Last I left you, I was nigh to the end of book two of the biggest collection of formulaic sex scenes laced with overly specific references to vast wealth.
But alas, I forgot The Butt Drawer.
I am so sorry, and if you will ever forgive me, well I shall be in your debt. Kind of.
So yes, The Butt Drawer.
Ana wanders her way into the Playroom of dull BDSM sex .Really, the set up is there for all kinds of interesting freak-nasty, but [butt] nothing more so scintillating happens than you might find at the very front counter of your local “Couples Love Aid” romance shop. A Fizzle and a Woop.
She’s “Oh My” -ing everything in there with Doe-like curiosity. Apparently she can’t figure out what the couch is in there for.
A lo and behold, there is a chest of drawers with toys.
Oh My, whatever could these be?
Ana . . .
“That’s a butt plug.”
“A butt plug? Is it for me?”
Then, voila, the curiouser and curiouser description of anal beads, OH MY, what are these? They go . . . DOWN THERE?
Oh yes. OH MY. wow. JEEZ. Holy Shit. Holy Cow. Oh My Gosh.
And other overused phrases as well.
“So is, this the Butt Drawer?”
“Yes Ana, this is the Butt Drawer. Do you like the Butt Drawer?”
“It’s not on the top of my Christmas Card list.”
You know, because we all remember to send holiday greetings to drawers of stuff meant for the butt.
What ruins this part more than the awful back and forth is that you hear the “worldly air” of knowledge from Grey’s voice. Especially when he matter of factly explains anal beads. OH!
Oh Wait, There’s More!
Next drawer is the “Drawer O’ Good Vibrations.” Which Ana promptly slams shut.
Wait, what? Girl please. If you’ve never seen any of these things before, why are you freaking out? You didn’t freak over The Butt Drawer, so what gives?
I would think that you would at least peek a little. Jeez.
And then behind drawer three is the clampy, pokey, spiky drawer. Again, stuff that you see before you go behind the red curtain at an adults playtime shop.
Ana looks at a pretty little loopy thing. Oh my, what is this? Why Ana that’s an [Unsexy sounding Germanic word here] wheel. Which is described as pastry cutter looking thing that feels amazing. Yawn.
And on to the nipple clamps. Oh My, a clamp on my pinky, just to see how that feels, holy cow, whadya know? A sensation unlike any other.
And then another clamp that is described to look like a western wear string tie. Cool in theory right? Apparently they are super pretty and such. Nice.
After an at length description by Grey of said pretty tie thingys, Ana kills the mood. Again.
“How does he manage to make everything sound so erotic?”
ANA. FOR CRAP’S SAKE, THEY’RE NIPPLE CLAMPS.
WHAT IS NOT EROTIC ABOUT A NIPPLE CLAMP? THE WORD NIPPLE IS USED TO DESCRIBE EXACTLY WHAT THEY ARE.
I’M SURE THAT HALF THE FOLKS READING THIS RIGHT NOW ARE GETTING A BIT RANDY THINKING ABOUT SOME FORM OF EXOTIC NIPPLE DO-HICKEY ON THEIR LOVER.
Ana, who for all intensive purposes devotes a lot of mental time to describing the daily life of her nipples, seems to think that such mundane, jewel-laden sex wear items as exotic nipple ties are somehow, erotic.
You know, because they’re just a part of daily life.
Hmm, well it’s time for coffee and my exquisitely jeweled nipple ties.
Just another day at the office, s’pose I’ll wear the ones with rubies on them. Or maybe the jade ones with pearl inlay. Because they’re such a average part of a non-sexual aspect of my life.
Ana, you’re killing me.
Also, a teddy nightdress gets the treatment with explicitly described spaghetti straps. As opposed to a turtleneck nightie. Or crewneck. Or Henley.
And apparently all of Ana’s clothes automatically pool at her feet. There is a lot of pooling going on. I almost envy her. I always end up with lumpy piles on the ground that I will forget and trip over later. My bad.
P.S. At this point I’m skipping the sex scenes. We get it, he’s either entering slowly, or slamming into you. It’s always delightful/exquisite/torturous/amazing/earth shaking/or mind blowing.
Folks, if you will, give “the Treatment” to some mundane things in your life. Or the reverse Treatment to something sexy. Leave in Comments.
As she sipped her orange juice, in a cold, cold glass pressed to her lips, she gazed at the rumpled carton waiting for her on the counter. The expiration date was last week. She shivered, whether it was from the cold glass rubbing at her teeth or if it was from the early onset sign of something more drastic to come later. Oh to suffer as such.
Everything below her bellybutton clenched and she thought, “Oh God, I should have gone to the grocery store this week. This juice, it could be so dangerous. But it is so good. I guess I’ll just take my chances.”
Belatedly, she considered the equally precarious situation with the milk.