Fifty Shades of Shade - The Fifty Shades of Grey Parady Page 4

  Then, quickly, I realize it’s another thing altogether: he’s trying to kiss me.

  “No, Ramiro, stop.” I struggle in his grasp.

  “Chastity, please, biblioteca,” he whispers to me in romantic Spanish.

  “Ramiro, no!”

  “I think the lady said no,” a heroic voice proclaims.

  I glance over. It’s Sebastian. How did he find me?

  “Mr. Shade,” Ramiro says, tersely.

  “Mr. Ramirez,” Shade shoots back, coolly.

  “Mr. Shade,” Ramiro says.

  Not this again. I start throwing up just to stop another repetitive exchange. Also because my stomach made me.

  “Dios mio, Chastity,” a grossed-out Ramiro says, watching me heave.

  Shade walks over and gently guides me to a different place.

  “Here, throw up here. I’ll hold you.” He directs me to a sleeping homeless man on the sidewalk. I blow chunks all over him while Shade holds my hair back. “He won’t even notice,” Shade reassures me.

  After a few moments of throwing up, I’m exhausted. Shade gives me a panda-skin handkerchief to wipe my mouth. I’m deeply embarrassed and ashamed to be in this state. Ramiro slides back inside.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Shade.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “I don’t know. Calling you, vomiting on the sidewalk, not returning my Redbox movies on time.”

  “Let me take you home.”

  “I…I have to tell Melissa first.”

  “My brother Windsor will tell her. He’s with her now. They’re dancing and dry humping inside.”

  I was very confused. What kind of a first name is Windsor?

  “How—how did you find me?”

  “I tracked your cell phone.”

  I shrug. Seems like a perfectly normal thing for a private citizen to do.

  “I…need to tell Melissa myself before we go.”

  Shade nods then follows me back into the bar. He kicks the sleeping, vomit-soaked homeless guy in the stomach before entering.

  When I walk in I see Melissa on the dance floor going at it with Shade’s brother, who, I guess, would also technically be Shade. Good thing they have different first names.

  I lean into Sebastian’s ear and scream. Being drunk means I can’t control my volume, I guess. “She’s on the dance floor.”

  Shade rolls his eyes. He glances at the bartender, controlling him telekinetically. The bartender leaps over the bar and hands Shade a glass of water. Shade holds it out to me and orders me to drink it. The whole thing. He’s so overbearing. What’s his problem?

  I look at Melissa and she is dancing her booty off. Looks like Windsor will be waking up with us tomorrow. I notice Shade’s arm around me. I turn around and we begin to dance. What a dancer he is! The floor clears away as he starts break-dancing, spinning on his head and hands. Before I knew it, his urban maneuvers were making me dizzy. A moment before I go unconscious I hear Shade’s soft, mellifluous voice caress the air around me:

  “Shit. She’s passing the fuck out.”

  It’s very quiet. The light is muted. I’m comforted and at peace in a big quiet bed. Then I realize I don’t know where I am. I look around. It’s vaguely familiar. I’m starting to remember things from the night before—Ramiro, kiss, Melissa, dry humping, the phone call—Shade! I figure it out. I’m in his suite at the Wealthman Hotel.

  I look under the covers. I’m only in my t-shirt, bra and panties. No jeans and—even more scandalously—no socks!

  I glance next to me and the table has a glass of orange juice, two Advils, and a framed picture of Shade. Something about that picture reminds me of him.

  There’s a knock on the door. I jump without saying anything. The door opens anyway.

  Holy physique, Batman! He’s been working out. He’s the only man who can look this hot in sweatpants. His sleeveless gray shirt is drenched in his sweat. Sebastian Shade’s sweat. I’d like to drink some of that.

  Ew.

  Oh, You know you like it.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Better than I deserve,” I mumble. He sits down at the edge of the bed. I smell him. He smells like springtime and Fight Club all rolled into one.

  “How did I get here?”

  “I didn’t want the leather upholstery in my car to get dirty, so I rented a crane to lift your unconscious body into the suite from the outside.”

  “Did you put me into bed?”

  “Yes.” His face impassive.

  “Did I throw up again?”

  “No.”

  “Does a right triangle have one angle that is exactly ninety degrees?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you undress me?”

  “Yes.” He quirks an eyebrow, whatever quirking is. I blush.

  “Did we…you know?”

  “Chastity, you were comatose. I only smuggle dead bodies, not have sex with them.”

  “I’m…so sorry.”

  “It was an interesting evening. One I won’t forget in awhile.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “Breakfast should be here in a few minutes. You’re probably famished. Did you even eat last night?”

  Why is he scolding me?

  “Why are you scolding me?”

  “Am I?”

  His question threw me off. Touche, Mr. Shade.

  “I’m going to hop in the shower, unless you want to first.” He leans over and strokes his finger against my cheek. My medulla goes completely oblongata, and I stop breathing.

  “Breathe, Chastity. Breathe.”

  He walks away, into the bathroom.

  I finally breathe, letting out a tiny queef when I do. Glad he didn’t hear that. Why is he so damn attractive? I just want to jump in the shower with him. He’s like a white knight that rides a white horse with the same beautiful face. But he’s so confusing! One minute he turns me away, the next he’s lifting me to safety in a crane. My head is spinning.

  I jump out of bed to get dressed. A moment later he comes out of the shower in just a flesh-colored towel. Although, the flesh color is dark brown, which makes him look like a multi-racial eunuch. He’s glistening from the shower water and ivory oils made of male elephant tusk that he bathes with. And there I am, looking awkwardly for my jeans.

  “If you’re looking for your jeans I sent them to the laundry. They had too much vomit and middle-class on them.”

  “Ah. Okay.”

  “I sent Cheryl out to the store.” He hands me a shopping bag with expensive new jeans, socks, bra, underwear, and a shirt, all European and high-end.

  I shut the bag. “Thanks,” I say to Shade. I then hop in the shower.

  As the water is running over my sensitized body I can’t stop thinking about all the things I want to do to Shade. Also sexual stuff. The water cascades over me and I wish each drop was a tiny, miChastityture Sebastian Shade, making their way into my pores and whispering ambiguous, sensuous things into the ears of my blood cells.

  I see his shaving cream and I grab it. It smells like him. I begin spraying the Edge Pro Shave Gel foam all over my wet body.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “Breakfast is here.”

  “O-okay.”

  This stops me from my erotic daydreams. Damn it, now I actually have to see the guy in person that I was fantasizing about. Oh, wait, that’s good.

  I get out of the shower stall and change into the new clothes from the bag. I flush an item that didn’t fit down the toilet, sending it directly back to Europe. I figured the cash refund will flush back over here by tomorrow.

  I walk out. The bedroom is empty. I walk into a gigantic living room area of the suite. There’s a giant plasma screen television, huge, top-of-the-line overstuffed luxury sofas and loveseats, an enormous dining room table and two gladiators fighting to the death in the corner, presumably for Shade’s amusement. He grows bored of the gladiators and picks up a newspaper instead. The breakfast he ordered i
s spread across the table, an array of dishes that would feed an army. He looks up.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered every food ever.”

  “This is too much.”

  I begin stuffing my face with pancakes, bacon, eggs, pterodactyl sausage, and strawberries. Shade just smiles at me as he enjoys a spinach and egg white omelet, except instead of spinach it’s paper currency.

  “Why did you send me Thomas Hardy and that note?” I ask again.

  “When I held you in my arms after saving you from the cyclist, I knew you wanted me. I felt it. But, you have to understand, Chastity, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man. I don’t do romance. My tastes are very…singular. You should steer clear of me. But, yet, something keeps bringing me back to you. I find it…impossible to stay away.”

  I almost choke on my pancake taco (a new snack I just made up where I fold up a bunch of food inside a pancake and then eat it like a big puffy taco).

  He can’t stay away!

  “Then don’t,” I whisper.

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Are you celibate?”

  He seems amused. “No, I’m not.”

  “Is the bottom half of you reptilian?”

  “No.”

  Hm. Stumped. I thought reptile for sure.

  “What are your plans for the next few days?”

  “I’m working today. Midday o’clock I start.”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “Packing. Melissa and I are moving to that Skittles place.”

  “You mean Seattle?”

  I can never remember the exact name of that little town.

  “Have you found a job yet?”

  “No.”

  “Have you applied to my company?”

  “Um…no.”

  “What’s wrong with my company?”

  “Your company or your company? The second company is in italics,” I tell him.

  “Are you smirking at me?” His tone is amused. I feel embarrassed. I look down at my unfinished pterodactyl sausage and bite my lip.

  “I’d like to bite that lip.”

  Brain melter! That’s the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me. Especially considering the next sexiest thing is “Can I help you?”

  “Why don’t you?” I urge quietly.

  “Because, I won’t touch you. Not until you sign a contract saying it’s okay.”

  What does that mean?

  “What does that mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. But I need to show you so you can understand more. When are you off work tonight?”

  “Evening o’clock.”

  Shade turns to his Blackberry and pushes one button.

  “Cheryl, I’m gonna need the Shimmy Shango tonight?”

  What’s a Shimmy Shango?

  He turns to me. “I’ll pick you up evening o’clock, sharp. Then we’ll take my helicopter to my apartment.”

  “Helicopter? Why?”

  “Because my flying submarine is in the shop.”

  “Oh, but if it flies then—”

  “It’s not really a submarine, I know, I know. That’s kind of why it’s in the shop.”

  A real nighttime date with Sebastian Shade. In his helicopter. This is way better than any Match.com first date I ever had.

  “Let’s go, I’ll drive you back,” he says.

  We leave the hotel room and get in the elevator together. There’s a tense silence. We glance at each other.

  Finally, he turns to me. “Ah, fuck the contract.”

  I envisioned him having sex with a paper contract after he said this. Hilarious.

  He then grabbed me and kissed me like I had never been kissed before. Tongue and everything. My tongue began tonguing his tongue. I feel something stiff against my belly. I look down. He’s holding an Emmy award against me. Next to that I see his erection. He wants me bad.

  The elevator doors open and three amused businessmen step in. Shade lets me go. We stand apart for the rest of the ride.

  “Excuse me.” One of the businessmen eventually turns and gives Shade an annoyed look. Seems as if Shade’s erection was pressing against him.

  “Oh, terribly sorry,” Shade says.

  That businessman guy doesn’t know how lucky he just was.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shade is prompt. Picking me up right outside Ricklin’s as soon as I finish. Buzz-cut, bruising Cheryl opens the door for me.

  “Miss Stool,” he nods.

  I get in the beast of a luxury car. Shade is there.

  “Evening, Miss Steel.”

  He’s so formal. Did none of that happen in the elevator? The tonguing? The erecting? I’m seriously asking. Did it? Why won’t you answer me?!?

  “How was your day?” he asks. He’s brushing my knuckle with his thumb. The simple gesture sends vibrations through my body. I envision myself making love to his giant, life-size thumb. It’s surprisingly hot, actually.

  “It was okay,” I snap out of it.

  The ride to the heliport is short. We climb out of the car.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “For what?” Oh, right. The helicopter. I plum forgot.

  We walk into a building and into an elevator. I start to recollect our kiss. I look at Sebastian. His expression, I can never tell if he’s thinking anything. Like looking at Sarah Palin. The kiss is the only thing on my mind.

  “It’s only three floors,” he says with sly humor.

  Shocker. He knew what I was thinking again. Telepathy gets boring after awhile.

  We get off the top floor. No sign of the helicopter yet. Instead we walk into a control tower first. An old man is sitting there. He hands Sebastian a piece of paper with the directions on it. I’m guessing it’s the directions because it has just two points, one ‘A,’ one ‘B’ and a dotted line connecting the two. Must be fancy helicopter terms.

  We walk out and there it is—a giant helicopter with the name Shade Enterprises on the side. We climb in. He straps me into the seat and I’m overwhelmed. There are lights and buttons and levers and words all over the place. Who can make sense of this? Sebastian gets in next to me and begins switching and toying with everything. He tells me to put on my headphones because helicopter noise makes your ears go ouchy.

  “Shimmy Shango Gynecology, Gynecology Edward Hancock,” he says into the walkie talkie.

  “Roger that,” a disembodied voice says in return.

  Shade looks at me. “Here we go.”

  The helicopter takes off. I look down and everything is shrinking. Then I realize we’re just moving farther away from it. I get that mixed up all the time.

  As we get closer to Seattle (I’m still not sure if I’m pronouncing it right), I ask him if he knows what he’s doing. Why I waited till now to ask I have no idea.

  “I’ve watched Top Gun like a hundred times,” he reassures me.

  “But…that was fighter jets. Not helicopters.”

  He just smiles at me. I melt. When are we getting there already? I want him.

  “We’re here,” he says.

  The helicopter turns off and Sebastian puts the parking brake on. We step onto the helipad. The wind is so strong that it sends me flying off the building, whips me, and tosses me back on the building exactly where I was before.

  Shade holds me close. “Be careful.”

  Moments later we’re in his apartment. Huge is not the word. Fuckinghuge is more like the word. The far wall is all glass and leads onto a balcony overlooking all of America, past Europe, and into Asia. There is all manner of wealthy excess in the furniture and art. Near the kitchen there is a dining table surrounded by sixteen chairs that each have their own little dining table next to it. In the corner is a grand piano. The spirit of Ray Charles is playing a beautiful tune on it.

  Shade snaps his fingers at ghost Ray Charles. “That’ll be all for tonight, Ray.” Ray Charles nods then disappears, presumably back to the afterlife. I wonder if ghost
Ray Charles is also blind?

  “Would you like a drink?”

  After last night? He has to be joking. He takes out an expensive bottle of white wine and two glasses. He shows me the bottle.

  “Does a 1997 Marcel Marceau Chardonnay sound okay?”

  “I know nothing about wine, Sebastian. I’m sure it’s fine.”

  He pours it out. I look around at this unparalleled luxury. What am I doing here?

  “You’re very quiet and pale. Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I say, missing my mouth completely and pouring wine all down my back.

  Shade looks at me. He then takes out some papers. “Here, sign these.”

  A contract? “What is it?”

  “It’s an NDA. It says that you can’t talk about this to anyone. My lawyer insists.”

  He opens a large drawer and his lawyer pops out. “I insist,” he says.

  I knew the lawyer was legit because he was holding a briefcase.

  “What if I don’t want to sign it?”

  “Well, then it’s just going to be you and your subconscious hanging out on Friday nights from now on.”

  I was thinking this weekend we can go bowling.

  I stared at him in disbelief. Is this for real? But I’m curious.

  “Okay, I’ll sign it.”

  He hands me a pen. “Aren’t you going to read it first?”

  “No.”

  “Chastity, you should always read anything you sign.”

  “Sebastian, what you fail to understand is that I’m incapable of reading anything that isn’t classic English literature. Is this contract ‘Wuthering Heights?’”

  “No.”

  “So, then I’m not going to read it.”

  He thinks. “Solid point, Miss Stool. Well put.”

  I sign the document and hand it back to him, keeping a copy for myself. Suddenly, my horniness is feeling braver.

  “Does this mean you’re going to make intercourse to me tonight?”

  His mouth drops. “No, Chastity. Firstly, I don’t make intercourse. I fuck…hard. Like a jack hammer controlled by a grizzly bear. Secondly, there’s more paperwork to sign first. Thirdly, you don’t know what you’re in for. Come, let me show you the playroom.”

  Ooh, playroom. Ooh, fuck hard. That last paragraph was full of juicy tidbits.