A Nashty Tale- Nash Grier "Fanfic"

50 Shades of Grier

I start my morning as I always do- a warm bubble bath with my phone in one hand and razor in the other. I open the Vine app to the popular page: oh how I love these relatable posts. "Yes, Brent Rivera," I think to myself, "My mom do be like that when I don't do my chores." Scrolling along I finally stop when I see his face. His loosely held jaw, and almost spiritless blue eyes, up to his mulch brown locks which sit atop his block-like head like a cloud atop a tall, formidable building. I watch him move- he blinks first his right eye then the left, flaring the

right nostril as he begins to yell "FAG!" His cries sound like sweet symphonies played just for me, as I sit and soak. The thought of Nash being here beside me, making me laugh so hard that I cut my arms as I shave them sends chills down my spine.

I'm brought back to reality suddenly and begin my first tri-hourly shave of the day. I start with the faint hairs on my big toes and work my way up my body to my upper lip. Despite the uncomfortable angle, and thought of the pain I'd be in if I nicked myself, I pushed through: "Who knows?" My inner voice starts, "Maybe today's the day he'll kiss you, and you wouldn't want him to be offended by your unwomanly upper lip fuzz." Before I knew Nash I assumed that the tiny hairs were normal: boy was I wrong. Without Nash I would've never known that if I didn't shave my lip any boy I was ever with would feel insufficient and demand that I meet a standard (hairlessness) that they can't reach the male equivalency of (having body hair): silly me.

I'm almost ready for school: I have on a sexy tank top, that is revealing enough to provoke my Nash, but won't tempt other boys and force him to feel jealous. The fuchsia tank top is tucked into an A-Lined mini skirt with chevrons: with my stuffed bra and pouffed skirt my waist looks like an apple core.

Because I wore my hair in a braid yesterday, today I should curl my hair: I wouldn't want Nash to get bored with me! It takes me 20 minutes to apply my no makeup makeup, and as soon as I put down my brush I hear a knock at the door. I open the door to see my Nash, car keys in hand. Strange: the car is off. He knows we have to leave in 5 minutes- what ever could he be doing?

Without greeting me he trots into my home as if it's his own. He makes his way up the stairs and into my bedroom. He swings my door open, kicks off his pristine Jordan's, and slams down on my freshly made bed. "Wh-what are you doing?" I ask. My voice falters because I think I know where this may be going. He walks over to me and runs his hand through my freshly curled hair, eliminating all of the bounce I'd just worked for. Without saying anything I go back to my mirror and begin to repair the curls when he snatches my wireless curling wand from my hand. "Nash?!" I'm confused at this point: I assumed we would ditch and marathon his YouTube videos all day, as we often did, but what he would do next I could've never anticipated.