Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody by Fanny Merkin (popular ebook readers .txt) 📕

Garden, shopping at Walmart, paying for sex), they don’t discourage me from getting close to him. If anything, I feel a stronger connection to him with each new revelation. Is there a point where I will be overwhelmed and unable to handle his secrets? Is there something so shameful that it will cause me to leave him forever? How dark can things get?

After we finish eating, I retire to the upper deck to sunbathe. I’ve brought all 1,200 pages (or whatever) of Earl’s quiz to read through again. Earl lounges on one of the lower decks, buying and selling companies on his BlackBerry.

It takes me over three hours to read through the quiz for the second time. When I’m finished, I pick up my iPad and sit under an umbrella so I can have some shade while typing. I start the e-mail app.

From: Anna Steal <[email protected]>

Subject: Let’s Talk About Us

Date: May 23 5:05 PM

To: Earl Grey <[email protected]>

So I revisited the quiz. And I still think you’re insane if you want me to fill it out.

Let’s begin with the obtrusive questions about “hard limits.” Am I interested in “acts involving urine, feces, fireworks, golf clubs, or animals”? Um, no. Disgusting.

Also: The questions about what parts of my life I would let you control? Over the line. No way am I going to let you tell me what to eat, or when to eat it. Is this a romantic relationship or Weight Watchers?

Anna

Less than a minute later, there’s a reply from Earl Grey. Somebody clearly wasn’t busy enough.

From: Earl Grey <[email protected]>

Subject: Okay

Date: May 23 5:06 PM

To: Anna Steal <[email protected]>

Dear Miss Steal—

The hard limits are negotiable. I find that it’s always best to discuss these things in advance, however, so that you don’t wake up one morning with a Cleveland steamer on your chest and wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

The dietary restrictions are also up for negotiation. You don’t have to eat from a prescribed list of foods all the time if that’s not what you want. We can compromise. For instance, I can provide a list of foods to be eaten as snacks (baby carrots?).

Earl Grey

CEO, The Earl Grey Corporation

I e-mail back that baby carrots might be an acceptable compromise. After I hit “send,” I put the iPad into sleep mode and set it aside. I recline in the lawn chair and close my eyes, ready to nap under the shade. Before I can drift off, however, something tickles my face. I open my eyes and what I come face-to-face with is definitely not a baby carrot.

I glance up at Earl’s grinning face. “We’ve got about an hour left,” he says. “I have an F-word in mind that can keep us occupied . . .”

After we run through a fire drill, Earl and I stroll to the front of the yacht to get a good view of our destination. I haven’t told him about the baby yet. He’s going to blame me for it; I need to wait for the right time to tell him he’s going to be a father.

“Have you ever been to Hawaii?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “I’ve never left the United States.” In the distance, I can see the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. In the middle of the great big blue sea, a series of islands covered in beautiful lush green vegetation rises majestically.

“I can’t believe you have a place in Hawaii,” I say.

“I have an island in Hawaii,” he says.

Swoon.

Chapter Twenty-one

EARL GREY RUNS THE BOAT onto the beach and we hop out. We’re not dressed for the beach: he’s in his suit and I’ve changed into a sundress. It hardly matters, because the beach is deserted.

“Where is everybody?” I say.

“This is a private beach,” he says. “Just you, me, and a hundred paparazzi in boats and helicopters trying to get a glimpse of Earl Grey sunbathing nude.”

“You tan in the buff?”

“Does that surprise you, Anna?”

“A little. But only because you’re so pale.”

He shrugs. “It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been here,” he says. “C’mon.”

Earl grabs my hand and leads me to a cabin on the edge of the beach, where the sand meets the tropical forest. We step inside the cabin and he turns the lights on. Wow. What a place. There are so many things, like couches and chairs and tables. Everything is very tastefully done up in white and earth tones. The walls are lined with black velvet paintings of the greatest figures of the past century, including Elvis Presley, Steve Jobs, Usher, Jeff Foxworthy, George W. Bush, and Oprah Winfrey. “It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Of course the cabin is beautiful,” he says. “I decorated it.”

“You can decorate me,” I say. Damn my potty mouth!

Earl raises an eyebrow. “The things that come out of your mouth,” he says amusedly.

“The things that come in my mouth,” I reply.

“That’s it,” he says, loosening his tie. “I think you need to be disciplined for being so naughty.”

Uh-oh. What does he have in mind?

“We’re a ways away from your Dorm Room of Doom, so I’m not scared,” I say.

He cocks an eye. “What did you call it?”

Gulp. “Room of Doom. Why? What do you think I said?”

He shakes his head. “Nevermind,” he says, removing his smiley-face tie. He pulls me by my wrist into the cabin’s bedroom.

“Take off your clothes,” he orders me.

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” I say. I’m not sure what he has in mind, but I start stripping. I hope he’s not mad about the crack about his Room of Doom. When I’m down to my panties and bra, I realize he hasn’t removed anything except for his tie.

“Not joining me?” I say.

He shakes his head. “I’m not joining you. I’m disciplining you. Now finish undressing and lie down on the bed.”

I do as instructed. I’m lying on my back, naked, my legs bent at the knees and ready to receive Earl. Suddenly, his