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

Earl gazes into my eyes. “It’s more than likely my own fault, Anna,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Remember when I said my condoms are tailored?” he says.

I nod.

“Here’s the thing,” he continues. “Apparently hemming a condom for a better fit isn’t such a smart idea. The sperm can swim right through the stitched seams.”

“Huh,” I say.

I lay my head on Earl’s chest and immediately start sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I stare into his gazing gray eyes. “What’s wrong? Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you,” I say. The secret’s out.

Earl Grey’s face lights up with joy. I’ve never seen him so happy, except for maybe when he’s emulating his hero, Tom Cruise.

“I’m in love with you, Earl Grey,” I repeat. “When I ran out of your penthouse, I was confused. I’ve since realized that love is a bumpy ride; every rose has its thorns. I hope you’ll take me back.”

“Of course I will,” he says. “I was worried you wouldn’t take me back. I should have cut you some slack when you laughed at our role-playing session—at least you’re open to new things. I know what a sadistic prick I can be, Anna. It can’t be easy to deal with the moody Earl Grey, but you seem to handle me better than any woman I’ve been with. You’re not afraid of my fifty shames, and you’ve taught me that I shouldn’t be either. Baby, I was born this way.”

I laugh. “I didn’t know you were a Lady Gaga fan! I love her. It sounds like you and I were meant for each other.”

“I’m not sure who that is, but speaking of being meant for each other . . .” Earl gets down on one knee and produces a jewelry box from his pocket. “Remember when I said I wasn’t the kind of guy who could see himself with a girlfriend?”

I roll my eyes. How could I forget?

“While I stand by that statement,” he says, “I can see myself as the kind of guy who has a wife.”

“I think that kind of guy is called a ‛husband,’” I offer.

Earl smiles and opens the jewelry box, revealing a gold engagement ring topped with a gleaming rock. “Anna Steal . . . will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” I say, unable to contain myself. Literally, I am unable to contain myself, as urine trickles down my leg.

I remove the ring from the box and slide it on my finger. Upon closer inspection, the stone is actually a diamond-studded twenty-sided die. Oh my. The ring is so heavy I can barely lift my hand. My inner guidette does a fist pump. I want to spend the rest of my life with this amazing, rich, attractive, rich man. “This calls for a celebration,” I say.

“I think I know what you mean,” he says, embracing me and lowering me onto the bed.

“Hold on,” I say. “Did you just hear something? In the closet . . .”

Earl marches over to the closet and throws the door open.

“Dr. Drew!” he screams.

The doctor stumbles out of the closet. “Sorry, I was just, ah . . . leaving.” Dr. Drew scampers out of the room. As he barrels down the stairs, I hear him trip and roll the rest of the way to the bottom. Dr. Drew screams for help, something about a bone showing.

“Should we go check on him?” Earl asks, peering out the door.

“No,” I say. “He’s a doctor—he can heal himself.”

Earl closes the door. “I believe we were getting ready to celebrate,” he says, removing his jacket and tossing it across the room. He loosens his tie. “Care to join me?”

Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Actually, there’s something I want to try, for a change,” I say, propping my head up on a teddy bear. “Leave the tie on, and take off your pants.”

“Yes, Miss Steal,” he says, grinning wickedly. He slips out of his gray dress pants and silver thong, revealing his slender, muscular legs. His manhood, jutting out from underneath his dress shirt, is primed and ready to go.

“Get your ass over here,” I order him. I kind of like being in charge.

He does as he’s told, and stops beside the bed. “What exactly did you have in mind, Miss Steal?”

“My fiancé’s name is Earl effing Grey. If you don’t teabag me right this second, I’m calling bullshit.”

He shakes his head. “It’s a shame we didn’t do this sooner. I love you, baby,” he says, straddling me on the bed.

“And I love you,” I say.

He dips his sack into my open mouth. As I taste his expensive coconut-lime body wash, any remaining uncertainty over our future together fades. I love him: the father of my child, my future husband, my lover, my partner in kink, my Maverick . . . my beloved Edward Cullen. I mean, “Earl Grey.”

Epilogue

MISS STEAL, you’ve been in labor for sixty-five hours now. The baby is in trouble. We have no choice but to do a C-section,” the obstetrician says.

“Then do it, goddammit,” Earl says. He has been here in the hospital, holding my hand throughout the entire ordeal. Carrying his baby to full term was painful enough, what with all its sadistic behavior in the womb, but the past sixty-five hours have been even more painful. The nurses can’t pump enough painkillers into my system to stem the pain.

I squeeze Earl’s hand. “It’s . . . going . . . to be okay,” I mutter. I am exhausted and need to rest, but I need to be strong. For our baby boy.

“Do we have your consent, Miss Steal?”

“Okay,” I hear myself say. My voice sounds like it’s coming from another dimension.

“Excellent,” the obstetrician says. “This will all be over soon.” She turns to a nurse and asks for the anesthesiologist, and then orders another nurse to wheel my bed into the operating room.

Everything happens so fast. We are whisked down a hallway, through another corridor, and into the OR. Earl, who is wearing