Chapter III ← FAN FICTION - CHRISTIAN ANASTASIA

FUCK THE PAPERWORK!

CHAPTER III

I can’t get her face out of my mind. The crushing look she had, and the heartbreak that was displayed on her face as if she had death in the family. I couldn’t take what I said back. It's for her own good. She's too innocent. Too sweet. Too deserving of something more than what I can offer her. But then her presence pulls me to her. I'm torn apart inside with these tornado of emotions. I just can’t introduce her to my dark world! She deserves better; she needs someone to sweep her off her feet, go hearts and flowers on her which she clearly desires. But then the idea of someone else touching her is killing me inside! (←Roberta Flack - Killing Me Softly) I hate this foreign feeling that’s eating me, clawing into my soul. I hate being this way. I'm short with everyone. Even Taylor who generally has his poker face flinches. I'm too edgy.  

It’s been nearly a frigging week. I’m watching her from afar like a teenage boy! She’s going to school, going to work while I still manage my world from the Heathman Hotel in Portland. I can direct my company from here until I finish my duty for the graduation commencement ceremony at WSU where I’m supposed to confer degrees to the graduating class. Including her… Anastasia. Why can’t I get her out of my mind? What am I a fucking teenager? Diversion… What I need is diversion. But nothing is appealing to me except her. It’s like her body calls to me, her sprit, her blood, her being. I can’t fucking escape this feeling!  (← Notion by Kings of Leon)

I have to do something to show her I’m interested in her, but I still feel I have to warn her. She’s into British classics and Hardy she says. I decide to send her Tess of the D’Urbervilles first edition with a note. I’m sure she’s read it. I want her to stay away, but not stay away. At least give her a warning. If she rejects me at least, I can maybe move on. Maybe…

I handwrite the note:

Why didn’t you tell me there was danger?
Why didn’t you warn me?

Ladies know what to guard against, because
they read novels that tell them of these tricks…

I order the 1^st edition of the book and have it sent to her house with my warning hoping she’ll get my warning, but part of me also hopes that she’ll disregard it. I’ve never desired someone as much, not by any stretch of mind, and I’ve had quite a few women. I scold myself that I can have my pick of women. Almost any woman! But I don’t want any woman! I want her! Maybe if I can hold on till her graduation and if I see her then, maybe then I can declare my hand to her. I’m fucking losing my mind! She's bewitched me body and soul! I don't want to be away from her!! (← Bruce Springsteen - I'm on Fire)

It’s Friday night. I had my dinner at my hotel room with my brother Elliot who brought some clothes for me seeing as I wasn’t intending to stay this long.  My phone rings. I look at the caller ID and it’s her! Anastasia! I answer the phone on the second ring nearly breathless, surprised but softly I inquire: “Anastasia?”   

She doesn’t sound good. Is she ill? I’m immediately alert and attentive to her voice. Her speech is slurred.

“Grey…” she sounds off key, “why did youuu,” *hiccups* “send me the books?”

I immediately feel concerned. I get in a protective mode because she’s not well. There is definitely something’s wrong with her!

“Anastasia? Are you alright? You sound off key, strange…”

She giggles and slurs again. “Grey, you’re the strange one, not me!”

She’s drunk!

“Anastasia, have you been drinking?” I ask incredulous.

“None of your business! Why should you be con… con…” she struggles to complete her sentence, “con.cerned?”

“Just curious. Tell me, where are you?”

She giggles, actually giggles. “In a bar!” she gushes.

“Which one?”

“Uh uh… It’s a bar in Portland.”

“How will you get home Ana?”

“Don’t know,” hiccups, “I’ll find a way”.

“Which bar is it Anastasia?”

“Why the hell did you send me Tess of the D.. Durb… D’Urbervilles books Christian?”

“Anastasia..” I say as calmly as possible as my anger is rising to the boiling point. “Tell me where you are!” My calmness is laced with anger.

“You are sooo bossy, controlling person man..”

“Where the fuck are you Ana? So help me, I’ll find out one way or the other!”

“oh so far away from… from.. where you are. Yeah, from Seattle.”

“Ana, please.. Where are you?”

“Goodnight Christian!” and she hangs up! On me!

“TAYLOR!” I yell. My brother looks at me amused. He’s never seen me in pursuit of a woman, and this is a sight to see for him.

“Yes sir!” he shows up.

“I need you to track Anastasia Steele’s cell phone. Find out her location! Now!”

“Sir!”

He’s got his little command center setup already to control a space mission let alone finding the location of a Miss Anastasia Steele. Few minutes later I have the location. Elliot opens his mouth to say something and I stop her with one gesture of my hand, and he grins holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Taylor! Let’s go!” I say, and Elliot also grabs his jacket, sidling along. I look at him pointedly. He says grinning, “Hey bro! I always thought you were gay! This I gotta see!” I clench my teeth, but let him come along.

“Yes sir.” We speed through the night from Heathman’s to the bar. I call Ana back with satisfaction as we speed through the night.

“Hi?” she answers scared. That’s right! You need to be scared.

“I’m coming to get you!” I hang up brewing.  

It’s not too far from where I’m staying, and we make it within ten minutes of me hanging up. I am able to locate her in front of the bar where the photographer is making his advances on her while she’s feebly trying to push him away. I want to hit the living daylights out of the fucker! Elliot is with me.

“Go find her roommate. Cute, strawberry blonde.  She answers to the name Kate Kavanagh!”

“Cute and blonde? With pleasure!” he grins and smoothly walks into the bar.

“I believe the lady said No!” I hiss through my teeth as I emerge from the darkness. It’s taking all my self-control not to jump at him, and beat the crap out of him. He lets go of her.

“Grey,” he says tersely.

As if on cue Anastasia doubles over and hurls the contents of her stomach on the concrete patio splashing the fucker who jumps back muttering something in Spanish.  She’s barely able to stand up. I rush to steady her head while holding her hair back. I pull her to the flower bed where she can do less splashing while clearing out the content of her stomach in the relative darkness.

“If you’re going to throw up, do it here.” I say. She pukes for a long while and even after the entire content of her stomach is gone, she continues to dry heave. I hand her my handkerchief. She takes it embarrassed, while her fucking attacker hangs by the door like a cat who spilled his milk. He mutters her he’ll see her inside, and walks away! Walks away! What kind of friends first forces his hand on his friend and then leaves her with a complete stranger to be cared for? Ana is three sheets to the wind, but she manages to say “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for Anastasia?” I ask. This better be good.

“Oh, you want the list? The phone call… Throwing up… but mostly for the phone call,” she looks chagrined looking down at her hands.

“We’ve all been here one time or another, but perhaps not quite as badly as you are,” she looks as if I slapped her. But I push on, “Do you make a habit of pushing your limits in this manner? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for pushing limits, but not in this matter.”

She’s mad at me and defiant.

“I’ve never been drunk before, and,” holding her head trying to steady herself she adds, “I’ve no intention of being one again.” She staggers, and I grab and hold her close to my chest now the danger of her hurling passed.

“Come, I’ll take you home,” I say.

“How did you find me anyway?” she asks petulantly.

“I tracked your phone.”

She looks at me with an expression that says confused, and amused at the same time.

“I have to get my purse and jacket.” She says.  She also wants to tell her roommate of her leaving. I tell her that my brother Elliot is inside and dancing with Kate. She looks surprised but she wants to go in. I usher her back into the bar, but I don’t want her to get sick any more than she already is. So I take her to the bar, and get myself a drink and get her a large glass of ice water. I make her drink it. All of it. I can see that her glare says “you’re bossy!” and I find that kind of erotic. She stands up to me even with her glare. Once she’s done drinking her water, I pull her to me, inhale her heady personal scent that is vanilla, clean soap, and outdoors. Somehow with her personal scent this becomes an intoxicating concoction. I have a hard time keeping my hands off of her. I lead her into the dance floor swinging, and we reach my brother Elliot and Anastasia’s roommate Kate who is like white on rice on my brother dancing their butts off and having a good time. Ana tells her I’m taking her home. She waves us goodbye grinning. As I try support Ana out of the bar and the noise, she starts swaying, and before I know it, it’s out of my mouth: “Fuck!”

She’s on the floor headlong. This is times three. Will I always be picking her off the floor? Somehow even the thought of it is endearing though I hate seeing her fall and get hurt. I pick her up and carry her in my arms, and hoist her into the Audi SUV. Taylor drives us to the hotel. I carry her to my suite in my arms like the most precious cargo, like a child. I gaze at her beautiful face. She’s so captivating. I just want to run my fingers through her hair and face, and feel and gaze at her. When I enter my suite I take her to my bedroom. I'm bewitched by this innocent girl. Completely taken. She's here in my bed, and I'm completely helpless against her. Against this sleeping beauty. (←Bewitched by Ella Fitzgerald)

I dismiss Taylor by saying “That’s all Taylor!”

“Goodnight sir,” and went back to his room.

I lay Anastasia after pulling the duvet cover up. I stared at her for minutes, hours I don’t know. I couldn’t get my eyes off of her my breath hitching at her peaceful look.

I kneel on the floor and untie the laces of her Converse shoes. I pull them off her feet. Then I pull the socks off. I then unzip her jeans and pull them off her revealing her flawless long legs. I pull the duvet over her; sit in the chair watch her lay in the infant position breathing slowly. It gives me an enormous amount of peace I have not felt in a long time. I just want to crawl next to her, and hold her all night. I’ve never had someone next to me in bed… to sleep with. Here’s a first. I strip off my pants and shirt. I pull a t-shirt on, and turn the side table light off. First time in my life, I sleep a peaceful sleep without any nightmares of the crack whore who was my mother or her pimp. I dream of Anastasia. (← Dream On by Aerosmith)

Being a morning person that I am, I wake up early after what felt like the most restful night next to beautiful Anastasia. I could watch her for hours, but I need to work out to get rid of this sexual draw towards her. I put my workout sweats on. I leave by the bedside table a glass of orange juice to give her a shot of vitamins and two pills Advil to get rid of her hangover. I work out hard, sweat pours out of me. After what feels like an eternity, I get back to my suite, and knock on my bedroom door before entering to not to make her feel uncomfortable. She’s awake, and her eyes watch and trail me. As her eyes linger on the sweat stains of my workout pants, her breath hitches, and that reaction does something to me, and I feel myself harden.

“Good morning Anastasia,” I say, “How do you feel?”

“Better than I deserve,” she whispers shyly, then looks up at me with her bright blue eyes. As I take the towel off my neck she gazes at me intently and asks “How did I get here?”

I go to the edge of the bed and sit. I’m close enough to touch her, but I won’t.  I don’t want to tell her that I wanted to gaze at her all night trying to decide if she’s what I want. I opt for a lighter explanation.

“Since you managed to soil the bar’s vicinity, I didn’t want to take a risk with the car’s leather seats. I brought you here instead. It was closer,” I say passively.

She bites her lip hitching my breath, “Did you put me to bed?”

“Yes,” I say with my poker face.

“And undressed me?” she says in a barely audible whisper chewing that lip again.

“Yes,” gazing at her lips.  

“And, did we… uhm?” she arched her eye brows, and turned red before lowering her gaze.

“No Anastasia. You were completely passed out. I don’t do necrophilia. I prefer my women completely receptive, and aware,” I say dryly.

She turns red as recognition goes through her face. That’s right. I’m very straight!

“But it was a very interesting experience to have you in my bed.”

“You slept next to me?”

“It is my bed,” I said wryly. “It was treat and one I won’t forget for some time,” I say. For a long time...

She questions me on my stalking tendencies as she calls it. Though she sounds chiding, she looks pleased.

“You should be happy I stalked you, because instead of here, you would have woken up next to the photographer who was pressing his suit on you last night, in fact rather forcefully,” I say remembering, none too pleased, and my anger rising again towards the fucker.

“You sound like a courtly knight,” she says. Her incorrect observation throws me off, and brings me back to my worries. How little you know me. There’s nothing light about me baby. It’s all dark and fucked up.

“Anastasia, there’s nothing light about me,” I say, “maybe a dark knight.” She looks disbelieving. I give her a bitter smile. It’s too early to talk about my dark soul, or the lack of it thereof. I change the subject.

“Did you eat last night?” I question her. She shakes her head in the negative. I’m appalled.

“Anastasia, that was why you got violently ill last night! You must always eat, especially if you intend to drink!” I scold her exasperated. She flinches back, but replies.

“Will you keep scolding me this morning?”

“Am I scolding you?”

“You sure sound like it,” she says petulantly.

Good, I think my palms are twitching. “Be glad that’s all I’m doing. Had you been mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit on your behind for a week after what you did yesterday!”

“What did I do?” she scowls back. “What’s it to you anyway? Who asked you to swoop in and save me?”

Her answer oddly feels hurtful, yet another feeling I’m not familiar with.

“You behaved badly. You didn’t eat, you drank excessively, and got sick, and would have even been raped by what you call your friend. You put yourself in a position to get hurt!”

She lowers her gaze again chagrined. “Jose is my friend, he wouldn’t have hurt me. Maybe he just got out of line with too much to drink.”

“Maybe he should be thought some manners!” I barely contain myself. Maybe I should teach him a lesson he’s never going to forget! She looks up at me and locks her gaze with me.

“You are quite the disciplinarian Mr. Grey!” she spurts out. Baby, you have no idea! I grin.

“Oh Ana, if you only knew how much!” My grin gets wider. Sometimes she sees right through me. I get up and walk towards the bathroom. “I’m going to shower right now, unless you want to go first...” I ask questioning. She gasps and holds her breath. My body responds to it like metal to magnet. I walk towards her and gently thug her lower lip out of the grasp of her teeth. My thumb grazes over her lower lip as the jolt of current passes on between us in a constant flow. I want to take her down and have my way with her right here, right now!

Instead I say, “Breathe baby!” and release her face.  I feel her gaze glued behind me as I move to the bathroom. I’m hooked.

I shower as quickly as I can as to not to miss a minute with her. I take the speediest shower in my personal history, and come out coolly with a towel wrapped on my waist. She’s out of bed, looking around. Her jaw drops as she sees me, but then again, so does mine to see her so close to naked. One innocent, breath taking woman who is so unaware of her own beauty. She stills in her place. I tell her that her jeans were soiled with her vomit, and point to the clean clothes I had Taylor purchase for her this morning. Her eyes brighten, and eyes me trying to hide her gaze, she mutters “I’ll take… uhm.. that shower now.” And walks into the bathroom.

I dress in my pants and white linen shirt. I take my morning paper to read at the table while waiting for the food to arrive. Ten minutes later there is a knock on the door. Room service. I let the waiter bring the food on the dining table. After sending him off, I go to the bathroom door and knock letting Anastasia know that the food is here. She stutters an “okay,” making me smile. She’s very unease around men. Very inexperienced. Somehow this makes me pleased. When she comes out she looks breathtaking, innocent, but makes me frown when I see her hair damp. I have this protective urge to keep her safe even from herself.

“You haven’t dried your hair!” I scold her.

“I didn’t see the hair dryer,” she mutters. I narrow my eyes. She’s not mine… She’s not mine… She’s not mine… I chide myself. Not yet.. But I’d like her to be.

“You look astounding in that color,” I find myself saying unable to take my gaze off of her. She blushes.

“Thank you for the clothes Christian,” she says biting that lip again. “I should pay you for it.”

I frown. I don’t want to be paid for them! I can afford them. I feel like I should take care of her.

“You should learn to graciously accept gifts Ana,” I tell her firmly.

“I can’t, see, you’ve given me some very expensive books,” she says, quickly adding, “which intend to return of course, but clothes, I don’t know. I should pay for them. I know I can’t afford to pay for the books,” she trails off, “but I can pay for the clothes.”

“I can afford them Anastasia! You don’t need to pay for them,” I say to this stubborn beautiful girl before me.

“I know you can Christian. That’s not the point. I’d feel better if I did, that’s all,” she looks at her fingers as if some answers are written on them. She then raises her gaze at me and asks, “why did you give me those books Christian?”

I close my eyes briefly, and exhale. When I open them back again, I say, “because I felt that you needed a warning. When I was holding you, you looked at me begging me to kiss you, and,”I said running my hands through my hair in a nervous gesture. I felt a loss for words first time in a long time, but gather my thoughts and continue “and, look, I’m not the hearts and flowers kind of guy. I don’t do that. My tastes are very singular. You should stay away from me if you know what is good for you. Although God knows, I can’t stay away from you…” I look at her hoping she wouldn’t stay away, and hoping she would with a confused mess of emotions. I close my eyes to sort this damned feeling out. I’m not good at feelings, and if I knew what’s good for me, I would steer clear of her as well! Her proximity is bewitching, beguiling, drawing me like an undercurrent I can’t escape. Like a moth to the flame. Like her soul is calling to mine like it’s lost half seeking to merge. Even when I close my eyes, I feel her.

She whispers, “then don’t stay away from me…”

I feel I owe her the protection from my fifty shades of fuckeduppedness; I don’t want to see her hurt. She’s too innocent. Like none I’ve met, and I’ve met quite a few. I close my eyes again.

“Anastasia you don’t know what you’re asking for!”

“Tell me then!” she urges me.

“I guess that means you’re not celibate,” she whispers. That brings me out of my reveries, my eyes darken with passion for her, and desire heightens. I give her a salacious smile. “No, Anastasia,” I say amused, “I’m NOT celibate.”

“Oh!” she whispers her breath catches with desire and I can hear her heartbeat like the fluttering wings of a hummingbird trying to escape her chest. That does things to my body, boiling my blood. I just can’t let her go now. Come hell or high water. I have to try! I make my decision.

“What are your plans for the next few days Ana?” I ask my eyes dark with desire.

She tells me she is working today after midday.

“How about tomorrow?” I ask leaning forward.

“I’m working all week, and Kate and I are supposed to be packing because we’re moving to Seattle.”

“Do you have a place yet?”

“Yes, someplace in Pike Market District.” I smile pleased. She’s going to be very close to me.

“I’ve applied for internships and I’m waiting to hear from them.”

“Have your applied to my company?” I ask.

“No, I haven’t,” she stutters.

“What’s the matter with my company?” I think out loud.

She grins, “your company, or Your Company?” God, I like her! She has a smart mouth, but unlike anyone I’ve met before. It’s a breath of fresh air. She’s not afraid of speaking her mind to me.

“Are you smirking at me Anastasia?” I ask her wanton. She catches her breath and bites her lip. I just take it anymore, “God! I like to bite that lip!” I growl. Her mouth opens as she gasps with desire, squirming. I like her response. I bet she’s wet all the way. The thought makes me desirous but not as much as what she challenges me to do next, “Why don’t you then?”

I make up my mind. I can’t stay away from her, but she still needs to know my terms. “Because I will not touch you until I have your written consent Anastasia,” I say smiling.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty literal. I need your written consent before I touch you. I have to show you. When do you finish with work Anastasia?” I ask. She replies “eight.” I tell her that I could take her to Seattle this evening to enlighten her.

“Why can’t you tell me now?” she asks.

“Because I’m enjoying your company and I don’t want you to run to the hills, just yet.” She looks puzzled as I expected she would be. A lot of emotions pass through her face, but finally she looks resolute.

“Okay,” she says determined.

I arrange for a standby pilot for Charlie Tango as I have a feeling she may not agree to what I have in mind for her in which case she may want to come back home, and to my disappointment, this would be the end of our brief encounter. But I am really hoping that it’s not.

“You’re very bossy,” she observes after I hang up the phone. How right she is! Yet she still doesn’t have any idea how much more bossy I can be. No idea at all!

She’s unable to finish her food, whether it’s from nervousness, or excitement, but I still have a hard time with wasted food, and I tell her to eat it. I can’t help it! Doesn’t she know that there are people who are going hungry every day?

When we’re finished eating, she heads to the bathroom to wash-up. She emerges while I’m on the phone. I hang up in a few minutes, and I take her hand to walk out. There’s something about her that is drawing me to her. When she’s near me I can feel the air crackling. I impatiently press the elevator call button. In a minute or two it dings open. We enter into the elevator, and the air is even more electric and current is pulsing between us. She feels it too. Bites her lip. Our gazes lock, moth to the flame. Passion flames knotting my insides, I feel myself hardening.

“Oh! Fuck the paperwork!” (←Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon) I growl, and lunge at her, pushing her to the elevator wall gripping her hands above her head with one hand, I steady her with my body pressing her to the wall, and fix her head with my other hand as my mouth explores hers. What a sweet exploration that is! She moans into my mouth, as our tongues start a tango of their own, dancing and exploring, and kissing. She wants me and I want her!

“You. Are. The. Sweetest. Thing. I’ve.Ever. Met!” (← Feeling Good by Michael Buble) I find myself enunciating. I lost my sense enough to f*ck her in the elevator when it suddenly dings and stops on one of the floors letting three businessmen in. We spring apart, as I don my poker face while she looks disheveled and desirous still. I eye her from my peripheral vision while slowly exhaling this pent up sexual energy. The businessmen grin as we exit the elevator on the first floor as I grab her hand, and mutter to myself, “What is it with the elevators!”

She used my toothbrush as her mouth tasted minty fresh, and she smiled in the affirmative when I asked her about it. She’s one of a kind. We exit the hotel. I’m putty in her hands.  Only if she knew. All of a sudden I feel elated with her next to me. I am only 27, and for the first time with Anastasia, I feel young. We are young! (←We are young by Fun ft Janelle Monae)

What a misused word "Freedom" is...

MY FREEDOM OR YOURS?

Signing of the declaration of indepence

It appears that numerous people act as if they know everything under the sun, and anyone who has a mouth, has got something to say about "freedom". Words such as "patriotism, freedom, and safety" are floating around as if in a sea of word symphony without much sense. We're all patriotic, we all want to be free. What does that mean exactly? Every time the word freedom is used, I must ask for the user's particular definition. It's like a piece of worn out gum everyone has been chewing.

Before defining this simple word that we've been accustomed to hear numerous times a day, not just on media, but from ordinary citizens, friends, or even out of the mouths of the babes-as the saying goes, let me briefly introduce some other words that we're not so familiar with as far as the experience goes.

The first word I'm going to introduce you is "monarchy". We might have heard of it in school once upon a time in a boring history class of bygone eras, or had swooning feelings inside if the name of a certain monarch whether a prince or princess mentioned: the word itself in its true meaning is far more dominating than what that simple dreamy swoon is making you feel.

Monarchy is generally defined as a nation's ruler or head of state usually by hereditary right. But all in all, every head of the state is a monarch, whether a prime minister, or a president for a time. Because when the time of decision comes, all boils down to one person. 2000 years ago, it was only one power that counted in the western world: Rome. Rome became the purest, most absolute monarchy the world had ever seen. All power, theory and usually in practice were in the hands of the emperor. He was a god on earth whose task it was to rule and to defend the empire. The duty of his subjects on the other hand was to obey and to pay back taxes. The idea that there might be any limit the emperor could do or that others should have a say in what got done was simply inconceivable. One of the earliest examples of direct challenges to the monarchy was Magna Carta issued on June 15th, 1215 requiring the King to proclaim certain liberties, and accept that his will was not arbitrary.

Why then are we so willing to hand out and do away with our existing liberties? Does no one read history?

Most often in our society, we react as opposed to observe, and identify whatever the current issue is that's boiling the public's blood. If there is a shooting in the hands of a maniac, we decide to disarm the entire nation, wanting to take away the 2nd Amendment: the right to bear arms.

Or that quoting the recent news in Turkey that a university dean, a gigantic ass bozo who had the gull to say that "women were as guilty as men if they were raped. Because wearing low-cut dresses triggers sexual desire in men thus may cause sexual abuse and rape and consequently women are as guilty for having been raped". Reading this piece of garbage made all my nerves stand up and anger me so much that I don't remember having felt this furious and exacerbated in many many years! Now, I will continue with the aforementioned "sorry-excuse for a man's (with a PhD and a social standing as a university Dean)" definition of acceptable dress code - anything other than those mentioned would subsequently become the cause for "your" rape (which should include all the women in my acquaintance Turkish, American, or European):

"All parts of a woman's body including her feet should be covered except her hands and her face. Should it evoke provocation, the face too must be covered (if you're young and have average looks I suppose then all females within their puberty years thereon should not show their faces)."

At this point I have to tell you that my heart is beating a 100 miles an hour, and my shoulder length hair is standing on end because I'm so angry! And this jerk-wad continues that "the heaven is forbidden for a woman who wears perfume!" What?? Does it mean that if I smell good, I'm destined for hell? What should a woman to do? Walk around with BO? Oh, but there is more:

Apparently, "a woman should NOT speak coyly, which is flirtatious" (in his definition). Then he goes on to say, "if all of these are NOT enough to protect her honor (I mean, despite having been covered head to toe, walking around with no pleasant smell, and you maybe reasonably good looking which may require you to cover your face as well-and if ALL THESE ARE STILL NOT ENOUGH TO KEEP THE RAPISTS AWAY FROM YOU - don't forget it's apparently your fault as well if you get raped, then he suggests the following), the woman should NOT be allowed to leave the house for her own safety". He tagged the word "safety" in the end, because apparently "it's her honor that is at stake." I have quite a few choice words I can say to this PhD *insert here the appropriate noun*.

Here's is what I think: Not a single religion should rule a country. It's the flaws in the human character, the fabric of our being - the good and evil always intertwined, that will deviate from the purpose or the norm of God's good will (happened in Rome where the emperor was God and religion all bundled in one neat package, happened in numerous religion ruled countries no names need be mentioned, and take a look at south America for other examples), and these exact flaws will defeat the purpose of any good will that a religion may extend to better the humanity. I will have to say to those who want to extend me their form of government; "thanks, but no thanks. Don't thread on me." Though we complain and whine at times, the American style democracy is still the best in the planet. Let's face it; there are so many different kinds, and races of people, different religions; not only do we co-exist, but we Americans love our country. What we have, our system, our form of democracy, our constitution with all its flaws, the way it had been written in 1777 works better than anything else existing in the world. Let's keep it that way.

It's not because religion in its purest form is bad. But it's a form of drug for most people one must be administered with its antidote: A mixture of reason and common sense. Though this antidote is free to all, it's as uncommon as gold or diamond. There are many people who use this to move the masses, and most in those masses like to follow and not think individually. People in their character have the good and bad intertwined; and those who nurture the bad aspects in them, usually use every tool available to them to master the masses and unfortunately, religion is a powerful tool for those because of its capacity to control the masses. History is full of examples from every religion and I don't need to give those examples to you here. Don't you dare to give me how your religion (I'm not talking about God here, he's the epitomy of everything perfect, but what I'm talking about is religion) is sooo incredibly pro-humanity, I can rebuttal every claim. Just try me...

Said that, such things as people trying to impose a change for their own gain, whether a group, a party, or religious bigotry always at bay ready to jump at you to break the individual freedoms. This holds true historically and for modern nations of today whether it’s America or Turkey. We alienate what’s different than the societal norm (see the example of educated bigot above), or what is different than what we personally believe is right thus in return REact to obliterate whatever that is and thus inadvertently eradicating certain liberties. Freedom of speech, freedom of press, freedom to right to bear arms, freedom to wear what you want, freedom to exist... Freedom. What a misunderstood and misused word that is. If I had a penny - not even a nickel to put aside each time that word was used, I'd never have to work all my life. What is freedom anyway? Freedom is defined as the absence of interference with the sovereignty of an individual by the use of coercion or aggression. It’s a state of being free from government oppression. Well, if I had to put my “Dollars” aside for each “correct” use of the word, I’d probably have enough to buy a lunch at McDonald’s and maybe an additional happy meal.

One of the most fascinating historical characters in the human history is Alexander the Great. He simply stands out with his entire being. When he died at the age of 32 of typhoid in Babylon in 323 BC, he accomplished so much that most people wouldn't be able to come close to even if they had to live through numerous lifetimes. He became a legend in the mold of his personal hero Achilles: he was pronounced the “new master of the Universe” and the son of Egyptian god Amun. He was a wise man, he was a murderer, he was genius, he was psychopath, he was fearless; he was all these things, and perhaps, none of them as well. He was loved by his men (sometimes literally as it was part of the Greek, in his case, the Macedonian culture to have male and female partners), he brought East and West together from Macedonia to the corners of India. His deeds are just legendary! His pursuit for eternal glory came to an end in Babylon. At times, he was a womanizer like his father King Philippe (perhaps they should also coin a word him “MANizer”). He learned the wonders of Greek culture from Aristotle himself. Just like his hero Achilles, he wanted to have a short life with a burst of glory as opposed to a long quiet life. He started an 11 year conquest which would forever reshape the world as we know it today. He was extremely decisive, he was bold, and he was fearless to the point of being reckless. When he went against the Persian Emperor Darius he was outnumbered by a great army and one of the richest emperors in the world who had the financial means and the military prowess to fight him. Alexander loved that challenge.

His ability to adept was a sign that he was a great general as he knew how to easily overcome obstacles. He loved to use the weapon of fear as he was not an emperor who wanted to be loved; he wanted to be feared. He was ruthless to the nth degree. At the end of the day 50,000 Persians laid dead. His attitude towards defiance was “either join me or die” (do as I do, or get the heck out; sound familiar?) When he surrounded the Island of Tyre, they resisted. Alexander had one of his longest and most brutal sieges. At the end of seven grueling months, Alexander’s army was able to breach the city walls and seven thousand Tyreans were killed, 30,000 were sold into slavery. To make a point to other city states which might resist, he had two thousand Tyrean fighters crucified! When he was done, he had his men’s blood lust run loose and virtually every male in the city had been killed.

He had a very dark side in him; he manifested some of the worst traits of humanity. When he moved onto his next project, he wanted to capture Gaza. Gaza governor Bacus was resistant and defiant. He had the governor Bacus of Gaza killed for his defiance; he had him tied with ropes and dragged him around the city behind a running horse till he died. This of course was a scene from Homer’s Iliad where Achilles ties his arch rival Hector the same way and runs through the city, however Hector was already dead in that scene. Alexander had a very dark side indeed which permeated, blended with him that became the fabric that he was; he refined the art of brutality to the highest level humanly or inhumanly possible. Ironically, in many cases that is what contributed his success.

On another incident he speared Cleitus killing him who served under his father and also saved Alexander’s life in battle who was a Macedonian noble that publicly denounced him. He was his best friend. Alexander was in one of his drunken binges where he was shouting out that his deeds as an emperor was greater than his father Philippe’s, and after listening to this ranting silently, Cleitus shouted at him saying “all your glory is due to your father!" at which time Alexander grabbed a spear from one of the guards and killed his friend Cleitus instantly. Alexander mourned Cleitus’ loss excessively, but that obviously didn’t stop his temper to begin with. He had Callisthenes executed who was a Greek historian, one he took along to his campaign to record the history in the making (first embedded journalist). He was his former teacher, because he disagreed with him, Alexander had him tortured, imprisoned and of course killed. Alexander was a man of his own time. He was the ultimate predator. In fact, He loved going to hunting lions unarmed!

When he went into the eastern most part of the Persian Empire, he reaches to Hindu-Kusch Mountains with his 30,000 men army. The mountains were 20,000 feet high at some points; there was freezing rain, and snow at times, elevation itself was a killer and some passes were so narrow, the army had to go in a single file the length of them reaching up to 10 miles! Who would follow such a man to such a crazy expedition? His men did, as they had a very tight bond with him. Alexander had an iron determination. His army was willing to do whatever he asked them to do. He was a megalomaniac. He demanded an all consuming control of his men since he also got that from the public and people he conquered.

Though this one man’s absolute freedom made him into the historical figure he is, it also encompassed the freedoms of everyone else on his destructive path.

Here’s another historical figure; Caligula, one of my devious favorites. Not because I like him, but because you can’t ignore him; he just sticks out like a sore thumb out of history. He was born as Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus and was known as Caligula; born in 12 AD and died in 41 AD (he was 28 when at the time of his death). Though he was moderate and noble for the first two years of his rule, after this period of time, he showed his cruelty, sexual perversity, extravagance, and overbearing insanity and was a complete tyrant; he managed to fit four wives, many male and female lovers into his short life time. He was self absorbed, killed on a whim, killed for amusement, was a very angry person, and overly indulged himself with spending and sex. Slept with other men's wives, and bragged about it, had incestuous relationships with his sisters Drusilla, Livilla, Agrippina, and also prostituted them to other men. If there were no criminals to be thrown into the arena to be devoured by the wild animals, he indulged himself by having a section of the crowd thrown into the arena to be eaten. Oh yes, he also made his horse Incitatus into a consul and a priest.

History is full of examples where the dominating rulers took whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, whomever they wanted while not granting simple human liberties such as “life, liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” as in the United States Declaration of Independence. These three simple aspects are among the unalienable rights (as stated in the latest version of the Declaration of Independence, but newer dictionaries use it as "inalienable rights" which are used interchangeably and are one and the same); sovereign rights of man. Why then I must ask we are so willing to hand them over by simple misuse of the word “freedom” or as in the Turkish example "your safety"? The idea of human rights is born simply out of this. Unalienable rights are considered to be self-evident and also universal. The Legal rights that we have been enjoying since before the constitution within this continent are not granted around the globe; not every homo-sapien around the world enjoys them, not even today in the 21st century! Are we so tired of being free (within the true definition of the word)? Perhaps we should review Alexander the Great and Caligula again. Those freedoms were neither free nor cheap. They were paid in full with with blood and lives - that holds true for all democracies. It took the idea of democracy thousands of years to evolve and get in its current state; breaking it down even one page at a time out of the history would be devastating for the human race. Do people have any idea they'd be allowing to happen? They'll be making room for rulers worse than Nero, Alexander and even Caligula. I sincerely hope that this does not happen.

I hear people everyday in social media or news, or flood of e-mails I receive how they love their country. Do you really? Not in words, and "I've passed my patriotic e-mail on, I'm done with my duty to my country" or sent my son/daughter to the military. Don't get me wrong; that is a big deal. One's child is the most important person in one's life (depends who you ask, but this seem to be the consensus for general public), but considering a lot of the countries around the globe make this a mandatory mission for all males (some countries require all citizens) who reach the age of 18, this sort of dims the lights on the countries' citizens who serve on voluntary basis. Most of my relatives served in the military. My dad was a tank driver in the army, my brother was an officer in the navy who served in the peacekeeping missions in Bosnia. In fact, a lot of the girls I know will not marry a boy who has not served in the military, because it's a prerequisite along with a list of other things. My dad always said that all males should serve in the military if they're able bodied, because it makes a man out of boys. Sort of a right of passage. I'm sure many will disagree with that, but it's an opinion as good as any. My best friend is married to an ex-airforce guy. So when something is the "norm" you don't get the bragging rights on that thing. Military service is one of them.

 How do you love your country? What do you exactly do for her everyday in terms of hard work, in terms of bettering something for your fellow human being? This is why I love Voltaire who said: "Qui sert bien son pays n'a pas besoin d'aïeux." (He) Who serves his country well, has no need of ancestors. Because frankly, I'm tired of hearing what your grandfather, great-grandfather did for his country while you do nothing. Serve your country well, so you shall need no ancestors. Simply do your job (whatever that is.) As in the words of Martin Luther King, "If it falls your lot to be a street sweeper, sweep streets like Michelangelo painted pictures, sweep streets like Beethoven composed music, sweep streets like Leontyne Price sings before the Metropolitan Opera. Sweep streets like Shakespeare wrote poetry. Sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will have to pause and say: Here lived a great street sweeper who swept his job well. If you can't be a pine at the top of the hill, be a shrub in the valley. Be be the best little shrub on the side of the hill. Be a bush if you can't be a tree. If you can't be a highway, just be a trail. If you can't be a sun, be a star. For it isn't by size that you win or fail. Be the best of whatever you are." ...to the best of your ability; work hard, be involved in the lives of your children, if you can remove a small obstacle from the road for the next one to pass through, just do it. Whatever you are doing, do it to the best of your ability, and you shall serve not only your country but your fellow human being, and your God.

 Keep your neighborhood clean and safe, be a good neighbor (give a ride to their child to school along with yours, buy groceries if you know your neighbor lost his/her job, if you're not able to do that at least pray for them to find a job and let them know, if you have extra items, by all means avoid doing a garage sale and donate them to someone you know who needs those things- do small things in your own capacity), be a good friend, do your best in all things that you do every day. That's what the men and women did who shaped the west who are my biggest heros.

This is how I love her, like John Wayne did:

America Why I love Her

I think this following poem by William Ernest Henley speaks volumes for the American sprit (though the poet was British and he was only talking about his own unbroken sprit and as a demonstration of his resilience following the amputation of his foot due to tubercular infection.) But nonetheless, it's a great piece to express the sentiment for the true American sprit - we all one time or another fall on various tough times as it is the case for a lot of our states currently and their citizens, but we Americans are hard to break and that's what I love the most about us. But this poem is almost the definition, the pinnacle of freedom. Freedom of human spirit: our hardwired, inner desire to be free against all odds, even against the universe itself:

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

Alexander the Great (above and below)

 

Caligula (3rd emperor of the Roman Empire)

Cherry trees and vineyards - a girl's story

I have many first cousins. 35 to be exact.

When we were kids, we all visited each other, and our parents made sure that there was always contact and interaction between relatives. Family came first. Like Italian or Greek families. No matter how different they pretend to be, traditions among Mediterranean people regardless of their background are similar, though I should make the distinction of Northern half of the Mediterranean here. Food, culture, music, traditions are similar since they've co-mingled for thousands of years.

So, our family is no exception. Even if the parents had to travel. I had visited them from the U.S. It was good for us to learn the language, and meet some family. With our parents' efforts and through natural selection (by that I mean that you choose the ones you like best), I got closer to some cousins, and indifferent to some others, and a few required a lot of extra effort to love them. Though I made sure I loved them from a very distant place. Those are the ones I don't have much in common. But this one particular cousin is just so lovable, completely sweet and I find it impossible to not to get along with her. She's like Jane in "Pride and Prejudice" with an air playfulness. I always loved her since possibly the minute she was born. Her dad had red hair, and my aunt was dark blonde, so it was no surprise that she sported blonde hair, cute button nose, and was always small when she was a child which made her very adorable and lovable. Her mother had always been one of my favorite aunts. She's always been funny; even when she wasn't trying to be funny.

I remember one summer I was visiting them, and in the early stage of my teenage years (14 years old maybe) we were picking cherries at my grandfather's orchard. It was a collective effort. The whole family and hired workers, 12 

people or more. As the old adage goes, many hands make little work, and work hours are only more fun when there's local gossip. My aunt had plenty to supply. She must have been in her 30s then. She climbed on the mid level of this triangular prism contraption called "cambaz" (see on the right). You climb over this thing, and it's artfully called that because it literally means "acrobat". You have to climb over it, hang your basket or bucket, and pick cherries from the unreachable limbs and branches of the cherry trees.

"Well," my aunt Sultan started. "Ya'll all know electrician Mustapha, right?" All the workers and relatives gave a murmur of recognition and disgust all at the same time to my confused ears. He was a middle aged man, a skilled electrician (considering there was not much competition in town-he was one of the two electricians; and later I learned that the extent of his skills were not in the field of electricity), and he was a known pervert. But, I guess his reputation in the field of perverseness did not reach the ears of nearby towns ahead of his electrician's skills; he was called for a job in a house in the town where my aunt lived. One of the woman workers wanted to get down to the juicy part of the story, pressed my aunt. "Yes, yes, we know him, so what's the story?" My aunt continued with a big smile as if to say “have I got story!”

"He was called to Barber Akhmad's new daughter in-law's house." Some nodded in acknowledgement, some didn't know her. "Oh, she's a pretty young thing, and ample in the departments that Mustapha is interested in." That made other listeners catch up with the gist of where the story was going, nodding, smiling with anticipation, and some young women were giggling.

"Well," my aunt continued. "She lives right above her mother in-law, on the second floor. The first floor is a basement. That's a really nice house on the main street (those stories always have a way of describing the niceties making it easy to get sidetracked)," said she, and "yes, yes" urged another woman impatiently trying to get to the good part of the story.

"Ok, so, he goes and knocks on the door, and this young bride opens the door. She tells him that the living room chandelier has been shorting the electricity, and she thinks it was wired incorrectly. Would he come and fix that,"

“Oh, Lordie Lord! She let him in the house?” said one woman incredulous.

“To her credit, she’s not from around here. She moved to our town from the big city.” Said my aunt shaking her head, “she didn’t know he was loose, in that way” nodding, giving a significant look to the other women.

"Aha," said another woman in liking the direction of the story.

"So, of course Mustapha is happy to oblige. He asks the woman to bring a sturdy chair to climb on so he can unscrew the chandelier, which he does skillfully. He hands the young bride the chandelier to put on the table. He is going to see, and check if there is anything loose up there. Then tells the young bride to hold his chair, stating concern that it may not be sturdy and he may fall down." By that time, "oohs" and "ahhs" of understanding are murmured around.

“And lo and behold, he screams, 'oh Lord, I got shocked! Help me lady!' And just jumps right on down, grabbing the woman's very large boobs on the way pinning her down on the floor right there in the living room!" This must have been the peak of the story, because gasps went all around at once.

All the women and a few men picking cherries by that time are incredulous but want to know how the story ends. "So what happened?" said one of the curious listeners. My aunt smiled. "His purpose all along was to fuck her right there in her own house without her consent!"

By that time I cleared my throat, and said, "Umm, auntie, it's called raping someone." She answered as if she didn't even realize I was there: "What?"

"The thing you said, it's called rape! Not that other foul word you used?" I sounded like asking a question.

"What are you listening to the story for? What is rape anyway?" she reprimanded me.

I blurted out an answer her second question first: "Rape is having sex with someone forcefully without their consent."

She retorted back, "what did I say?"

I answered, "you said that he tried to 'f' word' her."

"Well, I did say it was without her consent, didn't I?" asked with genuine sincerity.

The other cherry pickers murmured an agreement, "yes, she did."

"What are you listening to the story for? This story is not for virgin girls! I was telling that to the women and men here, who are mature, not virgins" she scolded me. (She meant I still had my virtue intact, and that was an adult story, and I should have excluded myself.)

"You should have made that distinction before you began to tell it, I would have moved to another tree," I scolded her back.

"Well, sorry my educated niece," she said this time with a mock reprimand, "we can't all be polite and educated like you.” But as if the moving on she added, “Anyway, I love you, I forgive you for talking back to me," she said sweetly with a glimmer in her eyes.

"You forgive me?" I was incredulous.

"Yes, don't you want me to forgive you?" she said puzzled.

"No, because I didn't do anything wrong, you told an inappropriate story."

"It’s blanket forgiveness, I forgive you for listening to adult's stories as well."

My mouth must have been wide open; my little cousin (my aunt's daughter who was about 5 came and held my hand) with her short blonde hair shaking back and forth and said: "don't fight. She doesn't get it," with the air of a grown up completely surprising me. That was Meryem. I smiled and thanked her. Then turned to my aunt and said, "You’re right, I'm glad you forgive me. Thank you!"

She then turned to other ladies and said, "That’s why she's my favorite niece! She's always so polite, and has the correct expressions. Our education train has passed by," she said swooping her hand around to indicate herself and other women, "but I'm glad you're getting what we let us pass by," and smiled.

Ladies interrupted, "tell us the end of the story! Did he take the virtue of the woman?" now that I was there making a point to be polite.

"Nooo!" gushed my aunt. "That's the good part! Once she got over her confusion, she tossed him off of herself, and locked him in the living room, and called her husband!"

Even I got into the story by then, and asked, "She didn't call the police?" All the other women stared at me as if they were listening to a slow witted individual.

"What police?" my aunt said, we only have the gendarme here, and who would want to admit having their honor stained by a pervert?" Everyone nodded in agreement; I stared.

I didn't want to be the only dumb person; clearly there was something I was not getting. "So, what happened, didn't he run away from a window or a balcony or something?" I asked.

"Nooo," said my aunt smiling. "They were on the second floor. He's a middle aged pervert, not an acrobat! So, he got stuck in the house, and when the husband came home rushing, he beat the daylights out of him!"

"Serves him right!" murmured the women still picking cherries.

"Wait," I said, "you said that they wouldn't file a complaint because they didn't want her honor stained. I'm assuming they didn't want people to hear about it. But, you just told us the story, so, you heard about it. What difference would it make if the story was told to the police, or gendarme?"

My aunt sighed, and looked apologetically to the other women, "the difference is," she said, "that her honor was cleared by her husband. They weren't inept to take care of their own business, going to the gendarme and twirling their fingers as if to beg for help and, wait around for justice to be served. It's his wife, his honor! He did a great job administering justice. I saw the electrician Mustapha, all black and blue, and couldn’t even look at the other men in the eye when he went to the coffee shop. People all ignored him like he wasn’t there! He'll think twice before he attacks another woman!" she said conclusively.

"But he's free!" I blurted.

"Yes," my aunt said exasperated. "What would happen if they went to the cops? First they would question her, embarrassment for her and her family, and they'd also question him. And he might have said, well, she made a pass at me, and I reciprocated. Or he may have denied it altogether. Now, he can't go and complain to the cops because he's the pervert. He couldn't go and say he got beat up because he tried to fuck someone's wife. Sorry, rape..." She corrected herself. I smiled at myself. "Now, problem is solved."

"But you already heard the story, so that probably defeats the purpose if they trying to avoid making the story public," I interjected.

"Two things. They're my neighbors; we have no secrets from each other. And in a small town, nothing really is secret. Everyone knows everyone's business." An agreement murmur went around. "And, now they can talk about it, because her honor has been cleared. She fought off her attacker, didn't give into him and her husband took care of her by beating the crap out of his wife's attacker."

I was still confused. One woman summarized, "look, we live in a small town. Not more than 2000 people or even less. Everyone knows all your family, all your relations, they know where you live, what properties and lands you hold, which towns you have relatives in, who your great great grandparents are. We've lived in these lands for over a thousand years within the same lineage. Your name, your honor is everything. We take care of things differently than the city folk. We see each other's faces every day. Neighbors are like our own families. We're not sophisticated, or ultra-educated. But this is our life, our way. Family name, family honor. You can't sit around to get justice, and spend money you don't have in the way to receive justice for something that was done wrong to you, and keep it in your memory for a few years, and be hurt with it day in and day out. Or do it this way. Now, she did the right thing, and her husband took care of the rest. The problem is solved, and she can move on. Simple enough." Then she smiled, and they moved onto a different gossip.

Now many years later (20-21 can't remember which), my cousin who held my hand that day is a grown woman, she is in her 20s. Her parents made sure that she got her college education, and allowed her to be a young independent woman. She was engaged 5 months ago to a local guy who now lived in NY. They had a short courtship, and he had his parents ask for her hand in marriage to follow the family traditions. She has had many suitors. She's very beautiful, and feisty, and smart, and talented. I've always kept in touch with her, because I love her a lot. She asked me to talk to her fiancée over the phone and meet him and give her my opinion of him. However much one can tell over the phone of someone, but I spoke to him a few times, and he sounded like a nice young man.

They were still getting to know each other from a distance, and that was concerning for her. She, being in Turkey, and him in NY. He first asked her that wouldn't it be a great idea, if his brother and his wife tagged along with them on their honeymoon? She was clearly not happy, and disliked the idea. She told him, "Not really, it's our honeymoon, not a family vacation. This is something we can later do together, but our very first vacation is honeymoon. We should not be spending it with your brother and sister in law." He told her to think about it, because he was set on the idea. That was her first question mark if he would respect her opinions and whether they were a good match.

A few weeks ago he blurted out to her, "I love my parents so much, as you love yours. I've decided that they would live with us after we get married." She was surprised, and asked him, "right away?"

"Yes!" he said incredulously. "I love my parents. I'm sorry, but your answer will show me how much you really care about me. If I were to say to you that I not only want to spend a year with my parents, but my whole life, you should be able to say yes!"

So she told him, "If your parents are ill, and need help, I will care for them, and help them. If they're old, and in the declining years of their lives, they're more than welcome to live with us, and I will carry them like a crown; care for them, and honor them. If they want to visit us and live in our home for even six months at a time now, I’ll show them all the hospitality. But, right now they're young, in their late 40s and early 50s. They have a nice home, they have their own income. They're not in need of us. You and I should spend the first years of our marriage together, alone, so we get to know each other, and establish our own family. I want to be able to have some privacy in the primary years. That’s important for me. When the time comes that your parents need care, I'm more than willing to care for them with you, but let's spend the initial years of our marriage together. Just you and me."

Well, that flipped him off. What did she mean that she didn't want to live with his parents? She told him she has to think about this as it was an important decision; but he was adamant on having his parents live with him starting with the first day of their marriage. So she could show them, she was a good daughter in law (can you say subservient?). "I hope," he told her, "that your conclusion is on the positive. Otherwise, I don't know if this relationship would work," being completely an (oh what shall I call him), ass maybe...

But that wasn't enough. The day after this discussion, he took his views to Facebook. I understood right away what it was about. He was asking this: "What would you say if I told you that I love my parents so much that I not only want to spend a year with them, but my life time. I'm sorry, but your negative answer is not an indicative of how much (or how little) you love me, but also how much you care about your own parents." (such a low blow!)

Of course there were a number of responses of what a good son he was, and the woman he married, or was marrying didn't deserve him. My cousin Meryem didn't respond to any of these, and silently waited for him to apologize for this humiliation. The irony of it is that now even the most ordinary people are learning that public remarks (now that all can get a certain level of exposure online) can hurt our loved ones. He didn't care; he was gloating and unbidden. No apologies. Some of us remarked that it was hard to live with in-laws even in later years, and that strained relationships, but he didn't want to hear it: in his mind, he was right, and she was wrong. And boldly said, "I see that my question reached its intended destination" adding a smilee, a smirk I wanted to wipe right out of his face. Even though this went on for days, she didn't defend herself, or remark on anything he wrote publicly and just emailed and texted him to call her since he was making these comments, and he should discuss his grievances with her. If he wanted to speak, he should please talk to her. Boy, that got his uppity butt even higher! She was sadder, and he was even more of an ass if that was at all possible. By then I just about had it.

I sent him an e-mail about how marriages should be "between a man and a woman" and that a man leaves his mother and father and cleaves to his wife. If you put four more people into the equation (2 sets of parents), this would make things more than complicated. I gave him I Corinthians 13. He didn't bother, kept on publicly humiliating her until she, in his mind, gave into his desires. But she still didn't reprimand him publicly. And he wasn’t calling her until she agreed with him; otherwise he was going to keep humiliating her.

She thought a couple's problems should be resolved between the couple, not in public. On his last insult he posted about her, I told him that he should learn to resolve his problems with his significant other in private with her only. I think one should learn that by the time he’s 34 or 35 (his age). And though she was in her mid-20s, she was more mature, and responsible than he was.

It's no place of other people to judge a wonderful girl who didn't defend herself, who didn't respond to any nasty comments of his or others because she was more honorable than he was. I was not happy that he was hurting, harassing my cousin in public like this, and he wasn't the only man in the world for her. You better believe I opened my big American mouth. Women aren't there for men to abuse, or get in a desired mold by their men. She was more than generous to him by telling him that she would take care of them if they were ill, old and in need of help. But it was unfair of him to demand her youth to be spent on caring, no, being a maid to his parents.

Boy, he just opened his great big mouth, that he would go fuck "Virgin Mary" (assuming that insult meant for me, though I'm not a Catholic, it's no secret that I love Jesus), and all of Jesus' family, and etc. etc. Upon seeing this, my cousin, and my aunt called his parents, told them the engagement was off, they could come and collect the ring, necklace and a few knickknacks they gifted her, and they paid for their gas, and dare he not insult Jesus or his mother (bless her little heart!) And she said they brought cookies when they came over which she said the ring she purchased for him would amply cover the cost of their cookies. My cousin told her parents “don’t you dare to bring the ring I’ve purchased back to me, or any gift that we have given you. We’re not simple! If you should bring them back to us, I will burn them in that stove before everyone’s eyes!”

My aunt said that she wants her daughter to be happy, not a subservient. She was livid, "this girl has been running the whole ranch here! She runs the vineyard, 175 acres! Not to mention the cherry orchards, and cotton fields, and sugar beets. She gets the workers to prune, care and take care of the whole place. She drives the tractors, collects the workers, pays them, sell the grapes, cherries, cotton, and the sugar beets! She haggles the prices, takes her father to the hospital for his heart problem, and she is one of the kindest people around! This young woman does the work of 10 grown men! I would die before I make her take orders from an ass like him!" Her father was right with her.

"This is my baby!" he said, "I wouldn't let her cry when she was a child, and this jerk made my baby cry! And for what? Public humiliation? She deserves better."

And so she does. She said that she wouldn't respond to him in public in any way. She was better than that. She had her standards even if he didn't. She said, "What makes me sad that he stole five months from me. I can never replace that. But I am happy that it could have been 5 years. That would have been worse. Isn't life cruel in that way anyway? Gives you the exam first, then the lesson? I'm glad my lesson only lasted five months, and I guess I made the best of my tuition."

It may sound odd to someone to hear how close one can be to a cousin where in the society we live not even the siblings are close. But, that's not true for me. God, family, republic. She's back being single again, and happy. Taking a break, studying, reading, and pruning the vineyard; enjoying the love and support of her parents. I will always love her. You’re mature to not to respond, but, my typing fingers have an itch, and only getting the story out would get rid of it. You’re sweet, beautiful, thoughtful, and wonderful. I’m lucky to have you in my family! Love you Meryem!

Chapter II ← Fan Fiction: 50 Shades of Grey - CHRISTIAN AND ANASTASIA - Chapter II

CHRISTIAN AND ANA

THE SECOND MEETING

CHAPTER II

I find myself like an idiot teenage boy in front of the Clayton’s Hardware Store. She’s working today. I take a deep breath and locate her within thirty seconds. She’s at a register looking at a computer screen engrossed in her task while eating a bagel. Sometimes she’s removing the crumb from the corner of her mouth with her tongue, sometimes with her index finger. All of a sudden I have the urge to go and suck that piece of bagel from her lip. She looks just as lovely as I remember her, in fact far better in her jeans and t-shirt. Far, far better... 

She looks up from her task to lock gazes with me her breath hitching. I smile. I’m happy to see I can affect her the same way. That means she’s not gay. She’s surprised as her blue eyes go wider.

“Miss Steele. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

She gazes at my outfit; my sweater, hiking boots, and her eyes linger a little too long on my jeans. I’m pleased.

“Mr. Grey,” she manages to breathe. Questioning.

“I was in the area. I need to stock up on some items,” I say by the way of explaining. She’s biting her lip again, flushing.

“Of course Mr. Grey,” She stutters first, then putting on her employee smile she asks, “What can I help you with?”

“I need some cable ties,” I say smiling. What I can do with those to you I think as my gaze darkens. She flushes all over again. She leads the way. She then helps me find masking tape, and rope. She asks me if I’m redecorating. I smile my secret smile. No baby, I don’t redecorate. I have people to do that. These are for other DIY projects which you probably never tried. But how fun it would be to teach you!

She blushes under my gaze again. She’s just as affected by me as I am of her. I have to ask her something to keep her engaged.

“Have you worked here long?” Though I already know the answer to my question. Four years, part time. She answers in the affirmative, her eyes are still cast down and shy. She shows me two different kinds of masking tape. I choose the wider one.

“Anything else Mr. Grey?” she asks me in a breathy husky voice. Yes, she’s definitely affected by my presence. I find myself replying in the same tone. When she later cuts the filament rope with the efficiency of a boy scout, I ask her if she ever was a girl scout gazing at her intently. She blushes again, and in that nervous action, she looks down at her hands and rings her fingers as if the squeeze out some water. “No, Mr. Grey,” she says, “organized group activities aren’t my thing. I’m not into that,” she dares a peak under her long lashes. It’s frustrating trying to decipher her. I ask, “What exactly is your thing Anastasia?” I ask in a low voice. She gasps slightly at my question.  I think I already know the answer. I bet its books.

“Books,” she whispers, but her longing look says something else blushing. Dare I say Bronte and Jane Austen?
“What kind of books?” I ask interested but knowing the answer.

“The British classics, the usual,” she whispers. I’m thinking she’s all hearts and flowers. Is this for me? I don’t do hearts and flowers. I rub my chin contemplating her response. But if it works, we just might have a lot of fun.  I would love to try. She changes the subject going back to the employee mode.

“Is there anything else you need Mr. Grey?”

I need to get her engaged in talking to me. She’s beguiling me.  I can’t take my eyes off of her; everything she does, her lip biting, her squirming and wringing her fingers just making me want to reach out to her, tie those hands up, and capture that lip in mine, and teach that mouth some lessons.

Then we hear her name called by a guy, “ANA!” Some preppy dressed guy coming to her knowingly. Is he her boyfriend? I get the chills all of a sudden, and almost have an urge to beat the crap out of that guy. Who the hell is he? She excuses herself, and goes to him. I narrow my eyes. Maybe I made a mistake by coming. He hugs her, and drapes his arm possessively over her, but she doesn’t reciprocate. I gaze at him glacially. Maybe they’re not involved. She drags the fucker with her back to where I stand.

“Mr. Grey, this is Paul. His brother owns this place. I’ve known him for a long time; but I only rarely see him as he goes to Princeton studying Business Administration,” looking at me expectantly.  I slowly let out a sigh of relief. The fucker is not the boyfriend, but the owner’s brother. While measure each other out, Anastasia adds, “Paul, this is Christian Grey.” It takes him a second to realize who I am, and I can see his reveries change into one of admiration and awe. Yes, fucker, let go off her now, and skedaddle to the hole you crawled out of! He asks me if I need anything.

“Anastasia has been very accommodating,” I say my eyes narrowing coolly dismissing him. He finally gets the point and leaves. I don’t know why I feel this pang of jealousy. I’m not familiar with this emotion, and it is an uneasy one. Why did I feel jealous, and proprietary towards her? She’s nothing to me. Yet… I would like her to be something to me.

“Is there anything else I can help you find Mr. Grey?” she says flustering. I ignore her question.

“How’s the article coming along Anastasia?” I ask. She looks surprised raising her eyes to mine. I don’t want to be dismissed, I want to engage her.

“Oh, Kate… I mean, Miss Kavanagh, my roommate is writing it. She is devastated that she didn’t get to interview you. She wishes she had some stills of you though.”

That surprises me and gives me hope that perhaps I can find a way to see Anastasia again. She can see the gleam in my eyes.

“Really?” I say, “Perhaps tomorrow I can be available. I’m staying here locally.” I fish out my business card out of my wallet, and hand it to her our hands briefly touching with the same jolt of electricity making me gasp slightly darkening my eyes. I have the same effect on her. “You need to call me before 10:00 a.m.”

She’s pleasantly surprised and she gives me the biggest smile brightening her already bright blue eyes to a new shine taking my breath away. She really has the most beautiful smile.

“Yes, we will. Kate would be so happy!” she says excitedly.

I pay for my purchases as she keeps her gaze down, and I’m dying for her to look at me again. Why am I so much like a teenager, her touch moving my insides? She looks up at me again as I hand my Amex to her. Our gazes lock. When I am done, taking my purchases, I turn to her and tell her, “Oh, Anastasia, I’m glad it was you who interviewed me, and not your roommate.” I want her to know I’m interested, and I can feel her gasp and she reciprocates my feelings. She likes me. I leave the store with a renewed purpose. This will work.

Taylor is waiting for me at the parking lot.

“Let’s go,” I say. He drives me to Heathman Hotel. I go to my suite, put my purchases on a chair. Busy myself with work, hoping she calls. If not, I’ll leave tomorrow abandoning this pursuit. I hope she calls. I go to work out to spend my excess energy. Her shy smile is before my eyes. I work out for hours. I come back to my hotel room, and take a shower. Anastasia, and her lips are still on my mind.  If she doesn’t call, what other chance meeting can I arrange? My mind is working out backup plans. I don’t lose when I’m on a mission. Only if she wants it though. She’s too young for what I have in mind for her. She looks too inexperienced. Why won’t she call? Damn it!

I decide to answer some emails as my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number. Who the hell is this? I’m in a bad temper. I answer curtly:

“Grey.”

A shy, nervous and husky sound replies.

“Uhmm… Mr. Grey? It’s Anastasia Steele.”  My heart stutters for a second, and then the beat peaks up and I find myself answering with a husky but soft tone.

“Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you.”  I almost thought she wasn’t going to call. I’m relieved. I hear her breath hitch. I feel elated to have that effect on her. I’m grinning like an idiot. I tell her that I’m staying at Heathman in Portland and we decide to do the shoot at nine thirty in the morning. When she says “Okay, we’ll see you there,” all breathy and excited, I feel my eyes darken and unable to wait until tomorrow, “I look forward to it, Miss Steele,” I say with laced seduction. My subconscious says “you are mine!”

The wait to next morning is laced with erotic dreams of Anastasia in silk stockings and handcuffs, her blue eyes expectant. “Anastasia,” I whisper, her name a prayer in my lips.

“Christian,” she breathes, the voice of hers is enough to unman me. I wake up sweaty with her name on my lips. I put my arm over my eyes, then remove them uneasy staring at the ceiling. Could any other name have the same effect on me like Janet, or Mary, or Angie? I think not. Anastasia. The name is a caress on my lips, it’s magical, alive. I’m drawn, bewitched, in her grasp.  

I get up and go to the gym again to work out to pass the time. After my workout, I take a long shower and put on my white shirt with an open collar, and my grey trademark flannel pants hanging low on my hips. I eat my breakfast quickly, and let my hair on its own volition, leaving it wet. She calls me letting me know that they’re occupying another suite in the hotel for the shoot. Taylor waits by the door.

My gaze seeks her as soon as I enter the suite. There she stands in low rise jeans hugging her curves tightly with a white shirt showing her shape beautifully. I feel her breath hitch when her gaze captures mine, and she gives me a discreet once over.

“Miss Steele, we meet again,” I say extending my hand to receive her small pale hand. With her touch I feel the same jolt of electricity palpate between us, and I know she feels it too, as her blinking increases rapidly. She’s blushing and her breathing gets erratic. She gathers her hand all too soon and introduces her roommate who is as I expected, no nonsense, sure of herself, domineering. Like me.

“The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?” I say, and thank my lucky stars in my head that it was Anastasia that came, and not her. She’s beautiful enough, but I wouldn’t like her one bit.

Anastasia then introduces the photographer saying, “This is Jose Rodriguez, our photographer.” She smiles at him lovingly and he back at her, possessive. I feel anger building inside me. Is this fucker her boyfriend?

“Mr. Grey,” the fucker nods.

“Mr. Rodriguez,” I say glacially. I sit and stand for the photo shoot all the while gazing and looking at Anastasia. I have to find out if one of these two fuckers I’ve met in the last two days is her boyfriend. They were both possessive of her. About thirty minutes later we’re done, and we say out niceties to each other with Kavanagh, and I turn to Anastasia asking, “Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?”

“Sure,” she says anxious while the friend is suspicious and the fucking photographer scowling. Boyfriend rings on my head. I have to find out. I don’t do “sharing”. She has to be mine.

I open the door and allow her out. “Would you join me for coffee this morning?” I keep the expectancy out of my gaze, but, I can feel her heartbeat increasing and her face going pink. Yes, baby, this is a date.   (←Glad you came - by The Wanted)

She tells me disappointed that she has to drive everyone home. Oh, I got you covered baby!

“TAYLOR!”

“Please take Miss Kavanagh, the photographer, his assistant and their equipment to where they need to go.” Then I turn to her and say, “see, resolved.”

“Oh, Taylor doesn’t have to do that Mr. Grey. I can switch vehicles with Kate.” She goes back into the suite; ensuing a small discussion with her friend, and comes back out.

“Ok, let’s do coffee” she says flushing scarlet red. Her color makes me smile like the Cheshire cat. We have small talk on the way to the elevators. I press the button to call the elevator. As the door opens, a couple who have been making out spring apart looking anywhere but each other. What is it with elevators? Anastasia is flushed and embarrassed. I keep my gaze on Anastasia, watching the lovely red color creep up her shy face again, while I maintain to keep my smile away…barely. As the elevator dings reaching the first floor, I grab Anastasia’s hand, and walk out of the elevator. We hear the couple giggle behind us as I mutter “what is it with the elevators?”

We cross the street to a coffee shop her hand in mine with the jolt of electricity a constant thrum between us. I let her choose a table and ask her what she would like.

“English breakfast tea, bag out.” She says surprising me. So, no coffee. Apologetically she indicates that she’s not keen on coffee. When I go to get the drinks and something to eat, I find her gazing at me surreptitiously, and occasionally biting her lips. When I come back to the table, she brings her gaze down to her knotted fingers flushing. I would love to find out what she is blushing about. Me, I hope.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I say.

She flushes even as red as the Chinese flag. God! What I would love to do to you to get out what you are thinking! I put the tray on the table she picked, and stretch my legs under the table sitting opposite to her to see her beautiful shy face better. I coax her:

“What are you thinking?”

She’s not giving anything away.  “This is my favorite kind of tea, I like it black and weak” she says. I have to get to the point and put myself out of misery, because I can’t bear it anymore.

“I see.” I say, “Is he your boyfriend, the photographer Jose Rodriguez?”

“No,” she gushes, “he’s just a good friend. More like family really.”

“I see,” I cut her, “how about the boy from the store?” I get to the point.

“No he isn’t. I told you that yesterday,” she says. I give an inward sigh of relief.

“Why do you ask?” she quizzes me.

“You get nervous around men,” I observe. She looks at her knotted fingers again, flushing once more.

“I just find you intimidating,” she confesses, though I realize she says that without thinking because she blushes all the way to her hairline, but not before I take a sharp intake of breath.  I do affect her; the thought pleases me, and I can’t help but smile.

“I am intimidating, but please don’t look down. I like to see your face,” I say, and kiss that mouth of yours that you’ve been biting. She looks up.

“I want to know what you’re thinking. You are mysterious, Anastasia.”

She looks baffled.

I tell her that when she blushes, I know she’s thinking something, but I don’t know what exactly. She asks me if I always make personal observations. I didn’t know I was. Wasn’t she making personal observations about me last week? She shocks me by saying, I’m high handed. How right you are baby!

“I always get my way Anastasia,” I tell her, “in all things.”

I want to know more about her, and ask her about her family. She asks me about mine, but I’m keener to know her. But she’s not giving much away. As I tell her my sister Mia is in Paris, she says longingly, “I hear Paris is lovely,” I tell her it’s beautiful, and ask her if she’s been. She’s never left the country.

I ask her if she would like to visit. She brightens, and says, “To Paris? Of course. But, it’s England I would really like to visit.” I bet I can guess why. My index finger grazes my lower lip, as she looks like she’s barely stopping herself from panting. “Why?” I coax her.

“Austen, Bronte, Shakespeare, Hardy. I like to see the places that inspired my favorite authors,” she says without blinking. Hearts and flowers as I suspected. She looks at her watch. She wants to go to study her finals. I offer her to walk her to Miss Kavanagh’s car. She thanks me for the tea. Oh, the pleasure is all on me, I smile. I hold my hand out to her, and she automatically hands it to me once again the current flowing between us. We both stroll back towards the hotel both lost in thought. I love the way her ass looks in those jeans, and without thinking I ask her, “Do you always wear jeans?”

“Mostly.” She answers confused. Suits her. Very very well. Just as we stroll to the parking lot, she blurts out, “Do you have a girlfriend?” all flushing, because I think she spoke her thought out loud. I give her a half smile.

“No, Anastasia. I don’t do the girlfriend thing,” I answer softly.

She’s confused, of course. A flicker of thought passes her face without any words. She has a disappointed look on her face and tries to let go of my hand, walking ahead and tripping headlong onto the street. I find myself shouting, “Shit, Ana!” as I yank her hand to get her upright as a bicyclist nearly missing hitting her as I pull her to my body as tight as possible. I feel her inhaling my scent as I get a whiff of her soft feminine smell of her hair and skin. I close my eyes momentarily whisper at her ear, “Are you okay?” while grasping the small of her back with one hand, and trying to make sure she’s ok and has no scratches on her face with the other. I brush her lower lip with my thumb as a shiver runs through my body. Her breath is caught. We lock gazes, and she is intently looking at me, her body and gaze are saying “kiss me.”

She’s lovely, and I am fighting against myself to control my urges to pull her the remaining inch and kiss her. I briefly close my eyes, and when I open them I’m determined. She’s too young, too innocent, too lovely. She’s not for my world.

“You should stay away from me Anastasia. I’m not the man for you,” I whisper. Her face is fallen as if I hit her…hard. It’s better if she thinks it’s rejection than to have her hurt later.

“Breathe Anastasia, okay? I’ll let you stand, and let you walk.” She has disappointment, and hurt on her face. She opens her blue eyes as wide as possible as to not let any tears pooling behind to escape.

“I’ve got this,” she says, “Thank you Mr. Grey.”

“For what?”

“For saving me,” she says nearly in tears.

I’m furious at the fucker who nearly drove over her. “It was that idiot’s fault, not yours! Do you want me to take you to the hotel lobby and sit with you?”

“I’m okay,” she says her voice breaking. “Thank for doing the photo shoot,” she says at the last ditch effort trying not to cry. I’m battling with some foreign emotions. I nearly concede, and try to explain myself to her that I’m a fucked up guy, and what she would get from me would make her unhappy. She’s the hearts and flowers kind of girl, and the fifty shades of fucked up Christian Grey doesn’t do that.  

“Anastasia… I..” I stop, with the inner battle raging within me, wanting her, but not wanting to hurt her. I’m torn. I can’t bear the hurt on her face.

“What Christian?” she snaps, my name a prayer on her tongue. No, I can’t do that to her. I take a small breath and say, “Good luck with your exams,” confusing her.

“Thanks!” she says nearly in tears, and walks away from me. The last thing I see her doing is wiping away stray tears from her face as I kick myself inside.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I turn back to the hotel. I have to punch something, someone, something… I am full of emotions I’m not familiar with. I can’t get her face off of my head. The look… The hurt… Fuck! It’s all my fault… I don’t do the girlfriend thing and she’s not the kind of girl who would do what I want! I’m in a fucking conundrum and I have some unknown desire, some pull towards her, and I don’t want to hurt her. She will get hurt. She’s too innocent. It won’t work with her! The battle in my head rages. How would I know it won’t work if I don’t try?

Fuck this! I’ll give myself another day. See if I can work this out in my head. Fuck! I call Claude Bastille and ask him to get his ass to Portland. I need serious workout.

Tomorrow. I will wait till tomorrow.

*

*

*

*

Note: Ok, I envisoned Christian to be like the image I have placed above going by the author's description. That is an image of Kıvanç Tatlıtuğ. I have some more pictures of him below. If you imagine him in a different way, let me know who you have in mind.