With the release of the movie, Fifty Shades of Gray, upon us, I thought I’d repost a blog that explains why I will never be a fan of the book series or sit through the movie.
1. Set in Bellevue, Washington, the setting and its people do not inspire anything to moisten, except maybe the pre-glued lip of a manila envelope. Sorry, Fifty Shades of Grey, I’m not buying it. Bellevue, Washington is about as sexy as plain tofu. Who could equate creative, raw and unleashed sex with this button-down, blue-shirt clad, Microsoft haven? From their obsession with The Black Keys to their singular pursuit of creating the perfect refurbishment of the Vanagons parked in their suburban garages, the people locals refer to as ‘Softies’ could never be described as sexy.
Now, set the series in San Francisco and I’d believe you.
2. I’m not a fan of masturbation, so what’s the point? It might stem from my own sexual hangups formed as the child of an ousted Catholic mother determined to never have a pregnant daughter, I admit, this one’s all on me. I do know that my Women’s Studies class at UW didn’t help matters.
This was before the class title changed to Wymyn’s Studies, which might relate to the hymen I suppose, but would be better titled, “Why Men Are Scum.” We signed up for the class, my bestie and I, with two guy friends who thought it was a great way to meet chicks (or chyx?) and knock out five easy credits. Yeah, right.
From that first day in lecture hall, our guy friends came under the hostile gaze of the wymen in class throughout the hour. Every reference to ‘male priviledge’ made them sink lower in their seats. With that first class nearly over, the professor announced the homework. We were to write our names on our dildos in Sharpie pen. If we didn’t yet own a dildo, we were to purchase one, along with said Sharpie. I didn’t even know the word, ‘dildo’ until that moment, so I was a candidate for option two – purchasing a plastic wonder wand. Problem was, it would never stir anything but confusion in me because after that class my dildo would be sporting a condom made up of man hate and wymen’s pride; the sure makings of icy loins.
So, no dildo, no point. Sorry, Fifty Shades.
3. Public sex = Ick. The thought of public sex makes me wildly uncomfortable. As a teen, I used to run along the Columbia River after school, usually accompanied by my stepdad, Mike. One day, Mike bailed on me so he could get caught up on back episodes of All My Children, so I ran alone. Thank you, Lord.
As I neared the entrance to the trail, I noticed a shiny sedan bouncing up and down. It was a sunny afternoon and my first thought was that a dog was locked inside the car and was fighting to suck in enough cool air from the cracked window to live. I approached, peeked in the window and saw a chubby white butt bobbing up and down. I must’ve gasped, because the next thing I saw were two sweaty pink faces gaping back at me. I ran home and told Mike what he’d missed while watching AMC. Public sex. Ick. Sorry, Fifty Shades. I assume you don’t just contain condo sex, but public sex as well. And that makes me barf a little in my mouth. (what the kids these days refer to as a ‘vurp’)
4. My own failed attempt at PDA (public displays of affection) put me off Fifty Shades. Not sex, no. But, heavy kissing with a boy I’d been dating for some time. His name was, well, that’s none of your business, but he was beautiful and delicious and shy. Oh God! He was shy. He’d been my friend for ages and then sometime during high school we decided to be a couple. He was the star of the basketball team, and gorgeous, and oh so shy.
On a Sunday, God’s day, I invited him to my house under the guise of studying. Within minutes of walking in the door, I lured him down to the basement to watch football and “study.” Instead of falling all over me in the gaps between my mother’s trips to the laundry room, he read. He wrote on lined-paper. He studied.
I pinched my cheeks, pushed up my bra and licked my oh-so-willing-lips, but nothing. He studied.
Fast-forward to the summer. He came over to walk the river trail with me. I wore a cute swimming suit and teensie tennis skirt and we walked together, hand in hand. We spread our beach towels out on the dock and kissed. Oh, dear heavens, we kissed – physical, hot, lustful kisses and then there was an “Ahem!” We split apart and stared at a purse-lipped old lady. She explained (as I shuffled my bathing suit back into place) that this was her dock. And we should take whatever this was leading up to far, far away from her respectable dock.
I can’t speak for him, but at that moment, all my lust spontaneously combusted, as did all hope for our budding relationship.
PDAs? Nope. Fifty Shade’s not for me. I’d squirm my way through the pages, in a bad way.
5. My first, and only, exposure to porn was a fat failure. I’ll never try again, which means definitely no Fifty Shades.
It was the summer after my first year at UW. Me and my bestie traveled to Spokane to visit two of our best guy friends. It’d been revealed at the end of spring term that we’d never seen porn and they felt it was their duty to expose us to this life-changing media. (their words – not mine) Well, we didn’t care one way or the other, but it became the thing that our whole trip centered around. The boys had done research at numerous adult video shops and selected an award-winning (Yes! An award!) video. They rented it, we ate dinner and they popped in the VCR.
My bestie and I giggled our way through the opening scene. A woman’s television was broken. Oh no! She called a repair guy and he came over, tight shirt, tight pants and toolbelt. Well, while he was trying to repair the t.v., the woman unbuttoned her shirt, rubbed her boob, rubbed the other boob and then the movie faded out to nothing. We were in hysterics, laughing and rolling on the floor. THIS was the magical world we’d missed out on? Really?
On the other side of the room, sitting under a cloud of bitter, were our two guy friends. They were yelling at one another, “You just HAD to get an award-winner!” Etc. Etc. Etc.
Apparently, this was not typical porn. They were pissed that they’d completely blown their one and only chance to deflower two mostly innocent girls with the world of X-rated vids.
Porn, you and I were never meant to be. Sorry, Fifty Shades. I’ll never know if your best chapters fade out to nothing or thunder to a conclusion of loud groans and noisy slaps.
If you’re in the mood for a more cerebral read, check out my novel – filled with friendship, mystery and psychological thrills, Four Rubbings.