about Christian’s weird childhood. E.L. James did a piss poor job of that, and so did I. All the more reason for the two of us to have lunch.
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