"Mr Grey will see you now."
And Mr Grey will tell you how, he wants you and he'll place you and what you'll do to please him and get punished if you decieve him.
But it's all okay, he's just kind of funny. To be taken with salt and a pile of money. Pinches are out, brutality's in. Sin means nothing when we reach the "fin".
"Billionaire" is the keyword here, strike fear and leer all you desire, fuel your passionate fires whilst we hear musical lyres from the big screen telly and Anastasia is now in the heli, steeling herself for the mad rapist's next plot, besotted I am not, by this crazy jerk who just makes excuses, for the way he takes virgins and then hurls his abuses.
Manipiulation working on another level, several, the man has a contract treaty and greets me as brooding or troubled, with some sort of dark-past we can't look past to notice that he's making excuses for being a psychopath.
Am I just tired, old or absurd, when I suggest love can't be found tied above? That restraint is not needed, never mind leather cuffs? That obligation shoudn't get people all in a huff? That love without fear beats Jamie Dornan in the buff?
I don't get it when I remember my first few conquests, a thin spotty teen in a thin t-shirt vest. And the girls were all nervous and it wasn't a service and we didn't have contracts (though one did have contacts.)
There was nobody leading, and no follower found, and I don't remember anyone getting bound.
And we were all scared because it was all new, and then grew into something that now makes up you.
We were happy contented, because we discovered, that all anybody ever wanted when under the covers, was someone to be with, someone who gave attention, extra is the whole ceiling-suspension.
From the Grey House tower, Christian can look down. At all the happy people running around. Just living and loving, without fear of rejection. Because sex is a joke and we laugh at erections.
There's nobody owned, and there's no price to pay. Just a massage for the person you wanted that day.
So I can look back, and honestly fondly. Chrstian Grey just has bills from his no-nonsense bonnies.
And then he'll get old and he'll have to pay more, the Grey House tower might shrink a few floors, he'll make cheap mistakes and end up with dick sores and I can tell you without moment's pause, the cause of his wars, it was because he secretly thought that all women were whores.
And they may not say it, but they could all tell. And he'll get no love right up until the church bells, and the funeral starts and the gravestone is made, he's laid, and here's what the gravestone will say:
"Here lies the ancient Christian Grey. Life would have been better if he'd have been gay."
