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Chapters Eleven and Twelve: BDSM hurts but so does love….

The chapter begins with Ana ripping open her very own, fully creepy sex contract.

I can’t help but feel like re-reading the contract is a redundant move by the author. If we were that fascinated, we could go back and read it over again. However important it is to the plot, it’s pointless to have us all endure it a second time. But endure it I do. Safe-words are mentioned this time around. The contract suggests using different colours to signal how bad the pain may be getting for the submissive. Yellow, for example, could be used to convey a strong level of discomfort while red is to call a stop.

How about “take your finger out of there” or “put the whip down”. Why have boring colours? Pick something random. “The Gettysburg Address” or “rainbow connection”.

“Piers Morgan”. “Toast”.

Moving on, Ana is torn about whether or not she can sign this filthy, filthy piece of paper. It specifically says that she cannot touch Christian. She wonders if she can be in a relationship with a man and not be allowed to touch him.

I’m a tad confused about this piece of information. He doesn’t like to be touched on the ribs but she can put his rake inside her lady garden? I’m a tad uneasy that E L James is going to reveal he was sexually abused or something as a child and that’s why he doesn’t like to be touched. I’m not a fanatic about authors burdening characters with abuse and then giving them no reality with it. A lazy label to explain certain behaviours, never truly dealing with the subject which, in all regards, is extremely serious and not something to be lightly thrown around.

If a character suffered, let them suffer. Let them heal. Let them develop. Let them change.

Ana is really rather good at going on and on for pages on end about absolutely nothing. 500 words on and she’s learned nothing and I’m hungry.

She sends herself to sleep and is woken by Kate the next morning. A delivery has arrived at their flat and one can only predict that it will be from our friendly neighbourhood stalker, Mr. Grey.

He’s had a Macbook Pro delivered to her. Brand new and complete with, guess what!, her own private email address. You know, a gal of 21 these days really ought to have her own email address. This isn’t the dark ages, Ana. Next you’ll be allowed to do your taxes.

Now that Ana has an email address and access to a computer, the next few pages are lots of emails back and forth between her and Christian. This leads me to what I always suspected: reading emails are almost as boring as writing and sending them, and these two are no exception. They are even less charming together over the internet than they are in person.

All the emails are annoying and cutsey and have cheeky subjects on the top of them. I have to admit, Ana’s got one over on me here. I’ve never flirted over email. I can barely flirt over text because I’m such a grammar nazi. The moment a guy goes, “haha your so ‘…….’!” I’m gone.

A correct apostrophe is a sexy apostrophe.

I can never quite come across how I want in texts or emails, either. Sometimes, I’m so mad, I’m one step away from calling whoever the guy is and ranting at him but then I go, ‘No, Elle, just send a curt text and it’ll work and he’ll pick up your subtext and you’ll get the last word in”. Then said text is sent and he is oblivious. Always.

So yeah…..text and email are not anyone’s friends in the romance net.

Jose calls Ana begging for her forgiveness (again? I can’t remember) and she says it’s all fine. What’s a little unwanted sexual assault between friends? She hangs up and runs home to exchange more meaningless emails with Grey. She wants to flirt and be fun and he tells her to keep researching BDSM. She pouts. He brings up punishment and I’m eyeing my open window and its sixteen floor drop somewhat longingly.

In the last paragraph of this chapter, Ana says, “I type submissive into wikipedia”. Oh, so you know about Wikipedia, Ana Steele? Funny, I thought you had no access to the internet or the computer.

Lying, stupid twat.

Chapter twelve begins with Ana going for a jog and sadly not getting flattened by a bus.

She decides to playfully email Christian, basically saying that she has seen enough and that it was nice knowing him. She signs off, thinking she’s hilarious. Yes, Ana, you’re a real comedienne; that’s why this novel is just swimming along.

Sarcastic eyebrow is raised.

She instantly regrets her decision when he doesn’t reply straight away and goes into a complete meltdown. Welcome to your twenties, Ana. Or even your delayed teen years. Questioning everything and having countless conversations with the opposite sex before reminding yourself that they are a completely different species.

Suddenly, like a sociopath, Christian shows up at the flat and is eerily calm and collected with her. One can only assume that inside he is fuming and seething like a dormant volcano. “Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?”

Yes, call him Pompeii; he’s about to go off. Yippee.

As he pulls rank on her and they start getting shexy, it’s clear he’s upset about her referring to him as “nice”. This is yet another example of Grey having no sense of humour and being a complete psychopath. He brings white wine into the room and incorporates it into their foreplay.

If anything could turn me from wanting to fuck to not wanting to fuck, it’s white wine. If the guy suddenly pulled out Chardonnay, I’d choke him.

Unless the white wine was Poully Fume. POULLY FUME!!

Ana, however, doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind it either when he starts using ice cubes. This idea isn’t so repulsive. Actually, I rather like it. If it weren’t for E L James medical textbook way of writing erotic bedroom scenes, I might even have got into it. However, as with all the sex scenes in this novel, I feel like I’m reading “Orgasms for dummies”.

When the sex is over, Ana explains that the email was meant to be a joke and Grey is unimpressed. She feels a little strange about their unscheduled romp and he puts on his clothes and leaves, after a quick kiss and cuddle. Ana is left in her bedroom somewhat confused and unsure. Kate knocks and comes in to check on her.

Kate quizzes her on what happened, more curious than concerned about the whole thing. Ana explains that she pretended that she was done with him and so he came over. Kate jokes that this was quite an impressive move on Grey’s part and assures Ana that he’s smitten with her.

Then Ana says something that suddenly changes the way my eyes are dragging themselves across the words of this book.

“He came here to fuck me, that’s all.”

I feel….sad. I’m actually feeling something other than irritation for Anastasia Steele.

I can actually relate to her. Twenty-one year old lying on her rumpled bed. Hurt, disappointed and, saddest of all, no longer disillusioned.

Some guy took it away. He came in and took away years of hard work dreaming; imagining that all the pain and hurt you’ve seen other girls go through won’t touch you because you’re just that bit smarter, just that bit quicker and just that bit more prepared. All the time with people who love you and respect you to then fall for someone who refuses to do either. You think he’ll see, you’ll think he’ll give you one chance because in your head you’ve given him a thousand, but he won’t and he probably never will.

For a moment he’s the centre of your world, while you don’t even enter into his.

So, like Fantine. Now life has killed the dream you dreamed.

Ana emails Grey her issues with the contract and goes to sleep.

And I’m suddenly tired, too.

 

 

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