Two years ago, I did all the sex from Fifty Shades of Grey in one weekend and now I’m back to do it again with Fifty Shades Darker, because apparently I hate myself and also my husband. These books really teach you things about yourself, you know?! I must note that we did not attempt some of the sex scenes, but that’s mainly because none of my friends would let me have sex on their boats, and, also, I don’t know anyone with a boat. Help me, I’m poor.
The Ice Cream
Saturday, 9 a.m.
In the book: He takes another spoonful and lets the ice cream dribble onto my breasts. Then with the back of the spoon, he spreads it over each breast and nipple. Oh … it’s cold. Each nipple peaks and hardens beneath the cool of the vanilla.”Cold?” Christian asks softly, and bends to lick and suckle all the ice cream off me once more, his mouth hot compared to the cool of the ice.
How we did it: I love ice cream and so does my husband, so our two-day Fifty Shades Darker bang-a-thon was off to a great start! I was like, “Tie me up with one of those ties I bought you that you never wear, and then slather ice cream all over my body parts, and let’s do it!” and that’s what we did. The cold sensation from the ice cream and freezing spoon was a bit jarring on my nipples at first, but other than that, it was the *tits*. I get why people are into putting ice cubes on their nips; it’s a very lovely sensation! Then, my husband paused to eat a little ice cream (OK, he ate half the container; I was like, “Brah, I’m tied up here; let’s go!” but he insisted this is what Christian Grey did and so who was I to argue?).
After he was done with his ice cream feast, he went down on me and his mouth was cold at first, which I also dug, but after just a few seconds, it was hot again, so just normal oral sex. Which is always great. I’m not sure why there are other sex acts when oral sex exists. It’s so good. You know what’s not so good though? Clean up. Between the sticky vanilla ice cream and various bodily excrements, it was gross. Christian Grey’s maid must really hate him. I mean, can you imagine cleaning the Red Room? I’m gagging. But other than that, it was off to a great start and we got to eat ice cream for breakfast. E. L. James knows what’s up!
Saturday, 11 a.m.
In the book: He grins then shakes his head, admonishing me, so I let go. He nods, and I bend down and grasp the sides of the chair. He moves my panties to one side and very slowly slides a finger into me, circling leisurely, so I feel him, on all sides. I can’t help the moan that escapes from my lips. He withdraws his finger briefly and with tender care, inserts the balls one at a time, pushing them deep inside me. Once they are in position, he smoothes my panties back into place and kisses my backside.
How we did it: I had Ben Wa balls left over from last time and it will probably come as no small surprise that I hadn’t used them since 2015. They were in my jewellery box along with my grandmother’s pearls because I am v. respectful. I got them out, dusted them off (washed them thoroughly), bent over, and my husband pushed them into me. It was the same sensation as last time—just icy metal balls being shoved in my vaginal canal. Since we weren’t invited to a masquerade ball because we’re not characters in an E. L. James novel or the Phantom of the Opera, we went to a friend’s afternoon birthday party in a park. It was…awkward. There were a lot of kids there, and all I could think the whole time was, “I’VE GOT BALLS IN MY VAGINA.” I couldn’t help but wonder…how many other people here had Ben Wa ball up their privates? It’s prolly like 1 in 4, right?
Anyway, I thought keeping them inside of me would require near constant kegels, but it turns out they stayed put pretty easily. Periodically, my husband would look at me and just shake his head in pity, but that was the extent of our ~sexy secret~. All in all, I didn’t love it; my regular vagina feels just fine, and I didn’t need the constant worry that ball might pop out of my vag and roll into a game of lawn cricket. I wasn’t trying to lay an egg on anyone’s loafers while we’re talking about the Super Bowl, you know? So, that was fun and all, but the Ben Wa balls went straight back into the jewellery box and they won’t see the light of day (read: darkness of my vagina) until E. L. James makes me shove more metal into my cooter for Fifty Shades Freed.
The Bedroom Spanking
Saturday, 4 p.m.
In the book: “Put your hands behind your back,” he murmurs. Oh! He removed his bow tie and uses it to quickly bind my wrists so that my hands are tied behind me, resting in the small of my back. “You really want this, Anastasia?” I close my eyes. This is the first time since I met him that I really want this. I need it. “Yes,” I whisper. “Why?” he asks softly as he caresses my behind with his palm. I groan as soon as his hand makes contact with my skin.
How we did it: Since my husband’s childhood bedroom has been transformed into a shrine for my mother-in-law’s Beanie Babies (respect), and since he doesn’t own a bowtie because he’s not Bill Nye (unfortch), we just did the spanking part. I gotta say, I’m kinda into spanking? I didn’t think I would be, because I honestly find the idea of being submissive to a man to be unappealing (WHO RUNS THE WORLD!), but I gotta say, I was tingling all over. After the spanking, we did it. We will definitely incorporate this more into our regular rotation. So far, so good! This is much better than the first book! I honestly feel like I could have more sex today. Which is a good thing, because I have to!
The Pool Table Spanking
Saturday, 7 p.m.
In the book: “Legs,” he orders. I open my legs, panting. The ruler strikes again. Ow—it stings, but its crack across my skin sounds worse than it feels … “I want to fuck you now,” he says, his voice strained. “Yes,” I murmur with longing. He undoes his fly, as I lie panting on the table, knowing that he’s going to be rough. … I hear the telltale rip of foil, then he’s standing behind me, between my legs, pushing them wider.
How we did it: We don’t have a pool table because I’ve made a lot of poor financial decisions in my life, but I do own a ruler just like Christian used! We wanted to try and remain as faithful to the book as possible, so we bust out the Scrabble board and engaged in a rousing game of word play. Since Christian and Ana played pool to determine whether or not Ana would go back into the Red Room, we decided to play Scrabble to decide who would have to walk the dog when we were done. I know it’s not sexy, but there are real-world trade-offs, people. I’m only mediocre at Scrabble, but my husband is terrible, so I won with a double word score on “potato.” That meant I got to spank my husband with a ruler! OH, THE POWER.
I ordered him to bend over so I could go to town on his ass. He said he didn’t like the look in my eyes but did it anyway. My internal monologue was something like, This one’s for the Ben Wa balls! And this one’s for forgetting to tell your sister to bring back my favourite bowl! And this is for the time you didn’t read my mind about wanting to go to get sushi instead of Mexican food, and then I had the farts all night! I also made a mental note to address all these things in therapy later. I was so carried away, I almost missed my husband telling me this wasn’t his thing and could we please go to sleep. I told him, no, we still have to have sex on the Scrabble board, and after a long sigh, he got it up and bent me over the Scrabble board. As the wooden tiles went flying, we had cold, bumpy sex on top of a bunch of tiles, during which I noticed that I totally could’ve played “pottery” for more points than “potato.” DAMMIT, KRISTA!
The Elevator Fingering
Sunday, 11 a.m.
In the book: Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holy fucking shit … in here? The elevator travels smoothly down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more people on, but I am not paying attention. I am focused on every little move his fingers make. Circling around … now moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.
How we did it: I woke my husband up for another day of boning, and I gotta be real: I was feeling mighty fine! Yesterday wasn’t so bad and even though we had to do a bunch of laundry and I still had a Scrabble tile stuck to my left boob, I wasn’t feeling like my vagina was about to fall out of my body because of looseness via too much sex. So hey! Better than last time!
My husband was also feeling fine, although slightly trepidatious about our first assignment today. He didn’t want to be arrested, and he certainly didn’t want to get arrested when he was wrist-deep in my vagina. SORRY TO BE SO EXPLICIT BUT THESE ARE THE FACTS. My editor decided that any over-the-clothes, below-the-belt fondling would work, and so some light butt-grabbing is what he settled on. We headed to a nearby hotel and hopped in an elevator with a bunch of kids and moms returning from the pool. My husband lightly tapped my ass but refused to do more because there were children present. Understandable. Finally, we got an adults-only ride and while standing in the back, my husband squeezed my butt and said “honk.” It was funny and we laughed. Nobody looked. Working theory: Nobody wants to look at anybody else in an elevator because we’re all too worried about falling to our deaths via a cable snap. Anyway, this was dumb, and Ana and Christian are lucky their asses aren’t in jail.
The Spreader Bar
Sunday, 1 p.m.
In the book: He begins a slow and sensual assault, his tongue swirling around and around while his fingers move inside me. Because I can’t close my legs, or move, it’s intense, really intense. My back arches as I try to absorb the sensations.
“Oh, Christian,” I cry.
“I know, baby,” he whispers, and to ease up on me, he blows softly on the most sensitive part of my body.
How we did it: Uh, damn. From grabbing a butt in an elevator to a spreader bar. Fifty Shades always keeps the surprises coming! Just when you think E. L. James is gonna zig, she zags. Keeps it fresh, you know? Basically, a spreader bar is a thing that’s used to spread and hold a person’s knees, legs, or arms apart. The one that I purchased from my sex shop of preference, Amazon.com, had built-in fuzzy ankle cuffs, which I thought were a nice touch. However, I have to say, I was dreading this because I don’t like to not have control of all my limbs at all times. Hence, this playful torture device was a bit like actual torture, and I found it hard to enjoy myself with such restricted movement. My husband wasn’t crazy about it either because we couldn’t really touch each other or hold each other, and we’re both very romantic and lovey-dovey (OH, YOU’RE FINE WITH BDSM BUT NOT REAL EMOTION?!).
Like most sex in Fifty Shades, it was him going down on me into missionary-style boning, and it was fine, if not a little sad, because no hugging! Hugging is the best! Who’s gonna write the Fifty Shades of Sweet Hugs and Romantic Kisses book? I would definitely jerk it to that.
The Time in the Shower
Sunday, 3 p.m.
In the book: “I want to wash all of you,” I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and soon his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I stand and reach for the body wash and the freshwater sponge.
“Looks like you’re pleased to see me,” I murmur dryly.
How we did it: Well, this was a major thorn in the ass. Shower sex is generally more pain than it’s worth, but shower sex with wet clothing removal is basically unacceptable. Ugh, fine. We reluctantly got in the shower with all our clothes on—I’m glad my editor reminded me to wear cotton or else this would’ve been a real shit show!—and then when we were soaking wet, we tried to pull the clothing off each other. Which was hard and annoying because wet clothes really stick to the body, you know?! Then, as is one of the many issues with shower sex, I was getting cold, so we had to switch places, and then he was getting cold, so we had to switch places, and then I was like, “Please just will yourself to get hard so we can get this over with,” and that man, bless his soul, used all of the fantasy powers of his brain to get a world-class boner and do me from behind in the shower. And no, we did not attempt the mid-shower lift, because we are not physically fit enough to do that even out of the shower. Maybe in a pool it would be possible. The sex ended soon enough and then we got out of the shower, threw our clothes in the washing machine, and stood in front of the heater for 15 minutes while he cursed my boss and I ate a Twinkie.
The Play Room Scene
Sunday, 5 p.m.
In the book: “Hush, feel it, Ana. Don’t be afraid.” His hands are now on my waist, holding me, but I can’t concentrate on his hands, what’s inside me, and the clamps, too. My body is building, building to an explosion—with the relentless vibrations and the sweet, sweet torture of my nipples. Holy hell. It will be too intense. His hands move from my hips, down and around, slick and oiled, touching, feeling, kneading my skin—kneading my behind.
How we did it: Dude. Is this the last sex thing we have to do?! That was fast! At this point in the game last time, we were both at death’s door. The fact that we survived should’ve guaranteed my Pulitzer but here I am, no Pulitzer and a weird case of vaginal itch that I’m pretty sure is ice cream-related. Anyhoo! It seems Fifty Shades Darker has saved the craziest for last, because this scene is straight-up super lengthy. We had to have the book pages open while we attempted this act just to keep reference. This was our Fifty Shades Darker swan song.
So, first my husband put nipple clamps on me and YOWZA! That’s a rush. My eyes immediately watered, and my husband inquired about my physical and mental well-being, to which I just said, “Keep going! Let’s just get this over with!” He looked at me like I was the saddest creature on earth, and then tied my legs to the bedposts and my wrists together over my head. He then put a small vibrator in my mouth, which I thought was gonna knock my teeth out, and then put it inside of my vagina. At that point, my husband said he felt like Dr. Frankenstein, and I was his monster creation. I’ve never felt sexier!!! Actually, I felt like a Christmas ham but somehow less sexually appealing. We were then supposed to have sex but I was as dry as Wheat Thin and he was as hard as a banana slug. So, he took out the vibrator, took off the nipple clamps, and untied me. I think, maybe, if we had been doing each of those things at once, it might’ve been more fun, and I’d be lying if I said I had zero interest in taking those nipple clamps for another run on a weekend when I hadn’t had sex a million times already.
Overall, we were both tired and just wanted to watch The Santa Clarita Diet, which is a comedy about cannibalism, so now you know what a weekend of Fifty Shades sexing will drive you to. And thus, the great experiment, take two, concluded with cuddling on the couch as we ate the rest of the vanilla ice cream and watched a TV show about a zombie who can’t stop chowing down on human flesh. It all felt very appropriate. ‘Til next time!