Fifty Shades of Neigh - A parody

by Anna Roberts

  "Get off me!"

  "No, come on - it'll be fun. Wanna get fingerbanged? I'll eat your pussy right here in the parking lot..."

  "Jesús, quit it!"

  "Come on - I'm fucking awesome. You'll love it – I got a tongue like an iguana...”

  "I believe the lady said no."

  Oh my God. It's him - Crispian Neigh. He steps out of the shadows, his fedora pulled low over his eyes. He peers out from under the brim, his face impassive. I wish I wasn't so pleased to see him, but I am. He has the most extraordinary effect on me.

  "Are you okay, Hanna?" he murmurs.

  I gaze into his eyes for a moment and realise I'm in trouble. I should never have mixed beer, margaritas and champagne.

  Jesús, kneeling at my feet, takes the brunt of it. As I fall to my knees I can hear him screaming ("It's in my fucking hair!") but that's the least of my worries right now. My head feels like a novelty garden sprinkler - it's coming out my nose and mouth at the same time. It feels like vomit is shooting out of every hole in my head, even my eyes and ears. My stomach is trying to flee the scene and my liver has filed for divorce. Oh dear God, will it ever end?

  "...there are chunks!" howls Jesús. "Fucking chunks! In my fucking hair!" He begins to retch and reels away from us, gagging and clutching his belly. I think it's slowing. Oh God, please let it be slowing. I'm onto little dry heaves now. I might even be able to breathe again soon.

  "Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself, Hanna," says Neigh. His foot is tapping away some twelve inches from my head.

  "I'm sorry," I say, wanting to die. This is the most embarrassing moment of my life. I try to think of a worse one, but all I can think of is when he didn't kiss me - it's the only mortifying incident of my life that compares. Not even that time I called the bus driver 'Daddy', or that time in swimming class when I was six years old and needed to go poopy - and I thought I'd held it in, but when I reached to pick a wedgie a little brown pebble fell out of my bathing suit in front of the whole class. Yes, even more embarrassing that that. Seriously.

  "Let's get you out of here," snaps Neigh, getting me to my feet.

  "Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeugh," I barf, in weak assent. Oops - thought the chamber was finally empty. Guess not.

  "I can see you need a man to take care of you," he says, taking my arm and steering me away from the most recent puddle. "Luckily for you, I am an old fashioned gentleman."

  "I'm sorry," I gurgle. "I'm so not..." Oh dear. More? "...not a lady." I'm a sad, drunk slut who washes her underpants in public toilets and throws up in parking lots. Oh my God - my self-worth is in my shoes. I want to die. I actually want to die right now because Crispian Neigh will never, ever love me. And that's not just the booze talking. I mean it. I'd say it sober too. I - Hanna Squeal - an educated, emancipated twenty-first century woman, want to actually fucking die because a rich man I don't even know will never love me. This is real. This is insane.

  I start to cry uncontrollably.

  "Get in the car, Hanna," he says, and bundles me into the back seat like a sack of sick-spattered potatoes. Then I know nothing more, because I pass out. I dream of dark pits, skin lotion and apricot toy poodles named Precious.

  Chapter Six

  Legends of the Sascrotch

  I wake in unfamiliar surroundings. The bed is warm and comfortable and the room is understated and ornate, with swagged curtains and gilding kept to a tasteful minimum.

  Rococo, I think. Or at least some kind of gay nineties baroque revival.

  - Oh God. You again.

  Yes, me again. Do you want to get into the Art Deco influences at work on the headboard or shall we perhaps deal with the fact that you've been kidnapped?

  Kidnapped? Oh my. My Inner Goddess is such a drama queen...

  That's rich, coming from a woman whose snatch dribbles like one of Pavlov’s dogs every time Crispian Neigh so much as breathes in her general direction.

  - Will you shut up for five minutes and let me recap what happened in the last chapter?

  Inwardly cringing, I remember what happened on the last page. Holy crap, I'm so ashamed. It was everywhere - Jesús was covered in chunky bits. What did I do before that? Everything's a blur.

  Lemme fill you in, Hanna. You drank two glasses of champagne, five margaritas, numerous Jell-O shots and an entire pitcher of beer. Then you pissed your panties and tried to wash them in the sink of the Ladies' room...

  - Oh my God. I'm not wearing any panties. I'm not wearing anything except for my bra and an unfamiliar t-shirt. Where are my shoes? Where's my skirt?

  ...yeah. Beginning to see the problem here?

  I sit up and catch sight of myself in the mirror opposite the bed. I have never looked worse. My hair looks like a hobo sat on it. I smooth down the t-shirt to examine its design and see a pony staring back at me - a pink one with big eyes. Then I remember the toystore, the pony aisle.

  Holy crap. Crispian Neigh.

  Yep. My Little Weirdo. He’s probably putting on his lipstick to Q Lazzarus right now. Adjusting his nipple ring…

  - Not helping.

  …tucking his junk between his fleshy thighs.

  - La la la not listening…

  …“Would you fuck me? I’d fuck me…”

  Crispian enters the room, carrying two cans of energy drink and a bucket.

  ...“I’d fuck me hard...”

  "You?" I blurt. He is all in black today - black vest, black shirt, black tie and black fedora. I want to run my fingers through his wallet. He's just so...dapper.

  "Hello Hanna," he husks alliteratively, cracking open a can of Bawls and handing it to me. "Feeling better?"

  "I don't know. I don't understand. Where am I? What am I doing here?"

  He sits down on a chair opposite me and takes a long pull of his drink. "Well, that's to be expected," he chastises. "You were very drunk, Hanna - drunk and on the verge of being sexually molested." His lovely lips narrow and he frowns at me. "How could you put yourself at such risk, Hanna?"

  Mmm. I love the smell of victim blaming in the morning.

  I'm really not loving this Inner Goddess thing.

  You and me both.

  "I'm sorry," I say. "I was upset and I wanted to have a good time. Thank you for coming to rescue me."

  I'm sorry? What? You're apologising to this goober because someone tried to diddle you in a parking lot? Oh my God - of all the heads I had to get stuck in I had to get stuck in yours. Seriously - are you insane? Was the sexual revolution just something that happened to other people?

  I ignore her. So he's kind of creepy. Whatever. I think it gives him an edge.

  That's it. I'm going to kill myself.

  - Be my guest.

  He scrutinises me seriously over the tops of his glasses (Black Dolce e Gabbana. I wonder how much they cost) "You're welcome," he whispers. He puts down his drink and stands up, his hands behind his back. "When you drunk-dialled me I knew at once I had to find you," he says, his voice rich and lumpy, like a well-made rice pudding. Or something. "You're so innocent, Hanna. I want to protect you."

  Oh, here it comes. The funny-panties feeling again. But I'm not wearing panties. What does this mean?

  "Where are my clothes?" I ask. "Where am I?"

  "You're at my suite at the Heathman. Your clothes are in the hotel laundry, since they were covered in vomit." He adjusts his glasses and gives me a short but searing look. "I took the liberty of sending my man out to buy you some undergarments. You didn't appear to be wearing any."

  Oh my. Oh my goodness. Does that mean he's seen my...oh my.

  Yes, he's seen it. He's seen your heavily bearded inner thighs and the Temple of Doom tangle of dense cobwebs that guard the dread portal itself. And he's still here. I take back everything I said about this guy being a weirdo - he is The Weirdo.

  - I thought you were going to kill yourself?

  Changed my mind. If you see a well-built Japanese guy anywhere in this building then run like fuck, because t
he next time you wake up it'll be with your lips sewn to his anus - you know what I'm saying?

  - No. And why do you sound like Kate?

  "I don't pretend to understand it myself, Miss Squeal," he says, pacing the room. "But I feel we have a connection. There's a reason you came to me instead of Miss Hannigan - some form of serendipity. I feel we share something."

  "None of the other boys I know would use words like 'serendipity'," I mumble. As I say it I understand the difference - he's not a boy; he's a man, a powerful, dominant man. I'm so out of my depth it's not even funny.

  He takes off his glasses with slow, deliberate movements, like an ocular striptease artist. "That's right Hanna," he smoulders. "And I'd bet ten grand right here that they don't even know what it means." He moves towards the bed.

  "Happy coincidence," I define. "A series of fortunate sequential events."

  He's leaning on the end of the bed now. "Go on," he says.

  "Happenstance, lucky accident..."

  He's close to me, gazing covetously at me. "You are perfect," he husks, and my heart leaps out of my chest and dances the merengue.

  Ew. Bad visual.

  - Shut up.

  "You are the answer to my prayers, Hannelore," he purrs. "The one woman who can give me what I really want."

  His hand cups the air close to my cheek. All my veins are singing with the desire for him - there's a tingle in my belly and a damp spot on the undersheet. I think I really want this man. Somehow I find my voice.

  "If you don't mind that I haven't shaved my legs," I tremble. "We can do it right now if you don’t?"

  He leaps away from me as if I've given him an electrical shock. "No," he gasps, clutching his head in some kind of internal struggle. "No, you're not ready. I don't have the right to...no...you are too innocent, too pure, and I'm too...depraved. Plus I have that thing that hasn't fully cleared up yet." He turns away. "I'm sorry, Hanna. Take a shower, have some breakfast. I should never have brought you here."

  "No, wait," I say. "You can't threaten me with depravity and then run away. This book's mostly mundane filler as it is. You think people bought this thing for the protracted descriptions of people choosing tea bags or brushing their teeth? Hell no - they bought it for the kinky sex. We are not doing this for another six freaking chapters. Now tie me up and do nasty things to me."

  He pulls a face. "Hmm," he hmms. "You know...I would, but I've got that thing I just mentioned. And also you still smell of vomit and your sniz looks like it's gone feral."

  "My what?"

  "Your snatch, Hanna. Your hoo-hoo. Your fur teacup. It’s like the origin of all those North-Western legends of the sasquatch.”

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I say. And I don't. What's a hoo-hoo? Isn’t it something from Doctor Seuss? "Why did you bring me here if you weren't going to...you know?"

  "You called me, remember?" he says. "Besides, I wanted to see if I could track your cellphone."

  "Is that even legal?"

  My Inner Goddess doesn't think so. She's calling the police. For the first time I can actually see her face. Figures she'd be blonde.

  She raises a middle finger at me and presses the phone to her ear.

  "Hanna," Crispian says, with kindergarten patience. "Let me explain something to you. There are illegal activities, right? And then there are 'illegal' activities." He quirks his fingers to make quote marks in the air. "After a certain...fiscal threshold, especially with regards to income, pretty much everything falls under the category of 'illegal'. Do you understand me?"

  "No."

  He bites his lip as he looks at me. "Goddamn you, Hanna Squeal - why must you be so...serendipitous?"

  "Nobody's ever called me serendipitous before," I squeak.

  "No, I'm sure they haven't," he says, looking at my lips. "Perhaps it would be better if I explained things over dinner. My place. Tonight."

  I nod. He's still staring at my lips.

  "Wear something nice." He opens his wallet and tosses a flutter of bills down on the comforter. "And find yourself a landscape gardener to work on that undergrowth, if you catch my drift."

  I don't catch his drift at all. I'm alone with his money - there's at least a thousand dollars on the bed and he's just tossed it to me like it was pocket change. The strange fizzy feeling is back again, even stronger.

  What does he mean? Illegal, 'illegal'. And I don’t have a garden. I don’t even have a windowbox.

  My Inner Goddess hangs up the phone and sighs. Do I really have to try and make a box joke out of that?

  - I don’t know. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Did you see how he kept looking at my lips?

  Uh huh.

  - Maybe he wanted to kiss them.

  Or maybe he wanted to sew them to a Japanese man’s anus.

  - Yeah. Why would anybody want to do a thing like like that?

  No idea. It’s one of the world’s greatest mysteries – right up there with the fact that they made a sequel.

  *

  Once again we stand side by side in the elevator, staring straight ahead, not daring to look at one another, not daring to breathe. Especially not daring to breathe. Not after last time. The tension hangs heavy in the air - we are alone and nobody can see us and everything is different now, now that we have acknowledged that we feel...something for one another.

  "Mr. Neigh?" I murmur, finally daring to break the silence.

  "Hmm?"

  "You when you said you'd pay for my degree?"

  "Yes."

  "Is that illegal? Or is it..." I raise the first two fingers of each hand. "'Illegal'?"

  He smiles. "Option B," he says. "And I'm glad you've come to see sense, Hanna."

  "I'm not seeing anything - I'm just asking..."

  He turns and presses his finger to my lips. "Shh," he whispers. "Little girls who ask too many questions cause a whole bunch of trouble."

  I try to speak again but he presses harder, mashing my upper lip against my nose. His other hand comes up behind my head and takes hold of my ponytail. "What does it take to make you shut up, Miss Squeal?" he growls, and before I know it his lips have replaced his finger. He tastes of eggs benedict and Bawls and something indefinably Crispian Neigh. I would have tasted of vomit but I had the good sense to use his toothbrush while I was in the bathroom. If only he'd had the same idea. I can still taste hollandaise when the elevator doors open.

  "What is it about elevators?" he smirks. I get out in a hurry, before the barely perceptible poot can follow me. He could have at least tried to hold it in that time - that was my first real kiss.

  "I'll pick you up at about seven," he smoozes.

  "But you don't even know where I live," I protest.

  "It's cool," he reassures, leaning forward and pecking me on the cheek. "I put a GPS tracker in the clasp of your pretty new bra." He adjusts his fedora. "Laters, toots."

  I watch him walk away through the crowded hotel lobby. Oh my God, what a bizarre night. I drift towards the doors, only just resisting the urge to tear off my bra there and then. He's kidding, right? He must be kidding.

  "Hanna?"

  I turn around and stare. Kate is sitting on one of the sofas in the middle of the lobby, where she appears to be trying to hide behind a newspaper. "Oh my God," she gasps. "It really is you. What are you doing here?"

  "Me? What are you doing here?" I sit down beside her and she spreads the newspaper wider.

  "Boning," she says. "What else would I be doing? What's with the My Little Pony t-shirt?" She shakes her head. "Hanna - have you been stealing from the toystore again?"

  "I did not st..."

  "Shhh," she shushes, sinking down in her seat. "Get down. Do not let him see us."

  I peer out from a tear in the newspaper and see the fratboy from last night - the big one. He's at the reception desk with Crispian and they're not only talking but they exchange a high five.

  "Hanna," whispers Kate. "Why are they high fiving? Did you fu
ck fedora-boy last night?"

  "No! Of course not! I'm not like you."

  Kate curls her lip at me. "Tell you what, My Little Klepto - the next time you're in the toystore, why don't you steal me one of those alphabet t-shirts. How about a nice big A, in red. No - scarlet. Tell me how you really feel, why don't you?"

  "How do they know each other?"

  "Oh, now she asks relevant questions. They're brothers, dumbass."

  "What?" I say. The fratboy is huge, easily a foot taller than Crispian Neigh. "They don't look anything like one another."

  "Well of course they don't," sighs Kate. "They're adopted. The parents are like some kind of fancy fertility doctors or something, only not so good at what they do that they could unclog Mamma Neigh's tubes, I guess. So they got all these kids from some kind of crack baby sale - like, a whole litter of little weirdos."

  "He's not a weirdo."

  "No, seriously - he's a weirdo. He must be. You know Casper, the one with the irritable bowel syndrome? Well, according to Bennett..."

  "Bennett?"

  "Bennett. The big motherfucker over there with your freak conquest - try and keep up, Hanna. Anyway, according to Bennett, Casper can only get a boner while he's dressed as a zebra and being topped by a guy roleplaying Mufasa from The Lion King. Apparently they have to do the James Earl Jones voice note perfect or Lil' Casper won't come out to play."

  She pauses for breath. "Then there's the girl, Alicia. She's in Japan right now. Nobody will tell me anything more than that, which makes me think there's got to be something creepy going on, because all these kids are fucking weird. All of them. Crispian is maybe the least weird of the boys and he allegedly wasted his formative years poopsocking on World of Warcraft and posting filthy doodles of fat busty dwarf maidens on his DeviantArt."

  "Oh," I whisper, my heart sinking. I can still taste ham.

  "And as for the other one, he wants me to sign a non-disclosure agreement and this forty page contract so that he can not only tie me up and beat me but also so that he can dictate what I eat, how long I sleep, what I smoke, what I drink and even determine how and where I get my twat waxed."