I WAKE UP AGAIN TO AN EMPTY BED. Sunlight streams into the cabin. Where is Earl? I hear the toilet flush and he saunters out of the bathroom. He is completely naked, and his skin seems to sparkle in the sunlight. Just like a—
“Good morning, Anna,” he says.
“I thought you’d left me,” I say. “No work today?”
He shakes his head. “I called in sick,” he says.
Oh no. “Do you feel ill? What’s wrong?”
He laughs. “Oh, Anna,” he says. “I’m love sick.”
Did he just use the L-word? “Are you in love with me, Mr. Grey?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he says. It’s hard to concentrate on his words when his James Franco is flopping about between his legs.
My inner guidette hesitates. If he’s in love with me, then that begs the question: Am I in love with him? He’s so attractive, and so rich—but on the flip side, he’s a moody bastard whose fifty shames constantly threaten to overwhelm him and anyone he comes into contact with. It’s a lot to process this early in the morning.
“What time is it?” I ask, changing the topic.
He smiles. “It’s the dicking hour, baby.”
After we have sex three times in a variety of interesting positions, Earl says he has a surprise for me.
“Can I take a shower first?” I ask. I still have feathers stuck to my body.
“Of course,” he says. “Mind if I join you?”
We bang twice in the shower, once using a loofah and once completely upside down. After I have my fifth orgasm of the morning, we step out of the shower and towel off. Most of our sex so far has been fairly normal. It pleases me, because I don’t have any interest in being caned or Tasered or whatever. But could it ever be enough for the sadistic Earl Grey?
I ask him what the surprise is.
“You’ll see,” he says, bending me over the sink and doing me again.
After we dress in matching Hawaiian shirts (“aloha shirts” in Hawaii, according to Earl, who is practically a walking and talking Wikipedia), we mount an ATV and cruise through the jungle. Earl instructed me to wear a skirt and leave my panties at the cabin. Sitting behind him, my legs spread around him, with my pubic hair whipping in the wind: This is so perfect.
We stop at a large set of wooden doors that have to be at least a hundred feet tall. They’re the only entrance through an enormous wall that seems to run for thousands of feet in either direction.
“What is this?”
Earl presses a button on his keychain and the doors swing open. “Welcome to Triassic Safari,” he says.
“Is this like Jurassic Park?” I ask. I may have been only a baby when the movie came out, but it’s one even I’ve heard of.
“Mine came first,” he says.
“You weren’t even ten when the movie came out,” I say.
“I had the idea when I was five months old. I didn’t have the money and expertise to execute it until a few years ago. Michael Crichton scooped me, but there’s one major difference here: my dinosaurs are real,” he says.
“And the ones in the movie weren’t?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, Anna,” he says. “Your sense of humor is what makes you truly beautiful.”
I don’t think I have a sense of humor, but whatever. He drives us through the gate, which swings closed when we’re safely on the other side.
“So are any of your dinosaurs dangerous?” I ask.
“No more dangerous than me,” he says.
Uh-oh.
Earl slows the ATV to a halt beside two dinosaurs eating berries and leaves off bushes. The dinosaurs are the size of school buses. They look like gigantic rhinos, except with more horns. One of them is outfitted with a saddle.
“You ready for the ride of your life?” Earl asks me.
“I thought that’s what we did earlier.” I smirk.
“Touché, Anna. Touché.”
We hop off the ATV and approach the dinosaur with the saddle. “These are Kosmoceratops richardson,” he says. “The world’s horniest animals.”
“Excuse me?”
“Count the horns, Anna,” Earl says. “Fifteen full-sized horns on her head, plus sixteen smaller horns along the ridge of her skull. The horns most likely evolved as a mating display, but much like their cousin, the Triceratops, both males and females have similar horns.”
Earl puts a hand on the side of the Kosmoceratops and pets its scaly blue skin. The animal purrs at his touch.
“She’s so cute,” I say.
“That’s because I splice their DNA with genetic material from kittens,” Earl says. He pulls himself up onto the Kosmoceratops’s saddle and extends a hand down to me. I take his hand and climb onto the saddle with him, sitting in front this time. Before I know it, I’m riding around Earl Grey’s private island on a freaking dinosaur!
“Have you ever had sex on dinosaur-back?” Earl asks, his arms wrapped around me.
Oh my. I shake my head.
His hands crawl up my shirt and he feels my party favors up. My nipples are rock hard again. It’s suddenly obvious why he wanted me to wear the skirt and go commando . . .
“Lean forward,” he says. I do as I’m told, holding on to the reins of the Kosmoceratops. The animal trots gently through the jungle at a leisurely pace, blissfully unaware that two people are getting busy on her back.
Earl hikes my skirt up, exposing my bare bottom to the cool island breeze. If I had any panties on, I would have soaked through them by now. Instead, the saddle has turned into a Slip ’n Slide. I hear the unbuckling of Earl’s belt and the unzipping of his pants. I feel the heat radiating off his throbbing wand.
After Earl sheathes himself, he guides me onto his lap. I ride him for the next half hour as the Kosmoceratops carries us across the island under the gorgeous midday sun. He wasn’t lying when he said it would be the ride of my life.
On the helicopter flight back to Seattle later in the evening, Earl finally brings up the one topic we avoided while on the island. “You read through the quiz again on the boat, but still haven’t filled it out.”
Uh-oh. “I know, Mr. Grey.”
He pauses. “I don’t think it’s necessary any longer,” he says finally.
“Really?”
“You’re not like my other LARPers, Anna,” he says. “What we have together is different. It’s more like . . .”
“Love?” I say.
“Exactly,” he says, beaming at me.
Instead of being reassured about our relationship status, however, I’m worried. Can someone change so completely over the course of a few days? Is that how love works? Maybe if we were in a romantic comedy. To me, it feels more like we’re in a tragedy.
“What if you’re not the freak, Mr. Grey? What if I’m the freak?”
“Did you like being tied up last night?” he asks.
I shrug. “It was fun, except for the dead bird.”
“It’s just a taste of what you can expect in the world of erotic live-action role playing,” he says. “Except for the dead bird, of course.”
“That makes me feel a little better,” I say.
“I’d still like to do a BDSM scene with you,” he says.
“Fine,” I say. Can a role-playing scene get any stranger than any of the other things we’ve done this week?
Earl shakes his head. “I’m afraid you won’t accept me once you see how deviant my tastes are . . .”
“I would prefer to see the real Earl Grey, not the Earl Grey you think I want to see,” I say. “You’re right—we don’t need the quiz. I’m not just some random woman you’ve met through Craigslist. But I don’t want you to think you have to change for me.”
Earl stares at me with his gray eyes for what seems like an eternity. “I love you, Anna,” he says. “Unconditionally.”
He’s just too good looking to say no to. I can’t quit him, even if I tried. Mostly because he would stalk me to the ends of the earth, but still.
“And I . . .” I know the words, but I’ve never said them out loud to anyone before. Not even to my family. Earl’s eyes are transfixed on me. Instead of giving me the confidence I need, they’re making me nervous. It’s okay, Anna. You can do this. “Mr. Grey . . . Earl . . . I love y—”
Before I can finish my sentence, our helicopter crashes into the Space Needle. Everything goes black.