50 Shirts of Grey

A 50 Shades of Grey parody. 

I have tried to remain as loyal to the plot as possible based on what I remember from the film’s trailer.

Durian felt a tingling sensation run up his spine as his right hand touched the doorknob. Composing his face into an expression which conveyed calm and authority, he pulled the handle and flung the door open in one crisp movement.

A startled milkman looked up from where he was crouched on the front step. Smiling awkwardly with of the corner of his mouth, the man tipped his hat to Durian.

“Anastabella, you look different from your profile picture.”

That sort of thing happened all of the time, one of the many perils of online hookups. But Durian was not the sort of man who would let a little thing like a fake profile photo get in the way of what he wanted.

“You talking to me?” The milkman asked.

A woman came running around from the next-door driveway, panted up the steps and stood staring at Durian with eyes drowning in unrestrained enthusiasm. The milkman left the two full bottles on the porch and jogged back to his vehicle.

“I’m so sorry, I went to the wrong house and didn’t realize until I saw you out here.” She said.

Durian gave her the sort of cold, calculating look a butcher might give to a haunch of mutton. The milkman had possessed greater upper body strength, but there was no denying that the real Anastabella looked more suited to the work.

He led her inside, up the tall staircase with its plush crimson carpets and into his expansive master bedroom. They stopped in front of a pair of large doors set into the far wall.

“What’s this, your dungeon?” Anastabella asked with a chuckle in her voice.

“Let me show you something.”

Durian’s voice was like chocolate melting in a softly humming microwave. He raised one eyebrow, rested his hands on the two handles to build suspense for the great unveiling, then pulled the cupboard open.

Row upon row of plain, grey shirts. There were hundreds of them. But no two shirts were identical. Some had creased arms, others folded collars and some even bore stains down their fronts.

Anastabella gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. She had never seen anything so revolting or depraved in all of her life.

Reaching into the bottom of the cupboard, Durian pulled out a bottle of bleach, a canister of starch spray and a clothes iron.

“The agency said you were the best. Now what do you think I should do with these?”

 

Read a Gone Girl parody here.

You can find my e-book here.

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