Bic McPenlamperson

'You can't go out tonight, Mrs. Grey.'

I gape at Christian. What does he mean? Does he mean I can't go out? Tonight? He's so obtuse. He's never stopped me from doing anything I wanted to do before. Not without a nonsensical, controlling reason anyway, my subconscious sneers. My inner Goddess takes her into a chokehold.

'We've talked about this, mister Grey. I've hired an ugly babysitter. You have a background file on her lying around here somewhere. All of our stalkers are either locked up or at art school. There's no reason for me to not go out tonight.'

'Good point well made,' Christian says. I marvel at his wit. Plus, I know that whenever he says that he's about to steamroll over what I want and I love that. This is going to be good.

'Jack Hyde and Leila and… whoever else inexplicably disliked the two of us and tried to ineffectually kill us are now harmless. However, a new danger has emerged. My old nemesis…'

Christian is silent for a moment as he looks around the room. His eyes rest on the pen in his beautiful hands – I can't be bothered to describe them, but take it from me that his hands are super beautiful and perfect like everything else about him. Then he stares at an expensive lamp.

'Bic… McPen…lamp…erson. Yeah, that's right. My old nemesis Bic McPenlamperson has returned,' he concludes, appearing extremely satisfied. I don't understand why he almost looks happy. Another enemy is preventing me from leaving his side for a couple of hours and he seems pleased. Still, I know that he doesn't want to suffocate me. He tells me that all the time. Sometimes even while literally suffocating me.

'That's a strange name,' I mutter. Luckily, he's gotten so used to me muttering and whispering by now that he's close enough to hear.

'He's totally a real person, though. He went to Harvard with me. Yes, old Bic McLamppenerson.'

'McPenlamperson,' I correct him. He glares at me before smiling his special shy smile. I feel it… down there. Not there, but there. You know, there. Below my waist, but above my knees. Somewhere in between those two, I think. Not quite sure.

'Yes, good old Bic. He is out to destroy us. So, you can't go out,' Christian reiterates. I bravely decide to ask him about this new threat to our wellbeing later. Maybe this is better. The babysitter may be ugly and old (over 30!) and a lesbian and married and I think she actually hates Christian, but she's still a woman. This way she cannot get her greedy claws into my Fifty.

Christian pulls me into his lap. I suck my thumb while he pats my hair and tells me I'm a good girl. He reaches into his desk and hands me a lollipop. I giggle. What is it about him that makes me feel like I'm five years old? He unwraps the lollipop for me, because clearly I can't be trusted to do that myself. Also, I have jam hands at the moment.

'Are you hungry?' Christian asks. His eyes darken. They go from grey to a slightly darker grey. It might have something to do with him turning off the light on his desk.

'Yes, but not for food,' I whisper wordlessly, panting sexily. He looks fascinated. Or bored. I can't really tell. My eye lashes are in the way.

'Me neither,' he hisses.

'What are you hungry for then?' I ask. Christian doesn't answer. He puts on some pretentious hymn and takes off his tie. It looks less like a tie than an extremely mangled sock after all the kinky barely consensual fuckery we've had with it.

He ties my hands to the chair. He – I am happy to report – still smells like himself. Like Christian. Not Christian Dior, but Christian Grey. Just to be clear. Christian leaves the room. An unfamiliar man enters the office, looks at me and then leaves. I panic for a second and then think nothing more of it.

'Are you hungry for sex?' I ask Christian, when he returns.

'No, I'm not hungry at all.'

'O.' O? O. O! What can that mean? He's so mysterious. He places a bowl of food in front of me.

'Eat. Eat or I'll punish you,' he snaps. Oh, Christian! Just when I think he'll zig, he ignores my wishes and orders me to do something as if I'm his dog instead of his wife. This is so hot, even though I never know whether he's kidding or if he's serious and really intends to hurt me.

'Did you hire another security guard?' I ask.

'No. Why?'

'A stranger just wandered into you office while I was tied up. Oh, my! Holy crap! Holy cow! Double crap! Triple crap! Do you think, like all our other stalkers, Bic McPenlamperson managed to get into your insanely well-protected but not very secure apartment without any trouble?'


'Your old nemesis Bic McPenlamperson? You know, the reason I can't go out tonight,' I explain. Christian still looks like he has no idea what I'm talking about. It's a good thing he's rich, my subconscious remarks. And handsome, my inner Goddess adds. They're friends again.

'Yes?' Taylor says, poking his head around the door. Where did he come from? The other room, I guess, but he could have scaled the building and entered via the roof. Either way, I'm continually amazed at him showing up in the apartment despite the fact that he is supposed to be here to guard us. Isn't my general ignorance regarding everything charming? It certainly makes me easy to manipulate. I don't want to think about that, because - while it might prove useful - it's unpleasant. Wait, what was I saying?

'Bic McPenlamperson, Christian? The enemy you just told me about. The one who's out to destroy us? Could he be the intruder I saw minutes ago?' I continue.

Christian blinks. I blink. Taylor blinks. Christian blinks rapidly. I blink repeatedly. Taylor then pulls out his gun and shoots us both. Christian dies immediately, which is a relief. Remember how much he whined about you leaving him for five whole days, my subconscious reminds me. Well, multiple that by a thousand. He looks pretty dead, my inner Goddess observes. She is right. Christian looks pretty and dead and pretty dead. I slump to the floor.

'Taylor, why? Aside from the obvious reasons, I mean,' I mumble, but not sexily because the bullet has punctured a lung. The last thing I see before finally making the world a better place by dying is the way Christian's pants hang off his hips. That way.


Taylor doesn't know what Ana said since the bitch is inaudible 99 percent of the time. He suspects she probably wondered why he shot them.

'It was stupid of Christian to cross me. Also, you're both assholes,' he says. Then he pulls off a mask, revealing his real face.

'I am… Bic McPenlamperson!'

The end.


Inspired by Jenny Trout of the Trout Nation blog. Her 50 shades recaps are a joy to read.

Author's note:

Several commenters have expressed that they are either baffled or offended that someone who is not a fan of FSoG is writing FSoG fanfiction.

To those who are offended: I will continue to write what I like to write regardless of your outrage.

To those who are baffled: Let's start at the beginning. Why did I read the books? If I don't like them, I simply shouldn't read them, right? This is such a weird question to me, because how am I supposed to know that I don't like the books when I haven't read them?

So, I read the FSoG books and I didn't like them. I think the books are extremely badly written. I think Ana and Christian's relationship is abusive. I think Christian is arrogant and manipulative. I think Ana is snotty and stupid. Yet, I'm writing FSoG fanfiction. Why?

First of all, I like to write fanfiction. Canon can be fun, but it's limited. I like to write about things that haven't happened in canon. This is why Christian is (brutally) murdered in my stories. I would have liked to have seen that happen in canon. It's my way of 'fixing' FSoG.

Secondly, the majority of people who read FSoG fanfiction are FSoG fans, but there are also plenty of people who, like me, didn't exactly love the books and are looking for some snark. For my and their enjoyment, I provide them with snark.

Thirdly, I am amazed by your bafflement. I write 'Beware: I'm not a FSoG fan' in the summaries of all of my FSoG stories. Therefore, before reading the story, you already know that I am not a fan. You also know that you should 'beware,' which to any functioning literate would read like a warning that I will (at the very least) be critical of a work of fiction and/or fictional characters that you like.

See, when I picked up FSoG, I expected an erotic love story, because that's how the book is marketed. What I got instead was a crappily written depiction of two insufferable idiots in an abusive relationship. You, on the other hand, knew what to expect when you clicked on my story. So, it's very hard for me to take you seriously when you then proceed to complain in a review that I should not be writing FSoG fanfiction, because I'm not a fan. You were informed and you chose to read it anyway. You only have yourself to blame for your disappointment.