Fifty Shades of Flannel Chapter 2
Seattle looks different when you're seated in a private helicopter.
I say that not to brag, but because it's true and I'm in one.
And you're not. Just saying. No, you're full of yourself. I'm Teflon and you're glue, what sticks to me bounces off of…never mind.
Christian Grey is a man full of surprises, I thought to myself as we made our way in his jet-black helicopter to wherever and whatever he had in store for me. Mercifully I always carry rubber sheets, Motrin and a crucifix, so I am prepared for all eventualities.
He sat next to me, clad in his usual pristine white linen shirt and ripped jeans. I fear I had insulted him earlier when I had ventured that, perhaps, for a billionaire, he could throw on a pair of Dockers every now and again.
He looked angry, then stricken, and then calmly amused.
I'll make you pay for that remark, Mrs. Steele, he had said looking oddly at me.
Pay? For Dockers? I hope that Kohl's coupon in my purse is still good.
Dammit. Is he talking about spanking again? Someone call a therapist. Call two because clearly I need one too.
I hadn't had much time to prepare for this impromptu getaway. But I am nothing if not resourceful and a really poor judge of who's a sicko.
At his office earlier in the day, he mentioned that the best way for me to see how I felt about our proposed arrangement was to drink a lot of white wine, wear underwear purchased by his manservant, and go away with him for the weekend.
Rubber sheets aside, I hadn't packed an overnight bag. I was going to have to fashion an entire weekend wardrobe out of this nightgown.
Feigning a forgotten metal ball in my butt, I had hobbled to the ladies room. Armed with nail scissors, some twine and very poor judgment, I cut and ripped and Scarlett O'Hara'd my way around the situation.
Now, on this journey to madness, likely hemorrhoids and a taste for private air transportation, I sat confident in the knowledge that he found me alluring.
Who wouldn't? I had sacrificed the lower third of the Lanz into a bandeau top jauntily twisted to tie in front. The remaining fabric was divided between a headdress and a short sarong.
No woman ever looked lovelier, he whispered throatily into my headdress. With the possible exception of Cher in the last season of The Sonny and Cher Show when Bob Mackie was doing the costumes, he continued.
Are you absolutely positive you're not gay, I had asked for the seven hundredth time.
He laughed.
No Mrs. Steele, I am not. Although I understand that many in Seattle society have wondered about that for years.
See, when you say things like Bob Mackie…. it just raises a flag…I stopped because we had landed.
Let the adventure begin.