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Writing => Community Fiction => Topic started by: bodwen on May 29, 2012, 12:13:10 AM

Title: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on May 29, 2012, 12:13:10 AM
The following is a work of fiction.  Any similiarity between this story and another is purely coincedental.  Because no respectable writer worth her salt would lift characters and plotpoints from a living writer.  That's just reprehensible and such conduct would surely earn scorn of the whole of the literary world. 

Just kidding, it's a work of parody.  I can totally do this and if someone tries to sue me it will just make me rich and famous.

The Perfect Cherry
A work of Fanfic

   I was running as fast as I could through the crowded sidewalks of Manhattan, dodging pedestrians and hopping over any rain soaked debris that stood in my path as fast as my rubber boots would carry me.  I had a full submission clenched in my soggy little paws, which had to be delivered by noon and according to the big clock ahead I had only six minutes.  Six minutes to get through a door, sprint through a lobby, find an elevator, scratch and claw my way into said elevator, ride it to floor whatever, and drop this manuscript into the hands of one Christian Grey, publishing tycoon extraordinaire before noon, or the poor sad thing would be rejected on a technically with no chance of moving forward in the Grey’s Next Big Thing Award for literary excellence.
   The kicker is that this wasn’t even my manuscript.
   It belonged to my BFF, Cherry, who should have snail mailed it days ago except that a freak Zumba accident had rendered her bedridden in our four-star hotel suite all week.  So I waited for a break in her distressed sobbing to offer to drop it off for her.  After all, it was her rich-ass parents that were paying for this trip to the Big Apple, and so far I was the only one who was having any fun.  Cherry immediately brightened up and after thanking me profusely, informed me that I had to get it there by noon.
This was three miles and forty-five minutes ago.
   Damn it, Cherry, that’s cutting it awful close!
But running and bobbing through the streets of Manhattan is a lot better than having to listen to Cherry cry for the next twenty years about how she could have been the Next Big Thing if only someone had managed to get her finalist packet in on time...
  Oh, hell.  I’m always happy to do a favor for a friend.  So long as they remember they owe me one in return.
So with that, I flung myself through the glass doors of the flagship building for Grey Enterprises and ran like a fiend through the sandstone lobby.  A perky blonde attendant looked up with a critical eye at the ill fit of Cherry’s imported raincoat and wrap dress.
  Hey, I pack light when I’m supposed to be on vacation.
  “I have a contest entry,” I panted.
  “The Next Big Thing?”
  I nodded, my heart still racing.
  “Mr. Grey is accepting entries through that door on the left.
  No elevator?  Hallelujah!  I might actually make the deadline with a few minutes to spare.
  I started walking and the blonde gave me a cross look.  “You need to sign in.”
  “I’m…just… dropping this down the hall.”
  Her eyes darken.  “You need to sign in and show me a picture ID.  Mr. Grey is not kind to people who disrespect his rules.”
  Fair enough.  I handed her my drivers license, picked up a pen, and scrawled my name on the clipboard.
  “Your parents named you Fannie?”
  I sighed. “Sadly enough.”
  “The return address on your package says Cherry Bentley.”
  “I’m delivering it for a friend.”
  “Mr. Grey was very specific that only the contest entrants are allowed to deliver their entries to him in person.”
  “And by friend, I mean pen name.  I like to think of my writing persona as a separate entity,” I dropped my voice.  “We writers are weird like that.”
  She accepted this without question.  “Go in.”  She glanced at the dainty gold watch on her wrist. “But hurry.  That package needs to be in his hands within the next forty-five seconds or you’re disqualified.”
  I scooped up the package and ran as fast as my legs would carry me to the door she had indicated.  The floor inside was made of heavily waxed cherry-cola hardwood which, I mention only because my wet boots lifted off like rockets the second they made contact with it and I went flying like a carom across full length of the room until I crashed feet first into an antique credenza, with my coat trailed behind me, my skirt up around my neck, and the pages of Cherry’s manuscript raining down on me like tickertape.
  I pushed the skirt down in a belated attempt to hide my Hello Kitty panties, and looked up at the clock.
  12:01.  Damn.
  The astonishingly young man at the desk steepled his fingers and eyeballed me without amusement.
  “That is certainly one way to get my attention.”

[To Be Continued]
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on May 29, 2012, 02:44:48 PM
 :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rof2:  " I pushed the skirt down in a belated attempt to hide my Hello Kitty panties, and looked up at the clock."

You effing kill me!  :rof2: :rof2: Especially the Hello Kitty panties! OMG!

Well done!
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on May 29, 2012, 04:18:35 PM
  In a minute Christian Grey is up from his desk and gently helping me to my feet.  Damn he was young.  Way too young for likes of me, but given that the he was the head of one of the big seven publishing companies, I was expecting someone shaped like a bald Prius-C with back hair.  Grey looked exactly like the glittery vampire guy from that movie.  Same intense gray eyes, same pearly skin, same hair that alternated between bronze and dark auburn depending on the setting.  Like I said, not my type.  But I could understand the appeal.
  "Cherry Bentley, I presume?"
  I flushed bright red.  "Um, sure.  How did you know?"
  "Yours is the only entry of the ten semifinalists that I hadn't received before the deadline."
  "Oh," my flush darkened.  "I don't suppose you'll let me have a five minute extension."
  His hand brushed my wrist, discharging a static shock that made me yelp.  He smiled and returned to his desk.  "Have a seat Miss Bentley."
  I looked around the room.  He was occupying the only chair.  "I think I'll stand, if that's ok with you."
  The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.  Maybe in amusement.  Or maybe he had gas.  Fortunately I couldn't tell which at that distance.
  “Um…about the extension?”
  “I’ll consider it,” he said, his voice as silky as his gray tie.  “Normally I don’t reward people who ignore my deadlines and waste my time.  But given your charming entrance, I may make an exception. Just this once.”
  “Er…thanks.” I said and blushed cherry-slurpee color while bowing like a geisha.
  “Give me your number and I’ll call you in a few days when I’ve decided.”
  Oh, great, now I’d have to remember to answer the phone as Cherry for the next few days until he decided to get back to me.  And given Cherry’s experiences with literary agents, a few days could easily stretch into six months or more.
  “Um, my phone is kind of flaky.  How about if we pick a date and I can call you.”
  His eyes clouded, then as quick as a lynx he pounced and grabbed my cellphone out of my pocket.  “Very well, Miss Bentley, we’ll do it your way for now.”
  “What are you doing?” I said.  My face glowing like a neon fire hydrant.
  “I’m putting my number in your phone so you'll be able to reach me… Hmm… DAD, MOM, WORK… you don’t have a lot of close friends, do you?”
  It took all my willpower to keep from snatching my phone from his hand and sending my kneecap flying into the general vicinity of creepazoid’s nutsack, but just in time I remembered I was representing the real Cherry Bentley in this conversation.  So unless I wanted to walk back to Washington State, I’d better give her a fair shot at actually winning this thing.  So I blushed instead.
  “Um, it’s a new phone.  And I prefer to text my friends via Facebook.”  Oh crap.  If he looked at Cherry Bentley’s page and saw her profile photo with its big green eyes and strawberry-blonde tendrils before I had a chance to call her to get her to take it down, she’d be disqualified for sure.  Fortunately, the door cracked open and the blonde entered with a note in her hand.
  “Stacy called and left a message.”
  “Read it to me,” he said.
  “It’s personal, sir.”
  He gave a steely look and pursed his lips.  “Read it anyway.”
  The blonde rolled her eyes:  “You stupid piece of slime.  You ate the last of the pesto.  Pick me up some fresh basil on the way home, toad, and if you forget to buy organic, you’ll be sitting on a pillow for the rest of the week.”
  Grey smiled sheepishly.  “Thank you.  That will be all.”
  Phew.  This Addam’s family reject already had a freaky ass partner.  “Um, your wife sounds like a strong woman. I admire that.”
  “Stacy’s not my wife.  Stacy’s not my girlfriend either.”
  I pondered this for a minute before it dawned on me.  The hair, the suit, the meticulously clean office.  “Oh, right, I forgot Stacy is a man’s name too.”  I gave him a wink and a nudge.  “I guess having to sit on a pillow for a week might not always be a bad thing.”
  His face went whiter.  I realized I’d just blown it.  And not in a good way.
  “Did you just accuse me of being gay?”
  I blushed the color of a red velvet cupcake, only without all the cream cheese frosting.  “I…um.. I… I don’t judge people.  I just deliver manuscripts.”
  He slammed my phone back into my pocket.  “Get out of here.  Now.  For your own safety.”
  I turned and started to flee to the exit.
  “Oh, and Miss Bentley.  Tomorrow at 3:00pm.”
  “Huh?  What?”
  “Call me tomorrow at 3:00pm and I’ll let you know if I decided to let you through to the next round.”
  I smiled shyly and kept walking, never so relieved to get out of a building in my life.  Jesus Christ what a weirdo!  But after 3:00pm tomorrow, he’d be Cherry’s problem, not mine.  I gave her a quick call to warn her to take down her facebook page and promised to tell her the rest of the sordid tale as soon as I made it back to the hotel.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on May 29, 2012, 05:25:53 PM
omg i love you. so much.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on May 29, 2012, 10:38:31 PM
  The real Cherry sat on her bed in a chemise and booty shorts and painted her toenails, while I changed into a tee-shirt and jeans.  Her horrific sprains from the Zumba accident seemed to clear up magically in my absence.  Remarkable, considering that while I was leaving she acted as if she was not long for this world.  But now that the disaster was averted, she happily uncorked her third bottle of wine zinfandel while she listened to my story and waited for her toenails to dry.
  Typical Cherry.  I was starting to see that she was simply allergic to not having a maidservant.
  Okay, I can see how this might start to get confusing or annoying that she’s Cherry, and I’m Cherry and it might be hard to keep track since you’ve only seen my real name, Fannie, just the once.  And this tale is just beginning so I’m going to have to assign some consistent labeling so you can keep us straight.  So from this point onward: I’m Fannie, she’s Cherry, and the charade that we’ll both be perpetrating will be referred to as Cherry-Fannie.
No, wait.  That’s just not right, since it might conjure up images of a beet-red ass.  And while some of you might find the idea of a perpetually red behind (like some sort of human baboon butt) only enhances your enjoyment of the tale, it might prove too much of a distraction.  So I think we should switch it up and go with Fannie-Cherry.
  On second thought, no we shouldn’t.
  Let’s try this again:  I’m Fannie, we’ll take turns being Cherry, and from this point onward, the one true Cherry will be Shari, which is short for Sharon, which is the name she was born with but she begs people never to call her.  But as I’ve said before, she owes me big time.
Now back to the story.  We left off with Shari sitting up on the bed with a glass of zin in her hand and Kleenex between her toes as I told her of my adventures with Grey.  She listened in silence and when I was done she gave me a sad pout.  “Why didn’t you try harder to get him to accept my manuscript?”
  I threw my hands into the air.  “Hell, I don’t know!  Maybe it had something to do with the fact I was too busy having my personal space totally violated by some psychotic homophobe after careening around like a pinball.  I doubt I was seriously injured in the fall, but thanks for asking.  And by the way?  You’re welcome!”
  Shari shrugged and sipped her Zin.  “You know, you’d have a lot better chance at keeping a boyfriend for more than three months if you manage to put a cork in all that sarcasm.”
  “Screw that.  This is the 21st century.  If a man can’t handle a woman with a mind of her own, then he’s of no use to me.”
  Shari shook her head.  “That’s all well in good in the far distant future, but in the meanwhile I’m going to need for you cultivate some charm so we can win over a certain Mr. Christian Grey.”
  I tossed her my phone.  “Not so distant. He wants me to call him tomorrow at 3:00pm.”
 She smiled. “Excellent.  You’re not to say a word to him.”
  “I thought you wanted me to win him over.”
  “Your best shot of winning people over is by not speaking to them.  In fact,” she put my phone to her ear. “I think it’s time for a little good old fashioned damage control.”
  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.  This man seems to have major control issues and he’s pretty anal about punctuality.  If he said to call at 3:00pm tomorrow, I’d call at exactly 3:00pm tomorrow.”
  Shari held out the bottle and I held out a glass for her to fill. “Watch and learn, junior, watch and learn.”  Her face took on a dopey smile and she spoke in a funny voice that I swear sounded nothing like me. “Hello, Mr. Grey.  This is Cherry.  Cherry Bentley.”  Her smile drooped a bit.  “Yes, I know we agreed to talk tomorrow, but I just wanted to apologize for anything I might have said and done to offend you and to thank for this amazing opportunity.  Writing for Grey Matters Press has always been my biggest dream.  In fact, last year’s winning novel totally changed my life and gave me hope that a major house shares my tastes and love of high caliber writing.”  Her smile vanished altogether.  “Which character was my favorite?  Wow…there were so many great characters in that book, I couldn’t possibly pick just one.” 
  She clapped her hand over the receiver and stared at me with a pleading expression, but I couldn’t help her since I hadn’t read it either, so I just smirked as I sipped my wine.
  “Well, if I can only pick one, I’ll have to pick the protagonist since she's strong yet sympathetic, and I found myself drawn in to the story since she was so easy to relate to.” She slapped her forehead. “Yes, I meant he was easy to relate to.  I apologize, it’s been a while since I read it.  Yes, I know it came out two months ago but that's actually a pretty long time for me.  Can I call you back?  Oh, right, tomorrow at 3:00pm.  Thank you so much for—“  Her hand with the phone sagged to the bed and she buried her face.
  “That was pretty smooth,” I admitted.
  “Oh, shut up.”  She said and then her shoulders shook as she started weeping.  “I have to make it to the next round.  If I don’t, I’ll die.  I really will.”
  I came over and took the wine from her hand.  And as she collapsed in sobs her skin took on a bloodless pallor and I knew that she meant it.
Not that there was anything I could do to fix this.  For better or worse, the fate of my very best friend in the whole world lay in the whims of a madman.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on May 30, 2012, 06:07:43 AM
LMAO @ Grey Matters Press.

Bodwen, you are a genius.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 01, 2012, 07:55:28 PM
  By the time dawn broke, Shari was a complete wreck.  Her listless form sprawled in a frilly white flannel nightgown that perfectly matched her ghostly pallor.  Even her light gold locks were dulled by her browsweat and the moisture of the damp washcloths I'd placed on her brow as a cold compress.
  "Tis no use trying to cheer me, Fannie. I had Christian Grey on the phone.  And I choked."
  "Hey, maybe he's into choking?"  I said helpfully.
  She moaned and her eyes rolled up so I could only see the whites.  My god, I'd never seen her this bad before.  I wasn't sure if it was possible to die of terminal hypochondria, but I wasn't just going to stand around and find out.  I reached for the hotel phone and asked room service to bring up an Xtra large pepperoni pizza, stat.  If she was too far gone to sneak a slice, I’d know the end was near.
The bellhop they sent up was pretty hot, in a varsity football sort of way.  I led him into Shari's room where she languished with one wrist draped tragically across her forehead.  But then she took one look and Enrique, the bellhop, and the roses returned to her cheeks and she sat straight up.
  "Did someone order extra sausage?" she purred in her best porno voice.
  Enrique paused for just a second before tossing off his cap.
  "I'll be in the other room if you need me." I doubt either of them heard it.
  For the next four hours I was subjected to moaning of an entirely different sort.  Satisfied she was cured, I took a short nap on the couch.  Only to awaken and find Shari back in her white flannel nightgown, in the same pose she was before, up-flung arm and all.
  “Oh, for crying out loud!”
  Seemed now she was both forlorn and lovelorn.  I called Enrique.  “I don’t suppose you’ve got another pizza handy?”
  “No pizza,” Shari moaned.  “I require chocolate.”
  “It will be my pleasure,” Enrique said.  "I'll be right up."
  I decided to spare myself the encore by vacating the suite before he got there. 
  I opened the door and let out a little scream as I saw Christian Grey standing in the doorway like the angel of death.
  “I told you not to call me until 3:00pm, Miss Bentley.”
  “Sorry.  I guess I got carried away in all the excitement.”  That brought a faint smile to his face.  “How did you know I was here?”
  “I searched for your itinerary.  I own a significant share of this hotel as well half of the others in the city.”
  “I certainly hope for your sake you own half the police force as well.”
  His eyes became stormy.  I wanted to leave, but he was blocking the doorway.  And I certainly wasn’t going to retreat back into the suite with only a semicatatonic drama queen for backup.
  “You are a paradox to me, Cherry Bentley, and if there is one thing I hate more than anything in world it’s a paradox.” Then, in some inexplicable mood swing, he grinned like a schoolboy and handed me a slim package in gray wrapping.  “I brought you a gift,”
  I unwrapped it to the sound of his mouthbreathing.  "Last Tango in Paris.  Thanks, but I’ve already seen it.”
  “As have I.  Many times.  You’re to watch it again tonight.  At exactly 9:00pm.  I will do the same.”
  I withered under his creepy Christopher Walken stare.  “Look, I don’t know what sort of person you think I am--”
  “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.  You want to do this.” He said as he gave me an icy serial killer stare.  He wasn’t so much undressing me with his eyes as he was ripping my clothing to ribbons with a pair of ocular box cutters.
  I shuddered and thrust the DVD into his chest.  “Thanks for stopping by.  But I’m leaving now.  To go somewhere very public and well-lit.”
  “You are free to walk away at any time.”
  Except, technically I couldn’t walk away since he was still blocking the doorway.
   “Would you like to get some coffee, Miss Bentley?”
  Not in a million years.
  But I could see Enrique approaching down the hall with a bouquet of roses in one hand a bottle of Hershey’s chocolate syrup in the other.  The whole situation was uncomfortable enough with my having to explain the second Cherry Bentley to a man with the power to destroy all her dreams.
  “Yes.  Coffee sounds good right about now.” I said, pulling him in the other direction.
  God damn it, Shari, I thought, I'm throwing myself on a grenade the size of Nagasaki.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 02, 2012, 07:39:02 AM
BWAHAHAHA this is the best installment yet! I want to shower you with gifts. You don't have to accept them. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. But you want to accept them.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 02, 2012, 12:59:34 PM

Thanks.  I'll probably end up stuck soon, since I can't figure out a scenario when a woman regains consciousness in a bed with a strange man in it that doesn't involve her beating him over the head with a table lamp.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: ChokeCherry on June 02, 2012, 01:30:28 PM
 :up: I'm loving this!  I so hope you don't get stuck (easy to say, when I'm not writing anything :emb2:)

BUT I've got an idea to avoid the table lamp  (this comes from a family I once knew who had a phobia about their child hurting themselves in the apartment - disturbing really.) Everything is screwed down or wrapped in bubble pack. Although I wonder how that would work in Grey's 'play room'. All in bubblepack... hmmmm...
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 02, 2012, 01:32:43 PM
That's genius!  Thanks!   ;D
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 03, 2012, 02:14:42 PM
bwahahaha or she likens it to a scene in some novel she read.  ;D
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 03, 2012, 03:00:12 PM
  Christian Grey tried to hold my hand on the way to the coffee shop, so I made a point of coughing into the both of them as loud as I could.  When we got the Starbuck’s he ordered a blueberry muffin and a latte.  I told the barista I take it large, strong, and black--just like my men.  Crap.  I should have said boyfriend.  Christian Grey didn’t seem to hear me in any case.
  “So how’s Stacy?”  I said once we’d taken our seats.
  “Incensed.  The basil I bought her last night wasn’t fresh enough.”
  “I see you’re sitting down okay.”
  “Stacy isn’t my girlfriend.”
  “So you said.”  I sipped my coffee.
  “She’s my seventh grade history teacher.”  He smiled sheepishly. “We’ve stayed in touch.”
  “Aw, that’s sweet.”
  “And by staying in touch, I mean, I’m still boning her.”   
  I swallowed quckly to keep from choking.  Wow.  Time to talk about something else.  “I have a confession to make.  I didn't really read that book we talked about yesterday.”
  “That’s ok, I didn’t read it either.”
  “Oh.” I said and started looking around the shop for anything that might give me an excuse to avoid eye contact.
  He tore off a bit of the muffin with his finger and then pushed the rest of it towards me.
  “Eat,” he commanded.
  I pushed it back at him.  “If I wanted a muffin I would have asked for a muffin.”
  “Eat it anyway.”
  “No.  I’m not finishing your muffin. That’s just nasty.”
  “Eat.  You’re too thin.”
  “What are you, my grandmother?  I'm not a garabage disposal.  If you didn’t want it, you shouldn't have bought it.”
  “You seem to blush an awful lot, Miss Bentley.  I wish I could see what you’re thinking about.”  His hand was crawling like an itsy-bitsy spider towards mine.  I scooted in my seat until I was as far from him as possible.
  “High blood pressure,” I said. 
  “No.  It’s because I intimidate you.  It’s ok to be intimidated by me.  I’m going to hurt you.  I’m going to tie you up and demean you, and then I’m going to hurt you.  I’ve wanted to hurt you ever since you accused me of being gay.”
  I glanced around at the other patrons, most of whom stared slackjawed at Grey from their laptops, but a few of the older women were licking their chops.
  “You do realize that we're in a room full of witnesses?”
  “I’m not going to do it here.  Besides.  I never tie someone up on the first date.”
  I jumped out of my seat.  “Whoa, whoa, time out!  We are not on a date!”
  “I asked you out.  You agreed.  I paid for your drink.  How is this not a date?”
  “Starbucks is not a date.  Starbucks is a predate screening.  People don’t go to Starbucks to have fun.  They go there to discuss business.  I could go to Starbucks with my boss after my shift ends, and if his wife walked in, we wouldn’t have to explain.  You could go to Starbucks with another dude, and nobody would think the two of you will be getting freaky later.”
  Grey's eyes became thunder. “Why are you so obsessed with the inner workings of my anus?”
  I backed away, reaching into my purse and tossing him three dollars.  “Here.  For the coffee.   Get help.”
  “Wait.” He said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a roll of papers.  “I have something for you to sign.”
  I saw the words Cherry Bentley in bold letters.  I paused.  “Is this a contract?” 
  “It is.”
  So there it was.  All of Shari’s hopes and dreams printed out in triplicate. All I had to do was snatch the thing from the table. 
  I approached, as timid as a bird, and picked up the contract.  For a moment the seediness was completely overrode by my dreams of being an angel of pure goodness, able to grant my friends’ every dreams with my sass and winning personality.  But then my eyes fell across the words “anal-fisting” and I felt the blood drain from my face.
  “So let me get this straight.  If I want my book published, I have to get freaky with you?”
  “Who said anything about getting your book published?” 
  I threw down the form and ran for the door.
  “Miss Bentley, I haven’t given you permission to run from me!  Cherry!  Get back here! Now!”
  I ran faster.  So fast in fact that I misjudged the length of the sidewalk and found myself sprawling into the street, directly in the path of a speeding taxicab, which blasted its horn at me, but made no effort to slow down.
  I saw my life flash before my eyes, before I was yanked back suddenly.  I could fear a rush of air from the taxicab that had missed me by mere inches and found myself in the arms of Christian Grey.
  He smelled of fresh linen and expensive body wash, with a faint undercurrent of the skunk-like adrenaline that the college police warn us to be on the lookout for, since it’s the hallmark of a predator.  I allowed myself to be held like this until the shock wore off and I was able to breathe normally again.
  “I think it’s safe," I said  "You can take your hand off my ass now.”

[To be continued]
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 03, 2012, 03:03:22 PM
This is so much better than the actual book.  :rolf: :rolf: :rolf: :rolf:

You continue to amaze me with each installment.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 03, 2012, 06:14:55 PM
The line "but a few of the older women were licking their chops" was not lost on me! That is beyond hilarious.

You continue to impress the hell out of me!
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: ChokeCherry on June 04, 2012, 02:15:53 AM
 :bow: Respect! I was searching my desk for the coffee to dump over his head.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 04, 2012, 12:21:41 PM
Thanks guys, you're the best.  Karma for you all.   ;D
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 05, 2012, 04:04:55 PM
  “So Christian Grey saved your life,” Shari said pouring herself a glass of wine as we sat on the couch in the suite.
  “That’s one way to look at it,” I said.  “Another is that he chased me into the street and nearly got me killed.”
Shari refilled my glass.  “Couldn’t you have reasoned with him?  I mean told him you’d think about it after he promised to publish my book?”
Oh, my God.  She was incorrigible.  “Look, Shari.  The man wants to put his fist in my butt.  I’m not sure how cavernous your pucker is, but mine isn’t even remotely fist size!”
  “Yeah, I can see how that would be a deal breaker.”  She sighed, “I guess we’re better off without him, huh?”
 When she looked up her big green eyes were filled with unshed tears.  She got up and reached for her coat and scarf.  “Thanks anyway.  I know you had to be a good sport for my sake, and I’m grateful.  But I guess it just wasn’t in the cards.”
  “Where are you going?” I asked, unsure she should be alone.
  “Don’t worry, I’m meeting Enrique at the theatre.  We have tickets to see the Lion King at 3:00.  I’ll be back later.”
  “Have fun,” I said.
  She twisted her face into a sad little smirk.
  I polished off the last of the Zinfandel and showered to recover from my myriad of Grey related ordeals.  Poor Shari.  I told myself not to feel guilty.  It's not my fault Grey was the way he was. And there was no way I was taking one for the team.
  I wrapped myself in a towel and went into the room to change.
  And saw Enrique snoring peacefully in Shari’s bed.
  For one clueless moment I considered waking him and telling him he’d be late for the show.  But then I did the math.  Shari was meeting Enrique, but Enrique was here.  Why would she tell such an obvious lie, unless she was about to do something desperate?  She said the play started at 3:00.   The clock on the nightstand said 2:58.
  I went back into the other room to retrieve my cellphone.
  Except, of course, it was gone from the end table.
  Oh no, Shari.
  No, no, no, no, no.
  I broke a land speed record changing back into my clothes and chased after her, wet hair and all, determine to grab my phone out of her hand and smack her upside the head for even thinking of keeping her appointment after everything I’d been through in the past 24 hours.  I quickly spotted her standing in a park at the middle of a small footbridge.  Staring down into the churning water with my phone press to her ear.  She had her back to me, so she couldn’t see me approach.
  Shari and I were finished as friends, the backstabber!  I didn’t need her--I had my part time job at Party City.  As soon as we got back to Washington State, I was going to take all my things and vacate my wing of her family’s palatial hilltop mansion, and live out of my beat up old Volkswagen for the rest of the semester. 
  Yeah, that would show her.
  I slowed as I approached the bridge, my hands curled into claws ready to wring her skinny little neck.  She was thanking him profusely for saving her (or rather my) life, the traitor.  After all we’d been through.  I couldn’t believe she’s sell out our friendship to some psycho-whackball like this! 
  But what she said next made me stop short.
  “I just wanted you to know I’ve seen enough.  I’m withdrawing my entry for the Next Big Thing contest. It was nice knowing you.”  She sighed sadly.  “No I'm not just kidding.  It’s not you.  It’s me.  We want very different things out of life.  If we were to have a physical relationship it would have to be in the confines of a church sanctioned marriage, lights out and strictly missionary.  And I want kids, at least five or six.  And we’ll live in a house I’ll decorate myself, with pastels and my ceramic doll collection.  And you’ll have to watch the kids on Friday nights so I can have my girl’s night with my friends, and I’ll expect you to hang out with my bookclub at the Olive Garden every Tuesday.  Would be willing to do that for me? I didn’t think so either.  So I guess this is goodbye then.”
  She hung up, but when she turned around her eyes were triumphant.
  “Like I said, Junior, watch and learn.  And if he doesn't leave you alone, start bragging about your relationship all over twitter and Facebook until he takes out a restraining order against you.”
  “You dropped out of the contest?”
  She shrugged.  “We’re a team.  If you’re out, that means I’m out too.  I’d be a pretty messed up friend if I put my silly dreams ahead of your safety.  There will be other contests.  The important thing is that Christian Grey won’t be harassing you ever again.”
  I wish she were right.  I wish I could say that was the end of it.  I wish I can say that we enjoyed the rest of our trip in peace, before we flew home.  And in fact I can say that since that was what happened. 
  But it certainly wasn’t the end of it.
  I’d settled back into my routine at Party City, straightening up a display that had been knocking over by a small pack out rowdy schoolchildren when my boss walked over to me.
  “Fannie, we’re getting hammered up front.  I’ll need you to open another register.”
  Hammered up front.  I wondered if there was language like that in Christian Grey’s contract.  I felt myself biting my lip and blushing.  I grabbed a cash drawer from the office and loaded it into the empty register.  Then screamed when Christian Grey materialized before me holding a basket.
  “That’s a fetching cap and apron you’re wearing.”
  “What they hell are you doing here?”
 He pressed his lips together in a smile raised one eyebrow.  “Such language, Miss Bentley.  And with children present.  I’ve half a mind to paddle your fanny…Fannie.”
  I nearly swallowed my tongue in terror upon hearing my own name come out of his mouth.  The gig was up, but how did he know?  Then I noticed his gray gaze was burrowing into my left breast.  Crap.  My nametag.  It bit my lip in terror of his impending wrath.
  “A charmingly Victorian name.  It suits you.  But I can see why you prefer to be called Cherry.”
  Phew.  I released my lip.  “Yeah, they call me Cherry because I blush a lot.”
  “Really?  I assumed it was because you’re virgo intacta.”
  I turned the color of a ripe tomato.  Fortunately, no one in line seemed to understand Latin.  “I’m not virgo inta—anyway, you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
  “I’m here in Washington on business, and I have to pick up a costume for a party.”
  Right.  He just happened to be in my home town, and he just happened to wander into the party supply store I work in, purely by coincidence, to buy some cheesy plastic costume even though he’s a billionaire and could probably have one flown to him overnight from a museum in Venice, Italy.  I wasn’t buying it. But it did raise some disturbing questions.  Seeing as how he didn’t know my real name until a few seconds ago.
  “And how did you know I worked here?” I said in a stern voice.
At first he tried to look innocent, until I cocked one eyebrow and he smiled at his own cleverness.  “Remember when I put my number into your phone?  I also did a reverse 411 on your work number.”
  “You only had my phone for a few seconds.”
  “A few seconds is all I need.”
  I bit my lip to keep from laughing.  Apparently, that went over the heads of the people in the line as well.
  “You bite your lip a lot.  I wonder what it tastes like.”
  At that moment I had a horrible image of my escorting Mr. Grey out into the alley and him nuzzling my body and raining light kisses on my neck up against the dumpster filled with garbage from the In-And-Out next door.  “Oohhh, Cherry, you’re so dirty.  You know how I like it.  Oh, god.  Whatever you do, don’t take that apron off.”
  I shuddered and cleared my throat.  “As much as I’d love to stand here and chat until my shift ends, I have a job to do.  So if you’re not ready to be rung up, I’ll have to ask you to move from the line.”
  “Oh, no,” he said in a breathy whisper.  “I’m more than ready.  I just worry that what I have might be more than you can handle.”
  A few of the mothers started fanning their faces.  Oh, that part they understood.  I grabbed the basket from his hand and started scanning the items.  One vibrating light saber, four pairs of handcuffs, a pair of black rubber boots, a roll of duct tape, a can of processed cheese spread, and one Batman cape with mask.  As he took a hundred from his wallet, I held up the last item.
  “Um, Mr. Grey.  I think you grabbed the wrong package.”
  “Oh, did I?”  He said with one brow raised and his tongue flicking his front teeth so it came out in kind of a lisp.  I chose to ignore the goofy face he was making for no apparent reason.
  “This isn’t the full costume; it’s just the cape and mask.  You can’t have a costume party without a costume.”
  The corners of Mr. Grey’s mouth lifted in a faint smile.  “Right.  Send one of the stock boys to get me another costume.  After all what sort of party could I possibly have wearing only boots, a mask and a cloak?”
  The kind of party that the neighbors write about to Dear Abby after he brains himself by jumping off the dresser and missing the bed, while the damsel he has handcuffed naked to the bedposts has to scream for hours before they hear her cries and call for an ambulance.  You don’t have to be the Riddler to figure that one out.  In fact, the women in line were all twittering and one was openly humping her cart like a monkey.
  The stockboy went to the back, and Mr. Grey leaned closer.
  “I thought a lot about what you said.  About how you want commitment and a relationship.  I think I’d be willing to give it a try.”
I bit my lip to keep from screaming.  “Huh, what?  You want to marry me?”
  “No, but I am willing to compromise.  You let me tie you up, beat you with whips, and cram foreign objects into your orifi, and in exchange I’ll take you to a restaurant, introduce you to my family, and let you be seen in public with me every once in a while.”
  I turned bright scarlet and the line behind him erupted into shocked squeals.
  My hand shook as I snatched the hundred, rang him up, and hurled his purchases at him, in two seconds flat.  “Take your stuff and get out of here before I call the police.”
  “What about my Batman costume?” he asked slyly.
  “Forget it,” I called out the stock boy.  “I’m sure he’s got at least one rubber suit at home.”
  Grey stood there and smirked.
  “I mean it,” I screamed.  “Leave, or I’ll shoot you.”
  “Fine,” he said.  “Like I said, we’ll try this your way. For now.”
  I slumped over the counter and the stockboy came over.  “Are you ok, Fannie?”
  “Please check the parking lot and make sure his car's gone.”

[To Be Continued]
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 05, 2012, 08:55:06 PM
 :clap: :clap: :clap: Brilliant as usual and I love that Party City sells processed cheese spread!  :rof2:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 05, 2012, 09:00:22 PM
I'm trying SO HARD not to burst out laughing right now... (At work)
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 08, 2012, 06:51:50 PM
  That night I told the story of Christian Grey’s ill-fated courtship over several pitchers of drinks at our favorite bar, The Steel Trap.  Shari was driving so she only had wine.  Lots and lots of wine, but  Shari was such a lush it might be dangerous for her to stop drinking by this point.  The others swilled down margaritas and eyed me with skepticism.
  “Christian Grey asked you be his girlfriend and you turned him down?” Shari’s critique partner Dava Kretz said.  “That’s a little hard to believe.”
  Dava was probably my least favorite person in the world.  She’d taken an instant and intense dislike to me on the day Shari introduced us.  If that were all that annoyed me about her it would be enough.  But that was nothing compared to the truly unfortunate things that come out of her mouth, typically directed towards me.  Let just say that if it were probable to throw a brick at someone’s head and not go to jail, I’d bring a wheelbarrow of them to every event I knew she’d be at.  But Dava’s cousin’s neighbor’s nephew is the guy who cleans Nora Robert’s pool, and as far as Shari’s concerned, that’s as good as a title of nobility.
  “What’s hard to believe, Dava?  That Christian Grey is after me?  Or that the feeling isn’t mutual?”
  “That the feeling isn’t mutual,” my childhood friend Peter Footlong chimed in.  “After all, the guy’s wealthy, good looking, and extremely famous in a good way.  I mean how bad could the sex possibly be?  Just close your eyes and wait five minutes for the nightmare to end.”
  I eyed Peter over my margarita and tried to frown at him.  He was a half breed: half Native American, half Greek God,  and he was looking incredibly hot as usual with his jet black hair, his skin tight tee-shirt, and his slightly upturned nose.  “Oh, really, and I suppose you’d sign a contract with Christian Grey letting him have kinky sex with you?”
  “What?  Me with Christian Grey?” Peter slammed down his drink.  “Hell yes!  I don’t even need a contract.  I’d let him beat me like a rented mule!  He wouldn’t even need to take me out to dinner.  In fact if he made me a peanut butter sandwich, you’d probably never get me to shut up about it.” 
  I smiled.  Good old Peter.  The two of us went way back to when our dads served as police officers on the Indian reservation.  I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t have a huge crush on Peter, but as we grew older I was just plain old Fannie while he was both the captain of the chess club and the football team.  Smart, athletic, incredibly handsome, and the total package.  I’d always figured he’d end up with a girl like Shari, so I was totally baffled when he asked me to the prom during our senior year.  I even worked a double shift to buy a designer prom dress, instead wearing the one I was crafting from electric tape and Starburst wrappers.  But that night when he came to pick me up in a white limo, along with star quarterback Jasper Elliot, it quickly became apparent that I was merely a plus-one.  As was homecoming queen Shari, who until that night had been Jasper’s steady girlfriend.   The two of us sat around as Jasper and Peter spent half the night talking, before they both snuck off to the hotel room Shari’s father had rented for the occasion.  So Shari and I just sat around and drank and cried and drank and then walked to her place where we drank some more and then tore up all of the photos with Jasper in them.  That was the night that I discovered that for two girls with nothing in common, Shari and I had a lot in common after all.  Fortunately, our friendship with Peter survived this betrayal and his subsequent coming out, since an evening with Dava without having him for backup would have been more than I could bear. 
  Case in point:  A few minutes later, Peter had to dismiss himself from the table, feeling ill after pounding down his tenth margarita.  No sooner had he left, Dava started in on me.
  “Here is what I don’t get: why does Christian Grey even notice you?  You’re too pale, too skinny, too uncoordinated, your long list of faults goes on and on.  Meanwhile, he’s got his own private jet.  He’s made Forbes list of hottest billionaires under thirty, and he was Time magazine’s person of the year.  I’d expect a man like that to end up with someone beautiful, poised, and polished like Shari, maybe.  Not some klutzy, blue-collar, minimum wage earning, low class slob like you.  No offense.”
  “Dava, how could I possible not take offense at that?”
  “Right,” Shari said.  “Fannie is a total babe.  Christian Grey would be lucky to have her.”
  “Then how come we rarely see her with any guy other than Peter?”
  See what I mean?
  “Speaking of whom,” I scooted to get at the purse next to me.  “I wonder what’s taking him so long.”
   “He might have passed out in the men's room," Shari said.  "He was looking pretty green around the gills.”
  “Yeah, I’d better give him a call.” I said retrieving my phone to put an end to the Dava inquisition.  But as I looked at my phone, my blood went cold.

  Elapsed time: 15:42:22

  “Crap!” I cried out, a second after I hit the power button.
  “What’s wrong?”  Shari asked.
  “I just butt-dialed Christian Grey.”
  Shari went as white as I was.  “I’m sure he didn’t hear anything through your purse.”
  “Even so,” I said.  “He thinks I just tried to call him.  He’s been on the line for fifteen minutes.”
  “You’d better call him back and explain before he goes hunting for you at your work again,” Shari said.
  I nodded and dialed his number.  “Hello, Christian?”
  “Cherry!" He screamed through the phone.  "Where are you?”
  “It’s ok.  I’m at a bar.  Funny story, I sat on my purse and I accidently--”
  “Oh, my god!  You’re in a bar?  Have you been drinking?  Are there any men there?”
  I didn’t even look around.  “Well, yeah.  It is a bar after all.”
  “Stay right there, Cherry!  I’m coming right over there to get you!  Which bar is it?”
  “That really isn’t necessary.  I’m just sitting here having a few drinks with my friends--”
  “What’s the name of the bar?”
  “Um, it’s just some bar that my friend Cherr-iette  brought me to.  I don’t know the name of it.”
 Dava snorted.  “You don’t know the name of the bar?  It’s the Steel Trap!  We come here all the time.”
  Shari and I stared at Dava in disbelief. 
  “The Steel Trap?  I’ll be there in two minutes.”  Christian yelled before he hung up.
  “He’ll be here in two minutes,” I informed Shari as we jumped up and grabbed our coats and purses.
  “You’re leaving?” Dava said.  “Wait, what about the check?”
  Shari smiled.  “We’ll get the next one.”
  “Yeah, thanks for the drinks, Dava.”  I said.  I’d only a second to admire her slack-jawed expression before we raced out the exit like Batman and Robin.  As we burst out into the clean night air, Shari rushed for her car, but I stopped short when I saw Peter leaning against the side of the building with his eyes twisted shut and his skin tinted an odd shade of chartreuse.
  “Leave him,” Shari screamed.
  “Wait, I think he’s really sick.  Peter?  Are you ok.  We have to go now.”
  Peter opened his eyes and shambled toward me, then opened his mouth and geyser of pinkish goo surged out, coating me from chin to toe.
  “Peter!  Oh, gross.”
  Shari took one look at me and gave me a twisted grin.  “Sorry Fannie, but there is no way I’m letting you in my car now.  See you later.”
  And with that she was off.
  Peter shambled toward me with a crumpled handkerchief. “I’m sho shorry, Fannie.  Let me clean thish up.”
  I let out a scream as he stumbled about while pushing into my face, then tried to wipe the front of my blouse.
  “Stop it.”
  “It’sh ok.  I’m getting it off.” I look down and noticed that his fumbling had undone most of the buttons on my blouse so that the black bra I wore underneath was exposed and my shirt was hanging off my shoulders.
  “Get off me, Peter.  I mean it!”  I beat his chest with my fists which only caused him to stumble more and pin me against a brick wall where he collapsed with his full weight against me.
  “I don’t feel well, Fannie.” He said and started snoring.
  I heard the grinding of gravel and the slamming of a car door and the next thing I knew, Peter was being pulled off me by Christian Grey.  Peter’s face lit up and he managed a weak smile in the two seconds before Christian Grey hauled off and punched him in the nose. 
  I screamed as Peter’s hand flew to his bloody nose but that wasn’t the end of it, since Christian Grey hit him again and again until he was on the ground and even then Christian Grey kept hitting him.
  “Stop!” I screamed and tried to pull Christian Grey off of my friend, but the man had the strength of a lunatic and shrugged me off easily.  I was afraid Peter might be seriously hurt or killed so I looked around and screamed for help.  My cries went unheeded so I launched a swift kick at Christian Grey’s butt to get his attention.  That it did.  His fist caught me in the chin and I went flying.  Head first in the brick wall where my skull connected with a solid thwack before I sank to the ground.
  I lay there on the ground staring up at the night sky.  The last thing I saw was Christian Grey's manically grinning face looking down at me before everything went black.

[To be continued]
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 08, 2012, 07:36:20 PM
Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy  :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: Is it time for kinky, gross, gratuitious, violent...yet somehow romantic...SEX???
You know? The kind overworked middle-aged mommies fantasize about having with their decent yet boring husbands???

Hit me  :draw:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 08, 2012, 08:20:06 PM
You mean like this?

 :x:     :yes: :whip:   :censored:   :pirate4:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 09, 2012, 12:31:21 AM
And I mustn't forget her subconscience and inner goddess...

 :perv:       :p1:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 09, 2012, 06:16:22 AM
i love you guys.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 09, 2012, 07:22:59 AM
You mean like this?

 :x:     :yes: :whip:   :censored:   :pirate4:

And THAT is lightyears HOTTER than anything Ms. James attempted to write!

I'm especially aroused by the pirate... :yes:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on June 11, 2012, 01:23:32 AM
Warning: the following scene contains elements that some rational people might find frightening or disturbing.  But not nearly as frighting or disturbing as the graphic depiction of a woman using an acquaintance's toothbrush without his knowledge or permission.  Reader discretion is advised.


  I woke up with a throbbing headache and turned over in bed to a stunning penthouse view of the Seattle Skyline at daybreak.  Obviously, I wasn’t in my bedroom.  I turned over onto my other side and saw Christian Grey lying next to me, his bare chest rising and falling gently in his sleep.
  My first thought: Crap, just how much did I have to drink last night?
  Then the memory of the events of the previous night flooded back to me.  I peeked at my lacy blue bra and panties under the covers.
  Good news:  I was wearing underwear.
  Bad news: It wasn’t the underwear I had on last night.
   Holy crap.  My heart leapt into my mouth and I look around for a weapon to defend myself from this crazed madman.  The closest thing was the table lamp, which I intended to bash him over the head with before I escaped.  I reached for it, only to discover it had been bolted to the nightstand.
  “Here, let me get that for you,” Christian Grey said in a sleepy voice and his chest hairs tickled my bare back as he rolled over me to switch on the light.
  Ever watch those cartoons where the character is so startled that it runs from a raised platform so fast its feet don’t even touch the ground?
  That was me running out the door. 
  Unfortunately, it turned out to be the door to the bathroom. 
  I locked myself in.  The bathroom was huge.  It was all dark-chocolate colored marble, live orchids, and gold plated plumbing fixtures.  It also had no windows.  Not that it mattered, seeing as how I was on the top floor.  There was no getting around it.  The only way out of here was past Christian Grey. Fortunately, I was pretty sure I hadn't been violated.  Yet. I sighed and continued my hunt for a weapon, or at least a robe to cover up with before I ran screaming for the lobby.  On the counter was Christian Grey’s toothbrush, the bristles still wet from its last usage.  I could only hope that was all he’d put in his mouth last night. 
  The inside of my mouth tasted like the bottom of a birdcage.  I wanted to clean my teeth.  I reached for his toothpaste and squirted some onto my finger and used that to scrub the inside of my mouth.  As I caught my refection in the mirror, I felt myself blush crimson.  Not only was I wearing lacy underwear, but my hair had been done up into curly pigtails tied up with blue ribbons.  Screw the weapon.  I was ready to kill Christian Grey with my bare hands.
  I flung a towel across my shoulders and flung open the door.  Fortunately my new underthings were fancy enough to be mistaken for a bikini from a distance, but I was prepared to flee in less if I had to.  Christian Grey was sitting up in bed reading the newspaper in his gray boxers.  At least he hadn’t been commando last night.
  “Where is the camera?” I asked.
  He looked up from the paper.  “What camera?”
  My face flushed crimson.  “Don’t play innocent with me.  You knocked me out and dressed me up in lingerie and pigtails.  Men only do things like that when there’s a camera involved.”
 Christian Grey smiled sheepishly.  “I like to chain women up and then style their hair when they’re helpless to stop me.  It’s kind of my thing.”
  “And you’re sure you’re not gay?”
  His gaze became obsidian.  “What did you just say?”
  “I asked if anything happened last night.”
  “Cherry, you were comatose.  When I have sex with a corpse I prefer it to be cold, stiff, and slightly pungent.”
  I bit my lip and glanced around for a weapon.
  “Gotcha.” He said.  “Tell me, Cherry, did you use my toothbrush?”
  “God no.  That’s gross.” 
  “You’re such a little girl.”  Then suddenly his face became grave.  "When you were nearly run over by the taxicab - and I was holding you and you were looking up at me - all kiss me, kiss me, Christian--"
  “That’s not how I remember it.”
 He ignored my interruption. "I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.  Cherry, I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear from me."
  “Sure.  No problem.  Bye.”  I said, and went to the door, which suddenly burst open and four guys wheeled a series of metal carts in.  “What’s this?”
  “Breakfast,” Christian Grey said.  “I didn’t know what you wanted so I ordered one of everything on the menu.”
In other words, he’d spent thousands of dollars telling room service to send up one of everything, forcing the harried kitchen staff, which are paid strictly by the hour and not the item by the way, to put everyone else’s breakfast on hold to fill this freakishly complex order so the hot stuff comes out hot and the cold stuff comes out cold, all to impress some girl who was only going to take four bites before they threw the rest of it away.
  What a douchebag.  I was too stunned to escape with the wait staff.  “How is it even possible you’re a billionaire?”
 Grey eyes bored into mine.  “Pardon?”
  "Look, I’m no Donald Trump myself, grant you, but it’s my understanding that people get to be billionaires through shrewd negotiations and careful wealth management.  You have got to be the least shrewd person I’ve ever met.  Every time I look at you you’re just frittering away your time and money on incredibly stupid stuff.  I’ve yet to see you do any real work.  So how it is possible you built up this massive empire all by yourself in less than a decade?”
  “You assume I get my money through legal means.”
  I slapped my forehead.  Oh, course.  Silly naïve Fannie, the guy probably ran slave rings on five continents.
  His eyes became steel as he approached.  "Cherry, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.  I hate to think what could have happened to you."
  I scowled back at him. “You mean like getting conked out by some weirdo and stripped naked in a hotel room?”
  “You were coated in vomit.  I had to hose you off.  I didn’t even look.  I just dumped you into the tub and sprayed you with the nozzle, before I turned out the light and gently toweled you off as I undid the clasp of your bra, and slowly unwrapped your soft supple body…”
  Suddenly, he lunged at me, pushing me against the wall. "Screw the paperwork," he growled pinning both on my wrists in one hand in a vice-like grip above my head, and held me to the wall using his hips.  Holy s***! His other hand grabbed one of my pigtails and yanked it down, bringing my face up, and his lips were on mine. I tried to scream, giving his tongue an opening. He took full advantage as it snaked its way into my mouth.
  So I kneed him so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if his nuts got lodged in his esophagus.  As he collapsed retching and teary-eyed to the floor I ran for the exit, pausing only briefly to accept a bundle from the bodyguard stationed outside the hotel door.  They were my things from the other night, my purse, shoes and freshly laundered clothing.  I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone and frantically dialed from the relative safety of the stairwell.
  “911.  What’s your emergency?” 
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 11, 2012, 07:41:54 AM
I think this is less a parody and more "the SANE version of 50 Shades."
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 11, 2012, 02:53:51 PM
Of course, I can't help but remember reading the chapter with the massive breakfast overkill and thinking she should've writtent he following dialogue:

"So, Miss Steel, the only thing I did not order for you were eggs. How do you like them?"
"Over easy...like me."

Yeah, cliche, but it would've been worth a chuckle.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 11, 2012, 03:49:38 PM
LOL or cracked, like she is. Or "unfertilized."
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 11, 2012, 05:03:08 PM
"Beaten...or are we getting ahead of our selves?"
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: lexcade on June 11, 2012, 05:08:58 PM
"Beaten...or are we getting ahead of our selves?"


Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: eallen99 on June 12, 2012, 06:37:36 AM
Careful... starting to suspiciously sound just a little like "Twilight"...
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on August 28, 2012, 06:06:53 PM
  “Hello, operator.  I need the police.  I was kidnapped by a lunatic and taken to a hotel.  I managed to escape, and I’m in the stairwell.  I don’t know the name of the hotel but it’s near the Seattle skyline.”
  “Oh, my.  Are you hurt?” the operator asked.  Her matronly voice was filled with concern.
  “Not really,” I said, forgetting the blow to the head.  Probably because I’d taken a blow to the head.  “But the guy is definitely a lunatic.  I’m not saying he should spend his life in prison for this, but a short stay in a nice cushy mental institution would probably do him a world of good.”
   “Can you describe him to me?  Is he white, black, Hispanic...”
   “He’s Christian Grey.”
  There was a long pause at the other end of the line.  “Christian Grey the hot billionaire who uses his enormous wealth to fight world hunger?  The man with the giant yacht with a landing pad for his helicopter.   Time Magazine’s  sexiest billionaire under thirty Christian Grey?”
  “Yeah him.”
  The operator hung up.
  I sighed and started to dress myself while skipping down the steps two at a time before I dialed again.  A younger voice answered.  “911. What’s your emergency?”
  “You have to help me.  I was kidnapped by Christian Grey.”
  “Yeah, and I’ve got Tony Stark tied up in my closet,” she said before she hung up too.
  I tried again.  This time a man answered.  “911, what is your emergency.”
  “Please help.  I’ve been dragged against my will to a hotel penthouse somewhere near the Seattle skyline.”
  The man groaned.  “By any chance, does this have anything to do with publishing mogul Christian Grey.”
  “Yes!”  I screamed.  “Do you get a lot of these calls?”
  “Only from you.”  He said in a curt voice.  “These lines are for emergencies only.  You do realize there are people with legitimate life and death emergencies and they can’t get through while you tie up lines with your prank phone calls?"
  “This isn’t a prank!”
  “Suuuure it’s not,” he said, and hung up.
  I sighed and continued rounding down the stairwell until I was nearly to the ground floor.  It was no use.  Nobody was going to believe me.  The sad fact of the matter was that when it came to lil' ole me vs. a famous billionaire, nobody was going to err on the side of the girl who works at Party City.  And it didn’t help that millions of women would mortgage their houses to bid on his used Kleenex on ebay.  Why, he could probably cut me up me and serve my corpse for dinner and the papers would report me as the crazy woman who climbed into Christian Grey’s oven. 
  I finished dressing and made one last call to Peter Footlong.  Seeing how this was mostly his fault, the least he could do is give me a ride home.

  Shari popped open another bottle of white Zin as I described my harrowing adventures to her.  She was dressed in a pair of old jeans and a white top and was placing things into boxes in preparation for her move to NY.  With her family contacts and her 4.0 gpa, she’d managed to land a job with the New York Times, pending our upcoming graduation.  Since I had neither credentials nor influential friends, my post graduation plans involved staying as quiet as possible in the hopes that Shari’s family would forget that I was still living there without her. 
  “So you kicked him in the balls and ran out of there?”
  “Good for you,” she laughed.  “I wonder if this is going to help or hurt our chances in the contest.”
  I gave her the stink eye.  “You dropped out, remember?”
  She shrugged.  “That we did, but Christian Grey seems to have selective hearing when it comes to us breaking things off.”
  “Isn’t that the truth.”  I said and reached for more wine.
  “By the way, you got a letter from Seattle Independent Publishing.” She said.  "It’s on the end table."
  I picked up the embossed envelope from the highly polished walnut under Shari’s tiffany lamp.  “Must be another rejection letter.  If it were an offer, they would have called or emailed.”
  “Yes, but weren’t you telling me that the Jack Hyde guy who interviewed you was a real strange guy?”
  “No,”   I said as I tore it open.  “I said he gave me the creeps.  There’s a difference.”
  Shari stopped and raised an eyebrow at me, so I explained.  “The guy’s in his forties and married, but he hovers around some barely legal intern named Ana and stares at her ass whenever her back is turned.  Nothing weird about that.  But he’s not someone I could see myself working for either.”
  Shari smiled as she taped a box shut.  “Hey, seeing as how he’s already got both a wife and a girlfriend, you’re probably safe.”
  “Well I’d say it’s a moot point since, in his words:”  I whipped out the letter.  “Dear Fannie:  It was a geniune pleasure talking with you.  In light of your impressive interview and qualifications we would like to offer you a starting salary of $75,000--” 
  I froze as Shari started jumping up and clapping.  “Oh, Fannie!  You got the job!  Congratulations.  When do you start?”
  I read the letter again just to be sure I wasn’t seeing things.  “I’m not.”
  “Huh?  You’re going to turn it down?”
  “Absolutely.  This is way too weird.  Since when can a small press outside of New York pay its entry-level editors that sort of money?  Even the big New York houses don’t pay their entry level editors a living wage and I mean, think about it: they have Seattle and Independent right in the name of the company just in case someone might be confused into taken them seriously."  I crumpled the letter.  "This can’t be on the level, it’s probably a front for some drug ring.”
  Shari pouted.  “So you’re not even going to check it out?  It could make for an interesting article at the very least.”
  I shook my head. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for the month already.”
  I was wrong.  I did end up working there.  But in my defense, I had some pretty good motivation.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on April 08, 2014, 06:58:45 PM
Can someone please continue this? Don't leave me hanging!
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on April 09, 2014, 11:02:14 AM
Aw thanks.  You're sweet.  Unfortunately I lost my copy of "Master of the Universe" and don't remember enough about Edward/Christian crashing the graduation and the hostile takeover of her office to give it a proper lampooning.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on September 21, 2014, 03:48:20 PM
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on September 21, 2014, 03:50:13 PM
I still wish I could read more of this. lol.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Missus Braidyhead on September 22, 2014, 04:46:51 PM
This is so much fun!

Favorite parts:
that he likes to tie women up and do their hair
the woman humping her shopping cart at Party City
the part where Shari wasn't betraying her, but was sticking by her & taking her book out of the contest

Thanks for all that you shared. I squandered a perfectly good writing session to read it, but it was totally worth the laughter.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on September 22, 2014, 04:59:38 PM
Thanks, guys! 

I accidently purged my copy of the source material, but there are now about 20 copies of 50SoG sitting at the stacks at the library so, if you'd like, I'll grab one this weekend and continue on. 
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on September 22, 2014, 06:04:29 PM
Thanks, guys! 

I accidently purged my copy of the source material, but there are now about 20 copies of 50SoG sitting at the stacks at the library so, if you'd like, I'll grab one this weekend and continue on. 

Do it. :)
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: 007 fan on September 22, 2014, 06:41:49 PM
Thanks, guys! 

I accidently purged my copy of the source material, but there are now about 20 copies of 50SoG sitting at the stacks at the library so, if you'd like, I'll grab one this weekend and continue on. 

I'd like it...it was a great read, and hilarious!  I will reread it to refresh myself before the new material shows up since it's been awhile since I read what was here.

I agree with milktoast.  You're a talented writer.

Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Missus Braidyhead on September 22, 2014, 07:38:20 PM
Thanks, guys! 

I accidently purged my copy of the source material, but there are now about 20 copies of 50SoG sitting at the stacks at the library so, if you'd like, I'll grab one this weekend and continue on. 

Yeeeah please! Very entertaining!
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on September 28, 2014, 01:06:07 AM
  It finally came.  Graduation day.  Since my last name is Clark, I sat in the middle, with the rest of the C’s.  On either side of me sat two girls, they seemed to know each other since they were talking through me.  Which was really annoying since the seat next to mine was empty so they had to shout.  Peter, of course, sat with the F’s.  Shari would have sat right in front of me, except she was valedictorian so she was sitting up front with the faculty in her fancy purple robes, her pert little nose buried in her commencement speech.  She’d been lipsynching it obsessively for the past week and a half.  I’d offered to listen but she refused, saying she didn’t want to spoil it for me.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her I planned to get in some Candy Crush during most of the ceremony.
  I turned my head back to stare at the crowd.  Ray, my dad, sat in the bleachers along with the other parents.  He waved and I waved back.  He beamed proudly.  Shari’s family was in full attendance. As was Dava, since god forbid, Shari and I share a special occasion without her barging in, just so she can make the conversation all about her when we talk about it over drinks.
  My phone buzzed and I got a text.  I looked down and sure enough, it was from Shari.




UR THE 1 WIT D SPEECH!!! I thumb typed her back. My job was easy.  Get up there. Grab a scroll.  Shake someone’s hand.  Then leave.  Nobody but Ray would be looking at me.  They'd all be looking at their own kids. Even if I tripped over my own feet and took a swandive off the stage, nobody would notice or care.




  I looked back and studied the crowd.  No Enrique.  I was getting ready to break the bad news to her when HE showed up and plopped into the seat next to me.
  Angel Clare. A preacher’s son and the man of my dreams.  Angel was the perfect name for him.  He had the face of an angel, and the body of a soccer hooligan.  Which is exactly my type. Don’t judge.  I’d loved him from afar since freshman year, when we were cast together as the leads in Our Town.  Remember how just a few seconds ago you learned I have crippling stage fright?  Yeah. I fought for that part and performed in flawlessly.  I had to.  I needed to follow a script just to talk to Angel Clare at all, since the splendor of his big brown eyes and his farmboy shoulders rendered me a quaking nonverbal wreck.  But the rehearsals scored me a few chaste visits (complete with milk and cookies) in the apartment he shared with three equally pious roommates. That just goes to show you the depths of my devotion. And now, by some magical quirk of the alphabet, we’d be trapped in folding metals chairs for the next three hours with our legs pressed together.
  Screw Candy Crush. Something a lot sweeter just showed up.
  “How’s it going, Fannie?”
  He remembered my name after all these years?  Breathe, Fannie, breathe.  “Great.  And you?”
  He gave me a swaggering smile. “I can’t complain. So, you have any big plans for after graduation?”
  I smirked. “Well, I was just offered a pretty sweet editing job over at Seattle Independent Publishing…”
  “That’s great,” he said, without giving me a chance to tell him I intended to turn it down. “It's good to know where I can look you up.  I’m hopping on a plane tomorrow and flying to Brazil.”
  “Brazil?” I said weakly.
  “Yes, my dad is doing some missionary work out there, so I’m taking some time off before medical school to go help him out.”
  “You’re going to medical school?” I echoed again, hoping my brain would kick in before he mistook me for a parrot.
  “I haven’t picked the school yet, but I’ve been accepted into a few.  Some are around here, some on the east coast...”  He stared at me pointedly.
  “Oh,” I said.
  So this was it.  Just as I was twisting up the courage to talk to Angel Clare, he was leaving forever.   
  I looked over at Shari, rehearsing her speech for the billionth time, and wondered how it was that some people have all the luck and misfits like me were plagued with disappointment and cursed with nonstop misfortune.
  “Have dinner with me,” Angel Clare said.
  I whipped my head around to see who he was talking to.  I was certain it had to be one of the two chatterboxes surrounding us. But when I looked at him, his eyes met mine. “Have dinner with me,” he repeated, as if to remove all doubt.
  “You want to have dinner with me?  Are you serious?”
  He rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. I’d never ask you to dinner, except as a joke.  Unless if by some miracle you’d say yes.  In which case I’m very serious.”
  I started to hyperventilate. “You want to have dinner with me?  Tonight?”
  “Well, I can’t very well have dinner with you tomorrow, can I?”
  Not unless he hogtied me and snuck me onto the plane in his carry-on luggage.  It was a scary thought. I’d been spending too much time around Christian Gray.
  “I’m crazy about you, you know," he said. "I’ve been trying to come up with an excuse to talk to you since freshman year.”
  I made a strangled little laugh. “It’s a little late in the game, isn’t it?”
  He shrugged.  “This is the only way I could work up the courage.  After all, if you’d slapped me across the face, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about running into you on campus.”
  “Me?  Slap you?” I was tempted to slap myself just then, to convince myself this wasn’t a dream. “I’m supposed to have dinner with my dad.”
  “Oh, course.  Family’s in town—“
  “It’s ok, I'll ask him for a raincheck,” I said, texting Ray furiously.  “He’ll understand. He wants grandchildren--”  I turned as bright scarlet as the red flags that last statement must have raised in Angel's mind. I would have backpedaled and explained that I only said that because I haven’t dated in so long that my dad is starting to get the wrong idea about my constantly sponging off Shari and wearing her clothing all the time, had I not realized that wouldn't make me sound any less creepy.
  Fortunately Angel smiled. “You are so funny.  And cute and nice. There’s never a dull moment when you’re around.”
  My blush reddened. Angel Clare thinks I’m cute. “You really think I’m nice?”
  “You’re the nicest girl I know. And you’ve got character. All the girls I’ve dated are so boring compared to you. I should have asked you out ages ago, but I was petrified you’d say no.”
  The very thought made me laugh uncontrollably. “You thought I’d say no?  To you?”  I slapped his knee and laughed so hard I barely noticed the phone in my lap was buzzing.
  “You’d better get that,” Angel said.  “It’s probably your dad. Texting you back about the change in plans.”
  I raised the phone between us in case Ray typed something crude.  But it wasn’t from Ray at all.  It was from Shari.
  A sick feeling spread through my torso. I didn’t have to look, a part of me already knew what I’d see.  But I decided to look anyway.
  Christian stood out, quite literally, on the stage in a custom-made gray suit, his copper highlights glistening. A silver tie knotted about his neck.  He was starting right at me and Angel, his head swaying almost unperceptively from side to side.  His hand at his side twitching every so softly.
  “Hey, look,” Angel said with complete innocence. I think that’s billionaire philanthropist mogul Christian Gray.”

  And that’s when the dream morphed into a nightmare.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: 007 fan on September 28, 2014, 02:52:38 AM
OMG!    :clap:   Thanks for a new installment!  Brilliant!  You HAVE to keep adding to this!   :yes:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on September 28, 2014, 08:51:47 AM
Yay! More!  :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Missus Braidyhead on September 28, 2014, 09:23:48 AM
Keep it coming! Best part of my day so far.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Nostrabuttus on September 28, 2014, 01:11:26 PM
Bodwen, you have so much talent.  :clap:  :clap: :clap: Keep it going. You have a best-seller in the making.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Karloff on September 28, 2014, 05:12:47 PM
I remember reading this as a guest.  Very funny.  Glad you have added more.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on September 28, 2014, 05:13:05 PM
  "Look at him!" one of the girls beside me hissed enthusiastically to her friend.
  "He's hot," said Chatterbox Two.
  I stiffened.  I was pretty sure they were not talking about Chancellor Collins, who looked like he'd passed on seven months ago and had been dug up for the ceremony.
  "Must be Christian Grey," Chatterbox One confirmed.
  "Is he single?"
  I bristled. "I don't think so," I murmured, feeling oddly protective toward these two babbling idiots.
  "Oh." Both girls looked at me in surprise.
  "I think he's gay," I muttered.
  "What a shame," one of the girls groaned.
  As the chancellor kicked off the ceremony with his speech, I felt Christian Grey's eyes boring into to me.  His stare was so intense I could almost feel the red dot of a laser tracker on my forehead.  I sank into my seat, hunching my shoulders trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.
  As the chancellor droned on, Christian Grey looked away from me, fixing his gaze at the WSUV banner overhead.  He didn't look at me for the remainder of the chancellor's speech, thank God.
  Maybe he'd given up and moved on. Maybe he saw I'm with someone and he just wanted me to be happy.
  A girl could dream couldn't she?
  "In conclusion, I'd like to lead things off with a speech from our valedictorian Cherry Bentley.  But first, a word from our newest and most generous benefactor, Christian Grey.
  The audience stood to applaud.
  Holy Crap!  Christian Grey was going to speak.  The students took their seats and I noticed many of the women, and some of the men, had their hands tucked under their robes.  He approached the lectern and surveyed the hall like a hawk watching a field of bunnies.  
  "I'm profoundly grateful and touched by the great compliment accorded to me by the authority of WSU today.  It offers me a rare opportunity to talk about the impressive work of the environmental science department here at the university..."
  Holy smokes, what a windbag!  The two girls next to me leaned in, their perpetually wagging tongues hung out of their mouths a little.  I rolled my eyes.
  He droned on "...our aim is to develop viable and ecologically sustainable methods of farming for third world countries..."
  Blah, blah, blah.  Give me a break. He didn't fly all the way from New York to Washington State to end world hunger.  He flew all the way from New York to Washington State to make my life a living hell.
  I felt my phone buzz again and look at a text from Shari.


I texted back



 I looked up at the stage and Christian Grey was blathering on with some sob story about his personal experiences with profound hunger with his eyes fixed in the distance.  I dialed Shari.  This wasn't the sort of thing we can resolve over IM.
  "Shari.  I can't give your speech for you."
  "Oh, my god!  You have to!  When they introduce Cherry Bentley and I haul my ass up there instead of you, he's going to go all bats**t on me and freak the f**k out!!!"
  "He's going to find out sooner or later."
  "It has to be later!  After I start my new job at the New York Times next week!  I just know he'll screw that up for me when he learns that we've played him for a sucker!"
  "And what about the other two thousand people here who know I'm Fannie Clark and not Cherry Bentley?  They'll drag me off the stage before I can even open my mouth."
  "No they won't!  I know ASL."
  "ASL?  Is that some weird fetish thing?"  
  "No, dummy!  American Sign Language."        
  "Shari.  No."  I said and hung up.  I hoped that's the end of it, but Christian is still droning on and Shari is on her feet and coming toward me.
  She knelt before me and took my hand in hers.  "Fannie, please.  You have to do this one little thing for me."
  I felt terrible, because I wanted to help.  "No Shari."
  "Please, Fannie,"  Shari begged.  "This will work.  The people who don't know us will think you're Cherry Bentley and I'm your interpreter.  The people who do know me will think you're giving the verbal part of the speech for me and I'm just showing off."
  "I can't.  Besides it would look weird that I don't have those fancy purple robes."
  "You do now." Shari pulled her robe off, the cue cards spilling from her pocket, revealing a slinky blue backless Italian designer dress with just a hint of side-and-back cleavage.  Angel's eyes widened at the sight of the coppery-haired siren down on all fours in front of him, since he's only human after all.  But he averted his eyes in a hurry.  
   She held the gown out to me but I wouldn't take it.  
  "Forget it. I'm not prepared.  And you know I get stage fright."
  "You don't get stage fright," Angel said.
  "Yes, I do."
  "You didn't get stage fright in freshman drama class.  You totally killed it.  I flubbed my lines ten times and you just keep going like a trooper, altering your lines around my mistakes."
  "Yes, well that was different," I muttered.
  "How was that different?"  Angel asked.
 Because I was young and infatuated and hoping to get laid.
  Of course I didn't say that.  What I said was, "It was different because that was acting. And because you were there with me, quick to smile at me and cheer me on."
  "I'm still cheering you on," Angel said with a voice that touched my heart. "Only this time I'll be cheering you on from my seat. If you get scared, just look at me and I'll smile and you'll know you have a friend in the audience."
  "And you won't be up there alone," Shari said. "I'll be right up there next to you."
  What can I say.  I'd have to have a heart of pure ice to say no after that.  "Very well.  Hand me the cue cards."
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: CradleOfInsanity on September 29, 2014, 10:08:42 AM
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on September 29, 2014, 10:15:01 AM

That is one big acronym.

Also, this is getting better and better, Bodwen. So glad you're continuing.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: acompton on September 29, 2014, 02:18:16 PM
I love everything about this!!!
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 09, 2014, 12:29:24 AM
  Have you ever had that dream where you’re the lead in the school play, and you never bothered to learn your lines, and now you’re up in front of 2,000 people, trying to recite a Shakespearen tragedy through a long series of lucky guesses?
  Of course you have.
  There is a reason everyone has that nightmare.
  I took my place at the lectern, tapped the microphone to make sure it was on, and saw 2,000 people wince. 
  “Go Seahawks,” I said.
  I looked over at Angel Clare and he nodded and smiled at me.  I can do this, I thought.  Just read the cards and forget there are people out there.
  “A-hem.  When we were five, they asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up. Our answers were things like astronaut, president, or in my case… princess.”
  A few people in the audience who actually knew me burst into belly laughs at that one.  I looked at Shari who was signing frantically.  She mouthed: “you’re doing great.” 
  I cleared my throat and prayed that was the worst of it. “When we were ten, they asked again and we answered - rock star, cowboy, or in my case, gold medalist.”
  Now even people who didn’t know me were laughing. The people who did know me were falling out of their folding chairs and wiping tears out of the corners of eyes. 
  Geez, why didn’t Shari just ask me to get up here naked?  That would have been a little less mortifying.  Still I soldiered on.
 “But now that we've grown up, they want a serious answer. Well, how—'About this: “
  I flipped the card since the speech was continued on Card 2. 
  Unfortunately, the next card was Card 6.  They must have gotten shuffled when they fell out of her pocket.  Shari glanced over and did a double-take, but she’s so refined I doubt anyone noticed.
  “Er...um..."  Christ, I'd have to adlib it, but my mind was a blank.  "Uh...Who the hell knows?”
  I'd hoped that would get a laugh.  It did.  Uncomfortable laughter by the sound of it. The trustees were looking at one another.  I’m sure they weren’t expecting this type of language from their valedictorian.I let those ill-inspired words sink in for a while, which gave Shari time to fix the cards under the pretense reaching for a water bottle.   
  I looked down, Shari had put me on Card 5 and was tapping partway down with her finger, at a part that wasn’t a bad segue. 
  “This isn't the time to make hard and fast decisions, it’s time to make mistakes.”  I glanced over at Christian Grey, who nodded and gave me a knowing look.
  “Take the wrong train and get stuck somewhere chill.”
  Chill?  Are you kidding me, Shari?  It was as if she’d plagiarized this verbatim from some cheesy teen movie!
  “Fall in love.” I stared a Shari “A LOT!  Major in philosophy 'cause there's no way to make a career out of that--”
  Oh no she didn't!  Sure enough, that got some boos and a few plastic bottle thrown at the stage by people I assume were Philosophy majors. Nice Shari.  Way to mock people’s hopes and dreams at the exact moment it’s too late to do anything about it.
  “Er…and always remember to be nice to people.  Especially yourselves.  Bye.”
I pushed the cards away and stormed off the stage, leaving Shari to deal with the aftermath and the transition to the next speaker. 
  I dropped into my seat, buried my face in my lap with my hands over my head.  God that was painful.  I think my karmic debt to Shari just dropped into the single digits.  I felt a light tug on my arm, like there was a kitten pulling on it.  I look up and saw Angel Clare’s big brown eyes.
  “You were great up there,” he said.
  Was he mocking me?  It wasn’t a mocking smile.  Still, nobody could be that easily impressed. I stayed hunched up in my ball of shame. “No I wasn’t.  It was awful.” 
  “No way. You were hilarious.  You had the audience in stitches.”
  “I’m sure the philosophy majors didn’t think so.”
  He scoffed. “They’ll live.  These valedictorian speeches are usually so narcissistic or patronizing. You and Shari really gave the audience a treat by keeping it short and funny. When you said you wanted to be a princess and a gold medalist, I just about died,”
  “Oh, you thought that was funny?”  Princess Fannie the Rhythmic Gymnast, what a laugh-riot.
  “Only because of the way your face spasmed with irony as you said it.  I know you said it was supposed to be Shari up there, but that was so Fannie. I’ll bet you helped her write it.”
  “Just a line here and there,” I confessed.
  “Really? Who wrote the last line? Because that was my favorite part.”
  I looked up from my full-body cringe. Before, I suspected he might be a well-closeted insensitive jerk, cruel enough to mock me in my darkest moment.  I even suspected this whole dinner-date offer had been some cruel sham, like my prom date with Peter, Shari, and their mutual boyfriend.
  And yet…how could he possibly know I’d adlibbed there?
  “That was all me.”
  “I thought that line was great. It’s too easy for us to lose ourselves in helping others that we forget that we ourselves are deserving of praise."
  I thought to myself, is this guy for real?  He has to remind himself not to be so completely unselfish 100% of the time?  And he wants to have dinner with me?
  “Would you like to meet my dad before we go to dinner?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
  “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.”
  Angel Clare wants to meet my dad. 
  He was going to meet my dad, then take me to dinner, and maybe even give me a chaste kiss on my doorstep before begging me to quit my nonexistent job and fly with him to Rio.
  Or maybe, he’d meet my dad, then we go to dinner he’d ask me if I wouldn’t mind watering his plants while he’s gone. He’d show me his place and casually drape himself on the couch on a black tee and tight jeans while I blushed and tried to hide the burning of my face. He’d put on some slow music and ask me if I like to dance. I don’t, but I’d say I do, and we’d dance really slowly, until my nerves calmed and he tilted my chin up and brushed his lips against mine and I’d pull away, because it’s too much too soon.  Then he’d stroke my hair and tell me all the things he likes about me and he’d try again, only this time I’d let him.  Then I'd break it off and ask him if he loves me or if he just wants to use me, because I love him and don't want to be used.  He'll tells me he loves me more than I could ever imagine.  Then we’d end up in his bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets for about three hours until he spooned me close and begged me to quit my nonexistent job and fly with him to Rio.
  Either way.  It was all good.  So good, in fact,  I completely forgot about Christian Grey, hovering nearby like a big gray stormcloud, ready to rain a plague down upon my happiness.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Falthor on October 09, 2014, 08:08:47 AM
tagging for later reading...
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 11, 2014, 03:46:32 PM
  We began the long, tedious process of collecting our degrees.  Christian Grey must have finagled a spot on the receiving line.  He was shaking hands with students.  Needless to say, Shari and I sat that part out.  After they called Cherry Bentley and we stayed in our seats, Christian Grey gave me a menacing looked before wandering off to god only knows where.
  A man in a suit and buzz cut appears behind my chair while they are on the D’s.  “Christian Grey wants to talk with you.”
  I recognized the man as the guy who handed my clothing after I’d preformed my rendition of The Nutcracker Suite on Christian Grey’s ballsack. “What does he want?”
  “He wants to know why you haven’t been emailing him.”
  The two chatterboxes turned and gaped at me. “Wow, you’re friends with Christian Grey?” Chatterbox One said.
  “Hell no! Tell him my computer is in the shop,” I said tartly.  Apparently a kick to the groin as a bit too subtle for some people.
  The guy with the buzz cut went on robotically.  “He also said he reserved a private table at the Heathman for tonight and his helicopter is waiting in the parking lot.
  “Tell him I’ve made other plans.”
  He tried to give me a stack of paper. “Cancel them. He’s going to need an answer from you, and soon.”
  I grabbed the papers before Angel could get a good look at them and then tore them in half and handed them back to buzzcut.  “I think this should be a clear enough answer for him.”
  “Anything else, Miss Bentley.” He asked without emotion.
  "Yes!  Tell him to quit stalking me!  It’s really creepy!”
  “As you wish,” he said and walked away.
  “What was that all about?” Angel asked me.  “And why did he call you Miss Bentley.”
  “It’s a long story.”  I said.  “The gist is, he’s mistaken me for Shari, so now he’s chasing me around like Pepe La Pew.”
  “Weird,” Angel said.
  “Ha! You don’t know the half of it.”
  At long last the ceremony ended. “Let’s go meet your dad.”
  We found him in the swarm of family members and I was gratified to see he’d bought a new flannel shirt and jeans for the occasion. “Dad, this is Angel Clare.  Angel, this is my dad, Ray Charles.”
  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Clare,” Ray said. “Though technically speaking, I’m Fannie’s stepdad.”
  Yes, he was always so quick to throw that out. “But he’s known me all of my life, so I think of him as my father.”
  Ray yawned. “God, I’m parched.  You know where I can find some booze around here?”
  “No,” Angel said.
  “Lucky thing I’ve brought my own then.”  He pulled a hip flask from his pocket and took a swig. Then held it out to Angel who waved it away.
  I tapped my toe. “Come on, Dad, really?”
  “Fannie, I just sat there for two and a half hours listening to all sorts of jabbering.  I need a drink.”
   Fortunately, Angel smiled.  “I can see where Fannie gets her delightful sense of humor from.”
  “Well she certain didn’t get it from that daffy witch I was married to.  So what’s is your major, Sport?”
  “Biology.  I’m premed.”
  “No kidding.  My little Fannie dating a future doctor. I would have never guessed it.”
  “She was never popular. You know she was the kid who always got picked last in sports—“
   “Why I remember when her momma and I tried to enroll her in dance classes as a tyke to teach her coordination, and she was so bad at it that she gave her dance instructor a nervous breakdown. “
  “Of course her momma and I had to be good sports about it in the car, but that night the missus turned to me and said ‘my poor Fannie, she’s never going to amount to anything, is she?’”
  Angel flourished at me like a gameshow hostess. “Now look at her, a beautiful swan.”
  To my surprise, Ray nodded. “Who would have thought that my clumsy little girl would grow up to be such a beauty?”
  Angel nodded. “I know all too well what it’s like to be the ugly duckling.”
  “Really?” I said with disbelief.
  “Sure.  As a kid I was scrawny for my age and had to wear coke-bottle glasses. I got bullied on a daily basis. Then the growth spurts kicked in, I got contacts, started lifting weights, and all the girls who wouldn’t let me sit next to them on the bus couldn’t take their eyes off me.”
  I laughed. “Yeah, that I can imagine.”
At that point Shari, the other Bentleys, and their entourage, namely Dava, went drifting by. We all exchanged congratulations and Shari pulled me to one side.  “So you have a date with Angel, huh?”
  “Yep,” I said proudly.
  “What are you wearing under those robes?”
  “Um, cargo shorts and a tank top.”
  “She looked down at my satin ballet flats.  “With those shoes?”
  “My track shoes are in the car.  My dad’s idea of a special occasion dinner is letting me have both caramel and hot fudge on my McSundae.”
  She pulled me to the cinderblock restrooms.  ‘We better change clothes.”
  No matter how many times Shari swooped in with her angelic generosity when it came to her wardrobe it never failed to amaze me. “You’d do that for me?”
  “Why not?  My date is a no-show, and I’ve told a really wild tale to my family that’s completely ruled out the option of having dinner with them.  I’m just headed home after this so it’s not like anyone is going to know what I have on under here.”
  She went into one stall and I went into another, and tossed our clothing over the barrier. 
  “So you and Angel Clare, huh?  Is it serious?”
  “It’s far too early for things to be serious but he’s been talking with Ray for about five minutes, and he hasn’t run for the hills , so that’s a pretty good sign.” 
  “Yes, well Angel Clare’s always had a thing for you.”
  “What makes you say that?”
  “Whenever he ran into me on campus he referred to me as ‘Fannie’s Friend’ and asked how you were and if you were seeing anyone.”
  “You might have said something.” Her evening dress was a little more snug on me than her, which was fortunate since I don’t exactly carry double-sided tape in my handbag. 
  “I thought he was being pretty obvious. I figured you weren’t interested.”
  I stowed my bra in my purse, pulled on the robe, and we emerged from our stalls and let out a scream as we saw Christian Grey hovering in the doorway like the angel of death.  He gave me a sheepish smile.  “Miss Bentley. I don’t know if you’re acting willfully impertinent just to make me crazy, but it’s definitely working.”
  “I’ve already told you. The answer is no!  And in case I didn’t make it clear enough.  No!” I pushed him aside.  “How many times do I have to tell you to go away and leave me alone.  For the hundredth time, I’m not interested in you and your twisted little sex games!”
  “Yeah, go flip a house, you creep!”  Shari linked arms with me as we marched past him.
  As we walked through the crowd, I kept my eyes straight ahead, while Shari looked back over her shoulder.
  “Is he following us?” I whispered.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Missus Braidyhead on October 11, 2014, 07:49:51 PM
Keep going, keep going! Double karma! Er, I'll have to come back later for the second one. But still! LOVE!

But watch it with the "cheesy YA novel" bit. ;)
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on October 11, 2014, 07:51:39 PM

Nice job, Bodwen.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 11, 2014, 08:26:47 PM
Keep going, keep going! Double karma! Er, I'll have to come back later for the second one. But still! LOVE!

But watch it with the "cheesy YA novel" bit. ;)

But the speech WAS plagarized verbatim from a cheesy YA novel.    :whistle:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on October 11, 2014, 08:31:26 PM
Keep going, keep going! Double karma! Er, I'll have to come back later for the second one. But still! LOVE!

But watch it with the "cheesy YA novel" bit. ;)

But the speech WAS plagarized verbatim from a cheesy YA novel.    :whistle:

Lol, actually, Cheesy YA movie. I don't even think there was a speech in the novel.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 11, 2014, 08:40:30 PM
Oh, I'm still on the first.  Should I edit to "cheesy teen movie?"
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Pandean on October 12, 2014, 12:52:05 AM
Oh, I'm still on the first.  Should I edit to "cheesy teen movie?"

I don't think it matters. But the movie's scene of it was ungodly cheesier. The book's scene was basically Charlie eating steak.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: cnk521 on October 12, 2014, 01:17:57 PM
Karma karma karma. This is too much awesome. I haven't read either of the books this is a parody of but know enough about them that this is hilarious. Thanks for starting and continuing it.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Nostrabuttus on October 12, 2014, 05:27:49 PM
This is great, Bodwen. May I tell people I know you? At least fictionally?
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Missus Braidyhead on October 12, 2014, 09:15:37 PM
Oh, I'm still on the first.  Should I edit to "cheesy teen movie?"

I don't think it matters. But the movie's scene of it was ungodly cheesier. The book's scene was basically Charlie eating steak.

Hmm, I think I know which book/movie you're talking about. And because it is a specific cheesy YA movie/book, I think it's fine. As long as it's not a dig at YA lit in general. :)
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 13, 2014, 02:57:28 PM
  “What are we going to do?” Shari asked.
  “Let’s go find Peter,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to meet Christian Grey under happier circumstances.”
  Peter was so blitzed the night he met Christian Grey, he had no recollection how he’d ended up in the hospital.  When we described the  beatdown he was positively giddy about it and treated his plaster nose cast as a reliquary.
  “Are you sure you want to do that to Christian Grey?”
  “Christian Grey?  I’m not sure I want to do this to Peter.”
  I finally spotted Peter.  I waved and he waved back.
  Shari looked over her shoulder again.  “Oh no.”
  “Oh no what?”
  “Christian Grey has stopped following us.”
  “Why is that an oh no?”
  “Because he’s stopped to have a talk with your father and Angel Clare.”
  We did an about-face and ran over.  When we got there, my father and Christian Grey were discussing the finer points of fly fishing, which Angel stood a little off to the side, looking slightly uncomfortable.
  “If you ask me, the best fly fishing is off the coast of Australia. I use to go out there on my boat ‘The Grace.’ about twice a year in the winter time.”
  Ray whistled. “That’s an awful long sail.”
  “Well it’s an awfully big boat.  It’s not the biggest of course.  Not even in the top ten, but it does have a garden, room for my helicopter, and it’s very own a support yacht.
  Ray puffed out his cheeks and arched one eyebrow like a rabid chipmunk. “What’s a support yacht?”
  “That’s when your yacht is so big you keep a smaller yacht on its deck,” Angel said.
  “Very good,” Christian said in the patronizing tones of a father who was offered up some especially ugly macaroni art for the fridge. “So what kind of boat do you own?”
  “I don’t own a boat,” Angel said.
  “That’s right,” I tugged Angel by the arm. “Not everyone has money to squander on their own personal cruise ship. Nice seeing you, Dad, but we’re leaving.”
  “Whoa, whoa.  I didn't raise you to be this rude,” Ray said.  “You never told me you were friends with Christian Grey.”
  “We’re not friends,” I said.
  Christian Grey nodded. “I believe the correct term is ‘friends with benefits.’”
  My jaw dropped and I released Angel’s arm.  “The only benefit I ever gave you was a knee to the balls! How dare you tell such lies in front of my father!”
  “Stepfather,” Ray said.
  “Shut up, Dad!”
  Shari tapped Angel on the shoulder.  “I think you’d better come with me before this gets ugly. I’ll explain later.”
  Angel didn’t budge.
  Christian pouted like a four year old. “Cherry, you wound me, what about that romantic night we spent together in the Heathman?”
  I raised both hands to shove Christian to the ground, then a photographer appeared out of nowhere.  “Say cheese.”
  I froze as the flash went off, with both hands on Christian Grey’s lapels; in what I’m sure millions would interpret as a compromising pose. “Oh boy,” the paparazzo said. “Christian Grey with a lady friend.  This will pay for my kids’ braces.”
  “Taylor,” Christian said.
  Out of nowhere, Buzzcut appeared and plucked the camera out of the photographer’s hand.  He pocketed the flash card and bashed the camera against the wall a few times until gears rained onto the grass.  Then he handed it back to the paparazzo.
  “That was my camera.”
  “It’s still your camera. Now scram, or your kids won’t be the only ones needing dental work,” Christian Grey said. Then he smiled sheepishly.  “No offense, but I don’t like to be photographed with my concubines.”
  “I am not your concubine!”  I grabbed Angel’s arm. “Let’s go.”
  “Sure,” Angel said. But his expression was troubled. I worried the damage had been done. We turned and saw Peter Footlong standing behind us.  With Dava close behind.
  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Peter said and batted his eyes.
  “Peter Footlong, this is Angel Clare.”
  “Who cares about him. I want to meet Christian Grey,” he said with a sly wink.
  “You’ve already met him!”
  Christian nodded. “That’s right.  I remember you.  You’re the rapist.”
  I buried my face in my hands.  This not a conversation I wanted to be having in front of my father and the guy I’d been crushing on for the past four years.
  "What?  I stopped him from raping you behind bar after he got you drunk and lured you out into the alleyway."
  Peter laughed. “Oh, Papi, you are barking up the wrong tree.”
  “That’s right,” Dava said. “Peter’s as gay as a box of Froot Loops.”
  “Peter did not try to rape me!” I shouted.   
  “Cherry, I was there. He tried to tear your top off.”
  By this point my bloodpressure had shot up from super-high to volcanic. “He tried to tear my top off because he was passing out drunk and I was covered in his vomit!  Unlike you, who actually did tear off my top because you’re a raving sex maniac!”
  “He…tore off your top?” Angel said in a shaky voice.I couldn’t tell if he was disgusted with me or disgusted with Christian, but he was certainly disgusted with someone.
  “Goodbye, everyone.” I said. “I’m leaving.”
  Christian came after me.  “Cherry, what about our dinner.  We need to discuss the contract.” I kept walking. “Damn it, Cherry.” I didn’t give you permission to walk away. He grabbed hold of the back of my robe but within a minute. Angel pushed him away then grabbed him by the lapels and roared in his face.
   “Back off!  She said she's not interested in you!”
  For a moment I basked in all the chivalry. Then Christian chuckled.  “I’d suggest you mind your own business.  This is just a lovers' spat.”
  “No it’s not!” I shouted.
  Christian arched an eyebrow at me.  “Really?  Let’s see what Taylor has to say about this.”
Taylor nonchalantly approached Angel with one gloved hand behind his own back.  There was a snick and a blade appeared.
  “Ok, yes he is!” I said in terror.
  Angel just stared at me and Taylor kept the blade out.
  “Explain it to him, Cherry,” Christian said.
  “This is all some silly game… we like to play… to put us in the mood… before we get our freak on.”
  Angel gave me a hurt look and released Christian. The blade retracted.
  Christian dusted himself off. Then threw an arm around Angel’s shoulder. “No hard feeling, friend.  In fact, why don’t you come to dinner with us.  Why don’t you all come to dinner with us.  I have my helicopter ready to take us to the Heathman.”
  He steered a dazed Angel toward the parking lot but turned his head and shot me a smile I can only describe as Caligulasque.  Peter and Dava were already running up ahead of them like kids chasing an icecream truck.  Taylor trailed behind, with an eye on Angel and the knife still in his hand.
  Shari sighed. “We’d better tag along before one or more of our friends ends up in a dumpster.
Ray smiled the smile of the truly oblivious. “Have fun, you two. I’m headed home to watch the game.”
  “Gee thanks, dad.”
  “My little girl. Dating a billionaire,” Ray sighed.  “I can die happy now.”
  “Please do,” I said.
  As Shari and I approached I shook my head. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”
  Shari rolled her eyes at me.  “Ya think?”
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 14, 2014, 10:57:53 PM
  Shari and I climbed into the back of the helicopter.  Fortunately it was one of those flying van types, with room for seven in the back.  Christian was in the pilot’s seat and had gotten Angel to ride shotgun.  Buzzcut was behind him, within striking distance.  I took a seat next to buzzcut as far as I could from Dava, while still keeping an eye on Angel.  The boys had stripped off their robes.  Peter was in a skin tight teeshirt and jeans.  Angel had on a white button down shirt and a tie.  I wondered if he’d dressed for a date with me.  Some date this was going to be. Assuming Christian didn’t merely jettison him from the aircraft as soon as we hit altitude.
  I leaned over. “Make sure that harness is on tight,” I told him, looking at the x-shaped bar across his chest.
  Christian looked as well.  “I like that harness…it gives me ideas…”
  Then he pushed me back and with that the he started the engine, the craft whirred to life and we were airborne.
  Omigod, I realized, I’m in a helicopter being flown by a maniac.  We’re all going to die!
  “Sorry. I didn’t catch your name,” Christian asked Angel as we zoomed off into the sunset.
  “It’s Angel Clare.”
  Christian lip twisted. “Angel Clare, huh, what a pretty name.  I take it your parents wanted a girl?”
  Remain calm, I told myself.  Don’t freak out and choke the psycho flying the aircraft.
  “I don’t know if they did or not,” Angel said.
  “You know I once had a $20,000-a-night callgirl in Hong Kong named Angel Clare.  Of course she was a female.”
  Remain calm, I told myself.  Remain calm.  Then kick his ass as soon as we land.
  Dava looked at me and Shari. “You can take your caps and gowns off now.  You look kinda dorky.”
  Shari let out a profound sigh and stripped down to my cargo shorts and tank top.  I once thought Shari could make anything look good.  I was wrong. My $15-total ensemble clashed senselessly with her $895 heels.
  Dava burst into an exaggerated gale of laughter. “Good God, Cherry, Where did you get those rags?”
  Christian Grey turned his head to look so I stripped down to Shari’s cocktail dress in an instant.
  Dava wasn’t finished. “Is that one of those undershirts you buy in a three-pack? And those shorts. Wow.  Dr. Livingstone called and he needs his safari diapers back.”
  Shari covered her face with her hands. “Dava, please, just be quiet, I have a migraine.”
  “I’d say.  Weren’t you the one who told me never to wear beige and white together? And now, here you are, dressed like some Low-rent Lara Croft.  You’re dressed worse than Fannie for once.”
  “I wouldn’t talk,” I said. “All that brown polyester and thrift-store jewelry isn’t doing that sallow complexion of yours any favors.”
  She looked at the blue dress I was wearing and did a double take. “Hey, wait a minute.  Fannie’s wearing the dress you wore on stage. You exchanged clothes, didn’t you?”
  “So what if we did?” I asked, only because Angel was now staring at us.
   “Please stop talking about this,” Shari moaned.
  “I'm just trying to understand why a classy lady like Cherry is dressed like such a pig,” Dava said.
  Shari gave her a venomous look.  I hoped this was the death of their friendship, but I wasn’t about to get my hopes up.
  "Why does she keep calling your friend Cherry, Cherry?"  Christian asked.
  "Because we're both named Cherry," I said.
  "A pair of Cherries, just like on a slot machine," Christain sighed.  "Do you like cherries, Angel?"
  "I guess."
  "Well, guess which one you can have. There are three cherries back there and only two of them belong to me."
  I leaned forward.  "You are so very wrong, Christian, in so many different ways."
  At long last we landed on the helipad at the Heathman. Christian Grey pushed Angel aside to help me down.  I pretended to lose my balance and bought my foot down as hard as I could on his toes.  Not that my ballet slippers made much of an impact.  I'd wished Shari lent me her heels as well.
  A man in a crisp uniform came out to greet us.
  "Good evening Mr. Grey.  We have our private dining room ready, just as you asked.”
  “Very good.  We'll have friends joining us for dinner this evening.  Unless Cherry here would prefer to dine in our usual suite.”
  “I think we’d better stay somewhere public.” For your safety more than my own, I added mentally.
  Christian arched an eyebrow at the hotelworker. “And that other thing I asked for?”
  “We are working on it. It should be here shortly.”
  “Good makes sure it is giftwrapped and delivered to my table in time for dessert.”
  Oh goodie.  A present.  For me. No doubt from Submissives R us. I hoped the hotel kept the receipt.

Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: DreamWriter on October 15, 2014, 12:59:43 AM
Good grief, Bodwen, lol. So, this is what fanfiction means. Now I understand. People really write stuff like this about existing works? Craziness. LOL.

Hey, but, um - just one nitpick.  I pushed the skirt down in a belated attempt to hide my Hello Kitty panties, and looked up at the clock.

Why'd ya have ta go there? Lol. I'm a TOTAL HK girl. (Not just cuz I'm Asian, either, lol. Hate the stereotype about Asian girls and Hello Kitty stuff.) My whole desk at work is HK, and lots of my home stuff, too. And yes, some of us own HK... attire, and are NOT ashamed of it, lol.  ;D

Anyway. Love this story, Bodwen. Been crackin' up, lol. Can't wait to read more!!! :)
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 15, 2014, 12:50:32 PM
Thanks.  I <3 novelty underpants.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: DreamWriter on October 15, 2014, 11:04:56 PM
Thanks.  I <3 novelty underpants.

Hehe, same here.  ;D

BTW. I've never read the real version of this story. How close is yours to the real thing? Just curious.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: DreamWriter on October 16, 2014, 02:58:24 AM
Lol. Good grief.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 18, 2014, 06:34:09 PM
  We followed Christian into a plush seating area to an intimate dining room.  It looked like the Playboy Mansion on a very small scale. 
  A waiter entered with a tray of wine glasses and I grabbed one and downed half of it in one swallowed.  I debated if that was too much or not enough.
  “Hungry?” The waiter asked Christian.
  He stared at me. “Yes, but not for food.”
  I felt a little of the wine come up.  Too much. Definitely too much.
  Dava and Peter rushed to the table and sat immediately, Shari sighed and joined them, unfolding the starched linen napkin and placing her on her lap. It was just me, Angel, Christian and Buzzcut left, and I hoped that Angel understood this game of musical chairs well enough to leave me a seat between himself and Shari. He didn’t.  He took the seat next to Shari’s, and I took the seat the seat next to his. Christian sat between me and Peter, while Buzzcut stood behind him with his arms crossed like a harem eunuch.
  “Isn’t he going to sit down?” I asked.
  “He’s working,” Christian said. “Taylor doesn’t eat while he’s working.”
  “And how many hours a day does he work?” I asked.
  “As many as I need him to.”
  I looked up at Taylor whose expression hadn’t changed an iota in the time we’d been talking about him. “That doesn’t sound like much of a life.”
  “He’s an empty shell of a man. Now, where were we? Oh, yes.  Your issues.”
  I laughed aloud. “My issues?”
  “Yes, your issues.” He extracted the two halves of the sex contract from the inside pocket of his Italian suit. “I take it to mean that you do not agree to the terms stated therein. However, I’m prepared to be flexible.”
  He sorted out the halves of paper. I blinked at him.  Holy s**t.  He wasn’t really going to let his freak flag fly at the dinner table in front of my friends...and Dava. I took another sip of the wine to fortify myself.  The other were studying their menus, but I know Dava and Peter were being morbidly entertained by my plight, as if it were a particularly twisted car wreck.
  First order of business if I ever got out of here: find better friends.
  “Either you have issues with the contract or you’re concerned for your sexual health.  Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months.  All of my recent tests are clear—“
  I buried my face in my hands. “Holy crap! Do we really have to talk about this at the dinner table?”
  “—and I’ve never had any blood transfusions.  It’s all very clean and perfectly safe. Three months of doing things my way. Obeying me as your master in all things. That’s all I ask.  And if it’s too much, you can walk away, any time.  I won’t stop you.”
  Yeah, right. He’d just follow me everywhere I go and make my life miserable. I would have gotten up and left the table, but home was 30 miles away and I had no way of getting there.  I wondered if he planned it that way.  I had to escape, but I couldn’t leave Angel and Shari here. But I couldn’t let Angel know that. Not with Christian hovering over me like a hawk with his hired thug on high alert. I’d have to wait until he left for the restroom, excuse myself from the table then we’d call Shari and tell her to make a run for it. 
  The waiter came in with a tray of oysters.  “I hope you like oysters,” Christian told me.  Holy Moses. Could this guy be any more of a cliché?
  “I’ve never had one,” I said.
  “Really?” Christian reached for one, “All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.”
  My face burned like a four alarm fire. This couldn’t be happening.  Not on my first…and probably only…date with Angel. I was too paralyzed with mortification to run away, so I was subjected to a particularly lewd demonstration of oyster-gobbling by the pyscho to my left.
  “Mmmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea.” He grinned at me. “Now you try one.”
  Instead, I tasted some more of the wine coming up.  “I’m not hungry.”
  He winked at me. “You mean not for food?”
  “You’ve already told one,” I hissed. “Call me a taxi. I want to go home.”
  Christian tongued down another oyster, staring at me the whole time. “You know, some people consider these an aphrodisiac, but I never need one around you.”
  The forgotten waiter cleared his throat. “Are you ready to order?”
  “Who’s paying for this?” Dava asked.
  “I am, of course,” Christian said.
  “In that case, I’ll have the lobster,” Shari said. “And a pitcher of Margaritas.”
  I shot her a smile.  That’s my girl.
  “I’ll have the prime rib,” Peter said.
  “I’ll have the prime rib, as well, well done,” Dava said. “With onion rings and a pitcher of Margaritas.”
  “I think your friend already ordered a pitcher of margarita for the table,” Angel said.
  “That’s what you think,” I said.
  “And for you, sir?” the waiter asked Angel.
  “I’ll have the seared ahi salad,” Angel said.
  “Salad?” Christian laughed. “Isn’t that a bit dainty of a dish for a man of your stature?”
  “I have eat light because I have a flight to catch in the morning.”
  “Oh, and get him a Shirley Temple to wash it down with. No cherry for him though, just a pretty pink parasol.”
  I stared daggers at Christian
  “And you, miss?” the waiter asked.
  “I’m not hungry.”
  “Eat, Cherry,” Christian said. “You have to eat. You can either eat here, or you can eat alone with me in my hotel room and we can turn it into a game.”
  “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll have one of everything on the menu.”
  “She’ll have the black cod with asparagus and potatoes,” Christian said. “I’ll have the porterhouse.  And some bottled water for the table.”
  “Very good, sir,” the waiter said and then left.
  "I said, I'm not hungry."
  “Obey me in all things,” Christian said. “Yes, I want you to do that, Cherry, I need you to do that. Think of it as roleplay.”
  “No,” I said with a shudder.
  “I won’t hurt you, not more than you can handle. I’ve only seriously injured a submissive once--“
  I groaned. “I don’t even want to know.”
  “I suspended her from my playroom ceiling. Rope play.  One of the ropes was too tight--”
I held up my hand to beg him to stop. “What part of ‘I don’t even want to know’ did you not understand?”
  He stared at me, his gaze intense. The seconds ticked by.  “I understand.  You’re jealous.”
  I laughed into my wineglass.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: DreamWriter on October 18, 2014, 07:02:11 PM
Oh... my... gosh. Bodwen, you're killin' me, Smalls. Lol. Dang it. Now I have to read the real thing to check out the comparisons. Ick. When all the ladies at work read it, I didn't wanna jump on the bandwagon - cuz I'm that way about all things in life, for some weird reason. (Even with watching shows like Friends, Seinfeld and The Walking Dead.) But now you've made me wanna read the real book.  :crazy:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on October 19, 2014, 04:22:16 PM
  The drinks came first of course.  Angel took the umbrella from his drink and twirled it between his fingers. He looked miserable, poor guy.
  “Please" Christian said, "let’s try it for three months.  If it’s not for you, you can talk away at any time.”
  “You keep saying that!” I took a large sip wine. “And yet every time I walk away, you turn up somewhere else.”
  Christian was about to respond to that, but Dava snuck up behind him and pressed her cheek again his and held out her new smartphone at arm’s length.  “I just want to get a selfie, really quick. Say cheese." She turned over the smartphone.  "Oh, my eyes were closed, let’s get another.”
  “Are you finished?” Christian asked her.
  “Just one more, just in case. There. Thanks, I’m good now.”
  Buzzcut wrestled the smartphone out of her hand and dropped in into her pitcher of margarita.
  Christian smiled balefully at her.  “I don’t do photographs with women.  As a rule.  Respect my rules and you won't get hurt.”
  Dava stared morosely into the pitcher.  “You’re going to buy me a new one, right?”
  Christian shrugged. “Losing a phone isn’t the worst thing that might have happened to you.”
  I took advantage of the distraction to lean over to whisper an escape plan into Angel’s ear. It didn’t work. Christian Grey was as quick as a mongoose and pulled me closer to him before I could get a single word out.
  He stared into my eyes. “I want you to know that as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will f**k you, any time, any way I want—anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.”
  Across the table, Shari’s phone rang. I welcomed the distraction.  She put down her margarita and answered it, and her gaze darting to me. “Yes, she’s right here.  We’re at a restaurant with Christian Grey.  It seems to be going pretty well.  Thanks, I’ll tell her.”
  She hung up and went back to her margarita.
  “Who was that?” I asked.
  “That was Ray.  He told me to remind you to call your mom when we get home.”
  Christian Grey shook his head, as if to knock something loose that got stuck inside.  “Wait a minute.  Your mother is still alive?”
  I thought it was a weird question, but Angel stopped twirling the umbrella and stared at me intently.
  “I never claimed she wasn’t.”
  “Except she wasn’t at your graduation,” Christian Grey said.
  “Well, she lives in Georgia now.” I said.
  “With her new husband Bob,” Dava piped in.  “He’s husband number four.”
  I nodded. “Mom’s an incurable romantic.”
  Christian’s lip curled. “She's so busy boning the next guy in line that she misses her own daughter’s graduation?”
  “It’s not like that,” I said.  “She and Ray don’t get along, so it would be better for everyone if one of them stayed away.”
  “I would think it would be logical for the ex-stepfather to stay home,” Christian said. “Especially since he didn’t seem all that enamored with the whole ideal of attending his ex-stepdaughter's graduation in the first place.”
  I would have simply told Christian Grey to mind his own business, but Angel was looking at me too. “Mom met husband number three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Ray.”
  Angel frowned like he didn’t understand. “You didn’t want to live with your mom?”
  “Husband number three lived in Texas. My home was in Montesano. And…you know, my mom was newly married.”
  “And the courts granted custody to your stepfather over a blood relative?” Christian asked.
  “It’s what everyone wanted.”  Really, this was none of his business, but he was making it sound worse than it was, so I felt compelled to defend my parents.
  “So what you’re saying is that your mother walked out on you for some hot young stud.”
  "No, she didn’t.  She and Ray were having problems.  Problems that weren’t her fault in the slightest. She needed to make a fresh start without him.”
  “And so she fobs her newly pubescent daughter off to play house with husband number two while she makes a run for the border?” Christian Grey narrowed his eyes at me. “Let me guess. Was there some Woody Allen thing going on between the two of you?”
  I shuddered at the thought. “Gross!  No.”
  “Then your story makes no sense,” Christian said.
  I heard murmurs of agreement around the table.
  “Fine!"  I knocked over my wine glass but didn’t care at that point. “You want to know the truth?  Ray’s not my stepfather.  He’s my real father. He was husband number one AND two.  But he got into some legal trouble with some rich lady who writes vampire stories, so he had to fake his own death and come back under an assumed name. But the damage was done and my parents ended up divorcing anyway.”
  Peter nodded. “It’s true.  Fannie and I have been friends our whole lives, and I knew her Dad back when his name was Charlie.”
  To my surprise Christian let out an ah of understanding. “You know what’s funny?  The exact same thing happened to my family." 
  "Really?" I asked.
  He nodded. "My adoptive father used to be a doctor, but he ran into some trouble with a novelist, and now he’s a lawyer and my mother is the doctor. That’s the reason I went into publishing and started Grey Matters Press. To torture writers. I wonder if it’s the same author?”
  “Huh…” I pondered. It was a pretty strange coincidence.
  “Now let’s talk terms. Three months, and I get complete control over you every weekend.”
  “No,” I said for the hundredth time.
  “So you want a weekend away from me every month?  I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you for that length of time.  I can barely manage it now.”
  I nodded. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”
  Angel rose from the table.  “Excuse me,” he said and headed off through the double doors toward the restrooms.  Finally.
  I rose to take off after him but only got two steps before Christian pulled me back. “Where are you going?”
  “I have to pee.”
  “Miss Bentley.  Such language.”
  “What? You’re allowed to talk about your STD’s at the table, but I’m not allowed to pee?”
  “Well, hold it. We’re still talking.”  He dragged me back into the chair. “I know you’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I will have to earn your trust, and I will.”
  Damn Christian Grey and his longwinded speeches.  I had to get out of here and find Angel before got back.
  “If I agree to think about it, will you let me go pee?”
  He held my wrist like a vise as I tried to squirm away. “If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy. All those decisions—all the wearying thought process behind them.  The ‘is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?  You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I do as your Dom.”
  “That sounds great,” I lied, “But right now, I really have to pee.”
  Christian was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.  He seemed to really enjoy seeing me squirm.  “Discipline. There is a fine line between pleasure and pain, Cherry.  They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing you can’t handle. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Cherry?”
  “Fine. Whatever you say. Just let me go.”
  The double doors swung open and for a moment I worried that Angel was back already. Instead it was the waiter wheeling in our entrees.  A lobster for Shari. A prime rib each for Dava and Peter. Cod for me and steak for Christian. No salad. The place next to me remained empty.
  I sat there, numb, as the waiter wheeled the cart away.
  Christian still smiled as he cut into his porterhouse.  “Didn’t you say you needed to pee?”
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: DreamWriter on October 20, 2014, 02:12:22 AM
Bodwen!. Good grief. Now, I'm addicted to this smut. Ahhhh!!!!! Christian's SO filthy!  :emb2:
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Karloff on October 20, 2014, 07:51:10 PM
Just got caught up.  Very funny.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: bodwen on December 10, 2014, 04:42:52 PM
  I grabbed my purse and ran to the other room where I milled around the tables into I finally found the waiter.  He was standing near a large party getting ready to light up a Flambé. Normally I wouldn’t dream of interrupting such pageantry but I had a sicken feeling Angel had already left the building.
  “Excuse me,” I said. “This is an emergency.”
  “Oh," the waiter said as the people at the table gave me copious amounts of side-eye.
  “You did not serve the salad my friend ordered.”
  “He said he had to leave. He had a flight to catch so he cancelled his order,” he said and raised his lighter stick.
  “Did he say anything else?”
  “No,” he said. And the cherries burst into flames. I ran to the stairwell.  I’d have rather taken the elevator, but given that Angel had a good ten minutes head start, there was no chance I’d be able to catch him unless he was in the elevator with some child whose mother thought it was adorable when he lit up all the elevator buttons. I ran down, and down, and down some more until I reached the lobby. I ran outside, just in time to see Angel Clare climb into a taxi about 100 feet ahead of me.
  “Angel!” I shouted. I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I had to try. “Angel! I called again and ran. The taxi was moving now, but if the driver saw me running, maybe he’d remark on it, and maybe Angel would turn around. No such luck. I chased after the cab like a fool until it vanished into the night.
Then I cried. Partly from defeat, and partly from pure humiliation.  People were staring. Men in Italian suits, women in fur coats. They saw me standing there crying and pulled their purses closer and hurried past me. None of them cared and why should they?  None of them knew me. They had no way of realizing Angel Clare was gone from my life forever, and all because of some psychotic billionaire they’d probably auction off their first born to sit with at a charity dinner. I didn’t have any of Angel’s contact information and he didn’t have any of mine.  I had no way to get in touch with him in Brazil and I’d have no way to get in touch with him when he got back.         
...he slipped a note into my purse when I wasn't looking. 
  I dumped out the contents of my purse on the sidewalk and dropped to my knees to sift through the contents.  There had to be a note here, a business card. Some way to find him.  I pawed through old receipts, and spare change, and candy wrappers, and a hundred other pieces of junk I had no idea I had hoarded and found nothing.  Then I realized if Angel really cared, even a little, he would have never abandoned me to dine at the mercy of some psycho.
  I wiped my eyes and started gathering up my trash.  Now I was mad at the both of them.
  “Fannie?”  Shari crouched next to me with her arm on my shoulder. “Are you alright?”
  “Angel is gone.  He went home. He has a flight to catch.” I started crying again and she held me close. 
  “We’ll find him,” Shari said with a smile and pulled out her smartphone. “After all, how many Angel Clares can there be on Facebook?”  She thumb-typed and her smile fell. “Quite a few it turns out. And most don’t have pictures.”  She put the phone back in her purse. “No problem.  We’ll take a cab to the airport.”
   “And do what exactly?” I asked.  “Find out every flight that connects with a flight going to Brazil tomorrow and camp out at the terminal?  Yeah, even in the extraordinarily unlikely event we manage to find and intercept him, that won’t look at all like clingy future-ex-girlfriend behavior.”
  She smirked.  “So you’d rather we did nothing?”
  “Yes!” I said and meant it.  Truth be told, I wasn’t sure of exactly what it was that scared him off. I wanted to think it was Christian Grey, but I could not discount the possibility that it was Ray/Charlie and his legal shenanigans.  If Angel was the type to reject a girl because of what her father did, I really didn’t want to know about that. I marched back to the hotel with Shari hot on my heels.
  “I can call up some of my friends. I might know someone who knows someone who knows where he lives.”
  “Let’s just forget Angel Clare ever existed,” I said and balled up my fist as I approached the hotel lobby.
  “What are you going to do?”
  “I’m going to give Christian Grey what he wants.  He’s into S&M?  I’m going to go up there and whip his ass to within an inch of his life.”
  “Don't let him do that to you,” Shari said. “Don’t give him that power. Don’t let him bring you down to his level.”
  I smiled at her over my shoulder. “You’re just saying that because you’re afraid it will screw up your job at the New York Times.”
  “Only a little,” she admitted.
  I stopped and let her catch up with me. “Fine,” I said with a smile as we walked arm in arm. “I’ll be unfailingly polite to him until you’re settled and entrenched at your new position. Then I’ll kick his ass.”
  “It’s a deal,” she said. “Unless you want to come with. You like New York. You can get a job as an editor or an agent.  We’ll buy shoes and drink Cosmos and live the dream.”
  “True,” I said as we entered the elevator. “And it would be pretty funny to move there right after Christian Grey went to all this trouble to relocate his publishing company just so he can stalk me here.”
  “Plus I’ll use all the journalist resources at my disposal to find Angel Clare and get this whole mess sorted out for you. I promise.”
  My mood was greatly improved as we rejoined the others at dinner. There was a large rectangular package gift-wrapped in silver paper in front of my untouched dinner.
  “What is this?” I asked.
  “It’s your graduation present,” Christian said. “Open it.”
  “Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”
  “No. You need it. You told me so yourself. Open it.”
  I sighed and unwrapped it.  An Apple notebook computer.
  “Oh wow,” Dava said. Opening the box and manhandling the laptop without asking. “I didn’t think these were available in stores yet.”
  “They are not,” Christian said. “But I know people, and nothing is too good for Grey Matters Press’s newest VP.”
  Newest VP?  Of what? Gettin’ freaky?
  I grabbed the laptop out of Dava’s hands and gave it back to Christian.  “I can’t accept this. And I can’t accept the job. I just graduated from college today and I’m barely old enough to drink, for crying out loud. Give me the corner office and people will snicker.”
  “They wouldn’t dare snicker. They know what I'm capable of,” Christian Grey said. “And don’t worry about your job at the New York Times. I’ve already called and gotten you fired.”
  I heard a loud thud as Shari’s chair tipped over and fell to the floor. With her in it, of course. Christian took no notice. I tried to get out of my chair but he pushed me back down, leaving Peter and Dava to deal with Shari.
  “I always get what I want, Miss Benson. The sooner you learn to submit, the better this will be for the both of us.”
  I tried to twist away. “I don’t want to submit and I don’t want your computer. You call up the New York Times right now. Wake everyone up and tell them to give me back my job or I will make you wish you were never born.”
  “Too late. I wish I was never born every day of my life. And as for the job, you’d better forget it. I burned every bridge that needed burning there.” He slid the computer over to me. “And as for the computer, you are keeping it. You need it.”
  “Says who?”
  “Said you.  You told Taylor you couldn’t email me because your computer was in the shop. Now you have no excuse.”
  “I was joking.  I don’t want a computer from you!” I said. “I want my job at the New York Times!”
  “She’s right, you know,” Shari in an oddly lucid voice. We turned and she was back in her chair, her strawberry-blond curls sticking up in places, her eyes looked like black pits with no color, and the grin on her face could only be described as diabolical. “We don’t have room for it. Our apartment is too small. And it is in too bad of a neighborhood. 
  “Oh?” Christian said with feigned indifference.
  “It’s for the best that Fannie-- I mean Cherry-- drives that deathtrap junker VW of hers. It tells all the thugs she isn’t worth robbing. Why just the other day a woman was brutally attacked by five hoodlums. If they saw a delicate little virgin like Cherry broken down by the side of the road and lugging around a three thousand dollar laptop, heaven only knows what they’d do to her.”
  Christian Grey’s brows rose like two caterpillars as he rapidly typed something into his smartphone.
  Shari picked up the steak knife and toyed with it in her hands. “Thank god Fannie couldn’t afford that brand new Audi she’s had her eye on.”
  “Audi?”  Christian Grey said, trying to act causal.
  “Audi R8 ABT GT S.  Black.”
  “Cherry Red,” he said.
  “Whatever.  It’s not like she can afford one. Anyway we have no place to park it. My mother keeps telling us we should move someplace safe, but what can we do?  We are two young women without jobs out on our own for the first time in our lives. I’d like for us to move to a private beach house but I can’t find one in our price range.  For the sort of house Cherry and I want you’re looking to spend at least one million.” She thought better of it. “No, two million.”
  His typing quickened.
  “And I hear the upkeep on that sort of place is outrageous.  Cherry Bentley would need at least $25,000 wired into her checking account just to pay for the upkeep. Even if someone else was handling the taxes and the utilities. ”
  “Only $25,000?”
  “For a start it should be fine. I just happen to have one of her checkstubs in my handbag if you need one for the bank and routing numbers.”
  “Now, now,” I said.  “I’m sure Christian Grey isn’t interested in hearing about our financial troubles.”  I could see what Shari was doing here.  She was determined to make Christian Grey pay for what he did to her. Literally.  Except, she’d lost sight of the fact that I was acting as collateral.
  So much for not stooping to his level.
  “Excuse me,” Christian said. “I have to make some calls.” He left the room with Taylor on his heels.
  After they left, Shari leaned back and smiled. “It begins.” 
  Peter and Dava just sat there eating their desserts, and swilling booze, and looking oblivious, which was nothing new.
  “This is a very dangerous game you are playing,” I told her.
  Shari whipped the knife about melodramatically. “Don’t worry.  If he lays a finger on you, I’ll cut his throat.”
  I couldn’t tell if she meant it or not. I didn’t know which possibility would be more frightening. I just knew I liked old Shari a lot more than Dark Shari.
  “Need I inform you that he’s going to figure this out eventually, and when he does, he can have us both arrested for fraud?”
  “Only if he wants this story in all the papers.  More likely, he’ll give us three times as much money as we manage to milk out of him just to keep our mouths shut.”  She twirled the knife between her fingers like a corncob, “Assuming we haven’t completely ruined him financially by then.”
  I hadn’t decided if I like this turn of events or not.  Largely because I still didn’t know where his money came from or what he had to do to get it.  But Shari was thoroughly enjoying herself, and I owed her that much at least.
  I moved the computer away, sighed, and cut into my halibut.  Unlike revenge, it’s not a dish best served cold.
Title: Re: The Perfect Cherry
Post by: Missus Braidyhead on December 10, 2014, 04:54:27 PM
AWESOME punch line at the end!

Everything above the punch line is good, too. :)