Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 24.

First order of business: is anyone going to the Geeky Kink Event this weekend?   Rowdy and I will be there and would love to meet people in person.  We will also be hosting a Pervocracy room party Saturday evening--I'll post about this when I know specifically when and where. (UPDATE: 7-11pm, 5th floor. Look for the room with "PERVOCRACY FIELD HQ" sign on the door.)

Also, I'm officially an RN now, so that's cool.

Onto the book.  When we last left our heroes, they were... you know what, I could write one of these that would work for literally every chapter.  When we last left our heroes, Ana was all "I want you, but I don't enjoy anything about your actual personality or sexuality," which was understandable because Ralph ChunderStorm's personality was mostly obsession and manipulation, and his sexuality was mostly violent coercion.

But in this chapter... well, all that is still happening, but in Georgia!

Content warnings for this chapter: Physical, sexual, and emotional abuse, of course.  Forced eating.  Murder reference.  Child molestation.  Dog bites.  Another long-ass chapter.

Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feet are mouthwateringly naked, and he’s staring at me. His private-joke smile etched on his beautiful face and his eyes a molten gray.

I just realized that I have no idea what Arousal SexBerry looks like.  I mean, obviously he looks like Robert Pattinson in white greasepaint, but we're not supposed to know that.  All we know from the book is he's got gray eyes and messy red hair, and he's tall.  (And he's a white guy, but we only know that because E.L. James describes José as "all-Hispanic-American" and has him drop random Spanglish in every sentence, so we can assume anyone who doesn't get that kind of treatment is white.)  That doesn't exactly paint a picture.

Is he muscular or lean or soft?  Does he have freckles or birthmarks?  Are his features strong or delicate?  Is there anything about him--thick eyebrows, a slightly crooked nose, full lips, dimples, a few lines around the eyes--anything that makes him look like a specific person instead of a generic beautiful blankness?  I don't need an itemized list of all these things, but any of them would be nice.  It would do a lot for me compared to "he was hot, just take my word for it."

“Eat,” he says, his tongue caressing the front of his palate as he enunciates the ‘t’.

Go ahead and try this.  Try and say "eat" that way without spitting"eaTUH" or "eathhh" all over your keyboard.  You might want to be alone in the room for this.

“Wake up.” No. Please. My eyes flicker unwillingly open for a split second. [...] Why is he waking me? It’s the middle of the night, or so it feels. Holy shit. Does he want sex – now? “Time to get up, baby. I’m going to switch on the sidelight.” His voice is quiet. “No,” I groan. “I want to chase the dawn with you,” he says, kissing my face, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my mouth, and I open my eyes.

At least it isn't sex this time.  He got her up at 5:30 in the goddamn AM because he's feeling whimsical.  What a peach.

We are now 86% of the way into the book.  I don't read a lot of romances so maybe I just don't understand the format, but this seems like a bit late in the game for the two leads to still have nothing in common and zero trust in each other.

“Can’t I have a shower?” He sighs. “If you have a shower, I’ll want one with you, and you and I know what will happen then – the day will just go. Come.”

Ew.  Ew ew ew ew.  Dude.  Having sex with someone is not an involuntary reflex.  You can decide not to have sex with her and then you won't do it.  (He can't even decide not to get in the shower with her?  That's an involuntary reflex too?)  This whole "men can't help themselves if sex is available" thing is awful, for both men and women, and patently untrue.

I'd add in "or she could stop him," but at this point, that's barely worth considering as an option.  We all know she can't.  The only thing that makes any of the sex or play in this book consensual is that she decides she's okay with some of the things she can't stop him from doing.

“I’ll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?” He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile very sweetly. “Don’t rain on my parade, Anastasia,” he warns softly.

This "soft warning" stuff pushes me into a very particular fantasy every time it comes up.  It's the fantasy where instead of going "oh my gosh sir, don't get angry sir, I'll do whatever you want to make sure this never goes beyond soft warning sir," I say "OR YOU'LL DO WHAT?" and make him spell out his bullshit.  See if it's still sexy then.

In this fantasy I am extremely good at martial arts and willing to use them, because that's clearly going to be necessary once he actually answers the "or what."

Also, this is one of those times where Face KnuckleTarget doesn't actually seem very dominant.  Of course there's different styles of dominance, so I don't want to say this way is wrong (if it were consensual and opt-out-able), but... I feel like the classically dominant thing would be to say "You will eat.  That's an order."  Not "YOU ARE MAKING ME HAVE A SAD."  That's more manipulative than powerful, and one of (many) reasons this book doesn't push my BDSM buttons at all.

“I want to roll my eyes at you.” “By all means, do, and you will make my day,” he says sternly. I gaze up at the ceiling. “Well a spanking would wake me up, I suppose.” I purse my lips in quiet contempla-tion. Christian’s mouth drops open.

So now she... likes spanking?  When did this happen?  Not onscreen, that's for damn sure.

I'm not sure if she's even saying she likes it here, or if she's just so used to it being part of her life that she might as well joke about it.

“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea.” I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I ever get enough of this man?

You're not fooling anyone, E.L.  Ana just spent five pages miserable that he's waking her up at 5:30 to march her off God knows where.  Having her suddenly rhapsodize ecstatic about him remembering her brand of tea does not make up for that.

Actually, it just sounds kind of pathetic, like seriously, knowing what your partner likes to drink is not that magical.  Here, I'll do it right now: Rowdy likes Starbucks coffee, medium roast, no cream or sugar.  Am I an amazing super-boyfriend or what?  And I don't communicate entirely in death glares, so, hey, bonus.

Outside, in the relative cool of the half-light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me. “You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can’t help emulating. He’s so lovable when he’s playful and carefree.

I've got a lot of words for this, but "playful" and "carefree" didn't make the list.

[Toxic Womanizer is blasting music in his car and Ana doesn't like it so she changes the song to Britney Spears. I dunno.] He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down. Victory!

Once again, Ana going "sooo wooonderful" about being thrown scraps is not having the intended effect on me.

“It was Leila,” he answers my unspoken thoughts. How does he do that? “Leila?” “An ex, who put the song on my iPod.” Damien warbles away in the background as I sit stunned. An ex… ex-submissive? An ex– “One of the fifteen?” I ask. “Yes.” “What happened to her?”

Hey, one of "the fifteen" has a name!  Although Ana seems more concerned with being quietly horrified that... why exactly is she horrified?  She already knows Clod Thuddington has had submissives before.  Is this exchange supposed to show that she can only cope with that fact through constant denial?  Charming.

For me, anyway, the horror comes from that last question.  What happened to her?  They broke up, obviously.  But Ana seems like she expects the answer to involve a shallow grave in the woods.

“What happened to the other fourteen?” I ask. Jeez he’s talking – take advantage. “You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?” “You’re not Henry VIII.”

"Ha ha, no, but seriously, did you behead someone?  I wouldn't put it past you."

“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.” “Elena?” “Mrs. Robinson to you.” He half smiles his secret private joke smile. Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all-foreign sounding. A vision of a glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes to mind, and I know that she’s beautiful. I must not dwell. I must not dwell.

 EW!  EW EW EW!  "I bet your molester was gorgeous! I'm so jealous."  OH GOD EWWW.

..."Elena" is foreign-sounding?

He turns and grins at me as the GPS urges him to turn right into what looks like an industrial complex. He pulls up outside a large white building with a sign reading Brunswick Soaring Association. Gliding! We’re going gliding? [...] “Another first, Miss Steele,” he says as he climbs out of the car. First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider… shit! No – he said that he’s done it before. I relax.

This whole "I've never done anything nonsexual with anyone but you" shtick is getting really depressing for me.  I know I'm supposed to be thinking about how special Ana is, but instead I'm thinking about fifteen (nineteen? how does that math work) women who all got the "sorry, you're only good for sex" cold shoulder about sleeping in his bed or participating in his hobbies.

He walks round and opens my door. The sky has turned to a subtle opal, shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us.

I made a picture of what that would actually look like.

“Hello, Taylor,” I murmur shyly. [Taylor is Lord Growlingly's personal assistant, or manservant, or something like that.] “Miss Steele.” He nods a greeting at me, and I frown. “Ana,” he corrects himself. “He’s been hell on wheels the last few days. Glad we’re here,” he says conspiratorially.

Okay, time for a lesson about Good People.

Good people are good all the time.  They may not be nice or happy all the time, but they are non-abusive and generally decent all the time.

There is no such thing as a conditionally good person. If someone is selectively good when they're getting everything they want, but monstrous when they don't, they are not a good person.  That's like saying a dog is tame because it only bites people when it's hungry or angry or the weather is bad or someone is wearing stripes.  After a while you've just got to admit that "well, it doesn't always bite" is not going to win it a Canine Good Citizen title.

It is not other people's job to make sure that demanding assholes always have everything they demand to keep them "good."  If they were actually a good person, they would be good even when they were slightly inconvenienced.

I hear and feel his movements as he climbs in behind me. Of course he’s strapped me in so tightly I can’t move round to see him… typical! We are very low on the ground. In front of me is a panel of dials and levers and a big stick thing. I leave well alone.

I know that this is actually just E.L. James being too lazy to research, but it comes off as Ana being incredibly incurious and passive.  I mean, I don't know a damn thing about flying, but I would at least want to know which indicators were for speed and altitude.  It's hard for me to like a character who writes off 99% of her surroundings as "probably something technical or whatever."

We head west, inland away from the rising sun, gaining height, crossing over fields and woods and homes and I-95. Oh my. This is amazing, above us only sky.

Well, I should hope so.  You're in a goddamn plane.  If there's something else above you, you need to be very concerned about that.

“See the joy-stick in front of you?” he shouts again. I look at the stick that is moving slightly between my legs. Oh no, where’s he going with this? “Grab hold.” Oh shit. He’s going to make me fly the plane. No! “Go on, Anastasia. Grab it,” he urges more vehemently. Tentatively, I grasp it and feel the pitch and yaw of what I assume are rudders and paddles or whatever keeps this thing in the air.

Stick between her legs, tee hee hee.

Really, "rudders or paddles or whatever?"

And man, why can't anything ever be fun?  This ought to be awesome, right?  She's getting to fly a glider!  That's totally sweet!  Except that the framing is all about her being terrified and going "no no no," and him not giving her a choice.  Can't we ever just enjoy anything in this book?

[They land uneventfully, which I guess is a good thing, but in terms of writing, it's kind of a "god forbid anything should actually happen" thing.] As soon as I’m out, he grabs me and holds me flush against his body. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, tugging it so my head tips back, and his other hand travels down to the base of my spine. He kisses me, long, hard, and passionately, his tongue in my mouth. His breathing is mounting, his ardor … Holy cow – his erection… we’re in a field.

Holy cow, we're in a field!  Holy horse, we're in a barn!  Holy guinea pig, we're in a box of wood shavings!

“Breakfast,” he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic.

I have another challenge for you.  After you're done spitting "eaTTT" at your computer, whisper "breakfast" erotically.  Try it.  This will be fun.

[They go to IHOP. Erotically.] “I know what I want,” he breathes, his voice low and husky. I glance up at him, and he’s staring at me in that way that tightens all the muscles in my belly and takes my breath away, his eyes dark and smoldering. Holy shit. I gaze at him, my blood singing in my veins answering his call. “I want what you want,” I whisper. He inhales sharply. “Here?” he asks suggestively, raising an eyebrow at me, smiling wickedly, his teeth trapping the tip of his tongue. Oh my… sex in IHOP. His expression changes, growing darker.

“Can I treat you?” I ask Christian. “Treat me how?” “Pay for this meal.” Christian snorts. “I don’t think so.” he scoffs. “Please. I want to.” He frowns at me. “Are you trying to completely emasculate me?”

This is completely unsurprising, but it's weird when you remember that this is a character we're supposed to like.

I bet you this scene won't be in the movie.  Come for the erotic romance!  Stay for the bickering about who pays for the Moons Over My Hammy!

Of course he doesn’t ask me for my mother’s address. He knows it already, stalker that he is. When he pulls up outside the house, I don’t comment. What’s the point?

You know what emotion is really romantic?  Resignation.  So hot.

[Ana goes home and finds out she got the publishing job she applied for a couple chapters ago. She's planning a barbecue with her family and Brisket DryRub, but of course he cancels at the last second.]

“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to Hilton Head now. Please apologize to your mother – I can’t make dinner.” He sounds very businesslike. “Nothing serious, I hope?” “I have a situation which I have to deal with. I’ll see you Friday. I’ll send Taylor to collect you from the airport if I can’t come myself.” He sounds cold. Angry even. But for the first time, I don’t immediately think it’s me. [...] Oh no. The last ‘situation’ he had was my virginity . Jeez, I hope it’s nothing like that.

"I must go!  Someone, somewhere, hasn't had sex with me!"

...No, actually, that's an incredibly weird assumption to make because someone used the word "situation."  Although I can't entirely blame her for wild guessing, because of course he can't be arsed to actually tell her.

They exchange some pissy zero-content emails.  It's amazing how much page space you can fill when every one-line email has full headers and signatures.

Ana talks in her sleep apparently, and of course Meat WobbleSack won't tell her what she said, because everything's gotta be difficult around here.  Presumably it was "I love you," because he's being all cagey about it, but whatever.  The chapter kind of just ends at this point.