I'm having the wonderfulest dream.

In it, I'm sleeping and dreaming that I'm asleep. I can't wait to wake up, because, when I do, I'll be triply refreshed. (And, yes, I did just make up the word "triply.")

In my dream, I see my Unconscious. She's snoring like a pig.

Christian Grey walks into the room, and I rouse from my slumber. I can't believe how comfortably I slept, but then I'm used to falling asleep in strange places.

Mr. Grey--hair wet, skin glistening with beads of water--has just gotten out of the shower. He's still wearing the red rubber ball. Only not on his nose.

I yawn and stretch. Oh my gosh! I'm completely naked underneath the silk sheets!

"Did I...?" I ask, seductively.

"No," he answers.

"Did you...?" I ask, accusingly.

"No."

"Did we...?" I ask, disappointedly.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he laughs, classily adjusting the ball. "I was there."

"I mean, I'm completely naked. Did you do that?"

"Did I do what?" he asks.

"Take off my clothes and put me to bed."

"No. That was Doobie, my manservant. He put you to bed."

"And where did you sleep?" I ask, hopefully.

"In the same bed, with you," he tells me, matter-of-factly.

In the same bed?

Jeez, you would think a nice place like Motel 6 would have a suite with a second bedroom. I can't believe we spent the whole night in the same bed and didn't have sex. What are we? Married?.

"Can I ask you a question?" he says, asking me a question.

I nod.

"How can these chapters be so long when nothing ever happens in them?"

I have no answer.

We sit for breakfast. I'm famished, but I eat lightly, not wanting to seem like a glutton.

A slab of beef later, we're ready to leave. I dab daintily at the corners of my mouth with one corner of tablecloth.

"Even though it was the middle of the night," he was explaining to me, "and the stores were all closed, I sent Doobie out to buy you a choice of something non-vomity to wear. It's on the bed. Take your pick"

I look. As if by magic, the bed is already made and two beautiful outfits are delicately laying on top. One is a catholic schoolgirl uniform, and the other is a thong.

I choose the schoolgirl's outfit. I peek at the label. Oooh, it's from the Roseanne Barr collection. It fits perfectly.

I don’t know how he does it.

Nothing I ever buy fits perfectly.

I remember going to a clothing store once.

Heff & Heffers.

“I’d see a dress that will fit me,” I told the salesgirl.

“I’d like to see that, too,” she answered.

He opens the front door. My parents are on the other side.

"Mom! Dad!" I say, surprised. "I thought you were dead!"

"We only wish we were," they say, eyeing my outfit.

Once inside the elevator, Mr. Grey gives me a hungry look.

"There's something about you, Miss Steele," he says, "but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Well... maybe if you stood closer," I suggest, and with that he ravages me like the ravaging ravager that he is.

His strong hands grab my head like a vise, and lifts my lips up to meet his. His talented hips press the going down button, but I don't take the hint. His flatulent foot holds the elevator door open, and a stern-looking nun walks into the cramped space at the last second.

I open one eye, and peek at my parents. What could they possibly be thinking about our lustful indiscretion?

Holy guacamole! They're busy making out with each other!

Is that what we look like?

Ewww!

"What is it about elevators?" Christian asks the nun, as the elevator comes to a stop. She shrugs her shoulders.

The doors open, and his parents are standing on the other side.

"Mumsie! Dadsie! I thought you were dead!" he says, surprised. He disentangles himself from me, and gives them a big-boy hug.

"I only wish I was," his mumsie says, checking me out.

"Nice thong," his father says.

I can't believe it. Kate and José are here, too. They are both dressed in beautiful satin bridesmaid dresses.

"How was Willie Nelson?" I ask her with a sarcastic grin.

"It wasn't Willie Nelson," she tells me, sticking out her tongue, but not in the fun way. She nods toward José.

"Dreamy," he says.

The biggest surprise of all is Father Pedófilo, my old neighborhood priest from Our Lady of the Immaculate Vagina. I haven't seen him in years. Ever since he excommunicated me for boring him with my confession. I fondly remember the enthusiasm he use to show when it was time to feed the altar boys their communion wafers back in the rectory with the lights off to make it more spiritual.

I turn to Christian.

"How?" I ask him, stunned. "How did...?"

He puts a finger to my lips, silencing me. It smells like teen spirit.

"Will you marry me?" he says, getting down on one knee.

"Christian," my voice breaks, "I am near tears. I don't know what to say."

"Please," he says, "call me Mr. Grey. Now, will you? Will you? Will..."

"...you ever wake up?" Mr. Grey is saying as I wake with a start. I'm laying in his bed, naked underneath the silk sheets.

Christian Grey is standing there, still wearing the red rubber ball.

Only not on his nose.