Numbers

By on June 18, 2015.

Today the world was treated to a new E L James book called Grey which, from what I have read, is a retelling of the story from the point of view of the ubertastic Dom that is Christian Grey. I have not read it myself but early reports I have found on the internet is that it appears she has kept all the dialogue from the original book and just pieced it together with Christian side of the story and includes a full reprint of the contract plus Ana’s back ground check document. Oh the romance!

The reception of this book has been mixed at best but there seems to be plenty of people who view this is as just lazy writing, although from what I have read in this article Grey: the worst lines from the new Fifty Shades book it is just terrible writing.

“Dude. I need to get out of Seattle this weekend. This chick is all over my junk and I’ve got to get away.”

And how many times does Grey’s cock agree with him?

“And there she is: disarming once more, surprising me at every turn. My cock concurs.”

But the one that really stood out to me was that Grey has DJ’s, nope not a Dinner jacket, but Dom Jeans….

“In my closet I strip off all my clothes and from a drawer pull out my favourite jeans. My DJs. Dom jeans.”

Anyway, I have digressed slightly from the original intention of this post which was inspired by this tweet from @girlonthenet

Screen Cap of Girl on the Net twitterA conversation ensued and as a result @domsigns decided that it was time he had his say as the resident Uberdom but rather than picking a piece about us he decided that my piece of fiction from earlier this week needed to have the male protagonist view-point heard. Brace yourselves…

***

Another Corporate event where I must waste my time. Empty chatter from shallow people who aren’t worth the space they take up. They flirt shamelessly with me, both the men and the women, they are only interested because of my position, my wealth. As yet another trophy wife tries to gain my attention I turn on my billion dollar charm and distract her while I admire myself in the row of mirrors that cover the wall across from me. My Saville Row bespoke suit fits me like a glove as I straighten my 100% pure silk tie. I reach down discretely and fluff my bulge a little so that it stands out just a bit bigger.

Suddenly, I see you across the room, absorbed in your phone, but I know once I appear before you that will be over and you will be unable to resist my money, my suit, my charm, my trimmed pubes and expertly cut cock. I turn away from the women clustered around me and push through the crowd like cars that have dared park in my signed parking place, leaving a wake of Axe Africa, the most expensive cologne money can buy. I am pursuing my prey with the single-minded concentration that only those that have fought in the corporate jungle can bring to bear.

Finally the moment has come. I stand before you, you still have not noticed that you are now the full focus of my attention. You still have your head down with your fingers busy caressing the screen of your phone (much like you will be doing to me later). I take this moment of distraction to look through your purse, memorize your address and look at your family pictures and check your calendar to make sure you have no meetings in the morning while you finish your message. It is important that I know everything about you while revealing as little about myself as possible, women like mysterious strangers after all.

“Hello” I say in my richest accent.

“Hello” you reply, looking up from your phone.

I pause for an extended moment, just long enough to make you wonder if I can see down your dress (I can by the way).

“I see you still have some of your drink left.”

I say this because my personal pickup trainer has taught me that getting a person to agree with what I am saying leads to them getting naked with someone they have just met.

“Ummm indeed.” You say blushingly as your eyes travel from the floor up along my body and back down again taking a long lingering look at my manly attributes only barely hidden beneath my extremely well-tailored slacks.

“Well, when you are done, with your phone, and your wine, then maybe you would like to join me. I am in room 579″

With those words I turn and walk away to the waiting elevator, step inside and press the button for my floor, to ready my room for my night of carnal delights, as the doors open I stride down the hall with my Bruno Orlato flat calf/ tweed shoes sliding against the plush carpet, while my inner God does a Dad dance to The Foo Fighters “Learn to Fly”. I reach my door and slide the keycard into the slot of room 759 confident that she will be with me soon.

About: 

Molly Moore - Author, Blogger, Photographer, Speaker
Find me in my corner of the internet at Molly's Daily Kiss
and on Twitter @mollysdailykiss

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  1. Oh sweet Jesus!

    That is priceless!

    You have made me giggle over my morning coffee… So, so, so fucking good!

    I started reading this thinking you were going to to do a critique of that godawful piece of “literary” trash but you surpassed yourself with a brilliant piece of satire!

    Kat x

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