50 Shades of Ian Fleming

Shaken and stirred, darling. Looks like Ian Fleming, author of the James Bond novels, may have been Mr. 50 Shades of Gray himself during the 1930s. A U.K. rare books dealer is selling a healthy batch of Fleming's love letters to his Austrian girlfriend, Edith Morpurgo, and obviously we snooped through the contents to find the dirty bits.

In the letters, Fleming refers to Morpurgo as his "high class ninny," includes sketches of a "Do Not Disturb" sign and a diagram of the human body featuring "where I want to kiss you," along with several rambling, Christian Gray-approved love notes like the following:

...If I were to say ‘love’ you would only argue, and then I would have to whip you and you would cry and I don’t want that. I only want for you to be happy. But I would also like to hurt you because you have earned it and in order to tame you like a little wild animal. So be careful, you. You, I’d like to sleep with you just once and do nothing to you, just wrap my arms around you and hold you tight and find you there when I wake up. But it must be sunny! Where will we find sunshine in this overcast country? But it only depends upon you and the sun and that is only two things, and so it could so easily be so much more. I I kiss you where you will not allow me to and remain, with a German greeting, Your Ian. P.S. Do you snore?

There are also breakup-y letters that accuse Morpurgo of being a bad, bad girl (but not in a saucy way):

You are accustomed to seeing the worst in people, and so the bad comes out so easily. I have found myself feeling like a child in front of its malicious governess.

Are we terribly surprised? This is, after all, coming from the man who invented a hero notable for his "rather cruel good looks" and penchant for international women. The batch, which is selling for £47,500 (about $79,000), also includes photographs and more of Fleming's ephemera, such as a note bowing out of a social engagement. In the physical description of the batch, the seller notes, "One letter evidently angrily torn into pieces by the recipient, later restored with cellophane tape."

Writers, right? Drama, drama, drama.