Пятьдесят оттенков серого

           IhavetotrytocategorizeandanalyzemyfeelingsforChristianGrey.It’sanimpossibletask.Ishakemyheadindefeat.Ineedalonetime,awayfromheretothink.

           Ifindtwowelcomehairtiesatthesametimeinmybagandquicklytiemyhairinpigtails.Yes!ThemoregirlyIlookperhapsthesaferI’llbefromBluebeard.ItakemyiPodoutofthebagandplugmyheadphonesin.There’snothinglikemusictocookby.IslipitintothebreastpocketofChristian’sshirt,turnituploud,andstartdancing.

           Holyhell,I’mhungry.

           Iamdauntedbyhiskitchen.It’ssosleekandmodern,andnoneofthecupboardshashandles.IttakesmeafewsecondstodeducethatIhavetopushthecupboarddoorstoopenthem.PerhapsIshouldcookChristianbreakfast.Hewaseatinganomelettheotherday…um,yesterdayattheHeathman.Jeez,somuchhashappenedsincethen.Icheckinthefridge,wherethereareplentyofeggs,anddecideIwantpancakesandbacon.Isetaboutmakingsomebatter,dancingmywayaroundthekitchen.

           Beingbusyisgood.Itallowsabitoftimetothinkbutnottoodeeply.Musicblaringinmyearsalsohelpstostaveoffdeepthought.IcameheretospendthenightinChristianGrey’sbedandmanagedit,eventhoughhedoesn’tletanyoneinhisbed.Ismile,missionaccomplished.Bigtime.Igrin.Big,bigtime,andI’mdistractedbythememoryoflastnight.Hiswords,hisbody,hislovemaking…Iclosemyeyesasmybodyhumsattherecollection,andmymusclescontractdeliciouslydeepinmybelly.