The Thing Speaks for Whatever

50 Shades of Grey: Shark Week

In Back Door Book Club B!tches 4: Back in the Saddle, Docta K, Fuck you, I read this entire post and all I got was this lousy T-shirt, Katie, Pornocracy, Ridiculously Long Pocket Guides, Rooks, Unabashedly Epic Group Posts, Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. on July 3, 2012 at 12:25 pm

Previously on Res Ipsa Etc., our BDBCB4:BS duo became a trio, and we discovered the myriad ways in which Silence of the Lambs is much awesomer than this book.  After a minor scheduling induced hiatus, we’re back this week, though admittedly we, um, fell prey to sharks.  Seriously, a lot of sharks.  A lot.  Unfortunately, learning about the wonders of marine life doesn’t actual kill you the way actual marine life would, so, though chummy enough, we were all alive to wax biological on Chapter 8 of Fifty Shades of Grey, in which Christian and Ana finally fucking do the deed.  Read on at your peril – there’s blood in the water.

Docta K: OH HAI! Look who has managed to show up on time!  It is ME.

Rooks: Hey boo!

Katie: HELLOOO!

Docta K: Hey Katie! What’s happenin’?

Katie: We have been lamenting water damage to my apartment and subsequent repairs interfering with my boyfriend’s impending visit!

Docta K: BOO! That sounds lame. Water damage = a drag, right NOLA?

Rooks:

Yep.

Katie: The good news is that hotels where I live are comparatively cheap?

Rooks: Oh sure, now you accept my suggestion since it’s in front of company.

Docta K: Ha, I like that I am company; it makes me feel fancy.

Katie: I was investigating! Docta K, would you like some raspberry cordial?

Rooks: You are fancy. Hell, you probably have “fancy” bedazzled in really classy rhinestones on your ass.

Katie: Somebody had better appreciate my Anne of Green Gables reference posthaste or I shall go to bed in a motherfucking huff.

Rooks: You know what pretty much rhymes with huff and is fancy? Puffed sleeves.

Katie: Yessss. I’m officially mollified.

Docta K: I would DEFINITELY wear booty shorts with FANCY bedazzled across the butt – I feel like that it is some Magritte next level shit.

Katie: With a blouse with puffed sleeves?

Docta K: Obviously – that’s pretty much my go to outfit; I wear it around the house or to tea with the ladiez.

Katie: I knew there was a reason I liked you.

Rooks: Does “tea” = booze?  Speaking of, can I get a BDBCB4:BS drinks roll call?

Katie: I have an adorable teapot. (True story.) I’m just not very good at boozy book club when it happens on a work night. Sorry!

Rooks: Hold it down for the teetotalers with pride, yo.  I’m double fisting – beer and bourbon – so we’ve totally got you covered.

Docta K: It’s okay, I will drink for you too – I am drinking Malbec, though I would be fancier if I were not drinking it out of a mug that says “SHARKS OF THE SEVEN SEAS” on it . . . and has a lot of pictures of sharks.

In which we’re about to have an extremely sharky digression – despite multiple opportunities to focus – that you can totally skip by scrolling directly to the next section that looks like this, though you should be advised that the entire post will contain quite a few shark-related references that will not make sense without reading this bit, and a teaser for a future post is contained herein as well.

Katie: I WANT THAT MUG.  I heard a program on Canadian public radio the other night (don’t ask) about this shark that swims super slow but still manages to eat a shit-ton of seals that aren’t dead before being consumed.

Docta K: :::communists::: That’s pretty cool; how does it manage to do that?

Katie: Well, the seals swim faster than the sharks – they think it manages by waiting for the seals to fall asleep. Relatedly, apparently sometimes seals fall asleep and sink and bounce off the bottom of the ocean?

Docta K: AWESOME. Sleep on land, dumbasses!

Katie: They’re all, “FUCK YOU, I AM TAKING A NAP IN THIS MOTHERFUCKING WATER COLUMN.”  That’s pretty much a direct quote from Canadian public radio. (It’s not really a direct quote.)

Docta K: That’s double awesome. You know what is the opposite of that super slow shark? My favorite shark!

Rooks: Canadian Walking sharks?

Katie: I had recurring nightmares about land sharks as a child, in addition to the werewolves.

Rooks: I love inadvertent sadism. So much delicious plausible deniability!

Katie: Bitch. I mean, really, you can mention pretty much anything and I’ve had recurring nightmares about it. I’m like SIXTY shades of fucked up. Suck on that, Mr. Grey.

Docta K: Guys, c’mon now. I know we’re supposed to be reading but I’m going to totally ignore that perfectly executed segue and say: Watch the video! AIR JAWS?!

Rooks: Ok . . . wow.

Katie: Yessss. AIR JAWS.

Docta K: Q: Do I own all the AIR JAWS documentaries from the last three years of Shark Week? A: Duhhhhhh, of course I do!

Rooks: Umm, isn’t it kinda cliché for Great Whites to be your favorite shark?

Docta K: Ok fine, they aren’t my favorite shark; I just think these particular jumpy sharks are awesome. My actual favorite shark is the bull shark – it can live in fresh or salt water, it hangs out in turbid waters at the mouths of rivers, and it eats the shit out of everything.

Katie: I really need to reconsider not having a favorite shark.

Docta K: For realz. I have a handy reference mug – I can provide you an assortment, an embarrassment of shark-y riches.

Katie: I may have to go with the Canadian Slow-Ass shark. (It’s not actually Canadian. It lives in like, fucking fjords in Norway or some shit, though I might be making that up. This happened on the day I billed 15 hours, and I know they said something about fjords, but that’s about it.)

Docta K: Carcaradon lentissimus canadiensis.

Rooks: Please tell me that that’s Latin for slow-ass shark.

Docta K: It’s Latin for Canadian Slow-Ass shark.

Katie: Here is an article on the slow-ass sharks! They have a real name but I’m going to continue to ignore it! They are fucking slow! They go less than 1 MPH! Also, I love this: “Since the species is known to eat seals, the scientists think it probably ‘sneaks up on them’ as they sleep under the water.”

Rooks: Supposedly scare quotes are scarier when you’re sussing out sneaky sharks.  Also, wait a damn minute – Docta K, weren’t you supposed to give me a Shark Week post for RIEtc.?!

Docta K: I love that quotation – it’s super science-y. Um, yeah, Rooks, I totally was. I never did that because I . . . got too excited about Shark Week and forgot.  Truth.

Rooks: FOILED, BIZNATCH.  Ok, how about you write the post when it’s not Shark Week, and we’ll wait to actually post it until it’s about to be Shark Week?  Problem solved!

Docta K: Okay!  I can do that, and now people will read this and be really damn excited for my Shark Week Post of Incredible Awesomeness, like an inadvertent teaser on ‘roids.  Also, I lied. My actual favorite shark is the hammerhead; I was just studying my mug and realized that.

Rooks: You got sharks in different area codes, ya shark slut.

This is an alleged screen cap from the Shark Love Docta’s phone. Docta K, as she is known, also has the following damning ringtone: “9-1-6, 4-1-5, 7-0-4, Shout out to the 2-0-6, Everbody in the 8-0-8, Ha-ah, 2-1-6, 7-0-2, 4-1-4, 3-1-7, 2-1-4’s and the 2-8-1’s, 3-3-4, 2-0-5, I see ya!”

Docta K: Plus there is a hilarious scuba diving sign that you do for “hammerhead shark.” Infra.

Katie: Oh hey, apparently the seals sleep in the water to escape polar bears.  I guess that’s not working out as well as they might’ve hoped? “In the future, the scientists who embarked on this study hope to use underwater cameras, in order to record what could be the world’s slowest chase scene.”

Rooks: Fuck, I seriously can’t decide how much of this I’m going to have to edit out for the post.

Docta K: “Vincent Gallucci, a shark expert from the University of Washington, US, explained that Greenland sharks may not need ‘to get 100% of its mouth onto its prey’ in order to eat it. ‘It can get an assist from a sucking action as part of its feeding process,’ he told BBC Nature.”  Umm, can a girl get an assist from a sucking action? I don’t need to get 100% of my mouth on that shit!

Katie: Does Ana, do you suppose?

Docta K: AND SEGUE.

In which we finally start discussing the book we were supposed to be reading, wherein Ana is about to lose her much touted V-card but not until Christian has his say, and we just can’t leave the shark references alone.

Rooks: Did you two gang up on me and pick that segue so it would be impossible for me to get around Canadian Slow-Ass sharks in my edit?  Crafty! Anyway, so I was skimming back, and apparently it’s been “ages” since Ana blushed.  I think we can officially assert that that is a dirty, dirty lie.

Katie: Whatever, the Canadian Slow-Ass shark is blogging gold.  We’re doing you a favor.

Docta K: I don’t know why the public wouldn’t be interested in the Canadian Slow-Ass shark; it is mad interesting, and I will maybe draw it onto my mug.  More interesting than this fucking book, to be sure – so, uh, what the fuck chapter are we on?

Katie: You really should! We are on Chapter 8, also known as the OH HEY THEY’RE GOING TO FUCK chapter.  You know, after he yells at her for being a virgin for a bit.

Rooks: Using two hands to do something is the universal sign for double exasperation now?  I thought it presumptively equaled double fisting, even when being run through hair in purportedly sexual frustration.

Katie: OR HAMMERHEAD SHARK!

I can’t believe you’re a virgin! Or conversely, your face is potentially about to get bitten off!

Docta K: Ha, that’s probably what he’s trying to tell her – “ANA, LOOK OUT!”

Katie: “I’M A SHARK . . . LITERALLY.” And then he, you know, unzips his human suit.

Docta K: Dead eyes . . .

Rooks: I bet “his concrete control [would seem] to have slipped a notch” if he were about to get some hot hammerhead action.  As it were.

Docta K: Totally, though I think we can all agree that Christian Grey is not cool enough to be a hammerhead, since it is probably the coolest shark.

Katie: But he’s rich and wears clothes that match his name!

Rooks: I can’t think of a shark he would be cool enough to be.  Though, on the other hand, when he was an asshole you could just punch him in the nose, which would be pretty sweet.

Docta K: Let’s consult the mug – lemon shark? Possibly, I mean, that is certainly a boring shark. Or there’s the nurse shark – also boring. Just fucking sits around on the ocean floor, waiting for a seal to fall on his fucking head – not gonna happen, nurse shark! Oh hey, her subconscious is “somnambulant”; someone dragged out the thesaurus for this chapter.

Katie: Seriously, how many people does she have inside of her? A subconscious, an inner goddess, but not Christian Grey yet-

Docta K: Ha, not yet, but wait ‘til the next page!

Rooks: Oh wait! Shit, I totally found a link where someone counted the subconscious/inner goddess references . . . it’s here somewhere . . . aha! “Anastasia has a subconscious that’s not very sub: [ . . . ] 80 references to Ana’s subconscious. 59 to her inner goddess. I’d say there are four main characters in this book.

Docta K: Awesome!  Thanks, internet!

Rooks: Also, apparently she has been kissed before? “Maybe twice.” I don’t think I believe her; it’s not that hard to count to two.

Katie: You guys, why is he so infatuated with her lip?

Docta K: Good fucking question, it’s like, not even that interesting. Also, why is Christian Grey so inconsistent with his rule-following?

Rooks: Well, if it’s Super Fun Question Hour, why, if she thinks he’s a “monster,” is she gonna bang him without hesitation?

Docta K: In that same vein, it is not that “brave” to bang some rando, much less some dude-I-think-is-a-“monster” rando. Having done shit like this before, and given the specifics of her situation and not at all in a stone-casting mien, it is kind of stupid.  Seriously, “stupid” is definitely the correct descriptor – well, that and “kind of depressing.”  And maybe “weird.”

Katie: I also like how the solution to her being totally and completely inexperienced is that he’s just going to stick it in. FIXT.

Docta K: Apparently, it fixes a lot of problems? “Hey, I have a weird anomaly on my tax returns!” STICK A DICK IN IT. “Hey, I am getting radio interference on my very large array radio telescope!” DICK. “Hey, this banana seems overripe!” DICK.

Rooks: This post needs more blowjob, someone stick a dick in it.  That’s my new favorite phrase, Docta K-

Katie: NICE.

Rooks: – and I knew I’d be able to get it in here somewhere.

Docta K: “I knew I’d be able to get it in here.” – Christian Grey (Also, hahahaha re: that link – USA #1!!!)

Katie: Okay, look – and I’m all for self-determination and all that, and some people are late bloomers or whatever – but I’m having a hard time with this no one has ever been attractive to me on any level and I have never held anyone’s hand straight to I WANT TO DO THE FUCKING RIGHT NOW in like, almost no pages.

Rooks: Clearly he’s The One.  Don’t question it.

Katie: He doesn’t even sparkle!

Docta K: It’s true, he doesn’t.

Rooks: Oh really?  How do y’all know?  She’s only seen him indoors or at night or when it was overcast and she’s worried that the coffeeshop won’t carry tea.

Docta K: I mean, that’s what’s so weird to me. I could understand it if Ana were all like, “dude, it turns out I really like getting the shit beat out of me, and maybe that’s why nobody’s ever made my tingly bits tingle before now, O Amazing Smacker of my ass Lord Christian Grey,” but she’s like, not even that into it and he hasn’t even hit her yet? I call bullshit.

Katie: Super sharp, borderline retentive Christian Grey wears Converse Chuck Taylors?  So now they both wear Converse Chuck Taylors and we’re supposed to believe it’s all kismet and shit?  I also call bullshit.

Docta K: Didn’t he buy her clothes?

Rooks: That’s in the contract – the unsigned one – but no, not yet.  These are her clothes, except for the lacy underthings.

Docta K: ALSO. ALSO ALSO ALSO. Ladies, for real – this is important.

Rooks/Katie: WE ARE LISTENING.

Docta K: I was at Big Lots this week, and, after I got what I needed, I was wandering and I found a big coffee mug-

Rooks: -I [heart] large coffee mugs-

Docta K: -with a vintage football cartoon that said, “HIT LIKE YOU MEAN IT,” which is what I say to all the people I let hit me! So naturally I bought the shit out of it.

Rooks: -and OH MY GOD GIVE IT TO ME.

Katie: Did they have more?! BUY THEM FOR US.

Docta K: Maybe!  I will go look!

Katie: THEY CAN BE OFFICIAL BOOK CLUB MUGS.

Docta K: OMG THAT IS SO TRUE. We could all drink our booze out of them!

Katie: I would be so excited.

Docta K: Though honestly, what I actually say is, “if you’re gonna hit me, mean it.” I really need to make more of an effort to find someone who will hit me on a regular basis – ugh, it’s so much work.

Rooks: I think I usually say, “you know, you can hit me harder than that if you’d like,” but I don’t think politeness would scan well on a mug.

Katie: Dudes are generally all afraid of hurting me and shit. It’s a process.

Rooks: Maybe, like Ana, you not-so-secretly really just want to be reverently made love to all the time?

Docta K: “Hearts [‘n’ Flowerz],” that’s what you want.

Katie: Always!  Also, snuggly kittens!

Is a cat in a box actually more romantic than a dick in a box or a box in a box? I vote no.

In which Ana is a Very Special Girl (from her head down to her toenails, but especially her skin), Christian makes a lot of excessive eye contact, and we have a wine emergency.

Rooks: I can’t believe he just said, out loud, that fucking her was “a means to an end.”

Katie: Not fucking her, making love to her.

Rooks: But still! I mean, talk about talking your way outta some action, no?

Docta K: He’s so into her white, white skin. “Oh, Ana,” he breathes. “You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to make a dress out of it.”

Katie: “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” Um, hello?! She probably doesn’t, actually, because she has never held a dude’s hand until like, a week ago. And I’m guessing, since we’re collectively betting that she doesn’t masturbate, that she probably also doesn’t really watch the porn.

Rooks: Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that – do we think she’s just counting Christian’s elevator nookie plus José’s rape-nuzzles as two kisses, i.e. the sum total of her sexual experience?

Katie: I’m guessing she is, yes. And “scorching smoky gray,” again, doesn’t really work.

Docta K: Well, they are both heat words, so that’s something, despite the fact that, with all the driftwood furniture and pictures of the sea or whatever, the dominant image in his bedroom up to this point (ha!) has been a marine one, thus clearly reinforcing the theory that Christian Grey is actually a shark. Can I say how un-turned on I am by this? Both this time and the first time that I read it? Goddamn, fuck me – I need more alcohol.

Katie: I really fucking hate the word panties.

Rooks: Really?  I’m ok with panties. Oooh, hold on one sec, y’all – phone.

Katie: Does this dude wear button-fly jeans? That seems inefficient.

Docta K: SHIT. BARTENDER EMERGENCY. The goddamn cork just broke in my bottle of artisanal California Grenache (Sonoma, 2007), you know, just like how Christian Grey is fixing to break his dick off in Ana.

Katie: Oh fuck, um, push it in?

Docta K: Hahahaha – but seriously, is that the right answer? I truly don’t know.  Dammit Rooks, get your ass back here.

Katie: I don’t know either! I have done it before – you sometimes get cork bits, but you can just strain them out?

Docta K: It’s like, a lot of cork – :::sigh:::. If only I had a dick, I would stick it in my wine bottle since, as we discovered earlier, that is the solution to all problems.

Katie: “We’re going to rectify this situation right now . . . with my dick.”  That’s what Christian Grey would say.

Docta K: No, he would yell at me first. “I can’t believe you bought artisanal small batch vintages! Why didn’t you tell me?! How is there no syrah in this blend?!” And then he would stick his dick in it.

Katie: He really knows how to woo the ladies.

Docta K: He’s such a loser. I like how the author is all, his words are AMAZING, and I’m like dude, no they aren’t, relax. I find it difficult to believe that you are not acquainted with the masturbation when EVERY PAGE is an exercise in same.  Rooks, where are you?   Shit is serious.

Katie: I know we’re half-assedly in game-off mode, but can I just say that I’m really not into being called “baby”?

Docta K: Oh hey, I was just about to say that! I hate it. I actually like that he usually calls her Miss Steele, and that’s so inconsistent with him just suddenly calling her “baby,” which feels gross and pedestrian and stupid.

Rooks: Almost back – christ almighty, I put you two in the corner for five fucking minutes-

Katie: Oh finally! I’ve been waiting forever to say that the phrase “gently yanks” doesn’t do it for me at all. Notwithstanding the fact that we’re talking about her nipples, since when does one “gently yank”?  I mean, “gently tugs,” maybe.  And let’s face it, he is the King of Inconsistent. Golly, I bet it is because he’s damaged and broken and the loving, caring part of him that doesn’t want to beat the ladiez is just waiting to break free because Ana has awoken something in him, sort of like he single-handedly awoke her libido just by existing.  It’s just a guess.

Docta K: Haha, probably! Also: love, it is confusing! And you are a special snowflake!

Rooks: You guys are terrible at stopping – totally not plausible pausers.

Docta K: Well, I HAVE A WINE EMERGENCY THAT NO ONE IS TAKING VERY SERIOUSLY.

Katie: I TOLD YOU TO STICK A DICK IN IT. It just needs more blowjob!

Docta K: It’s true, you did; that was good advice, actually. (I really love Book Club.)

Katie: (Me too!)

Rooks: Ok, I’m caught up!  1. Docta K, if it’s a substantial enough amount of the cork, you need to use all your manual dexterity and the corkscrew, get a good bite on the remaining cork, and 2. gently tug, do not gently yank, and just really patiently wiggle it out-

Docta K: It’s pushed pretty far down inside the bottle, and I really tried to get the corkscrew into it already, but it just pushed it down – I was gentle, I told it that I thought it was pretty . . . nothing.

Rooks: Well, getting the corkscrew to bite and the aftermath is a finesse thing, but 3. if you’re not up to it, sure, push it in and strain it, as there are no dicks available to help you out.

Docta K: So basically you’re saying that Katie was right, but only if I’m a loser.

Rooks: Correct. Perhaps like Ana, because I cannot believe she didn’t even contemplate the birth control aspect of losing her virginity. Seriously? In this day and at her age, it was just “Imma go fuck this dude, tralalala?” Even folks who only got abstinence-only education know that birth control exists.  Also, I don’t have a problem with the term “baby.”  Well, I do when she’s about to have one but for the fact that Christian, at least, is capable of thinking more than five minutes ahead, but I don’t mind it as a term of endearment (unless it’s a Bieber tune).  Hell, I think I’ve maybe even used it.

Docta K: Ok, it turns out that I am actually a genius – it was a super tiny fragment and I got it out with zero cork, so that totally actually worked.

Rooks: Did you have to use a Batman-style grappling hook in miniature?

Docta K: No, I needed to use a better corkscrew. Fine, you were right.

Katie: Speaking of being right, you guys, I think Christian might be a Magic Orgasm Fairy. Bitch has never masturbated before – she’s all, “oh, geez, no, never been interested in the touching of myself ever” – but she orgasms hugely from scant minutes of nipple stimulation? I find it hard to believe that if she were really that sensitive. I love being right. I love it so hard.

Docta K: Basically yes, but um hey, who has open wine here? Awards, please!

Katie: I’m so proud! Perhaps Mr. Grey shall bestow a Magic Orgasm upon you!

Docta K: Oh, that would be fabulous – hopefully he will touch my elbow and make me explode with ecstasy, since there’s no way I might have accidentally done that on my own previously.

Rooks: Guys, it’s because it’s him.  After all, she said it so eloquently herself: “I can hardly contain the riotous feelings or is it hormones that rampage through my body.” This sentence makes me stabby in every imaginable way.

Docta K: No, just . . . no. I find it incredibly hard to believe that bitch is about to have no problems with achieving super traditional vaginal orgasms the first time out, with straight P-in-V intercourse.

Rooks: I mean, it’s not precisely outside the realm of possibility, though I can only speak to that within the context of years of practice on the self-pleasure front.  Ok, yeah, it’s pretty damn unlikely in this situation.

Katie: “He stills, gazing down at me, his eyes bright with ecstatic triumph.” Is it just me, or is that’s creepy as fuck?

Rooks: His eyes were “fervent” earlier – he’s basically Frollo.  Yeah, ok, while “baby” is ok for me, continuous eye-contact during sex wigs me the hell out – He basically never broke eye-contact from kiss #1 to . . .

In which the orgasms just keep coming, though the hits don’t, Christian bounces back like he’s a fucking Mystikal tune, and we contemplate the merits of book burnings.

Rooks: . . . Wait, seriously?  Unbelievably Mind Blowing I Saw the Universe Like His Dick Was an Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test Orgasm #2?  Her first two (soon to be three) orgasms are all like that in, what, a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes on the outside?  Dude, this girl is an orgasm idiot savant.  No life plans?  No problem!  She should just orgasm for a living.

Docta K: See?! It’s like getting in and driving a manual transmission perfectly the first time – technically possible, but very unlikely. She says it herself – “I had no idea what my body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly.” Obviously, this is just really problematic, grammatically, but beyond that, it exemplifies exactly what I’m saying.  She had no idea, no practice, and then just KABOOMS all over his super minimalist IKEA driftwood bed?

Katie: “Two orgasms . . . coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow.” SOMEONE PUBLISHED THAT SENTENCE.  Can we bring back book burnings?

Docta K: Oh shit, it’s about to get all Bonfire of the Vanities up in here! Toss that shit on, yo!  Your paintings are crap! “This book is terrible.” –Savonarola

Rooks: Actually, if I recall correctly, it was originally self-published.  Someone only published it after it was inexplicably becoming a sensation.  Hence, I think, the lack of any discernible editing other than for say, spelling. Ok, wait, he was just wearing his shirt the whole time? Do we know if he took off his socks?

Katie: Yes to the former.

Docta K: The latter is unclear.

Rooks: I don’t want to judge that, because it could’ve been very cold, but . . . they weren’t in that much of a rush, so . . . yeah, I’m kinda judging that.

Katie: Wait, does this guy have the refractory period of something with a really fucking short refractory period?  Rooks, what would that be?

He also comes in a variety of shapes and sizes.

Rooks: Well, I once did an extremely unscientific poll at law school, and the average was around 10 minutes. All of the men in question were in his age range – if we make that roughly a 10 year window around age 27, which is to say between the ages of, um, 24 and 34 – and all indicated that it could seriously vary with the nature of their evening’s activities.  Also, the guy who generally stayed hard through orgasm/ejaculation skewed the data-

Docta K: With his dick? Hey, my bell curve is overly symmetrical! What should I do?

Rooks: Stick a dick in it!  All that being said, and though I’ve read about this in a few places, it’s easiest to just do what I told my students to never do and cite Wiki, adding that:

“According to some studies, 18-year-old males have a refractory period of about 15 minutes, while those in their 70s take about 20 hours, with the average for all men being about a half-hour. Although rarer, some males exhibit no refractory period or a refractory period lasting less than 10 seconds. This, however, is not a lack of a refractory period per se (the ability to achieve another orgasm), but rather the ability to maintain an erection and resume sex immediately, whether to orgasm or not.”

So technically, presuming that they weren’t lying – and I really see no particular reason why these dudes would feel such a need, since I wasn’t banging or seeking to bang any of them, just doing a quick ‘n’ dirty study, not to mention that when it comes to sex I’m pretty much one of the least judgmental people ever – unless, it seems, you leave your socks on for no reason – it’s arguable that I actually dealt with what might well have been an extraordinary sample who were not precisely representative of their age group’s general predispositions.  In other words, Christian’s Magical Acid Dick is not at all impossible, but it’s also certainly not remotely close to what one would call common.

Katie: Fair enough!

Docta K: I. Hate. This. One. Word. Full. Sentence. Dialogue. Bullshit. So. Much.

Katie: Why. Does. She. Keep. Saying. Foil. Packet? Can’t. She. Just. Call. It. A. Goddamned. Condom?

Rooks: Ok, y’all have to stop.  Docta K, is that an England thing?

Docta K: No, although in England they do pronounce “condom” weirdly – they say “Con. Dom.” It’s like two totally separate words; it’s stupid. Or at the very least, it sounds stupid.

Rooks: “We’re going to go real, slow this time.”  I want to know what it’s like to go real.  Is it like going clear?

Docta K: Christian Grey is Crystal Pepsi.

Rooks: No, not possible – Crystal Pepsi was just too damn good for this world, and Christian Grey is not.  Although, in a brief and unexpected moment of pity for the man, is it just me, or is Ana maybe the most passive sexual partner ever?  All she does is “wriggle” occasionally and moan.

Docta K: Nope! Wrong! Wrong. Her Amazingly “Responsive” Magical Pussy is amazing. By virtue of the fact that . . . it does pretty standard stuff!

Katie: Seriously! It gets all wet and everything! Like my carpet!

Docta K: Ahem, like your carpet?

Katie: My totally non-euphamistic carpet in my water-damaged pad!

Rooks: :::raises eyebrows::: Oh really? You know, Ana calls her vag her “there.”

Katie: My thingy!  My place!

Docta K: Please shove your pee-pee in my hoo-hoo, Mr. Grey!

Rooks: It’s so damp!

Katie: At least she uses “come” and not “cum”?

Docta K: True – Jesus, do I despise that spelling. It’s so disgusting.

Rooks: Thirded. You know, I really believe that, from a word choice perspective, “palming” is something you do to a fiver, not a clit. Oh hey, he puts his erection inside her!  Like an erector set!

Phallocentrism at work and at play!

Rooks: Because it’s not at all problematic to refer to cocks only in their aroused state – that’s not objectifying or judgy or limited or reification of potentially problematic rubrics of valuation at all.  Hey, Ana’s world’s about to “explode” and she apparently remembers a word; that’s not generally how that works, but ok, I’ll take the Christmas miracle of Ana using the word “vagina.” Oh Christ

Katie: “I want you to be reminded that I’ve been there. Only me. You are mine.” HE IS A FUCKING CREEP.

Rooks: Oh good, we’re in the same place.  (Heh.)  He should put up a flag.  Colonize that virgin territory, Christian!

Katie: “He freezes, pouring himself into me as he finds his release.”

Rooks: Release?  Release?!  Release, where are you?!  Marco!

Docta K: Polo!

In which the depths of cliché are plumbed like Ana Steele’s Special Place just was by the hallucination inducing man thingy of Christian, the mysterious and noble, yet damaged, Alpha Male whose soul is tortured like this prose, and who can only express his pain through the music of the night, which totally wakes Ana up, though they eventually end up snuggled up to sleep together in the blood-stained sheets.

Katie: Oh hey, you guys?  We should be nice; Christian plays piano in the middle of the night when he is sad.

Docta K: Holy shit! Christian Grey is The Phantom of the Opera!

Katie: This is an interesting plot point that has never before been used in the history of plots, and certainly not in teen vampire fiction!

Docta K: It’s really crazy, right? It definitely does not in any way show up in every single romance novel ever – it certainly is not the case that artistic and tortured aristocrats were apparently littering the ground in regency England.

Rooks: Be that as it may, naked piano playing is maybe the first thing that’s happened in this book that would actually be a real life turn on for me, and I can’t even enjoy it because the author’s gonna fuck it up (ignoring the fact that everything’s already fucked up regardless).

Docta K: I like the idea of naked instrument playing; it’s hot.

Katie: He plays the piano like he plays her body! Also, as it happens, he’s not naked – he’s wearing pants that hang from his hips, like he’s a fucking wire hanger. What is it with her and his pants hanging from his hips? Anyway, sorry, ladies.

Rooks: This is what I’m saying. Fifty Shades of FUBAR.

Docta K: Oh please, like we believe that she knows fucking Bach when she hears it. It was probably Scarlatti. You don’t fucking know, Ana, you are a BAROQUE ASS HO.  Speaking of things that seem to strain credulity, there is fucking blood on the fucking sheets, like a seriously perceptible amount, enough for her to think about sleeping in it? Let me just say that I was very disappointed when there was no blood on the sheets when I got nailed the first time. I thought it was going to be all evidentiary, but no. Nope. Nothin’.

Katie: It’s probably because you’re a hussy, Docta K. A dirty ho, in the vernacular.

Docta K: Yeah, probably, but it was still disappointing.

Rooks: There Will (Not) Be Blood.

Katie: Well, someone would have had to slaughter a fucking chicken or whatever, back in the day, for displaying the marital sheet or whatever – that happened, right?

Docta K: Sure, whatever, it happened . . . I guess? Scholars debate – it’s one of those potentially bullshit things.

Katie: Alls I’m saying is that you’re a potential chicken murderer.

Rooks: Not these days.

Docta K: I wish. I had hoped for something more dramatic, but it was just kind of a bummer, like this fucking book. (Kidding! This book is way worse!)

Rooks: You know who’s bummed?  Christian Grey.  His shit is all melancholy and shit.  Which is presumably why, after all the banging and the fact that they are clearly about to spoon, Ana’s apparently not allowed to touch his chest.

Katie: Christian Grey has a sad side?! I guess it’s the front side? You guys, this means that he’s not just all rich and beat-y and shit!

Docta K: That is so sad! You know how to solve that sadness?

Katie: Sneak up on a sleeping seal and suck the shit out of it?

Docta K: You could! Or you could consider that it is a problem and use the world’s only universal solution – STICK A DICK IN IT.

Rooks: “Don’t move, Anastasia Seal. Stay still.”

Docta K: That is awesome.

Katie: THAT IS HER NAME NOW.

Docta K: Brown eyes? Check. [ed. note: Ana actually has blue eyes, but fuck it.] Limited brain function? Check. Self described high blubber to muscle ratio? Check. Delicious? Check.

Katie: Going to be beaten and/or clubbed? CHECK.

Rooks: From your lips to God’s ears.

Low Self-Esteem Seal Lies Back and Takes It.

Docta K: Shhh, she is being lulled to sleep in Christian’s arms, busily thinking about fish.

Katie: And by fish, do you mean Her Place?

Docta K: I do! There’s something very regal about that construction. “We have considered your petition to stick a dick in Our Place, and we have decided that as Protector of the Realm, it is in Our best interest to decline.”

Katie: Seriously, I need someone to come stick a dick in my sodden carpet. I mean that in at least two ways.

In which we only did one chapter, because shit was getting out of hand and folks were punchy, and not even sexy punchy.

Rooks: Ok, so the big Scooby clues are that she’s not allowed to touch his chest and he has a sad side?  Golly, I wonder what that could be signposting?  For fuck’s sake.

Katie: ARE THESE “MYSTERIES” ENOUGH TO KEEP US READING? WHY CAN’T SHE TOUCH HIS CHEST?! WHY IS HE SAD?!?!?!??

Docta K: WHY DON’T SEALS FALL ASLEEP ON ROCKS THAT ARE SIMULTANEOUSLY OUT OF THE REACH OF POLAR BEARS AND SLOW-ASS SHARKS???

Rooks: Maybe there are no such rocks?

Katie: Maybe they should go to fucking pottery class and make some, then.

Docta K: Maybe! We will find out in Chapter Nine, I bet. Or maybe they’re just lazy napping seals. Get a job!

Katie: Or at least a hobby! And bouncing off the ocean floor while asleep is not a hobby!

Docta K: Have some self respect!

Rooks: Maybe the dark tributaries of our soul wend and eddy such that no safe harbor can e’er await a blushing seal in the night or day or grayest twilight, eventual, inevitable meal to those who would gladly nosh its sweet delicate flesh, untouched and beautiful.

Katie: If that’s your way of saying it is time for closing thoughts, I’ll have what you’re having.

Rooks: One Peyote Penis, coming right up.

Docta K: I’m totally ready for some closing thoughts.

Katie: I’ll go first! I think I’d rather be eaten by a Canadian Slow-Ass shark than fuck Christian Grey. I also think that I feel sorry for Christian Grey if Ana is like, his Holy Grail of Womanhood.

Rooks: Oh see, that’s where we differ!  If it’s evils we’re after, I think I’d rather be eaten by a Polar bear than fuck Ana Seal.  (Though I’m with you on that last bit.)

Katie: But then again, I also think they fucking deserve each other. I’m really, really angry at Good Vibes for being the proximate cause of our suffering through this.

Rooks: She’s so responsive, he’s so demanding; it’s a match made in codependency heaven!

Docta K: . . . I would rather be the shark. How awesome would that be?

Katie: One mile per hour! Sucksucksuck! Nomnomnom!

Docta K: Oh, shit, if only I could use 100% of my mouth!

Rooks: Um guys?  I don’t think sharks have sex for pleasure.  I can’t do it if I can’t do it. I could be a bonobo or a dolphin though.

Docta K: It’s true – I know a lot of shark facts.  At the moment, however, I also do not apparently have sex for fun, so I might as well be a shark, because at least I would continue my current level of awesome.

Katie: I’d put you on a mug for sure!

Docta K: Oh right, my homework is to check on book club mugs – is that it for the week?

Rooks: Well, out of sheer curiosity, is anyone actually looking forward to the awkward morning after?

Katie: Is it wrong that I hope she cries and slits her wrists and becomes a ghost and haunts him with the scent of her wet carpet?

Rooks: . . . Yes.  But I understand.

  1. Good thing we’re using favorite flowers instead of favorite sharks as safewords. Docta K might have to check her mug to remember each time.

  2. […] Previously in BDBCB4:BS, we got over-enthused about sharks, if such a thing is possible.  This week in Fifty Shades of Grey, we tackle the morning after, discuss the relative value of homemade v. storebought, contemplate the places soap should never go, and learn new things about French folklore and gentleman explorers.  Also, we solicit YOU, dear readers!  Keep an eye out for the poll! […]

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