Fifty Shades of Neigh - A parody

by Anna Roberts

  "Three times?" Kate howls. "Your first time and you had three orgasms?"

  "I did. The first time I hadn't even taken my jeans off."

  "Hanna, are you sure it wasn't just a sneeze? You might be allergic to Axe body spray."

  Her phone rings and she's still laughing when she answers it. "Yeah, what do you want?"

  It's no wonder she's single. She's so rude. I always used to think she was assertive, but there's a fine line. And her language is terrible.

  "...why would I do that, Ben? Ask yourself seriously - why would I do everything you told me to in order to please you? What's in it for me? What do I get out of this deal?"

  Kate lets out an ear-splitting shriek and cackles like a hyena. "You? That's the big fucking prize for being led around on a dog leash, spanked in your sex dungeon and told when to eat, sleep, drink and take a shit? I get YOU?"

  I hear angry noises on the other end of the phone, but Kate is still giggling.

  "Bitch, you don't even eat pussy," she says. Why is she so obsessed with that? Why is everyone so obsessed with that? It can't be hygienic.

  "Do you mind?" I murmur, but she's still going.

  "...nuh uh. You cannot call that cunnilingus. You were down there for less than five minutes as a time filler while you put the condom on..." She laughs at something. "Oh please. The whole time you were going down you were looking up, giving me ‘Please ask for the peen,’ eyes. And yet you expected me to blow you to orgasm and then freaked the fuck out when I tried to stick a finger up your ass...”

  Oh dear God. I do not need to hear this.

  Kate snorts. “...well, actually it might interest you to know that a lot of men like that kind of thing. You got a prostate, you fucking idiot...seriously – God, no wonder you kept telling me you were like the freakiest pervmonkey to ever get his kink on. The lady doth protest too much or what - I’ve heard of vanilla but, dude you are not even that...”

  What is she even talking about?

  “...you’re like the sexual equivalent of cream of wheat. You’re the human version of beige, Ben – and no amount of whips and riding crops and nipple clamps are ever gonna change that. Now don’t call me again. I told you it was a one night thing, okay?”

  I hear angry voices on the other end of the phone.

  “No,” says Kate. “I wasn’t playing hard to get. I fucked you once because I was drunk. And you were bad. Really bad. It’s that simple...no, I don’t give a shit if you’re rich...”

  She sighs. “Seriously dude – don’t call me again...no, really. Look, you can wipe your ass with your non-disclosure agreement for all I fucking care – I’m not gonna sign it. And anyway, it’s not even legally binding. If you want to hear about legally binding then try calling me back, asshole. I mean it.”

  Kate snaps the phone shut and shakes her head in disgust. "And that, Hanna, is why it's best to have similar expectations in a relationship."

  "Who was that?"

  "Bennett Neigh, idiot. God, don't marry Mr. Cloppy, okay? There's nothing more awkward than a wedding where the chief bridesmaid has a restraining order out against one of the groom's brothers."

  "Mr. What?" My blood turns to ice. How could she know about that? How could she know about...the clopping?

  Jesús comes back from the store with more wine, just in time to rescue me. On reflection it was probably a bad idea to try and take on Kate like that - she gets a lot of lower body exercise and is still incredibly angry from that phone call with Crispian's brother. I end up on my back with Kate's nutcracker thighs squeezing my ribs.

  "Oh, hey ladies," says Jesús. "Am I interrupting something? And can I join in?"

  "If you like crazy women trying to choke you with cold, half-stale lumps of garlic bread, sure," growls Kate, squeezing my wrists. "Hanna had another one of her...episodes."

  Jesús frowns down at me. "Hanna - did you do the screamy slappy thing again?"

  I nod.

  He gives me a smile that is both understanding and rueful. "What happened? Did she call Stephenie Meyer a hack?"

  "I only told her not to marry that sickeningly wealthy asshole," says Kate, climbing off me. "Hanna, you really need to see someone about this shit."

  "Says the woman who threatened to shove a rolling pin up my nose," I scowl, getting to my feet.

  "I'll pour us a drink," says Jesús, taking the wine into the kitchen. "How about that?"

  "Yeah, just add alcohol to violence," Kate calls after him. "That'll end well." She turns back to me. "You want to tell me what that was all about?"

  I feel so stupid. Why does she make me feel so stupid? "You called him a name," I murmur.

  "What? Mr. Cloppy? Well, isn't he?"

  I can feel the blood rush hot to my face and the tears prickle my eyes. "That's private. You can't know that."

  Kate frowns and draws me away from the kitchen door. "Hanna," she says, almost kindly. "There’s nothing private when it comes to bronies. They broadcast that shit from the rooftops everywhere they go."

  I don't believe this. "His brother told you about his...hobby?"

  She shakes her head. "No. It was obvious. He bought you a My Little Pony t-shirt. He came to see you at work, at a toystore, where he bought a My Little fucking Pony. He buys you a computer and ties a My Little Pony balloon to the thing. Goddamn it, Hanna - I know you're not that bright, but didn't you notice that this guy really likes My Little Pony?"

  "But...he said it was a secret."

  Jesús comes out with the wine in plastic cups. "Excuse the Jonestown vibe," he says. "But we've packed all the glassware. What's going on?"

  "Hanna's new boyfriend is a brony."

  "No shit."

  "You knew about this too?" I ask, aghast.

  "Natch," says Jesús. "He was wearing one of those 'twenty per cent cooler' t-shirts and had a 'Brony Pride' button on the band of his doofy fucking hat."

  "You've seriously never heard of bronies?" asks Kate.

  I shake my head.

  "I guess not," says Jesús, thoughtfully. "Think about it, Kate - why would she? They’re an internet thing. Like, we've heard of them because they never shut the fuck up on YouTube, but Hanna's still at the Nigerian Prince stage of net savvitude. She's probably never even seen golden oldies like Tubgirl. Or goatse."

  Kate reaches for my laptop with an evil grin on her face. Jesús restrains her.

  "Ghostie?" I say.

  "Goatse," says Kate. "You should definitely Google image search that, by the way. Definitely. G-O-A-T-S-E. Goatse."

  "So he likes ponies," I say. "What's wrong with that? It's a little strange, but there's no harm in it. It's only our gender prejudices and preconceptions that make us think that pink, pretty things are for little girls. Why shouldn't boys be allowed to like pretty things if they want to?"

  "I agree," says Jesús. "Down with gender stereotyping."

  Kate narrows her eyes. "Jesús, you got something to tell me? You got a secret pony habit going on there?"

  "No," he says, and pulls the band of something lacy out from under his jeans. "But I am wearing your underwear."

  Kate exhales slowly and gets up from the tea chest where she is sitting. "Which ones?" she whispers, in a low voice which I know means she's going to explode. She's always had a terrible temper.

  "The dusky pink ones," says Jesús. "With the, like, coffee coloured lace trim."

  Kate's lips go all thin. "I see," she says, swallowing. "I'm surprised they fit you."

  "They're kind of snug across the butt - I won't lie."

  She hates people touching her things without permission. She's so mad she makes a tiny squeaky noise in the back of her throat as she drags Jesús into the kitchen.

  "Good luck," I whisper. "Don't let her kill you."

  "I think I can handle her," he whispers back, and then she yanks him through the door and slams it behind them. I pour myself some more wine and turn back to my computer.

  Hmm. Welcome to my world, he said. Maybe he
meant me to learn about him, about his likes and dislikes. I type in G-O-A-T-S-E but delete it before I hit search. No, forget Kate. This is Crispian's gift to me and in a way Kate is right - I should know what he's into. I didn't know anyone else knew the word but evidently they do, so let's find out what it means.

  I drain my cup and type 'Clop' into the search engine.

  The results are...interesting.

  Interesting? In the ancient Chinese curse sense of the word?

  - You picked an opportune time to give up mime.

  My Inner Goddess removes her beret and makes a puke face. Sister, I wouldn't even want to think about how to mime a thing like that. Is that pony wearing a...

  -...a strap on thingy. Yes. Yes it is. Oh my God.

  Chapter Eleven

  Filth and Pornography

  From: Hanna Squeal serendipony@houyhnhmn.com

  To: Crispian Neigh bronynproud@neigh.net

  Dear Crispian,

  There is no easy way to say this, so I'll just come straight to the point. I never ever want to see you again. It was fun while it lasted.

  - Hanna.

  From: Crispian Neigh bronynproud@neigh.net

  To: Hanna Squeal serendipony@houyhnhmn.com

  What? What did I do?

  From: Hanna Squeal serendipony@houyhnhmn.com

  To: Crispian Neigh bronynproud@neigh.net

  You didn't have to DO anything. I looked up 'clopping' on the internet.

  Goodbye forever.

  - Hanna.

  P.S. I'm pretty sure ponies don't have breasts, let alone leather bras with the nipples cut out.

  From: Crispian Neigh bronynproud@neigh.net

  To: Hanna Squeal serendipony@houyhnhmn.com

  Don't do anything silly. I'm coming over.

  I can't stop crying. Why would he do a thing like that? Why would he be interested in ponies in that way? It's so disgusting. It's not right. Is that what he thought we were doing when we were...doing it? We were having some kind of horrid pony-sex in his head? Is that what 'clopping' means?

  Jesús comes out of the kitchen. "Oh my God, Hanna. What happened?"

  Kate follows. She looks flushed and drunk. "Oh God - she googled goatse," she says, without looking at the computer screen. "It's okay, Hanna. I know it looks terrifying but it's just an anus, albeit a very talented one."

  "It's not goatse," says Jesús, looking at her over the top of my laptop. "It's My Little Pony."

  Kate joins us behind the computer. Her face is a picture of pure, uncomprehending disgust. "Oh Jesus fucking Christ man," she moans. "Bam - right in the childhood memories. Why would you even...oh my God stop. Click back. Back! That's just not right."

  "Rule thirty-four," says Jesús cryptically.

  "Rule thirty-four?"

  "Rule of the internet," explains Kate. "'If it exists, someone somewhere has made porn of it.' It's one of the reasons why you can't search for something as innocent as My Little Pony or Transformers without coming across some freakazoid getting their perv on to it. Is there any more wine?"

  "Transformers?" says Jesús. "Like robots and shit?"

  "Yeah. Robots in disguise. Sexy disguise. There's probably fucking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle erotica out there for all your kinky chelonian needs." She lights up another cigarette and sighs. "I don't even want to think about how that would work.”

  “Neither do I,” says Jesús. “How do robots even feel anything? They don’t have nerves.”

  I sob loudly. Kate puts her hand on my shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Hanna,” she says. “Happens to all of us.”

  It doesn’t, I want to say. How can she compare her squalid little dalliance with Crispian’s brother to how I feel about him?

  “...it would be just like metal grinding on metal,” says Jesús. “That’s not sexy – that’s just pointless...”

  Kate sighs. “Yeah, you know what, Jesús – I think this is like the last time in the world to be worrying about the logistics of hot metal robosex, okay?”

  “Yes, sorry,” says Jesús, blushing. “It’s just I used to play with those when I was a kid. You want some more wine, Hanna?”

  I shake my head. “I knew there was something wrong with him,” I sniffle. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

  “Everyone’s weird in some way,” says Kate. “Come on – don’t cry. At least he’s not a pedophile or one of those guys who likes dressing up like Shirley Temple and being anally violated with a baby bottle.”

  “I guess,” I concede, although I have no idea what she’s talking about and don’t want to. I blow my nose and try to stop crying. “What’s a pilonidal cyst?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds gross.”

  I start to cry again.

  "Oh God," groans Kate. "So he's a perv. Isn't it better you found out now rather than later? Imagine if you'd found his pony porn stash on your wedding night. At least now you can just dump the motherfucker and move on."

  Behind the laptop, Jesús lets out a small squeak of disgust and recoils from the screen.

  “What?” Kate peers over my shoulder. “Oh yeah – that is gross,” she says.

  “What’s gross?”

  “Pilonidal cyst. Add it to the list of things you should never Google image search. Aw, man – that one looks like someone tried to burst a yeti...wow.”

  The door buzzer goes. I remember Crispian's last e-mail. "Oh my God. It's him."

  "Him?"

  "He said he was coming over."

  "When?"

  "When I said I didn't want to see him any more."

  Kate curls her lip. "Leave him to me." The buzzer goes again and she walks out onto the narrow balcony overlooking the parking lot. I want to go out but Jesús holds me back. "Come on," he says. "You don't really want to be talking to him right now, do you?"

  "Hey fucko, how's it going?" yells Kate. "She doesn't want to talk to you, so fuck off home to ponyland, 'kay?"

  "Equestria!" Crispian's voice floats up from the parking lot below. "It's called Equestria, FYI. Hanna! HANNA!"

  Kate cackles. "STELLA!" she shouts. "STEEEEELLLLAAAAAAA! Not the balcony scene I would have chosen, dude. Why'nt you bring your little boombox over? Play her the My Little Pony song?"

  I push Jesús away. "I'm sorry," I murmur. "I have to talk to him. He's got under my skin."

  "So does scabies. It doesn’t make it right."

  Christian is standing in the parking lot, glaring up at Kate. He's carrying a cardboard tube. "I don't have to take this, you know," he is saying, and then he sees me. "Hanna," he whispers. Quite loudly.

  "I can't talk to you right now," I say. "Go home, Crispian."

  "Hanna, I need to see you..."

  "She said no," says Kate. "She asked nicely, bitch."

  Crispian scowls at her but turns his most appealing expression on me. Oh crap - I think it might be working. "Please Hanna," he begs. "Let me explain."

  He's a billionaire. He's got a helicopter and everything. And he's begging me. Little mousy me. I cannot deny that this does feel sort of fantastic.

  "No," I say. "Go away. I don't want to see you."

  "Hanna, please."

  "Hey Equus, what part of 'no' do you not understand?" shouts Kate. "Are we speaking the same fucking language here? Tell you what, she'll bang her hoof on the floor once for yes, twice for no - will that make you fuck off?"

  I press the buzzer. "Fine. Come in."

  Kate rolls her eyes as Crispian hurries towards the front door. "You moron," she says. "If you invite a Brony in then he can come and go as he pleases."

  "Kate, I think that's vampires."

  "It is?"

  "Yeah. Definitely vampires."

  She chews her lip. "Huh. That's weird. Why do I keep thinking he's a vampire?"

  "I've no idea. It's just one of those things. Like Jesús - you know?"

  "Oh yeah. Like how he goes a bit...

  “…'wooooo' every time there's a full moon. Exactly. Just one of
those things."

  "Did you know he can lick his own balls?" Kate whispers.

  "No way."

  "Yes way. He's really bendy - it's fucked up, dude. I'm telling you..."

  Crispian is standing in the balcony door. "Ladies," he says.

  "Hey," says Kate, eyeing him warily. "So you're definitely not a vampire?"

  He removes his fedora. His eyes are red and I feel inexplicably sorry for him. "No," he says. "Although I share a certain...affinity with the dark."

  "Yeah. I can see that," says Kate. "If it was me I'd prefer to have the lights off too."

  Crispian narrows his eyes. "Hanna, may I speak with you alone?"

  I sigh. "Okay. Let's do this."

  We go to my room. "I understand that you might have seen some things that disturbed you," he murmurs, apologetically. "But I want you to know that my interest in ponies isn't...well...it used to be like that. I may as well be honest with you."

  "Okay." I stare at my fingernails. They are devoid of orange crescents, a sign that the world has come between us.

  "I'm going to be brutally honest, Hanna - is that alright with you?"

  I nod.

  He licks his lips. "I have..." he stutters, a halting start. "I have a...fetish. I can't become sexually aroused unless I'm in the presence of ponies..."

  "Oh my God."

  "...specifically My Little Ponys. Not real horses or ponies - it's nothing like that. Actually I hate real horses - they're twitchy and they smell terrible."

  "So it's just the toy ones?"

  "Yes. But it has to be My Little Pony. The off-brand ones do nothing for me."

  "Okay." I nod again. I'm dealing with this. I am dealing with this. Huh - look at me, dealing with this.

  "When the show premiered it was like nothing on earth. It was like I'd come home. I couldn't stop touching myself."

  Okay, not dealing with that. I get up off the bed. "You did what?"