Well, first of all, I don't own anything to do with the 50 Shades Trilogy. I'm just a massive fan here.

I have always been fond of forbidden relationships in stories and film, so this came to me out of that. Ana is seventeen going on eighteen, and Christian is thirty in this. There is an attraction there between them.

I'm not sure if anyone would like this, or if its a story you would like to read more of, but I'd like to know if you would be interested in more perhaps? :)

My Mother's Date

"Ana? Ana, honey? Time to wake up, lazy bones!"

I wake to the sound of my mother screaming at me. With a groan, I open my eyes, lifting my head from the pillow to look around my room groggily. With the curtains closed, its too dark and its next to impossible to see what the actual time is. Then my eyes flit over to the illuminated red numbers on my alarm clock, and the hammer of realization pounds brutally into my skull then.

It's 7.00 in the morning. School starts in barely one and a half hours. Crap.

"Ana, are you up yet? Honey, you better get up so you can get yourself some breakfast otherwise you'll be starving!"

The sudden impatient pounding noise on my bedroom door startles me and I get up, hastily tossing my blankets off me.

"Ana, honey? Did you hear me? You have to get ready for school."

"Okay, Mom," I holler. "Yeah, I heard you the first time!" She bangs once more just for the sake of it, I suppose. "I'm up and getting dressed now!"

"Good girl. You just can't be late. High school is very important at your age." Says the woman who didn't even get past the tenth grade before she pulled out.

"Yeah, mom. I know. I'm getting changed now so just... like, chill out."

I search frantically for something decent to wear today for school, which ends up simply being a pair of black jeans, my trusty old Converse trainers, and a woolen jumper. Then I try to make my hair look good; the worst and most difficult part of all. I scowl at my reflection in the mirror on my dresser. Ugh. There's a zit on my chin that wasn't there yesterday and bags under my eyes from last nights late study session to complete my English assignment on time, which is due today in second period.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

Sometimes being seventeen royally sucks. If trying to fit in with other girls my age in school wasn't enough, I have to deal with fluctuating hormones and gross zits that pop up almost magically without warning. At least I know a fair deal on how to apply make-up; I manage to get my brown hair into a fairly neat ponytail before attempting to apply concealer over my zit and the hideous bags beneath my eyes.

Stepping back, I turn sideways, looking at myself self-consciously in the mirror. It's definitely good enough. My clothes are clean and Mom washed them for me a couple of days ago. My hairs neat. Everything else- those niggling things I hate about myself- I can really do nothing about. I could always look worse.

Grabbing my bag, I make sure I have all of my assignment together before heading downstairs. Already my Mom is in the kitchen, sitting at the table sipping her coffee while she checks out any new people that have signed up on the dating website she frequently goes on with her notepad. My mother Carla is forty-eight years old, and she and my father got divorced when I was just barely three.

I hardly see my dad anymore because he moves constantly in his camper van, but when I do, its awkward and strange.

Sometimes I wonder if my mother is still in love with my father; He recently got remarried last year to this hippy woman who loves going camping with him and they are real outdoorsy and my mother, when she heard of the news, she had excused herself from the room only to come out fifteen minutes later with puffy eyes. I'm pretty sure she cries over my dad a lot.

It was only until recently that a friend from her work suggested she start up a profile on a dating website, and she has gone out on several dates, but she hardly ever brings the guys home for me to meet, so it must mean they weren't all that serious to begin with. She has shown me some of the pictures of the guys that were interested in hooking up with her. Half of them were really gross. It had started to become a good joke between us, a mother-daughter thing, where we'd look through profiles and pictures of the guy and laugh.

Only, this morning, something was seriously different. Her notepad alerted her loudly that she had just been sent a message. Mom doesn't laugh or call me over, like she usually does. No, she goes rather red in the face and covers her mouth with a smile.

"What?" I ask her with interest as I start buttering up some bread for lunch. "How's it going? Any latest potential candidates?"

I expect Mom to laugh, to scold me playfully. Only she doesn't. She peers up at me, her eyes crinkled in a way I haven't seen them go in a super long time. Whoever this dude is on the dating website, he has actually managed to cheer my mother up.

"Come look at this," she says, calling me over. "See what you think of this one."

My interest intensified, I slather peanut butter and jelly over my bread quickly before ditching it to see what the fuss is all about.

I feel my heart do a weird spasm when I look over her shoulder at the picture she has enlarged for me. Wow, this guy actually isn't half bad, considering all the other guys on the site. He's young, about in his late twenties to mid-thirties. His hair is a tousled auburn, and he has no bald spots in sight. There's a bit of stubble around his chin and upper lip, his nose strongly shaped. I can't see any piercings or tattoos visible on him either- one of mom's major dislikes. His eyes are very piercing and intense, a grey as they look directly into the camera lens. Very nice, from what I could see of him.

"Wow," is all I can manage to say. It's the only thing that seems right. "He doesn't look very... serial killer, right? He doesn't look too perverted and creepy like... he has a shrine of murdered women in his closet."

Mom laughs. "Actually, he's the one I met last night."

"So that's why you were late home?" Mom hadn't gotten home until after twelve thirty last night. She had given me money to order a pizza while I crammed in study. She hadn't said it was because she was heading out on a date with a potential boyfriend. "Was he nice?"

"He was actually. He was rather sweet, kind of... mysterious and shy." She looks up at me, somewhat embarrassed. "I couldn't help but get the feeling he's a bit too young for me. Do you think I'm too old for him?"

"Too old for him? Mom, you're still young. Besides it has a name. And its called being a Cougar. Cougars are all the rage these days."

She laughs again. "A Cougar? Oh, great. Now I definitely feel too old for him. He seemed very mature for his age, though."

"Who cares whether he is younger than you anyway? Mom, normally people don't care about that these days. If he seemed interested in you, and you're interested in him, then I say go for it."

She stares at me, shaking her head slightly. "God, I don't know, Ana. I still don't know if I'll ever be ready to date."

"But you're lonely." Mom may try to act as though she isn't but I know deep down that she is. She stills cries because of dad sometimes. "You deserve a little bit of happiness. If people are going to judge you all because you're seeing a younger guy, then screw them. Besides I'm sure Alicia is all for it." Alicia is Mom's closest friend, the one that suggested she ought to sign up to the dating site and create a profile for herself in the first place. "Alicia would be so happy for you."

"And what about you?" she asks me gently.

I shrug, gnawing on my lip. "What about me, Mom?"

"Well, how do you feel about all of this? About the idea of me starting to date again?"

"You really want to know what I think about you starting to date again, Mom?"

She gives me a pleading, wide-eyed look. "Please, Ana."

"I think its about fucking time!" I burst out, smiling wryly at her. Mom gives me a reproachful look, displeased by my filthy language. "Whoops, sorry for the bad word, Mom. But seriously, its about time that you start putting your own happiness first." Bending down, I slip my arms around her neck, hugging her tightly. "I mean, I can see you're not happy, that you... that you still get upset over dad sometimes."

"God, Ana. Am I that transparent to you?"

"Sometimes." I give her a tight, comforting squeeze before pulling back to prepare and finish up my lunch. "Really, you don't need to worry about what I'll think, Mom. I think you deserve some happiness and love in your life, whether it be with... a guy younger than you or not. Your a great mother, and you've always put me first in most things. I think now its time that you start putting yourself first, too."

Mom blinks at me like I've grown another head. "Who are you? And what have you done with my daughter?"

I laugh. "Seriously, Mom. Go for it."

"Okay then. If you insist..." She still watches me, somewhat suspiciously. Even when I shove my lunchbox in my bag, she's still watching me in a funny way. "Actually, after we met for coffee and a quick dinner last night, I may have offered him to come over for dinner. Tonight."

"So?"

"So, Ana, you're my daughter and your a big part of my life. Any man who wants to get involved with me has to know the full package that comes along with dating me, and you're a part of that. He's coming over for dinner tonight, so can you actually get home on time?"

I make a face at her. "But I had plans with Kate to go to the movies tonight after school."

"Well, you and Kate are just going to have to postpone. I really want you to meet him and, after having talked about you last night briefly, about what you did at school and about... about my situation with your father, he seemed... interested in meeting you, too. I want you to be home straight after you finish school. You'll have to tell Kate to postpone the movie for another night, because I need you home here, with me, eating dinner and meeting this man. Do you think you can manage that for me? Just this once?" Mom has her bossy tone happening. She only talks that way when she is one-hundred-percent serious about something.

"Fine," I give in instantly with a sigh. "I'll tell Kate that we will have to postpone for tomorrow night instead."

"Thank you, honey. I just... I feel its real important that, for anyone I may be considering to seriously date, that they know what comes with me. I mean, you and I, we're kind of a package deal, aren't we? I think its only fair the men I meet know who else plays a huge part in my life."

"Okay, Mom. I get it. This is a big thing for you, and you want me to be there."

"Just promise me you won't be rude to him, all right?" she asks me with a note of warning clear in her voice. "Be polite and try not to be your usual bratty self."

"Okay, I'll be on my best behavior for you, Mom." I hold up both hands, crossing my fingers. "Scouts honor. I'll be the angelic teenage daughter who says 'please' and 'thank you'."

"Angelic daughter, my ass," Mom grumbles playfully. We both crack up laughing, because we both know I'm not that bad. I can be rude and a brat sometimes, but most of the time, I'm a good girl who gets her homework done on time. I mightn't get the best grades in the world, but I do try my best. Especially when it comes to keeping my mother happy.

"Anyway, Mom. I better start walking to school." Grabbing my bag, I make sure it is zipped completely before I slide the straps over both shoulders.

"Please, try to remember that I want you home straight after school, Ana."

"Yes, Mom. I won't forget."

"Okay, honey." Rising from her chair quickly, she darts over to give me a loud kiss on the cheek. "You have a good day!"

"I woke up with a massive zit on my chin, Mom. Does it sound like its going to be a good day to you?"

Mom looks my face over carefully. "A zit. Where?"

I give her a look. I know she's just messing around. "On my chin, of course. It's huge, isn't it?"

"Barely. I can hardly see the thing, Ana. You're being simply paranoid."

But I know I'm not being paranoid, and that Mom's being full of shit. Because when I meet my best friend Kate halfway down the road, she spots it the instance she sees me.

"Holy shit, Ana. Someone has a massive zit on her face! How disgusting!"

"Fuck you, Miss Perfect Skin," I growl at her, landing a good punch on her arm playfully. She punches me back in an unpleasantly bruising way, then we both crack up laughing loudly while making the walk towards school.

It's funny; Kate and I never talk like this in front of adults, usually. Especially not our parents, who we were fairly sure would ground us for weeks if we ever did, though my mom no longer grounded me anymore because she felt personally that I was too old for that, thank God. But Kate's parents would totally ground her if they heard such filthy language coming from her mouth.

"Guess what?" I ask her, deciding on some good old gossiping before we reach school.

"What? What's new?"

"Mom's actually bringing a guy over tonight," I get out to her in a rush. "She showed me a picture and everything, and he's actually not that bad. He's quite... cute."

Kate stares at me in a wide-eyed, hysterical way. "Oh my God, Ana. Carla is bringing a guy over for dinner for you to meet? Seriously?"

"Yep, seriously."

"But what if he's this psycho that starts stabbing you and your Mom in the middle of dinner?"

"He actually doesn't look like a psycho, Kate. I think Mom's real keen on him though. He's younger than her."

"Cougar Carla," Kate says, in a sing-song voice. "Good for her. You think it'll help her get over what happened with your dad?"

"Probably." I shrug. "Who knows?"

"Is he bald with facial hair?"

"No, he actually has a lot of hair. Not too much facial hair from what I could see on the picture, though."

"What if its, like, an old picture of him in his graduation year book, and really, he's like, eighty and fat?" Kate shudders at the thought.

I laugh. "Somehow I highly doubt it."

Six hours later, I have finally gotten though my last period for the day and am ready to head off. I handed in all my assignments, my teachers commended me on getting it done on time, and so far, the day hasn't really been that bad despite the grotesque zit on my chin. No one has said anything mean about the zit- at least that's a good thing. I feel strangely cheerful as I gather my bag out of my locker, and walk out towards the front entrance to leave. Then my day is thoroughly squished and ruined, when I see how bad the weather has nose-dived.

It's raining. Literally bucketing down with rain. And, to make matters much worse, I didn't think of bringing an umbrella with me today. Well, awesome. Just wonderful.

Stopping by the steps, I haul my bag off my shoulders onto the ground and kneel, trying to find the old jacket I stuffed in there from months back. Already, its freezing outside and my breaths come out all misty. Stupid weather. Stupid everything. That's when I spot the guy watching me out of the corner of my eye. When I peer up, I see he is standing huddled by the wall, watching me with amusement while he rubs his hands together to get some warm friction happening. He looks oddly familiar to me, though I can't say I've ever met him before.

"Excuse me?" he says, his voice low and pleasing. "You wouldn't happen to be Anastasia Steele by any chance, would you? Carla's daughter?"

I furrow my brow, looking him over more carefully. He's dressed like a man that works in the corporate world, his shoes polished and shiny. His tailored suit- gray jacket and pants, white shirt- looks expensive. He's about in his early thirties, I'd say. Really, its so hard to tell with adults, but... he's actually hot. Hot for an older dude, I mean, with his hair combed back and slightly unruly. How the hell does he know my name, though? And not to mention my mother's name? What the hell?

"Um, yeah." My voice comes out too croaky, so I clear it. "I mean, yeah. I'm Ana, and I'm Carla's daughter. Why? What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm Christian. I told your mother I wouldn't mind picking you up, since I finished work early. Especially considering how rainy it is, I think its lucky I did offer after all. Wouldn't you?" Finally finding my jacket, I fling it on before zipping my bag and standing upright.

Holy crap, he is so tall. I barely reach his chest. He must be over six-feet or something. Fucking huge.

"Sure thing. Um, who did you say you were again?"

I think he's amused. Really, he keeps his face so impassive that its hard to tell. All I know, is that he is very handsome. I've always had a thing for older guys. George Clooney, Brad Pitt. Sure, this guy isn't as old as they are but... there is just something about mature men.

"Grey." He extends a hand out to me, smiling somewhat warmly. "I'm Christian Grey."

I still have no idea what he means by that, but I accept his offered hand anyway. The instance our hands meet and we shake, I notice how strong and confident his grip is, how... masculine. It's like his hand literally swallows mine, and not completely in a bad way. Cliche, maybe, but... its true.

"Anastasia, but really, you knew that already, didn't you?" I say weakly. "I'm Anastasia, but I prefer to be called Ana. So call me it. Ana, I mean." He looks at me in a way that is scarily intense, his eyes a bright, alert gray. "So, do you know my mother or something?"

It takes me a second too long to realize that his hand is still clinging to mine. Clearing his throat, he releases my hand to shove his hands into his trouser pockets quickly. "I met her for coffee and dinner last night. Didn't she tell you?"

"I don't think so," I say uncertainly. She came home late last night. She certainly never mentioned meeting a guy called Christian, who was... fine as hell.

"Well, I'm coming for dinner tonight. I thought she said that she told you?"

At that comment, its like I've been kicked in the gut. Holy crap. This is the guy my mother saw last night! Suddenly, it all dramatically falls into place and make sense. It was his picture I saw on the notepad this morning, the one Mom showed me! He's the guy!

"Oh, right." I laugh out loud at my own stupidity. When I throw a look his way again, I discover he is already watching me, his eyebrows lifted quizzically. I think I see the ghost of a smile in his expression. "God, I completely forgot. I didn't realize you were the very same guy that she showed me the photo of!"

"Yes, and I'm also the very same guy that is offering you a lift in these horrendous conditions." He waves in the general direction of the parking lot. "Shall we?"

"Okay. If my Mom said its okay that you can give me a lift, then okay."

I follow him down the steps towards where a newish model-looking car is waiting. The windows are tinted so its impossible to see inside, but I notice he holds the door open for me, allowing me to head in first. It's a thoughtful thing for him to do, as its freezing in just the clothes I'm wearing. I huddle in quickly, shoving my school bag down on the floor while he shuts the door to walk around to the other side opposite me. That's when I take notice of the man in front. Obviously this guy, this Christian, doesn't drive. He must have his own personal chauffeur or escort. Too weird.

"You don't drive yourself?" I ask, weirded-out, once he sits across from me in the backseat as well. He combs his hair back with his fingers, water dribbling down his face.

"No, I don't. This is Taylor, my driver."

The man in the drivers seat, Taylor, turns back to give me a nod in greeting before he starts the car and reverses out carefully. I find it crazy that a man in his thirties doesn't even drive himself around. Shouldn't he know how to drive already?

"Can't you drive yourself?" I ask, then cringe. Mom always says I'm too straightforward for my own good. Oh, well. Crap happens.

"I can. I simply prefer Taylor to do it for me." He moves over beside me in the seat, startling me. His face inches from mine, he stares into my eyes, reaching around me. I have no idea what he is doing, until I do, just like that, when my seat belt clicks securely in place. "Seat belts at all times," he says, almost threateningly. Then he leans back into the seat near his side of the window and quickly buckles his own.

"Oh, yes. Heaven forbid we forget to wear our seat belts," I mutter under my breath sarcastically. "How stupid and reckless of us should we do forget."

He sets one elbow up on the door rest, eyeing me with his lips curled in slight amusement. His hair is still dripping wet. I know mine is too, but thank God he actually was kind enough to give me a lift home. I would have hated to walk in this weather. I would have only gotten soaked by the time I got home. And its warm in the car too, the heater on while the windows fog up around us.

"So... you and my Mom, huh?"

"Yes. She's a very... lovely woman." He starts rubbing around his chin with his index finger and middle finger.

"She is. And she means a great deal to me, so you better not hurt her in any way."

If he's unperturbed by my threat, he doesn't show it in anyway. He simply stares at me with the same intensity as before. Then, he clears his throat before glancing away quickly. "Your mother tells me that you are in your final year of high school. Do you have any plans after you graduate?"

His interest throws me off, but I figure he's just trying to make conversation. "I'm not sure yet. I guess I'm still... reviewing my options. How old are you?" The question comes out of my mouth without thought.

He glances my way again, his eyes raking down me contemplatively. "Why does it interest you that badly, how old I am?"

"It doesn't. I'm just... curious, I guess."

"How old do I look to you?" For some reason, I start to feel strangely flustered over the way he stares at me, so intently and absorbed. Does he even blink?

"I don't know." I swallow dryly. "I've never been all that good with guessing ages, but I'd say you are about in your... thirties, maybe?"

"Yes. I turn thirty next month. Very good guess." His eyes move across my face in an unnerving way, like he is searching for something. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," I say honestly. "Well, I mean. I'll be eighteen soon, but that's... in a few months. Are you a lawyer or something?"

"Am I lawyer? No. What makes you assume that?"

"Because you dress like one," I say without thought. I can feel my cheeks burning. "You seem like the... lawyer type."

"No, I'm not a lawyer. What is it that you intend to do after school is finished?"

"You already asked me what I intend to do. And like I said, I have no plans so far."

"Oh, right. I did ask that, didn't I?" He smiles, revealing a pair of straight white teeth. I almost stop breathing. Sometimes when people smile, its amazing how different they look, how... younger. When he smiles, he hardly looks like a thirty-year old dude one bit. "Then what do you like to do, aside from...school?"

"I like to read, hence why English is probably my ultimate favorite class. I love both reading and writing."

"Oh, really?" His eyebrows lift, in interest. "Which books do you like reading? Picture books and fairy-tales?" His voice goes slightly condescending. He is teasing me.

"No, I'm not five," I say bluntly. "I love the classics. Wuthering Heights. East of Eden. Lolita. They are some of my favorites at the top of my head."

"Well, well." His eyes are alight with curiosity. I think maybe I've impressed him. "You have excellent taste for a girl your age."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do." His fingers get to stroking his chin again. His other hand starts running back and forth over his trousers. "I certainly wasn't expecting that."

"Oh? And why weren't you?" I stare him down, holding his gaze for all I'm worth. This is surprisingly... entertaining.

"I'm not sure why. I just wasn't."

"Are you a serial killer?" I blab out before I can stop myself.

He gives me a lopsided smile, chuckling in a very appealing way. "Why do you ask, Anastasia? Do I seem as though I am?"

"Ana," I correct him flatly. "It's just Ana, no Anastasia. I just like Ana."

"Ana, then." It's crazy how good my name sounds coming from his voice. Scary, even. "Do I seem like a serial killer to you?"

"I don't know. Are you one?"

That smile is still there. It makes him look boyish and fun. "It depends. How many victims do I have to kill to be defined as a serial killer in your eyes?" His gaze is intense as he stares at me, humor filling his eyes.

"Hmm, two maybe. Two to five victims."

"Then no. I believe it is safe to say that I'm not a serial killer, nor do I ever intend to become one anytime soon."

"Well, then. That's good to know, because if you are one, I'd be telling my mother to avoid you at all costs. Then I would be the one at danger of becoming a serial killer in the attempt to try to ward you away from her."

His boyish smile deflates suddenly, that humor fading away almost immediately. He cocks his head to the side, running his eyes down my clothes again. In a bizarre way, I feel this weird feeling, all due to the way he looks at me. Like I'm a girl of interest, something worthy of getting to know. It's a feeling I have never felt before, not with anyone. There's this weird ache in me that makes my belly clench.

"Why did you create a profile on a dating website?" I ask curiously. I just want to understand.

He tears his eyes away from me quickly, stroking his chin again in thought, and my body seems to sag. I don't think I've ever met somebody who could look at me the way he is, like he's devouring me, weird as that sounds. "Because I find it incredibly difficult to meet people." He won't look me in the eyes as he says it. He turns his eyes towards the fogged up window on his side instead.

He finds it difficult to meet people to date? How the hell could he? I mean, really. He's a total hottie and dreamboat!

"Is there, like...something wrong with you?" I ask in disbelief. "I mean, surely you'd have millions of women throwing themselves at you, right?"

Finally, that humor is there again. He chuckles again, in a self-depreciating way that makes my intestines feel strangely mushy.

"Serial killers and perverts go on dating websites," I say senselessly. "Actually, no that's rude. That's stereotyping, I know. But there must be... something fatally wrong with you then if you can't meet a woman in the real world? Like some fatal flaw that turns a woman off in a severe way?"

The muscles in his jaw clench and then slacken as he returns his eyes to me again. "What would you consider to be a fatal flaw?"

I have no idea why he is bothering to ask for my output, but whatever. "I don't know. Do you have six toes on each foot?"

"No, I don't have six toes on each foot. But I do like to... exercise control." He compresses his lips together in a tight line for a moment, as if worried he'll give too much away. "A lot of women have commented that I was... overbearing and... dominating. I believe that is my main problem. I need to be the one in control at all times." That doesn't sound like a fatal flaw to me. Surely it had to be something more hardcore, right?

"Then unfortunately for you, you're gonna have trouble with my Mom."

"Really?"

"Yep. Mom likes being an independent woman despite craving love." The car comes to a sudden stop and when I bring my eyes away from him, it takes me a moment to see that we're actually at my house. Some part of me feels disappointed that we are, because talking to him has been rather enjoyable. "Well, here we are. We're home."

"That, we are." He unfastens his seat belt and just as I'm about to do the same, he makes a deep noise of disapproval before moving over me again. "I'll do that for you," he says, but his tone is firm, stern almost. He definitely would make a good teacher, that's for sure.

I laugh, despite myself, when he pulls the strap of my seat belt off of me. In the space of a second, he has managed to make me feel like an incompetent child.

"What?" When I throw a glance at his face quickly, I see he looks deadly serious.

"Damn, you weren't kidding. Were you?"

"About what, Ana?" His forehead creases in confusion as he runs his eyes over my face. His knee is pressing against my thigh, his body slanted towards me in the seat. It is definitely too close for comfort yet, at the same time, I find myself wickedly enjoying it.

"About liking control. I think one day you're gonna love having a kid of your own so that you can boss them around, aren't you?"

"Hurry inside before you get wet again," he says, reaching past me to hold the door open for me. "Next time you should take an umbrella with you, or a coat at the very least so you won't freeze." Again, his voice is disapproving, stern. Yep, he definitely should have taken up a career in teaching.

But damn, he's right. It's still pelting outside so, bracing myself, I snatch my school bag up and run for it, jumping out of his car and racing as fast up the steps to the front door for coverage as my legs will allow. I know he is close behind me when I hear him panting slightly, and as I open the door and he comes inside too, I turn to look at him while he wipes his wet shoes considerately on the doormat. Hair wet and dripping, his suit sticking to him, he smiles at me, showing me those straight white teeth of his again.

A weird fluttery feeling erupts into my chest as he rakes one hand through his hair while closing the door securely behind us to stop the cold draft and rain from getting in.

I think I might actually be starting to have a thing for this guy. This Christian Grey. And since he is practically here for my Mom to have dinner with us tonight, that is pretty screwed up.