Snark is Sexy

Author Cassandra Parkin is the first to admit that her textual analysis of Fifty Shades of Grey, entitled Lighter Shades of Grey, is spiteful and mean-spirited. I am the first to admit that this is the same Parkin’s book made a blip on my radar. I can easily be a spiteful, mean-spirited person. Mr. Tungsten will admit the same. It’s why we invite our friends over for bad movie nights. The whole point is to take dubious films like The Devil’s Cock and heckle them á la Mystery Science Theater 300o. It’s also why we actively seek out shows on Bravo. Snark is like a chef’s knife. It must be continually cared for to keep it’s razor’s edge.

Anyway, Lighter Shades is awesome. This morning I nearly spit out my cereal a couple of times, reading things like

In the coffee-shop, Anastasia comes over all sophisticated
“I’ll have…um – English Breakfast tea, bag out.”

“…Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?”

For a moment, I’m stunned, thinking it’s an endearment, but fortunately my subconscious kicks in with pursed lips. No, stupid – do you take sugar?

“No thanks.” I stare down at my knotted fingers.

a. Since the word “Sugar?” is modified by a high-rising terminal, and you’re in a coffee-shop, this is clearly a contextually-appropriate question rather than an endearment. Interpreting it as anything else makes you look like an idiot.

b. We’ve already covered the impossibility of engaging in meaningful dialogue with your unconscious, so I’ll just refer you back to Item 36.

c. As any mother but yours would undoubtedly tell you, staring down at your knotted fingers when someone asks you a perfectly civilised question makes you look surly and rude.

d. In a post-SATC world, any reference to “tea, bag out” or “bag out tea” is automatically funny.

“Can I read you something?” I asked Mr. Tungsten, who was about to take the 30 second commute to his home office to start work for the day.  “Please,” he said with a note of genuine interest. I had been regaling him with tidbits all through breakfast. This time I read Parkin’s delightful comments about how once Christian finds out Anastasia’s a virgin, he abandons all of his plans for Hard Fucking and goes to Making Love since, even in a BDSM novel, first-time penetration cannot be kinky.  

“I’m a fan of this snark,” I said, moving in for a hug before he left. He was sitting on the couch while I was still on the floor next to the coffee table. My arms went around his waist.

“Snark is sexy.” He murmured, stroking my hair. Then his grip tightened and I fell into subspace. Ah, my inner D said. Here we go.  I’m so conditioned. A mere tug at my scalp it all it takes these days, for me to start nuzzling his cock, still in repose, behind jersey lounge pants.

“Just a hand job this morning,” he instructed. “I haven’t had that from you in awhile. And you’re going to look at me the entire time.”

The series of expressions he went through was so amazing. Tenderness. Wonder. Instants of ferocity when his eyes would flash. There were moments when he’d flush, or the cords in his neck would stand out as he arched back to expose the lean angle of his jaw. He would bare his teeth. He might have looked away at times, but I didn’t. Watching it all was so very hot.

“Tighter,” he urged, with that pre-climax tension in his voice. “Hold my cock tighter.”

He grunted as I got to a pressure he liked. My other hand around his scrotum was more relaxed, but still as firm as he’d shown me months ago during a reminder of how things needed to be. We hung there suspended as he edged closer, my beautiful man who liked wicked things.

Thus it was that we broke in the new IKEA couch. Thank you Cassandra Parkin. Thank you kindly.

Featured image via Argusgate.

2 responses to “Snark is Sexy

  1. I still cringe …..all this time later…. when I see this silly book on a store shelf and wonder why it hasn’t been tossed in the “reduced 75%” bin.
    I have snarked my way thru many conversations with women who were smitten by Christian. .
    Funny tho–none of them seemed to grasp the snark, they all thought I was just “reading it wrong” and encouraged me to “read it with a more open mind and let my inner goddess go.”

    How does one read this book wrong?

    Could be…..being a woman whose inner goddess doesn’t quivers and jump up and down nor bow on bended knee……means I just don’t have the right brain cells…I guess.

    Thanks to you…for the blog and leading me to Cassandra Parkin!!

    My brain cells are now feeling vindicated and revived!

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