Bertie and the Conundrum 'Down There'
Oh boy, here is another short, dumb fic based off of "Fifty Shades of Grey". I haven't actually READ Fifty Shades of Grey, but have been following a hilarious chapter by chapter review of it.
Salient facts:
- The main character, Ana, is in love with this kinky BDSM guy named Christian Grey.
- She is especially enthralled by "the sexy way his pajama pants hang off his hips" and mentions this constantly.
- Her favorite exclamation is "Oh, my."
- She refers to her vagina as "down there." (Seriously.) Confusingly, the anal region is also "down there." Since the books are one sex scene after another, these terms see a lot of use.
Okay, I think you're ready now. OR ARE YOOOOU?
Title: Bertie and the Conundrum of 'Down There'
Fandom: J&W and hilariously bad Twilight fanfic with the serial numbers filed off
Status: Complete.
Genre: Parody, or perhaps Trainwreck
Summary: Confused Bertie and a mistaken rendezvous
Rating: PG for dumb sex jokes
Words: A mere 1,406. WIPE YOUR BROW WITH RELIEF.
Bertie and the Conundrum of 'Down There'
I don't know what it is about Fridays, but they always seem to bring out the oddest people. Take my experience last week, for examp.. I unwisely had agreed to look after my twin cousins, Claude and Eustace Wooster, for a fortnight while they visited New York, and then the moment my back was turned the blighters snuck away to that new blot on the landscape, the Double Flush Club. So the doorman helpfully informed me.
Now, I don't know if you've ever been to the Double Flush Club. It's not quite as garish as the Frozen Limit, but still not the kind of nightclub you want your underage cousins to attend . . . particularly if your underage cousins are the offspring of an aunt who will tear you limb from limb should she ever get wind of their afterhour adventures.
Well, I went haring after these blasted relations, but once I reached the club, I was stymied. The lighting was so dim and the dance floor so crowded that looking for them was like searching for a needle in a h.. Edging around the perimeter, I squinted at the mass of bodies undulating and writhing in time with the music, trying to pick my cousins out of the crowd. And that's when I bumped into her. A girl, that is to say. This member of the fair sex was chewing her lip as she, too, scanned the crowd.
"Oh, dreadfully sorry," I apologized, embarrassed. Quite without meaning to, I had wandered into a sort of isolated area to the side of the band. Population at present: this girl. And self, of course.
"Oh, my!" she said, ceasing the lip-gnawing as she looked at me. "Are you . . . ? He said he was sending somebody to . . ."
I looked at her, waiting for enlightenment.
"Of course, I wasn't sure if . . . I've never actually . . . But I couldn't refuse him, not when his pajamas pants were hanging off his hips like that . . ." Here she paused to giggle nervously.
"Ah, I see. You’re new to this." I smiled on her kindly. Newcomers to the club scene are often like this--jumpy and nervous, looking around wide-eyed and expecting the police to raid the place at any moment. Nothing to worry about in the least, of course. I've sat through more raids than I can count. It's the club owner who's left to explain to the gendarmes why their liquor license isn't up to snuff. "Don't fret. It's completely safe."
"Then you are . . . ?"
I began to wonder if this girl was capable of completing a sentence. "I'm looking for someone," I explained. I was about to continue on and give a description of my two cousins on the off chance she'd seen them, but she gave such a gasp that I ended up recoiling from her instead.
"Oh, my! Well . . . you're not at all what I expected. I mean . . . I didn't know what Christian's friends are like, but . . ."
"Oh yes, um, Christian." There is no tradition I cherish more than the old public school nickname, but there's no doubt it can wreak merry hell when trying to establish a common identity. I began wracking my brains, trying to think who I knew who might carry the given name of Christian. Not Bingo, not Pongo . . . Oofy, maybe? Barmy, or Dogface?
Before I could conclusively say, yea or nay, if I knew this Christian, she continued on. "I hope it doesn't hurt too much."
"Eh?"
"You know . . . when you . . . or Christian . . . are . . . are down there."
I stared at her. "Down where?" I asked at last.
"You know. Down . . . THERE." She gestured vaguely southward.
"Down there?" I repeated, in the futile hope that this conversation would begin to make sense.
"I mean, not down there. We've done it down there. But not . . . down THERE. Especially not with . . . two people."
"Oh . . . no?" I still had no bally idea what she was talking about or what all this "down there" business was in aid of. Possibly something to do with a trip to Australia.
"Have you ever . . . ?"
I braced myself for another round of sentence fragments. "Have I ever what?'
"Have you ever . . . been with two people? At once?"
I blinked, feeling rather sorry for this apparently friendless girl. I mean to say, what was she? Some kind of hermit? "Quite frequently," I told her in a kindly tone. Let her have no fears about her reintegration into society. "As a matter of fact, I was with two people earlier today."
"Oh, my!" she gasped. "Really?"
"Oh, quite. Twins, actually. They're--"
"Oh, MY!" She reeled around so dramatically that I hastily decided to nix the subject of Claude and Eustace before she flailed a hand into my face or something.
"Not that there's anything wrong with one person," I amended with all due speed. "One person is topping too--"
"Oh, MY!!"
"--but that's not to say I don't enjoy the company of two people, or three or four for that matter--"
"OH, MY!!!"
There seemed to be a very real risk of this girl having a heart attack on the spot. "It's really nothing to get excited over," I soothed, hoping to calm her down. "And I'm sure you'll find everything is fine, er, 'down there.' Whenever you go."
"I . . . I think it will be. And I think . . . I'd like to go soon." She leaned close suddenly, her eyes half-closed. I politely pushed her upright again, having dealt with many a tipsy young bacchant in my time. Happily, this did not seem to bother her. "So . . . assertive," she whispered, staring at me with an intent look that, frankly, alarmed me. One doesn't like to think the worst of the gentler sex, but it did cross my mind that she might be a serial killer and "down there" might be six feet under her garden. I began surreptitiously eyeing the exits.
Fortunately at that moment the doors burst open and a full squadron of New York's finest burst through the doors. So efficient, these American coppers, even if their hats do make them look like mail carriers. And in this instance they had exactly the desired effect--namely, causing Miss Crippen, or whoever she was, to let loose a squawk like a duck being trodden on and run for the back door. She outdistanced a rotund officer with ease, cleared a table in one bound, and disappeared into the night. The rozzer whom she had foiled doubled back again, puffing slightly, and collared me instead, looking a little put out, as though I was a shabby consolation prize. Neither this nor the collaring bothered me in the slightest. As I said, it's old hat to me.
"Aw right, you," he said in that delightfully nasally American brogue, if brogue is the word I'm looking for. "Yer coming with me, Mister . . ."
"Ephraim Gadsby," I said helpfully, for this was my standard nom de plume in such instances. I don't know why. It just speaks to me.
After spending a night in a cell that would have garnered few stars in any reputable guidebook to New York, my valet Jeeves showed up to bail me out.
"I apologize for not coming sooner, sir," he said as I stepped out into the street again, a free man. "I felt it was vital to free your cousins first, to minimize the chance of your aunts discovering their expedition."
"So they were snagged by the long arm of the law too?"
"Yes, sir. Although I am happy to say they had the presence of mind to give their names as Claude Van Gogh and Eustace, Lord Tennyson."
"Well, well! Who would've thought they had the brains for such subterfuge?"
"Indeed, sir." He paused. "If I may say so, you seem in good spirits for one who has suffered a night of incarceration."
"Well, there are worse places to be, Jeeves."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Indeed. Otherwise I might had ended up . . . 'down there.'"
Salient facts:
- The main character, Ana, is in love with this kinky BDSM guy named Christian Grey.
- She is especially enthralled by "the sexy way his pajama pants hang off his hips" and mentions this constantly.
- Her favorite exclamation is "Oh, my."
- She refers to her vagina as "down there." (Seriously.) Confusingly, the anal region is also "down there." Since the books are one sex scene after another, these terms see a lot of use.
Okay, I think you're ready now. OR ARE YOOOOU?
Title: Bertie and the Conundrum of 'Down There'
Fandom: J&W and hilariously bad Twilight fanfic with the serial numbers filed off
Status: Complete.
Genre: Parody, or perhaps Trainwreck
Summary: Confused Bertie and a mistaken rendezvous
Rating: PG for dumb sex jokes
Words: A mere 1,406. WIPE YOUR BROW WITH RELIEF.
Bertie and the Conundrum of 'Down There'
I don't know what it is about Fridays, but they always seem to bring out the oddest people. Take my experience last week, for examp.. I unwisely had agreed to look after my twin cousins, Claude and Eustace Wooster, for a fortnight while they visited New York, and then the moment my back was turned the blighters snuck away to that new blot on the landscape, the Double Flush Club. So the doorman helpfully informed me.
Now, I don't know if you've ever been to the Double Flush Club. It's not quite as garish as the Frozen Limit, but still not the kind of nightclub you want your underage cousins to attend . . . particularly if your underage cousins are the offspring of an aunt who will tear you limb from limb should she ever get wind of their afterhour adventures.
Well, I went haring after these blasted relations, but once I reached the club, I was stymied. The lighting was so dim and the dance floor so crowded that looking for them was like searching for a needle in a h.. Edging around the perimeter, I squinted at the mass of bodies undulating and writhing in time with the music, trying to pick my cousins out of the crowd. And that's when I bumped into her. A girl, that is to say. This member of the fair sex was chewing her lip as she, too, scanned the crowd.
"Oh, dreadfully sorry," I apologized, embarrassed. Quite without meaning to, I had wandered into a sort of isolated area to the side of the band. Population at present: this girl. And self, of course.
"Oh, my!" she said, ceasing the lip-gnawing as she looked at me. "Are you . . . ? He said he was sending somebody to . . ."
I looked at her, waiting for enlightenment.
"Of course, I wasn't sure if . . . I've never actually . . . But I couldn't refuse him, not when his pajamas pants were hanging off his hips like that . . ." Here she paused to giggle nervously.
"Ah, I see. You’re new to this." I smiled on her kindly. Newcomers to the club scene are often like this--jumpy and nervous, looking around wide-eyed and expecting the police to raid the place at any moment. Nothing to worry about in the least, of course. I've sat through more raids than I can count. It's the club owner who's left to explain to the gendarmes why their liquor license isn't up to snuff. "Don't fret. It's completely safe."
"Then you are . . . ?"
I began to wonder if this girl was capable of completing a sentence. "I'm looking for someone," I explained. I was about to continue on and give a description of my two cousins on the off chance she'd seen them, but she gave such a gasp that I ended up recoiling from her instead.
"Oh, my! Well . . . you're not at all what I expected. I mean . . . I didn't know what Christian's friends are like, but . . ."
"Oh yes, um, Christian." There is no tradition I cherish more than the old public school nickname, but there's no doubt it can wreak merry hell when trying to establish a common identity. I began wracking my brains, trying to think who I knew who might carry the given name of Christian. Not Bingo, not Pongo . . . Oofy, maybe? Barmy, or Dogface?
Before I could conclusively say, yea or nay, if I knew this Christian, she continued on. "I hope it doesn't hurt too much."
"Eh?"
"You know . . . when you . . . or Christian . . . are . . . are down there."
I stared at her. "Down where?" I asked at last.
"You know. Down . . . THERE." She gestured vaguely southward.
"Down there?" I repeated, in the futile hope that this conversation would begin to make sense.
"I mean, not down there. We've done it down there. But not . . . down THERE. Especially not with . . . two people."
"Oh . . . no?" I still had no bally idea what she was talking about or what all this "down there" business was in aid of. Possibly something to do with a trip to Australia.
"Have you ever . . . ?"
I braced myself for another round of sentence fragments. "Have I ever what?'
"Have you ever . . . been with two people? At once?"
I blinked, feeling rather sorry for this apparently friendless girl. I mean to say, what was she? Some kind of hermit? "Quite frequently," I told her in a kindly tone. Let her have no fears about her reintegration into society. "As a matter of fact, I was with two people earlier today."
"Oh, my!" she gasped. "Really?"
"Oh, quite. Twins, actually. They're--"
"Oh, MY!" She reeled around so dramatically that I hastily decided to nix the subject of Claude and Eustace before she flailed a hand into my face or something.
"Not that there's anything wrong with one person," I amended with all due speed. "One person is topping too--"
"Oh, MY!!"
"--but that's not to say I don't enjoy the company of two people, or three or four for that matter--"
"OH, MY!!!"
There seemed to be a very real risk of this girl having a heart attack on the spot. "It's really nothing to get excited over," I soothed, hoping to calm her down. "And I'm sure you'll find everything is fine, er, 'down there.' Whenever you go."
"I . . . I think it will be. And I think . . . I'd like to go soon." She leaned close suddenly, her eyes half-closed. I politely pushed her upright again, having dealt with many a tipsy young bacchant in my time. Happily, this did not seem to bother her. "So . . . assertive," she whispered, staring at me with an intent look that, frankly, alarmed me. One doesn't like to think the worst of the gentler sex, but it did cross my mind that she might be a serial killer and "down there" might be six feet under her garden. I began surreptitiously eyeing the exits.
Fortunately at that moment the doors burst open and a full squadron of New York's finest burst through the doors. So efficient, these American coppers, even if their hats do make them look like mail carriers. And in this instance they had exactly the desired effect--namely, causing Miss Crippen, or whoever she was, to let loose a squawk like a duck being trodden on and run for the back door. She outdistanced a rotund officer with ease, cleared a table in one bound, and disappeared into the night. The rozzer whom she had foiled doubled back again, puffing slightly, and collared me instead, looking a little put out, as though I was a shabby consolation prize. Neither this nor the collaring bothered me in the slightest. As I said, it's old hat to me.
"Aw right, you," he said in that delightfully nasally American brogue, if brogue is the word I'm looking for. "Yer coming with me, Mister . . ."
"Ephraim Gadsby," I said helpfully, for this was my standard nom de plume in such instances. I don't know why. It just speaks to me.
After spending a night in a cell that would have garnered few stars in any reputable guidebook to New York, my valet Jeeves showed up to bail me out.
"I apologize for not coming sooner, sir," he said as I stepped out into the street again, a free man. "I felt it was vital to free your cousins first, to minimize the chance of your aunts discovering their expedition."
"So they were snagged by the long arm of the law too?"
"Yes, sir. Although I am happy to say they had the presence of mind to give their names as Claude Van Gogh and Eustace, Lord Tennyson."
"Well, well! Who would've thought they had the brains for such subterfuge?"
"Indeed, sir." He paused. "If I may say so, you seem in good spirits for one who has suffered a night of incarceration."
"Well, there are worse places to be, Jeeves."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Indeed. Otherwise I might had ended up . . . 'down there.'"