Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody by Fanny Merkin (reading an ebook .TXT) 📗

“You want me to be honest, I’ll be honest,” I say. “You act like there’s something wrong with you, like everything you enjoy is embarrassing or scary. News flash, Mr. Grey: This isn’t 1950 or whatever. Your sexual tastes aren’t as shocking or as deviant as you think. Neither is anything else you like. Maybe if you didn’t take your fifty shames so seriously, I wouldn’t be so compelled to laugh at them.”

“I’ve already told you: I can’t think of myself as ‛normal.’ This is all part of the identity I’ve built for myself. It’s how I survived my tumultuous upbringing. It’s how I survive day to day,” he says.

I sigh. If I move in with him, and admit my feelings, and have his baby (oops, keep forgetting about that!), I will have no choice but to submit to him and put up with this perpetual pity party of his. You can’t separate Earl Grey from his fifty shames. Why can’t I fall in love with someone relatively normal, like my ethnic friend, the brony Jin?

“I can’t handle this anymore,” I say, fleeing from the Dorm Room of Doom.

“Anna!” Earl yells. He doesn’t chase me down. I think this is what he wanted anyway: to scare me away. Well, congrats.

I call my mother from the Starbucks across the street. She’s still in town, and agrees to pick me up at once. After I hang up the phone, I realize I’m still naked except for the faery wings. Oh well—my mother the nudist won’t mind. The other customers in Starbucks aren’t quite as enlightened.

“What, like none of you have seen a naked faery before?” I shout.

A dozen people, men and women, shake their heads. “Not in Starbucks,” a teenage boy working as a barista says. “It’s the juxtaposition of the naked female body with the mundane, sanitized setting of a chain coffee shop that makes it exciting. Plus the wings are just weird.”

“Get over it,” I say.

Then I remember something Kathleen told me once that should distract the gawkers. “The Starbucks logo used to feature a topless mermaid,” I say. “Go stare at her double lattes.”

Everyone pulls out their iPhones and Androids and whatever the hell smartphones they have these days and begins googling images of the topless mermaid. When my mother pulls up out front, I slip out of the coffee shop unnoticed; everyone is too busy wanking to the old Starbucks logo. Thank God they changed the logo—there are enough bathroom masturbators at Starbucks as it is.

Chapter Twenty-seven

IT’S BEEN A WEEK since I left Earl Grey, and he hasn’t tried to contact me. I’m staying at my dad’s house in Portland. I didn’t consider going back to the duplex I share with Kathleen, not even for a second—she’s probably still mad at me. Plus, the entire place is undoubtedly still under surveillance by Earl Grey, billionaire stalker extraordinaire.

My father is on my case about getting a job. I got so wrapped up in my new life with Earl Grey that I forgot I even worked at Walmart. Of course they would take me back in a heartbeat—Earl Grey would make them, or else he’d fire my boss or liquidate the company or something. I can’t see myself returning to Walmart, though. I never liked it that much, and I’m eager to start a new chapter in my life. I applied for a job at Amazon, a local Seattle publishing company. They advertised a few openings in their warehouse, which sounds like a great entry-level position in the book industry. If I get the job, I might be able to work my way up to editor in a few years.

I’m sleeping in my old bedroom for the first time since I moved in with my mother after my parents’ divorce. The room is exactly how I left it, right down to the stuffed animals and N*SYNC poster. It’s a peaceful environment, a return to the womb of sorts, but my mind won’t stop racing. My father is at work, and I’m lying on my bed fully clothed and trying to catnap. I close my eyes. My thoughts invariably turn to Earl Grey. Would our life together really be so bad? No matter how hard I try to be angry with him, my body responds with increasing desire . . .

I unbutton the top two buttons of my blouse. This gives me just enough room to slip a hand inside my shirt. I slide my fingers between my bra and left breast. I trace the edges of my areola before giving my hard nub a firm pinch. I imagine Earl Grey, my handsome knight in shining armor, knocking on the bedroom door and asking for a small favor. If you don’t mind. (I don’t.) He shuts the door behind him. I drop to my knees and grab hungrily at his belt, ripping it open like I’m tearing the bow off the greatest Christmas present ever. I unzip his slacks . . .

I unbutton my own jeans just enough to slip my hand down the front. I let out a slight moan. I can’t believe I’ve never done this before!

When I wake up, it’s half past nine according to the clock on the nightstand. I’m still on the bed, half in and half out of my clothes. Damn—I must have been exhausted. All I’ve been doing for the past week is sleeping and eating and watching TV with my dad. I don’t remember completing my solo session; thank God I was alone! What if I had fallen asleep with Earl Grey going down on me in his Dorm Room of Doom? How would he have “punished” me? I button my jeans and sit up on the bed.

I switch the lamp on. The iPad Earl gave me is sitting on the nightstand. I haven’t touched it in a week, but since Earl hasn’t tried calling me, I doubt he has e-mailed me. Still, I turn it