The final chapter of my Fifty Shades of Grey parody, in which I wonder what it’d be like if Christian Grey was a Dubliner.
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol IX
Git Grey checked his Blackberry and saw that Ana was off the plane and on her way to his apartment in the Docklands. Great; he hadn’t seen her in a few days since he followed her to London so he was looking forward to their reunion.
Wait till she saw what he had in store for her tonight, she was going to go mental for it. It was always the quiet ones. All that ‘Oh Git you’re smothering me, Oh Git you’re stalking me, Oh Git move it a bit to the left’ was all just a pretence; she loved it really.
Running to the door as the bell chimed, Git’s Inner God adjusted his gooter and leered at Ana as the door swung open to reveal her in all her porcelain-skinned glory.
‘Hi Git,’ she said, a bit wearily, nervous no doubt after the last time she had been in his Playroom.
‘Howaya love,’ Git said, pulling her by the hand in the room. ‘Jayze, ya look gorgeous. That’s a nice dress but it’d look nicer on my bedroom floor, wha’?!’
Delighted with himself, Git went in for the kill as his Inner God got the lads round for a poker night, grabbing Ana’s breasts and behind desperately, shoving his tongue down her throat.
‘I need to have you right now Ana, come into the Playroom,’ he begged, unable to control himself anymore.
Leading her into the cool dimness of his playroom, Git wasted no time removing Ana’s clothes and whipping off his top so that they were both naked in seconds.
‘Lie down on the bed Ana,’ he breathed, moving to the mahogany wardrobe beside the enormous super-king-sized bed and taking out a blindfold and a soft leather crop.
Bending over her, Git gently tied the blindfold around Ana’s eyes then shackled her to the bed so she couldn’t move.
‘Relax,’ he breathed, ‘you’re going to love this.’
Ana strained to hear as Git moved around the room again, her ears picking up the sound of a CD being put into Git’s stereo, the soft hiss filling the air from the surround-sound speakers.
‘Now, Ana,’ Git said, returning to the bed. ‘I’m gonna ride you in time to the music. This is one of my favourite songs, are you ready?’
Ana squirmed as the familiar beat eased out of the speakers. ‘Yeah yeah yeah yeah…‘ the music pounded, getting louder as Git traced the leather crop all over Ana’s naked body.
Slapping her nipples with a sharp belt of the crop Git crooned along to the song, getting more excited as the tempo increased.
She was a sexy lady, she had to get her thrill.
Thwack! He hit Ana’s inner thigh, his eyes glittering with excitement.
Back in the house for the year 2000, yeah, yeah, funky yeah.
Raising his crop, Git enthusiastically whipped Ana’s glistening skin, breathing harshly as he watched her splayed before him.
She’s a craic, she’s a craic, she’s a maniac.
Ana moaned as the music swelled, struggling against her shackles.
Are you ready now, move to the groove. Put your hands in the air. One simple question to answer. Are. You. Ready?
Git could take no more, throwing the crop to the side as he dove onto the bed next to Ana. He had to have her.
Sliding deep inside her, he kept up the rhythm of the music, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
She’s a maniac, maniac on the floor. And she’s dancin’. And she’s dancin’ like she’s never did before. RIGHT HERE ON THE DUBLIN DANCEFLOOR.
All Git could feel was Ana’s body under him and the beat of the music all around him. This was incredible, he was almost at the edge.
She said put your hands in the air. Side to side like you just don’t care.
‘Sing with me, Ana,’ Git implored, barely hanging on by his fingernails. ‘Please, I’m begging you.’
Wanting to please him, Ana cleared her throat and joined in, the music reaching a climax as they both roared.
Oggie, Oggie, Oggie, Oi! Oi! Oi!
‘Oh Ana,’ Git moaned. ‘I’m right there, I’m almost there.’
- 4. 3. 2. 1. TAKE THIS HOUSE TO THE MAXIMUM!
Giving one last enormous thrust of his hips, Git poured his love juice into Ana, holding her close as they both shuddered with pleasure and the final strains of the music faded away.
‘That was fuckin’ amazing,’ Git said, as he gently loosened her shackles and removed Ana’s blindfold, his Inner God dead to the world on the sofa after that performance.
Ana looked taken aback as she sat up, admitting ‘Actually… it wasn’t bad’, almost as though she couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth.
Overcome with emotion, Ana looked at Git, his handsome face relaxing as he fell almost into sleep. A strange feeling burbled up inside of her, something she’d never felt before.
‘Git,’ she said, shocked. ‘Git, I think … I think … I think I love you!’
Shite. He knew this was going to happen, after that night in London.
‘Ah right, Ana, that’s well, that’s … Listen, I don’t think I’m the man for you, I don’t deserve your love. We don’t want to rush things, sure we don’t?’ Git couldn’t get his clothes on fast enough.
Mortified, Ana jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, unable to look at Git.
‘If that’s the way you want it,’ she said, ‘I don’t think we can be friends. Better to just make a clean break.’
Grabbing her bag, she ran from the room, slamming the door to the apartment, the sound echoing around the penthouse.
Git sighed and flopped down on to the couch. That was the end of that, so. He probably should go after her, he thought, persuade her to come back to him. The place WAS a bit quiet without her.
Idly, his glance landed on his mobile phone, as he thought about calling her. Nah, probably better to let her cool off though, think things through for a few days, you know how dramatic burds can be. Feeling better and suddenly energised, Git grabbed the phone and tapped out a message. He sent it off to his mates, his former good humour returning.
‘Alright lads? Who’s on for Coppers tonight?’
Git grinned as the replies rolled in. This was going to be epic. And as for Ana? Ah, he’d deal with that in the morning.
More from my Fifty Shades of Grey parody where I imagine what it would be like if Christian Grey was a Dubliner.
Fifty Shades of Shite, Vol VII
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Visiting my mother
To: Git Grey
Just to let you know I’m heading off to visit my Mam in London for a few days. I’ll call you when I get back, I think we probably need to talk.
From: Git Grey
Subject: ‘Talk’ ya durt burd
To: Anastasia Steele
We need to talk alright. We haven’t talked in ages, since we went to dinner in me Ma’s house, ‘member that? On the pool table, yeow! I’ll give ya talk!
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises and All Round Legend
From Anastasia Steele
To: Git Grey
Er, no, Git, I mean really talk. About how things are between us. You know, your possessiveness and the way you try to control me and talk down to me. Also we should talk about the physical stuff. Look, we’ll talk when I get back.
From Git Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Physical stuff! Yeah baby! That’s more like it!
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, With a Massive Boner
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You’re missing the point
To: Git Grey
You’re doing it again, ignoring what I have to say, Git. We really have to talk about this. I’m getting on the plane now and I have to stop emailing. I’ll talk to you in a few days.
From: Git Grey
Subject: Fwd Fwd Send this to all your mates or your face will get eaten by rabid goats
To: Anastasia Steele
Here, did you see this joke it’s brilliant. What you do is read it and it tells your fortune and then you send it on to everyone in your email within 14 minutes and your WISH COMES TRUE! It’s bleedin’ brilliant. Gowan, send it on, you’ve no sense of humour. Email me back will ya? You haven’t emailed me in three minutes. Where are you Ana? Who are you with? You. Are. Mine.
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Not Amused
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: I’m on a plane
To: Git Grey
Will you stop emailing me Git? I’m getting on a plane to go and visit my mother. You know, having a life of my own? I’m allowed to go away for two days without emailing you every five minutes and telling you my business. You’re such a stalker.
From: Git Grey
Subject: You’re having an affair aren’t you?
To: Anastasia Steele
I can’t believe the minute my back is turned you’re having it off with someone else. Probably flirting with the Captain aren’t ya? You burds are all the same, all over ya one minute and then doin’ the dirt on ya the next. We’ll see about that, I’m not havin’ that. I’m not stupid you know. I’ve read the bukes, them romance novels all you wimmin love. I know that the sign of a real man is someone who knows exactly where his woman is at all times and who never lets her make a decision for herself or buy her own lunch or even go and visit her parents. I know! I’m not havin’ that, no way.
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Reachin’ for Me Squeaky Hammer
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: That wasn’t funny Git
To: Git Grey
I cannot believe you did that, Git. I cannot believe you got the plane turned around to Dublin airport. You told them I was carrying a gun, Git! And gave them a description! They tied me up in the toilet, Git, and then strip searched me at the airport. I’m on a watch list now, Git! They think I’m a terrorist. You’ve gone too far this time.
From: Git Grey
Subject: You deserved it
To: Anastasia Steele
I’m rich Ana, get over it. You were ok with it when I was driving you places in my limo and we were in my luxury, mahogany smelling apartment. But you’re not ok with it when I use my wealth to get your plane turned around? Make up your mind. You can’t ignore me for a full three minutes and have me thinking you’re having an affair and think you’re going to get away with it.
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Dark and Brooding
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Don’t annoy me
To: Git Grey
Listen you big weirdo. I’m on my way to the boat to go and visit my mother as I’m not allowed to fly anymore. I never want to talk to you again. Just eff off will you? And by the way, I faked it, every time.
From: Git Grey
Subject: Are you on the rag?
To: Anastasia Steele
The painters are in, are they? Liverpool playing at home? That’s grand love, don’t apologise, I know how you get when you have them. I was only thinking of you Ana when I got the plane turned around, I couldn’t bear not to be with you. Have some chocolate and watch a bit of the Notebuke or one o’ them other shite, er, I mean wimmins films. You’ll be grand, I won’t hold it against you.
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Everyman
From: Git Grey
Subject: Where are you Ana?
To: Anastasia Steele
It’s been 15 minutes and you haven’t replied Ana. There’s no phone restrictions on the ferry, why aren’t you emailing me back? I won’t have this Ana, I won’t.
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Losing it
From: Git Grey
Subject: I’m gettin’ annoyed now Ana
To: Anastasia Steele
Ah here. Come on now. It’s been an hour. A full hour without an email or a phonecall. Don’t you know people in relationships are supposed to be in contact with each other on the hour every hour? Don’t you KNOW that? Has daytime TV taught you NOTHING?
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Questioning whether he can go on.
From: Git Grey
Subject: Desperate Measures
To: Anastasia Steele
Don’t push me Ana. I’m a desperate man. Who knows what I’ll do! Answer my email, now, Ana! Answer it!
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Getting angry now
From: Git Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
I have no wish to discuss our relationship any further over email, Ana. Are you enjoying that Stena Line fry up? I see you didn’t get the beans, but got extra black pudding. Ya good thing! I like those jeans on you, they show off your arse.
Git Grey, CEO Grey Enterprises, Pulling a master stroke
Anastasia Steele paled as she read Git’s email from her Blackberry, her fry rapidly cooling on the plate in front of her.
Fifty Shades of Shite Vol VIII
Git Grey nervously brushed his hair and fiddled with his tie as he got ready in his room in London’s Claridge’s. He was about to meet Ana and her mother Clara downstairs in the bar.
This had to go well. After he’d followed Ana onto the Stena Line ferry, he’d managed to convince her to give him another go. So he’d stalked her and annoyed her and had her arrested for being a suspected terrorist – was she going to hold it against him for life? They’d talked for hours, pacing the deck, watching the outline of Wales beginning to appear slowly on the horizon.
By the end of it she had agreed to meet with him for a drink once they got to London and she’d insisted he meet her mother, to get her opinion. If he was ever going to get his bit again, this meeting was crucial.
‘Ok Git,’ he addressed himself in the mirror. ‘Don’t fuck this up, righ’? Remember what Ana said; she’s an independent woman and all that jazz burds go on with.’ Loada shite, he thought, as he splashed aftershave on himself, all burds wanted was the ring on their finger and the life of Reilly, but you had to humour them, didn’t you?
Taking a deep breath, he strode from the room, tweaking the bedspread on the way out. Hopefully he’d be bringing Ana back here later and he wanted everything to be perfect.
Down in the bar, Ana was waiting with her mother, sipping a Cosmo, wearing jeans and a silky camisole. You’d think she’d have dressed up a bit, this was Claridge’s for Jaysis sake, Git thought, but at least he could see her nipples through the thin material. That was something.
The Ma wasn’t bad either. For an oul wan like. At least Ana wouldn’t turn into a total cow when she got older. He’d have to turn on the charm.
‘Mrs Steele,’ he bellowed, swooping in for a kiss. ‘You look the business, fair play to ya. Some wimmin let themselves go once they reach middle-age but you’re in your prime so you are. I can see where your daughter gets her tits, I mean looks, from!’
‘Mam, this is Git,’ Ana said wearily, rolling her eyes and taking a hearty slug of her drink.
‘A pleasure,’ Mrs Steele said, looking stunned – probably imagining the size of his lad – and shaking his hand briefly.
They settled in with their drinks and made awkward small talk to pass the time.
‘So, em, Git,’ Mrs Steele started, cautiously. ‘Ana tells me you’re in business. What exactly do you do?’
‘Ah ya know yourself, a bit o’ this, a bit o’ that. Wheelin’ and dealin’, that sort of thing. Tell ya the God’s honest truth, I’m not too sure. I’ve a board runs things for me, ya know, so I just let them get on with it and keep raking in the cash. I’ve the life sure don’t I?’ Git barked laughing, delighted with himself.
‘Oh I see,’ Mrs Steele replied, lost for words. ‘That’s, em, very interesting alright.’
Git ordered another round of drinks – couldn’t hurt – and launched loudly into an account of his last night out with the lads which involved falling off the Molly Malone statue at 3am.
Clara Steele looked at Ana and cocked an eyebrow at Git. ‘Really?’ she murmured, mystified.
‘Ah, he’s not that bad. I’ve had worse,’ Ana whispered, looking resigned. ‘He’s generous enough and makes me laugh. Mostly at him. But still, at least I’m laughing. Right?’
Clara Steele shrugged and downed the last of her drink. ‘Whatever you want, darling,’ she said, getting to her feet.
‘I’m off, Git,’ she said, interrupting his description of what he’d said to the Garda after being caught pissing against an ATM. ‘It was lovely to meet you. You two have a nice evening.’
Git breathed a sigh of relief as she left. That hadn’t been too bad. She hadn’t said much so he’d had to cover the silences but at least he had some great stories to tell.
‘Are ya right?’ he asked Ana, motioning with his head towards the lift. ‘Will we go up to the room, then? Come on, it’s been days. It has a jacuzzi and everything!’
Grabbing her hand he pulled her towards the lift, suddenly desperate to have her. Bursting into the door of his suite, he tugged her into the bathroom, all marble tiles and cool glass.
Kissing her, he slid his hand inside her cami – YESSSS no bra! – to fondle her breasts, unzipping her jeans with the other hand. Pulling off his own clothes, he was naked within seconds, thrusting against her.
‘Git wait,’ Ana breathed, struggling to free herself. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. It’s, well, ehm…’
‘Spit it out, Ana,’ Git said, pulling her jeans down over her knees. ‘I’m gagging here.’
‘I don’t think we can tonight, Git,’ Ana said, desperately, trying to stop him removing her knickers. ‘It’s just I’m … I’m …’
‘Ah Jaysis!’ Git exclaimed, copping on. ‘You ARE on the rag, aren’t you?!’ He looked in horror at the tampon string between Ana’s legs, trying to stop himself from puking in the sink.
‘I tried to tell you,’ Ana said. ‘But listen, it’s not a big deal. I can remove this and we can still … you know. Some people say it’s actually better during … You can even take it out yourself if you’d like, be a bit kinky.’
‘Jaysis NO!’ Git exclaimed, horrified. ‘You must be joking! No way am I doin’ that. I don’t know what bukes YOU’VE been reading but there’s no way I’m touching that! It’d be all over me. That’s disgustin’!’
Looking a bit green about the gills, Git quickly got dressed and handed Ana her jeans. Quicker she covered THAT up the better.
‘Come on,’ he said, wearily. ‘We’ll just cuddle, will we?’ Throwing himself on to the bed, he hoped Ana wouldn’t get the wrong end of the stick. They were only cuddling tonight cos of this. She better not get used to it.
Pulling Ana to his chest, he sighed heavily. She’d probably fall in love with him now, and then where would he be? He could feel this situation with Ana coming to a head; he had a big decision to make.
To be continued …
The next installment of my Fifty Shades of Grey parody, in which I ponder on what it would be like if Christian Grey was a Dubliner …
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol V
Git Grey hurried around his penthouse apartment, tidying up plates and cups and old newspapers from the past few days, hoping he’d be finished by the time Ana got there.
His housekeeper Mrs Jones was supposed to have done all this, but she was off sick again. Something to do with her kidneys – or ‘me watherworks’ as she called it – so he was forced to do it himself.
She wasn’t the best, Mrs Jones. She spent most of her time drinking tea and eating his biscuits, while smoking 40 Gold Bond and coughing ‘Moy Jayziz’ into her teacloth. She also point-blank refused to clean his playroom. The first time she’d seen it she’d given him a clip around the ear and told him to go to Confession, so they’d come to an agreement that she’d clean everywhere but in there.
He might see if he could convince her when she came back. It was a pain in the hoop cleaning the playroom. All those dildos and butt plugs and whips… nothing but dust gatherers.
He shoved the last of the newspapers under the sofa, and had just enough time to fling some plates into the dishwasher before the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of his Ana.
His Inner God strutted around to Staying Alive, snapping his fingers and clapping as he anticipated the evening ahead. He hadn’t had his bit in days; he was going to destroy her.
Flinging open the door, he ushered a nervous Ana into the penthouse, barely giving her a minute to take off her coat before he was pulling her into the playroom.
‘Get ‘em off love,’ he breathed. ‘I’m just going to slip into something, er, more comfortable.’ Moments later he returned bare-chested, wearing his oldest jeans, the ones he kept for painting and cutting the grass. No point in spoiling decent clothes after all.
Approaching a wide-eyed, naked Ana he grinned slowly as his Inner God browsed through a copy of Jugs; this was going to be good. She’d got herself undressed which was great – he couldn’t be doing with bras, stupid yokes – just her panties were left and they wouldn’t last long.
‘I’m going to shackle you now, Ana,’ he said quietly, approaching her stealthily, like a panther. His Inner God looked up briefly and gave him a brief ‘Gowan!’ before returning to his magazine. There were some good articles this month.
‘It’s the chain off me bicycle. I thought it’d be kinky. The oil will come out, don’t worry,’ Git reassured her, lashing her to the chandelier. His Inner God was doing the YMCA at this stage, really living it up.
Slowly he peeled Ana’s panties down her slender legs and keeping eye contact, brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply… Fuck! The bang off them! That was the last time he’d believe anything he read in a book. There was nothing sexy about smelling your girlfriend’s kaks. Noth. Ing.
‘Eh, sorry about that Ana,’ he said, trying to ignore his Inner God, who was wetting himself laughin’. ‘Let’s get back on track shall we? Now I’m going to beat you ’til you come, would you like that?’
Opening a cupboard, he took out his newest toy. He stroked it lovingly, knowing Ana was going to go mad for it. Walking around her naked form he gently tapped her arse, the rubber from the squeaky inflatable Euro 2012 hammer sliding pleasantly against her bare skin. Yeah, that was the stuff. His Inner God was paying attention now; the PlayStation was most definitely turned off.
Again and again he hit her with the hammer, the tempo of the squeak getting faster and faster as he lost himself in the moment. Ana was looking at him, slightly puzzled – probably her come face – as he beat her over and over.
He was so hard right now, his Inner God urging him on, closer and closer to the finish line.
‘Do you like that, Ana?’
‘More, do you want more?’
God this was sexy, he was so close.
‘Ana!’ Squeak ‘This.’ Squeak ‘Is.’ Squeak ‘So.’ Squeak ‘Bleedin’.’ Squeak ‘Hot.’ Squeak ‘This. Hammer. Was. Seventy. Percent. Off.’ Squeeeeeeaaakkk.
His inflatable hammer was almost a blur as he whipped her tender body, the tricolour flashing before his eyes, his Inner God holding a scarf aloft, singing The Fields of Athenry.
‘Oh Ana, Jaysis, Ana.’ Squeeeeaaak. ‘I can’t hold back any longer…’ Squeak. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh… TRAPATTONI!’
Collapsing in a heap on the floor, Git’s breathing slowly returned to normal. Thank God that hammer was wipe clean, his Inner God thought, winking slyly.
Unshackling Ana from the ceiling Git drew her towards him, settling down for a snooze, exhausted after all the hot lovin’.
‘Git,’ Ana said softly, sitting up and looking at him intently. Ah Jaysis, she wanted to talk. Why did burds always want to talk after the ride? Still, better humour her.
‘Yes Ana,’ he said, wondering if she’d notice if he closed his eyes, but deciding against it.
‘Do you think we should talk about, well, the sex? You know how it’s … how I don’t … ever …’
‘How you don’t ever know what you’re doing?’ Git interrupted, covering a yawn with his hand. ‘Nah, don’t worry about it, honest to God, it’s grand. You were a virgin sure, don’t worry, stick with me, you’ll learn.’
Getting up from the floor he stretched hugely, scratching his crotch – probably should throw these jeans in the wash – cutting off whatever waffle Ana was going on with and pulling her to her feet.
‘Listen, we’ve been going out now a few weeks, how would you feel about comin’ home to meet me Ma and Da on Sunday?’ he asked. ‘They’ve been annoyin’ the arse off me asking about you, so I said we’d go over for the dinner next week. Alright?’
‘Oh Git, I’m not sure … I don’t know … I … I’m not sure if I want … actually go on yeah, this I have to see,’ Ana said, looking amused all of a sudden.
She’d be laughing on the other side of her face on Sunday when she saw what he had planned for her at his folks’ house. His Inner God rubbed his hands together and ordered a Chinese. Now the fun could really begin.
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol VI
Git Grey stood at the Docklands Luas stop, waiting anxiously for Ana to arrive. He was bringing her to meet his Ma and Da and he was a bit worried; his family were bound to slag him, he’d never brought a girl home before.
His eyes brightened as he saw his love stumbling towards him across the tracks – Jaysis she was clumsy, she’d want to get her inner ear checked – taking in her slender body in her tight minidress. She wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. The sluh.
‘Howaya love,’ he said, grabbing her arse – no knickers – and planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘I got yer ticket here, a return, so put yisser money away.’ He knew how to treat women, did Git Grey, nobody could say otherwise.
‘I would have brought the Hummer today,’ he explained, as his Inner God mooched about looking for toast, dying from the night before. ‘But the Luas goes right past the house in Ballyer and I thought I’d save a bit on petrol, cos of the recession, you know yourself. Anyway, the last time I brought the Hummer the little bastards on the road had it up on blocks before I was even in the door.’
Forty-five minutes later they were walking up the drive of his parents’ house, Ana’s mouth open with shock, hardly able to take it in.
‘Lovely isn’t it,’ Git said, grinning. ‘Those are real stone lions there. I got them made specially. D’ya like the garden gnomes? There’s 47 of them, each handcrafted in Italy. This marble cladding didn’t come cheap either, I can tell ya. And the water feature there, d’ya see it? Pure class. Some of the neighbours said they thought it was a bit much for a terraced council house but they’re oney jealous.’
Taking a deep breath, Git rang the bell – Greensleeves – and waited for his parents to open the door. This was the moment of truth. Git’s mother opened the door, a wide smile on her face. Small and dark, wearing a pair of trousers and a top, she was swathed in an Italia 90 apron, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, welcoming them both into the hall. ‘Your father’s in the lounge, watching the television as usual. MOSSY! Get out here, Git’s here with his young wan.’
Git’s father lumbered out from the room next to the hall, glasses slipping off his face, an annoyed look about him. ‘Howaya,’ he said, briefly. ‘I’m just watchin’ Flog It, they’re about to find out how much the World War II medal is worth. I’ll be in for me dinner in a minneh.’
Mrs Grey ushered them in to the kitchen, where the preparations for Sunday dinner were well underway. Git’s sister Nikita and brother Darren were setting the table and there was a delicious smell coming from the oven.
The kitchen was homely and cluttered, shelves straining under the weight of photographs of Git and his siblings along with every single one of their relatives. A framed photograph of the Sacred Heart complete with glowing red lightbulb was on the far wall along with a poster of the Greys’ favourite local politician. Vote Vincent ‘Ballyfermot’ Jackson Number One, it said, below a picture of the cheery-faced local.
‘A grand lad, Vinno,’ Mr Grey said, coming into the kitchen and catching Ana staring at the poster. ‘Honest as the day is long and a lovely fella. Normal. He’d talk to yeh like, gameball so he is. Gameball.’
Git pulled Ana into the chair next to him as the dinner was served up, his Inner God groaning on the sofa, head pounding, trying to get a look up Ana’s skirt.
‘Now,’ Mrs Grey said, bustling around, organising plates. ‘I decided to take it easy today so we’d have more chance to chat, so I ordered in for the dinner. I’ve just been keepin’ it warm in a low oven. Mr Lam’s finest, the best takeaway Ballyer has to offer.’
‘Chinese?’ Ana asked, looking expectantly at the food being dished up.
‘Jaysis no, I don’t hold with that foreign muck at all,’ Mrs Grey said, horrified. ‘No, it’s chicken balls and chips and a few o’ them prawn cracker yokes. There’s a tub of curry sauce there as well if you want it. Mossy, pour the wine.’
Mr Grey appeared behind Ana, brandishing the bottle. ‘Show us your glass there love,’ he said, belching quietly. ”scuse me. A glass of Liebfraumlich, how’s that for ya?’
The Greys tucked into the food, laughing and joking companionably, devouring the lot before turning their attention to Ana.
‘So Ana,’ Darren said throwing a wicked grin at Git. ‘We’re surprised to see you here today. Git’s never brought a girl home. We thought he was a knob jockey.’
‘Darren!’ Mrs Grey exploded, belting him on the arm. ‘Don’t use that language in this house! An’ anyways, even if he was a knob jockey it wouldn’t matter, sure it wouldn’t love?’ she asked fondly, squeezing Git’s hand.
‘Eh, yeah, grand,’ Git said, standing up from the table hurriedly, trying to ignore his Inner God pissing himself shouting ‘knob jockey!’ over and over. ‘I’m just going to show Ana the grounds before we have to head off.’
Dragging Ana by the hand, he led her out to the back garden, a long narrow strip of land leading to an empty field. A souped up Subaru – Nikita’s pet project – took up a decent portion of the garden and a myriad of patio furniture cluttered the rest of it.
‘Through here,’ Git said directing Ana right to the bottom of the garden. ‘This is where I used to do all me thinkin’, me get rich schemes when I was a kid.’
Ana’s eyes widened as she saw a rundown shed with an old pool table in the centre, which had definitely seen better days. It only had three legs and was held up by a pile of old newspapers.
‘C’mon Ana,’ Git said, breathing harshly now. ‘I haven’t had me bit in three full hours; I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long. I know we’re in my parents’ house and my whole family is just metres away so you’d think I’d be able to control myself but I can’t, I have to have you now!’
He threw her head first onto the pool table – he had been right about the no knickers – and dived after her, the table rocking alarmingly, spurring him on.
Shoving up her dress, he pulled down his trousers – they were hanging off him, he didn’t even need to undo the top button – and started to thrust deeply into her. His Inner God slowly unzipped himself and started stroking his considerable length as he watched. The perv.
‘Ana,’ Git groaned. ‘We don’t have time for hot lovin’ now, someone could find us at any minute. This is just for me ok? You’re not to come. I know that sounds selfish but, trust me, it’ll make you feel closer to me.’
Ignoring Ana’s muttered ‘Nothing new there’ – burds wha’? – he thrust into her again and again, the table shuddering and clanking as he rode her faster and faster.
Git watched excitedly as Ana’s head knocked repeatedly off a group of snooker balls close to the top left corner. He was going to win on both levels tonight.
‘Yes Ana,’ he shouted, plunging into her, ‘almost there, ALMOST THERE! Four more, three more, two more … ah Jaysis, I’m … I’m … I’m going to POT THE EIGHT BALLLLL ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’
Collapsing on top of Ana, breathing heavily, he grinned as he heard the satisfying plonk of the balls into the pockets; he’d always been good at snooker. Rolling over he wondered if his Ma had any dessert left. He could deffo go a few Mr Kipling tarts after that. This was turning out to be the best Sunday he’d had in years.
To be continued …
The next two installments of my Fifty Shades of Grey parody, imagining what it would be like if Christian Grey was a Dubliner.
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol III
Git Grey washed his hands in the en-suite bathroom and fixed his carefully mussed hair. Better crack a window in here, he thought, just in case Ana wants to use it later.
He thought of his love tied up and waiting for him in the next room. That had been some bombshell she’d dropped earlier. A virgin. Who would have thought it, eh?
Almost 22 years old, a college graduate and drop dead gorgeous. But never been kissed. Almost unbelievable really, he mused. Completely unbelievable if he was honest. If it was in a book or something that a gorgeous, early 20s goddess had never even held hands with someone, nobody would buy that book. But there she was, lying in his playroom.
He almost couldn’t believe his luck – how easy would it be to seduce a virgin? Sure they knew nothing! He wouldn’t even have to make an effort, none of that foreplay malarkey that most other burds were into.
He’d even be able to do the Mickey Mambo; tell her that women usually loved it. He really didn’t know why women didn’t enjoy that. Who wouldn’t want to watch a naked man lepping about waving his lad around? Women, he thought. Would you be up to them?
Opening the door to his playroom, he strode over to the enormous bed in the centre of the room, stumbling slightly as his trousers fell down around his ankles. Dammit, he still hadn’t got that belt; it was gone beyond a joke at this stage.
No matter, he thought, whipping the trousers off, he didn’t need these in here anyway. Just his jocks would do, he’d only changed them yesterday.
Ana was waiting for him, trembling, on the bed, eyes wide with anticipation as she took in his half-naked form coming towards him.
‘Are you alright, Git?’ she asked, flushing as she caught sight of his muscular thighs.
‘I’m grand yeah, just the oul garlic fries, you know, came out of me like water, but I’m grand,’ he replied, flexing.
He lay down on the bed beside her, drinking in her slight form; the way her breasts strained against the jersey she was wearing. She shifted on the bed beside him, a slight crackle of electricity – either from the heat between them or the 100 per cent polyester material – renting the air.
Dipping his head, Git went in for the kill, giving it socks, the ladies loved a load of tongue. Lazily, he tickled her teeth and grabbed a handful of boob.
Pulling Ana’s jersey off over her head, Git lowered his head to her breast, sucking on her right nipple like it was a Tangle Twister. His other hand tweaked her left one, ’round and ’round like he was tuning in the radio.
A few minutes later, he chanced a look at the clock on the wall. Five minutes. Surely she should have come by now? He’d read an entirely believable book that said that virgins come within seconds once you gave them a bit of nipple action. But Ana seemed to be holding back.
He knew what she wanted.
Sliding down the bed he nuzzled her, there, lapping at her, sucking and kissing like there was no tomorrow.
‘Git,’ Ana moaned, writhing beneath him.
This was more like it, listen to her, she was loving it. The durty bitch.
‘Git,’ she moaned again, grabbing his head as she panted. ‘That’s. Actually. My. Hipbone.’
Dammit. The red bulbs in his playroom made it difficult to see what he was doing. He was about eight inches left of where he should be.
He’d had enough, that was all she was getting out of him, time for him to get some.
Kneeling between her legs he produced a condom from behind her ear – that was the Paul Daniels in him, no matter where he went he could produce a condom – and rolled it on, noting Ana’s gasp as she saw his manhood for the first time.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he grinned. ‘You’re wondering how it’s going to fit, aren’t you?’
‘Er, no, I was just wondering what that lump is,’ she said, shrinking back against the duvet.
‘Nuttin’, nuttin’, it’s just a cyst from an old injury’, Git said quickly, turning the light down even further. ‘I saw a thing on YouTube about making it bigger using a Hoover … anyway, it doesn’t matter, it’s grand.’
Gearing up for the main event Git thrust his way inside Ana, once, twice, three times.
‘Oh God,’ he moaned, lost in his own world, barely noticing Ana beneath him, yawning widely.
‘OH GOD,’ he moaned again. ‘I’m getting close, yes, almost there.’
‘OH GOD,’ he yelled triumphantly. ‘Oh … oh … oh… STEPHEN CLUXTON!!!!’
Spent, he dropped down on top of Ana, breathing heavily, limbs shaking. Moy Jaysis, he thought, that was A1. He looked at his watch, impressed. Four minutes! That was a record. She was surely impressed with that?
‘Ana, are you all right?’ he asked, shaking her slightly, finding her limp and unresponsive beneath him, almost as if she was asleep.
Probably passed out from the seeing to he’d just given her, he thought modestly, stretching hugely and then leaping to his feet. He’d leave her to recover on the bed and come back for her later – she’d probably want a second round.
Right now he needed a slash, a beer and Call of Duty in that order. He smiled – it was hard work being a billionaire playboy, but somebody had to do it.
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol IV
Git Grey knotted his tie carefully, watching his reflection modestly in the mirror. Ana would cream herself when she saw what tie he was wearing; it was the one he’d trussed her up with and his favourite too.
Pure silk, thick and luxurious, it was perfect for his playroom – and every time he’d tugged it tighter the Simpsons theme tune had rung out. Who said novelty ties were dead?
Grinning widely, he rubbed his hands together, anticipating his next date with the delectable Ana. He was speaking at her graduation ceremony at Trinity College (no, he didn’t know why either) but after that he was going back to hers for some more hot lovin’. The lucky bitch.
An hour later Git sat on the stage at the ceremony listening to the official speeches, trying to find his Ana in the crowd. Ah, there she was. He could just glimpse her through the throng of other students. She was looking well. No bra. She knew how to turn him on, no matter how innocent she pretended to be.
He snapped back to attention upon hearing his name and jumped up to deliver his speech, ready to inspire. Trinners were, after all, winners.
‘Howayis, ladies and gentlemen. It is a profound honour to be asked to speak here today. Especially to talk to you about the work of the environmental science department in producing sustainable food for third-world countries. Like ourselves, wha’?
‘Through my new research, carried out at this very university, we have developed a way to clone a food product so synonymous with the great city of Dublin that nobody will ever go hungry again. I’m talking about, of course, the spice burger.
‘I know what it’s like to be hungry. Starving actually. I went on the tear and at about 3am I was so hungry me belly thought me throat had been cut. So I went to the chipper and bought a spice burger and I was instantly full. For a week. Maybe it was the mystery meat, maybe it was the MSG, maybe it was the pound of trans-fat, maybe it was the sawdust, who knows?
‘All I know is that from that moment on I vowed to not only make the country’s biggest spiceburger – for us all here in Ireland to share – but to come up with the technology to clone that spice burger, so that the world can eat. From Darfur to Darndale, nobody need ever be hungry again.
‘The good people at Trinity College were brilliant in helpin’ me in all in anyways and today I can announce that with my enormous spice burger I will succeed where that gobshite Bob Geldof failed – I will actually feed the world. Stick that in yer fuckin’ hippy pipe and smoke it.’
The applause almost deafened him as he sat back down, basking in the glory. If that didn’t get Ana on her back again, he didn’t know what would.
A while later, after all the certificates had been given out, he stood beside Ana, drinking in her beautiful pale face (a few iron tablets wouldn’t go astray) and tumbling brunette hair.
‘Git, this is my dad, Ray,’ she said, shyly, indicating an older man standing beside her.
‘Raymondo! How’s it hangin’?’ Git said, shaking the man’s hand like he gave a shite. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to be nice; he might have a few bob stashed away. Hey, he didn’t get to be a billionaire by spending it, that’s for sure. ‘Did you see me speech? What did yis think, brilliant wasn’t it?’
They were so stunned by his greatness that they couldn’t reply but it didn’t matter, there’d be plenty of time for talking about him later. He arranged to meet Ana at her house that evening – he had a graduation present for her – and strode off to stand by a window and stare moodily out of it.
That night he pulled up in front of Ana’s apartment – bit of a kip if he was honest – and rang the doorbell impatiently, dying to see her. Hopefully she was still braless.
She opened the door shyly, biting her lip and rolling her eyes at him, freaking him out a bit to be fair. Was she having a fit or something? No, it was grand, she was just trying to be sexy.
‘Howaya love,’ he said, breezing into the apartment and pinching her arse as he passed. ‘Are you ready for your graduation present?’
She nodded, looking at him excitedly, eyes round with excitement.
‘Well, you know the way I hate that banger of a car of yours? It’s not safe and I don’t want you driving it anymore. I want you safe when you travel. Sooooo …’ he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and presented it to Ana. ‘I got you this.’
Openmouthed, Ana ripped open the envelope and stood staring at its contents. ‘It’s … it’s … well … a …’
‘That’s right,’ Git said, smiling broadly. ‘It’s an annual Dublin Bus travel pass. Now you can get wherever you need to go safely without having to worry about driving. Isn’t it great?’
Ah Jaysis, she was so overwhelmed she was speechless. It made him so horny watching her gaping at him like a guppy.
‘C’mom, enough of the foreplay. Let’s go into the bedroom. I want to take our relationship to the next level. I’m going to slap the arse off ya,’ he breathed, excitement lighting his eyes.
Dragging her by the hand he threw her across the bed and pulled down her trousers, producing a wooden spoon from behind his back. ‘We’re going to do it old school,’ he said, caressing the length of the spoon, whacking her sharply with it.
‘Don’t. Make. Me. Come. Up. There!’ he shouted, as he spanked. ‘Don’t. Give. Me. Any. Of. Your. Lip! Oh God, Ana this is doing it for me, I’m almost there. This is going to make me come.’
Spanking her faster, he started screaming at the top of his voice, turning himself on even more. ‘Get. Back. Into. Bed. WAIT. UNTIL. YOUR. FATHER. GETS. HOME. Oh GOD! I’m there, I’m there … GETOUTTADATGARDEN!!!!!!‘
Breathing heavily he collapsed on top of Ana, feeling the warmth of her bare buttocks, red from his spanking, beneath him. That was something else altogether.
‘Git,’ Ana whispered. Obviously all shagged out. ‘My arse is killing me. Could you get me some oil or something to rub into it?’
Ever the gentleman, he hopped up straight away and made for the bathroom, rummaging in the cupboards and presses. Nothing. Thinking on his feet, he remembered seeing a deep fat fryer in the kitchen. That’d do.
Whistling, he sauntered towards the kitchen. Maybe he’d heat the oil up a bit, give her a full body massage. He’d stay schtum about where he got the oil though, burds were weird like that.
‘Ana,’ he sang as he made his way back to the bedroom. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you!’
BACK in 2012 at the height of Fifty Shades of Grey mania – as the second and third installments of the books were released – I wrote a series of parody posts for Irish website Ramp.ie imagining what it would be like if Christian Gray was a Dubliner.
As the film version of the book is set to be released this coming weekend I thought it was time to resurrect Git Gray and let him out to play again.
I’ll be posting an installment (or two) of this saga every day this week in the run up to Valentine’s Day. Enjoy! *gasps* *bites lip*
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol I
Christian Grey – Git to his friends – stood in his office on the top floor of Liberty Hall in Dublin and stared moodily at the silvery snake of the River Liffey below, watching its slow meander through the centre of town.
Jaysus he felt rough this morning. That last pint was definitely a mistake. And now he had some bint from the local rag coming in for an interview.
There was only one thing for it. He reached out with his extraordinarily long index finger and buzzed for his secretary, settling himself back into his chair as the cool blonde entered the office.
‘Git?’ she enquired, raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
‘Get us a breakfast roll will ya, love,’ he belched. ‘Extra hash browns, and don’t forget the black puddin’.’
He grinned, grey eyes glinting, noting her curvy hips and high, firm breasts beneath her demure office attire as she left the room.
She was a right little ride, so she was, a fine thing. He’d have a go at her later in the pub, buy her a bottle of WKD, the ladies loved that.
Twenty minutes later he wiped the grease from his fingers, adjusted his low slung trousers – he was going to have to buy a belt – and prepared for the interview.
Miss Anastasia Steele – stupid fucking name – fell into the room all big eyes and long hair, ivory skinned and delicate, biting constantly at her lower lip.
Probably coming down with a coldsore.
‘Alright?’ he asked, hoping to put her at her ease. She’d already dropped her notebook and looked mortified, though he couldn’t be sure that wasn’t her permanent expression. You could never tell with burds these day.
Botox and all that.
‘Tell me Mr Grey, um, Git, to what do you owe your success?’
Straight away in with the hard questions. He liked that.
‘Ah, a bit of this, a bit of that, you know yourself. Do you go out around town much?’
‘I’m sorry?’ She sounded confused.
‘Town. Do you go out much? At the weekends like. I love me weekends, can’t wait to get out of this kip,’ he grinned, deciding he’d throw her a bone after all.
‘What about hobbies?’ she asked, hurriedly moving on to the next question. ‘I read somewhere that you like music? And animals?’
‘Aslan,’ he replied, promptly. ‘Best band in the fuckin’ world. Christy Dignam in his bare feet, belting out Crazy World; it’s a religious experience. I’ve an oul mutt as well yeah. Leo Dowling, I call him. Looper, an absolute looper.’
‘Fine, right, em… Mr Grey, you’re never seen in the company of a woman more than once. Are you gay?’
‘WHA’?!’ he exploded out of his chair, almost losing his trousers in the process so low did they hang off his hips, lips tightening with rage.
‘Gay? Me? Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but Jaze, no! No! Who told you that?’
It was probably that bitch at the front desk. Just because of that one time he couldn’t get it up. But what did she expect after a feed of pints and a cheese curry chip? She hadn’t been complaining when she’d been lashing back the Smirnoff Ice.
‘No, Miss Steele, I’m not gay.’ And I’ll prove it to you, he thought, imagining the playroom in his penthouse apartment in the Docklands and what it’d be like to have her there.
You never know, she might clean it up a bit. It was in a jock after the last time, massage oil and lube all over the place. That shit was a pain to get off. Got everywhere. He’d lost count of the number of genuine leather couches from Cost Plus Sofas he’d destroyed.
When he had her stripped and tied up with the laces from his football boots, with a bluey from the three for €20 range at Xtravision playing on the flat screen, she’d know all about gay.
He bet she was a screamer. The shy ones were always screamers.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Gray. The question was just written here… I’ll go now,’ the girl said, blushing and rising to her feet.
‘Grand job, gameball, you’re grand,’ Git replied, seeing her out. She had a fine little arse on her all the same, she was probably a right goer.
Door safely closed, he sank into his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin – decisions, decisions. He wanted to know much more about Miss Anastasia Steele, but how?
His hand hovered over the speed-dial to call in his private detective but then he remembered Miss Steele was 21-years-old and there was probably an easier way.
A slow smile spread across his face as he called up his Internet browser. Of course. Facebook. And that was the rest of the morning sorted.
Fifty Shades of Shite – Vol II
Git Grey walked angrily towards the Mill Centre in Clondalkin hoping there’d be a coffee shop open. He needed caffeine after the night he’d had.
How could he have known that when he turned up at B&Q Liffey Valley – where the delectable Miss Anastasia Steele worked – to buy some supplies for his playroom, he’d end up spending a night in the cells being questioned by Gardaí?
Couldn’t a guy buy cable ties, lengths of rope, a shovel and a body bag without being arrested anymore? It was all perfectly innocent; if he’d been allowed to continue with his purchases, the gimp mask would have made it all clear.
But oh no, Ana’s supervisor Jenny couldn’t have that – so rough a bear wouldn’t hug her, by the way – and the cops were there before he knew it. Before he got to say more than two words to his love.
She’d been distraught when he’d been carted away, her porcelain skin flushed with distress as she’d apologised over and over.
‘Git, I’m so sorry. If it had just been those first few items it wouldn’t have been so bad. It was the bone saw that did the damage, Jenny just freaked out, you can see how it must have looked?’
Fair point, well made.
Anyway, at least Anastasia had agreed to see him again tonight. He was bringing her for dinner and then to his penthouse in the salubrious Docklands and if there was any justice in the world he’d be getting his hole as well.
Eight hours later he stood outside the Central Bank, copper hair carefully mussed – Jedward robbed that off him – watching the delectable Miss Steele walk nervously towards him. She was wearing some sort of a skirt and top yoke, not bad. Nice tits.
‘Are ya right?’ he asked, hands in his jacket pockets. ‘C’mon, I’m marvin, have to feed you up too, if you know wharrimean wha’?’
No point beating about the bush. He hoped not anyway, waxing made everything just so much easier.
They strolled along by the Bank of Ireland and Trinity College, towards Westmoreland Street, stopping outside Git’s favourite restaurant.
‘I’m not hungry,’ whispered Ana, chewing on her bottom lip, eyes wide and overwhelmed as she looked in the window.
‘You must eat, Ana,’ Git insisted, grey eyes flashing. ‘You will eat.’ He did not like to be disobeyed.
‘I can’t, not in there,’ Ana managed, her voice barely audible, trembling, eyeing the menu, real terror in her eyes.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ Git sighed, vowing to punish her later. He strode up to the counter. ‘A large Abrakebabra Meal with Coke and a side of garlic fries please,’ he ordered.
Women. Always on bloody diets. He was going to eat his fill anyway, his trousers were hanging off his hips, he was skin and bone.
After he’d finished eating they made their way back to his place – a quick call had summoned his driver – in Git’s personal limo. A Hummer. Tinted windows, the works. Total chick magnet.
His apartment was cool and dim when they entered and smelled like Mr Sheen. Only the best. Ana was silent as she took in the white leather couches, the white shag pile rug, the white flowers and the white flat screen surround sound.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed softly, eyes widening. ‘It’s just like… like…’
‘Cribz,’ Git finished for her. ‘You’re right. 50 Cent has this exact apartment. Look at it there, pure class. See these leather-bound books? They’re actually DVD holders!’
Steering her towards the centre of the room, Git removed her jacket, his overly-long index fingers making short work of the buttons, throwing it on the sofa.
‘I want to show you my playroom, Anastasia,’ Git murmured, leading her towards the imposing glass-panelled door on the other side of the penthouse. He’d wood on him that’d repopulate the rain-forest, wait until she got a load of this.
Ana gasped as the door swung open, revealing a room every man dreamt of – posters of Jason Sherlock and Robbie Keane decorated the walls, there was a Wii and a PlayStation in one corner and a giant iPad in another, leather couches scattered everywhere. Centre stage was a super king-size bed with a mini-bar on each side and a 75 inch flat screen telly screwed to the ceiling above it.
‘When you’re in my playroom, you’ll dress appropriately, the way a real woman should dress,’ Git said, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he produced crotchless knickers and a Dublin jersey from behind his back.
Ana blushed, fingers trembling as she reached to take the items from his hands. Jaysis, she was gagging for it, he was going to hit that. Hard. Hit it with his rhythm stick.
When she was dressed, he led her towards the bed, binding her hands with the cable ties he’d bought in B&Q, his trousers barely able to contain the monster within.
‘Git, wait,’ Ana breathed. ‘There’s something I have to tell you before we do this. I’m a virgin.’
At her words Git felt something twist deep inside him. An unfamiliar sensation. Desire? Guilt? Fear?
‘Ana, my love,’ he gasped, suddenly recognising the sensation with sickening clarity. ‘I’ll be right back. I. Shouldn’t. Have. Had. The. Garlic. Fries.’
As he bolted for the en-suite he briefly wondered if Ana would be still there on his return – the door to the toilet wasn’t exactly soundproofed – but then he laughed. He’d seen her copping a sly look at his trouser truncheon. Of course she’d still be there. And then the fun could really begin.
To be continued …