Fifty shades of Gandalf the Grey


By all means, I was just a normal girl. The farthest extent of individuality I ever reached was the little journal I wrote in, the one you are reading right now, which in a sense, is you peering into my soul. My dirty, tainted, molested soul. If you’d turn the page backwards, you’d only find the ramblings of an innocent girl that plunged into the world after graduating University. At the top of her class no less. Thing is about the life of academia, is it could ready you for the trials and tribulations of business, or how to translate a sentence in Shakespeare’s works a hundred different ways, but what you will read later on, no university could have prepared me for. This entry began around the time I found my first apartment, where I shared a room with my friend Cindy. Now, I call her a friend because I found myself dumped into a job where I knew no one, spending the bulk of my day tending to an obese boss’s every need as his secretary, and a new city filled with hustle and bustle that I myself was impartial to. You see, I’m just a normal girl as I stated earlier. I’m not very active in the social lives of others, nor am I completely secluded and hidden away. I was used to having friends in school, a little group I would stick with, then the same in University, but after being dumped from the institutionalized world, I found myself completely lacking any human contact. I still speak to them on Facebook every now and then, but it’s not really the same. Our relationships were built on more shallow things. Gossiping, sharing events that happened around the day, and talking of the amazing parties we were going to.

Cindy however, was a well rounded individual when it came to everything. She had everything in order, at least, that’s the way I saw it. She was a journalist, working for a financial magazine, a beautiful woman that dated all sorts of men, that I some now and then got to see naked as they passed by my room, sometimes to get refreshments, other times tissues, and once, I believe a spatula. The walls were thick in our house, but not nearly thick enough to muffle Cindy’s screams. AT times it was the men that were screaming. I asked her what would happen on those nights, and she told me:

“I like to bite their necks when I’m about to cum.”

“So, when they’re not screaming you’re not orgasming?” I asked.

“Some of them like to act like macho men and keep it inside. Other times, I’m being taken from behind, so I have nothing to bite on but the sheets.”

Cindy was blunt. I appreciated that about her. She never sugarcoated anything, and she always told it like she saw it. Just the other night, she bought me an early birthday gift, which was a vibrator. I’m pretty sure if you flip back a few ten pages, you’d find my detailed experience of the first time using one. She said it was because I never had any man over, and my fingers only won’t be doing the job. If she only knew that I was using the spatula at the time, I wonder what else she would have gotten me. If you’d read the past pages of this journal, you would have known that she was right. The vibrator was a wonderful gift, but it just wasn’t enough. You see, I tried getting men to sleep with me, even accepting their flaws, but I always hit a snag. The first guy I dated, was quite tall. A lawyer in some firm, too. He had a muscular frame to him, something I liked. But it turned out that he was a Mormon, and was waiting for marriage to finally have sex. He called a few times after the date, but I never answered. It was like an unfruitful tree, unworthy of watering.

My second date was through Cindy. He was one of her co-workers that kept trying to get in her pants after she had sex with him at a Christmas party held by their Newspaper. Ever since then, he wouldn’t stop practically begging her. I guess she figured she’d toss him a bone, and maybe he’d stay away. He was a charming guy, but drank like a fish. It took him two beers, and three gins to finally kiss me, and that was after we walked holding hands towards my apartment. The whole time I was wondering what the fuck he was thinking. Who in this day and age holds hands on the first date. Anyway; after we finished the first kiss, his hands became more and more free in their movements, and I found myself being fondled in the middle of the street by a middle aged man with alcohol on his breathe. For a moment, I believed I was filming a cheap rape scene for a movie, then I realized that that was just my sex life. I sort of wished he had a spatula. After I told him he can come up for coffee, we headed straight to my room. He was courteous enough to take my clothes off for me, but not quite enough to maintain an erection/ I didn’t blame him, nor did I blame myself, nor did I feel any sorrow. After realizing his soldier wouldn’t stand at attention, he dressed quickly, and awkwardly stumbled out, forgetting one of his socks on the brim of my bed. After that, I went into the kitchen, and ruffled through the drawers, but my beautiful spatula was gone, so instead I settled for a ladle. It was soon after that I received my gift from Cindy.


I can’t say what made me accept Cindy’s request on my one day off. I figured it could have been my sheer thankfulness towards her great gift, or simply the pent up sexual energy and loneliness I had in me, pushing me towards it. She was sitting on our couch, covered with a blanket, and her nostrils burning with allergies, and my underwear burning with desire. At that moment, my frustration seemed to be at an all time high. Even Cindy’s sickly face seemed good enough to just grind myself on until an earth shattering orgasm. But I held myself, and heard her speak.

“Ana, I need a huge favor from you.” she said, with her beautiful nostrils clogged up with phlegm.

“I’m not going to make you tea, I’ve made enough coffee for my boss this week, I need a rest.” I cried back at her.

“No no no, I wasn’t going to ask you that, but now that you say that, it seems what I’m going to ask you to do for me is too much, whatever, forget it.”

I could sense the disappointment in her, and in all honesty, the pushover inside my was yelling for me to feed her.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, tell me, what do you need?” I said.

Ah, sweet bliss. It felt so gratifying being swindled and emotionally abused while knowing it. In a way, I wanted it. I even felt a bit more turned on.

“I have this very important interview today, but I can’t go, and I’ve been waiting months. Can you go in my place? I have the questions ready, and everything. Please, just this one favor.”

“Why can’t you call and reschedule?”

“Mr.Gandalf is a billionaire with a company to run, even if I’m lucky enough to get another appointment, it’ll be months from now, if not a year.” she cried at me, coughing right after.

She was obviously invested in this interview, so much so to raise her delicate voice while it needed rest the most. I couldn’t help but wonder if she could have sex in her state. I didn’t ask, though, I felt it might have been digressing, and a bit inappropriate. I let out a little sigh, looked at my feet and accepted.

“Go get dressed, and I’ll get you the list of questions. I love you, bitch.” she said.

I hadn’t heard those three words in such a long time. They rang in my ear, and played in my head while I headed to my room. At that moment, there would have been nothing in the world I would replace with my head on a man’s chest, twirling his words, and hearing those three words coming out of his mouth, ‘Go get dressed.’. I looked my closet, and picked out the clothes I had left. It was laundry day, and it so happened that my period just passed, so most of my clothes were tainted with blood, some other fluid, or smelled like a dog in heat had rubbed herself all over them. All I had was a set of white pants, red underwear, a green brassier, and an orange shirt. I threw them on, and wore my converse shoes, and headed out to Cindy.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” she said.

“Yea, what’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing, you just look like a rodeo clown escaped from the circus.”

“Har har. Give me the questions already.”.

She handed me a list of questions, which I pushed into my blue and yellow purse, crumpling them in, covering my tampons and other assortment of unnecessary things I leave in. I asked her for the address, and she texted me a location on my phone. I opened my GPS, and headed out the door onto the loud bustling streets.

I tried walking all the way to the address Cindy gave me, but after people began staring at me, which I assumed was because of my clothes, I decided to take a taxi. I looked out of my window when we arrived, and I was welcomed by a revolving door, connected to a sky scraper, with a glass cover from bottom, to top. I opened the door, and was about to exit, then the taxi driver grabbed my arm, and looked at me, grinning at me with all three teeth he had left, and says.

“You did not pay. That’ll be fifteen bucks.”

Fifteen dollars. Do you believe that? Only for a few blocks, too. I gave him his money, and walked towards the revolving door. Once inside, everything was white, and beautiful, even the people. For a second I believed that it may just be a lawsuit waiting to happen, but then a group of African Americans passed by, and they too stared at me. At that moment, I started to wonder if I had something on my teeth, or even worse, my fringe might have been unkempt, so I headed to the nearest bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror, and realized that my lipstick had left a streak going from my right cheek, towards my ear. How that happened, I don’t know. Why Cindy didn’t tell me, I don’t know either, but then it struck me that I did my make up on the elevator on the way down, and must have made that mistake when it stopped. Good thing I caught it early, I thought. I shook my fringe, and made sure it was on point and headed to the elevators.

With a ping, the elevator opened, and I was greeted by a waft of men and women in suits walking out, almost pushing me down and trampling me. After the attack, I managed myself, and walked inside, and pressed on the top button, the one that said ’51’, and the elevator pulled me down, and it pulled itself up. After listening to the lounging music, as I was being pushed to the complete corner by people going in and out of the elevator for a few minutes, I finally reached the fifty-first floor. The moment the door opened, I was slapped by the wooden design of the offices. Everything was made out of wood, even the chairs. The people there were so frigid, and beautiful, they all seemed like gorgeous walking wooden dildos to me. I stepped out of the elevator, maintained my composure, and looked at the wooden plaque before me that spelled ‘Gandalf Co.’. One of the wooden dildos sat behind an office right under the plaque, so I walked towards her and asked.

“I have an appointment with Mr.Gandalf?”

She looked at me, with the phone in her ear, motioned at me to remain silent for a moment, spoke a few words into the phone, and hung up, then said.

“How can I help you?”

She had a beautiful smile. Too bad it was as fake as her demeanour. I would know, I gave that same fake smile more times than I can remember to the people who come by our office.

“I have an appointment with Mr.Gandalf.” I said.

“Under which name?”

“Cindy McAngus.”

“Right this way.”

The wooden dildo got off her chair, and motioned me to follow her, so I did. She led me to a large iron door with little stubs on the sides, and opened it, holding her palm out in my face.

“There’s a miss McAngus here for you.”

“Let her in.” he said.

His voice was deep, strong and I could even sense the wisdom in it. She pushed the door with both hands, and it bellowed out a creek that echoed through the office. Gandalf’s office was clean, matriculate, and had grass patches on each of his wooden furniture, except for his table. His table had three pipes on it, and a large staff with a bulb shaped wooden tip aimed at me. When I walked in further, and heard the door shut behind me, I noticed that behind him in the corner, there was a large box filled with fireworks. When I looked at him, the first thing that struck me was his magnificent beard, and the wrinkles on his face that almost folded around his eyes when he smiled. After he stood, I could clearly see his robes, dangling from his broad shoulders, dripping down to his fabric shoes. For a moment I found myself gazing, and he interrupted my train of thought when spoke.

“You will have to speak with haste. Time is important for a wizard, for he cannot be late, or early, he must always be right on time.”

“Of course, I just have a few questions here for you.”

I started muffling around the pages Cindy gave me, and finally found the first page.

“I was told you were a blonde.” he said.

“I’m not really Cindy, she’s sick and I’m here as her replacement.”

“So you too are a journalist?”

“Actually, I’m her friend, just doing her a favor.”

“What is it that you do in this life that we all endure then?”

“I’m just a secretary.” I mumbled to myself. “I mean, shop clerk, but I’m treated as a secretary there.”

I wondered why he was interested in knowing anything about me. I tried my best to ignore his intense gaze, but I could feel it burning through my chest, ripping into my spirit, reading me, as I ruffled through the pages to find the questions Cindy gave me, and then I did. But he didn’t stop gazing.

“Okay, so first question. What makes ‘Gandalf Co.’ the corporate giant it is today?”

“Magic, of course. We provide the market and the world with a product and a service none other could ever imagine. We do not only bring joy to people’s hearts, but we bring magic into them, too.” he said.

I scribbled down what he was saying, and was about to ask another question, but he sprang before I could say another word.

“Why do you hunch forward like that? A beautiful girl like you should have the confidence to sit like the queen she is.”

I blushed and I could start feeling my cheeks burn, both sets of cheeks. His gaze did not avert that entire time. There was an intense feeling of awkwardness and an erotic burning inside me that I simply couldn’t shake off. He walked behind me, and put his hands on my shoulders, and pulled them back on the chair. His hands were calloused, and I could tell those were palms effected by years of hard work, and dedication to a craft. There was something arousing about the fact that I was being handled by hands that have worked with passion before. His hands slowly brushed against my neck, and I was sure he felt their warmth, as he walked back towards the table he was leaning back on as he spoke to me.

I continued asking the questions, and in between, he would give me a compliment, paired with a comment on something. First it was my posture, then my clothes, after that it was the way one of my eyelids drooped when I smiled until we ended it with him commenting on my red underwear showing through my white pants. The interview went on for a while, like a ping pong match. I threw a question his way, and he returned it with an answer. He even had the concentration of an athlete, his eyes, always on the prize, me.

When I had the questions filled out, and ready to leave, I stared up from the sheet of paper that had scribbled words all over, and looked back at Gandalf and said:

“Thank you for answering all the questions, but can I ask you a personal question?”

“All questions one way or another are personal, my dear.”

“Do you exercise the same intensity throughout life the same way you did with me?”

At that moment, I could see I might have offended him in a way or another, not that I meant to. He stood up straight, grabbed his staff, and hit the floor with it, and his hat stood at point.

“I am no conjurer of cheap tricks if that is what you’re alluding at.” he yelled. “I am magic. And all magic is intense.” he continued.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just interested in you, more than just your company.”

His eyes gleamed, and a blanket of tears went over them, never spilling over. I could see his lower lip shiver a bit, and his knuckles tighten around his staff.

“If that is all, let me lead you to the elevator.”

He walked infront of me, held me by the hands, raised me off the chair, and opened the large iron door. I walked out first, and he followed, and again, the wooden dildos were in sight. It felt like I had left a mystical world, and then found myself in a corporate forest, the habitat of all these phallic objects walking around. When we reached the elevator, he pressed the button, adjusted his robe slightly, and put his free hand in his pocket.

“I wish to see you a time other.” he said.

His eyes still held the shine and gleam. I looked right into them, and my heart pounded, almost to the tune of its own drum solo.

“I’d like that.” I said. “But you don’t even know my name.”

“Names are but a defining factor, an unnecessary aspect of a relationship. You know mine, and I can create many for you, but you will forever be the girl with the eye that droops, and I will forever be the Wizard with a large staff.”

He was right. Had I not known his name, the grandiose of his charm on its own would have still made me weak in my knees, and tremble in my heart.

“I’m Annastasia, my friends call me Ana.” I said.

Why I said it, I cannot say. I mean, he had just told me he had no interest in knowing my name, but some part of me, the part that seems to rebel against the push the other aspect of my self, the pushover, allows, fought with all its might that moment. He took out his hand from his pocket, and had me say my phone number to a butterfly that laid almost dead in his palm. He looked at me and said

“Soon. We will be together again.”

With a ping the elevator arrived, and I was in, looking right back at Gandalf, staring into his eyes, through the wrinkles around his eyes. The door began to close, and I could see him utter the words ‘Anastasia’ under his breathe. And under mine, involuntarily, the words ‘Gandalf the Grey’ came out.


By the time I reached my appartment, I had realized that there was a large stain between my thighs. The whole time Gandalf and I were together, my fluids had been out of control. I won’t deny it, everything about him was erotic. The robes, the calloused hands, that magnificent beard, and simply the way he held his beautiful staff. All of those combined would have made any woman drown in her own bodily fluids, so I took no shame in what happened to me.

I clicked the door open, and found Cindy still in the couch, hidden in her blanket, sleeping. I decided that it was time to meet an old friend. I headed to the kitchen, and found the spatula laying on the counter. The Vibrator had its own character, as did the spatula. At times when I simply wanted to be taken physically, with no emotion in mind, I used the vibrator. But at times like this, when my soul needed companionship much more so than what laid between my thighs, my old friend and lover, the spatula, would come in play.

What happened in the room after, I will keep for the journal I wrote for that day. All I can say, is I had to go back into my pyjamas after and start the laundry right after. The sound of the washer must have been loud, since Cindy woke up, and looked at me with sticky eyes, sticky nose and redness all around her face.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“I got your answers.”

I handed her the papers, and walked away, heading back to my room. But she interrupted.

“What was he like?”


“Is it like everyone told me he was like?”

“Depends on what they said.”

“Everyone told me he had this intensity to him, the kind that makes you feel like a goddess, but a peasant at the same time.”

“That’s an understatement to say the least.” I said. “He was intense in all ways you can imagine. You should have seen his staff. It’s huge.”

Cindy’s eyes widened, and gaped.

“You got to see his staff?” she cried, and coughed. “How large is it?”

I put my two index fingers together,facing her, an extended them as far as my arms allowed, and even then it didn’t do Gandalf’s magnificent staff justice. The conversation went stale, and I could feel Cindy’s interest dwindle along with her consciousness so I let her sleep, and went to have dinner on my own.

The next day at work was seemingly boring, if it weren’t for the constant wait to get a call, or a text, an email, a pigeon, anything from Gandalf. Instead, all I received was a monotonous wait that smelted me to my core. I was organizing the house hold items when I heard a voice.


I looked up, in the hopes that it was Gandalf’s wise voice calling on to me, instead, it was Paul, my obese boss, stomach dangling out of his shirt, sweat dripping from his thinning hair, and a smell of sweet diabetes emenating from his skin.

“I have a few files I need you to look at, find me at my office when you’re done.” he said.

“Okay.” I said.

I was about done putting the knifes away, and didn’t want to rush laying down the Spatulas, so I went on my way to his office, leaving them for later. As I walked across the Isle, I looked at the shop’s glass door, and spotted him. His grey robe wandered behind him, and his staff hit the floor hard right infront of the door. It was Gandalf. With all his might, he kicked the door, which in its turn flung like a chicken out of a catapult, and bashed into the window. He stepped in, took a deep breathe and screamed:

“I require tools, for I am to murder Orcs on this fine morning. Shop keeper, come to me instantly.”

My boss seemed to be unavailable, I presumed he was in the bathroom masturbating again. Hence the sweat. So I rushed to him, and our eyes met.

“It is you. What does a queen in such a lowly shop, and working no less?”

“This is my job, I need it to pay for college.”

“Then you must aid me.” he said. “I am in dire need of mithril chain mail, and your finest throwing axes.”

I walked him through the store, and showed him the collection of axes we had at the ‘Ogres And Orcs Killing store’. The whole time, he gazed at me, when he wasn’t looking at the things I was handing him. Shortly after, as if he was looking into my very soul, he said.

“Where do you keep your spatulas?”

I jerked, and took a deep breathe, letting out a little meep. I asked him what reason he would have for a spatula, you see, as far as I knew, Spatulas can only be useful for a few things, none for orcs.

“I intend to keep it for a private endeavor.”

We ended our conversation then and there, and he started walking away. As he reached the door, he looked back at me, and asked me if I wanted to drink coffee. I mumbled, and smiled, and said.

“I would love to.”

Without warning, he instantly grabbed me by my arm, and dragged me out the shop, still holding his new weapons, and a single spatula, that he held along with his staff in one grip.

We both left the shop with the windows crashed, and the door wide open, and my boss masturbating furiously in his office, still waiting for me to walk in on him, for him to act surprised. Gandalf dragged me three blocks to the ‘Inn of the prancing pony’, and told me it was his favorite. When we opened the door, it was as if we entered a portal into a different universe, and we might as well have. It was dark, and smelled like the mideival era, at least what I assume it would smell like. I’m saying it smelled like shit. It was horrible. But when one is with Gandalf, the senses are numbed to everything else but him to the extent that even life becomes an after thought. It’s… sexy. We sat on a table, facing each other, the weapons laid near him, and the spatula and staff still gripped as hardly as he could. I couldn’t help imagine his grip around my neck, choking me till I turned purple.

“You have strong hands.” I said.

“These hands witnessed battles and encounters that can make the strongest man cringe, and wet himself.” he said, gazing right into my eyes.

I had just realized that he had blue eyes. They weren’t the normal kind of blue, as rare as that is, no, they had a sparkle to them, as if a universe grew inside them, and life bloomed in his very iris. We talked for a while. And sometimes in between sentences, he would use his spatula to whip the table, and yell like a judge.

“It has been adjourned.”

I wondered what he was talking about every time he did it, but I feared asking him, not because I didn’t want to anger him, only because I knew that it is only patience that will get me to that beautiful spatula, and its mistreatment. Shortly after, he abruptly interupted me and said.

“I cannot take part of this, I shall lead you away.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Exactly what I had said. Come at once.”

We stood outside, and were walking back to the shop. His eyes still held that spark, but my heart felt nothing but the cold stab of a man that put ice through it.

“That is it, then?” I said, and started walking away, looking straight into Gandalf’s eyes.

I was about to step off the pavement, when I felt Gandalf’s hand grab me by the shoulder, and saw his other spin his staff, and stick it into a bike rider’s face. He saved me. The bike rider laid on the floor, unconscious bleeding from his nose, and breathing shallowly, sometimes snoring as a man who was just hit by staff at high velocity would.

I laid in Gandalf’s arms, staring into his eyes. My lips quivered with the firey heat of passion, and his eyes swelled with the cold love he robbed me of.

“You must leave. Instantly.” he said.

And I did. I went back to work, through the broken door, and into my boss’s office, only to find him laying back in his chair, covered in his own sperm, napping. I figured I’d let him sleep, and go back to stocking the spatula. Not even house held items could please me then, only the magical touch of Gandalf’s delicately strong hands.


The week after that was back to normal. I hadn’t heard from Gandalf, and he was no longer a topic of conversation I would have. If anything, I was beginning to forget him. No that’s a lie. There was no way I could ever forget him. Which was why Cindy decided to invite me to a night out at the pub with her friends, some of which I knew. I was already sort of drunk by the time I got there, since I had taken a penchant to drinking on my own at home, ever since I wanted the time to pass by quicker since Gandalf would not call me, and the anxiety was something I could not bare. There, I saw one of the guys I knew who was friends with Cindy, and I thought I could try to put the moves on him, and maybe forget Gandalf once and for all.

He offered me a drink, and I took it, and we talked. He tried looking me in the eyes for longer than ten seconds, but it seemed like he was too afraid I’d jump out and bite him in the nose if he did, so he constantly fell back down and gazed at his shoes instead. For a few moments, I was looking at his shoes too. I figured maybe then we could ind a common topic to talk about instead of the mundane things we were dwelling on. Cindy came over, and started whispering something to me. I just shook my head, and acted as if I could understand what she was saying, but in all truth, the music was too loud and the guy’s shoes were far too interesting to focus on anything else at that moment. Come to think of it, I don’t really remember his name. All I really remember was that he was wearing Vans shoes. AT that moment, I got bored, and walked out to have myself a cigarette. As I put the cigarette in my mouth, I saw a small flame in my face, ready to light it. I looked back up to thank whomever offered me the flame, only to find myself gazing into Gandalf’s face. For a moment, I was scared, shocked, even terrified. I feared that I was playing tricks on my self. The alcohol might have started to show me what I wanted instead of what was real. After rubbing my eyes a few times, I noticed that it was truly Gandalf, standing infront of me, and the flame out of his staff, was mine, ready to light my cigarette.

“You’re intoxicated.” he said. “Only fools and Dwarves drink, and you aren’t any, are you?”

I looked at him, and I was relatively taken aback. I expected a ‘Hi’ or a hug, and wished for a kiss. Instead, his hug was an indication of fact, his greeting an insult, and his kiss a question of morality that I had to answer.

“Maybe I am, what is it to you?” I said.

He looked at me. His facial features never changed, but somehow, I could feel his disappointment, his anger, his lust, his whole hearted concern about me, just by looking into his eyes.

“You shan’t stay here longer.” he said, and grabbed me by the arm. “You shall come with me.”

“Let me go.” I cried back.

Alcohol brought out the rebel in me, the one that does the pushing, and shuts the one being pushed over it seemed.

“I warned you.” he said, and left, walking into the night, his robe fluttering, and his staff thumping the ground with each step he took.


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