Fifty Shades of Augghhhhh! My brain is melting!
So, I’ve been reading Speaker 7’s brilliant parody on “Fifty Shades of Grey” , and while I’m laughing hysterically at her work, there’s enough of the original books subtext to get me thinking: maybe I AM still vanilla after all! I mean, to me, all the biting, hair pulling, bending me over whatever waist-high something there happens to be available, is ALL fantasy! It’s all play-acting with a smile (of pleasure) on my face. It’s all just kinda FUN!! I mean, God(dess) knows, I don’t REALLY want some guy to humiliate and bruise me (okay, maybe the bruising part, but just a little!) I just want the suggestion of it! TEASE me a bit, but, when you tie my hands, I wanna make sure I can get out if I really want to! Safe words be damned, I want to be able to bust free, not be tied up to some bed in a flea bag hotel in a ratty downtown district, with no way of escape till the maid comes to clean the room…
Someone, a guy, showed me a book recently that had fetish/BDSM pictures in it. Now, I gotta say, some of that shit looked fun, but some of it? Oh HELL no! I mean, there were things in there that just did NOT look pleasurable. Okay, one chick had clothes pins, four of them, arranged around her breast, about half an inch from the aureola…now, how the fuck is THAT supposed to feel good? Seriously? I mean, nipple play, sure, pleasure inducing, pull it, bite it, whatever, if I was a man, it’d get me hard; as a woman…well, you know! But AROUND the nipple? No! That shit HURTS! Like REALLY hurts! WTF??? I guess I am completely missing the point here!
And this Christian Grey shit? That shit AIN’T play-acting! All the tell-the-chick-what-to-do in and OUT of the bedroom? Oh NO! Not even! In the bedroom? Awesome! Out of the bedroom? Where IS that rusty-dull knife, because I’m about to castrate your’ sorry, misbegotten ball-sacks, like a vicious rabbi with a grudge and bad eyesight!!
See, I am a strong woman. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was eighteen (okay, I got a little help from the folks whilst in college, and a bit more when I started my business, had the kid, etc., but STILL, for the better part of thirty-six-effing years, I have been taking care of my own-self!) And I’ve done a fairly decent job of it too! So, all the play acting in the bedroom? Amazing phucking shit! Go for it, toss me around like I’m not three inches shy of six feet and carrying more weight than a tender princess ought to…please! Seriously, that shit makes me feel dainty and pretty, and as any girl who has ever towered over her male classmates in the oh-so-soul-redeeming time that is high school can attest, we ALL want to feel dainty and pretty! (as a semi-disturbing side note here, let me just state that the first guy to EVER pick me up and spin me around, was, I’m chagrined to admit, my own son! Of course he was six-foot-three and twenty-two at the time…but STILL, it was my SON!!!!! *sigh*!)(I also am going to admit here, whether you want to hear it or not, that one of the wondrous things that The River Guy did, besides throwing me around in the bedroom, which, for a big girl, was super amazing [and, even better, when I told him this, he said “but you’re not a big girl!” Awwwww!! So sweet!]but what was wondrous was that he PICKED ME UP and CARRIED ME across a boggy part of the path on one of our spring walks. Now didn’t that just make me feel about five foot two and light as a feather made of Kate Moss!)
But, as usual, I digress!
A friend told me today, when we were talking about this crap (which is apparently one of Anastasia Steele-Grey’s favorite words!) that some of the more serious BDSM folks really DO insist upon domination of their partner in all aspects of their lives. I reiterate: Oh HELL no! I can guide my own life, thank you very much, I do not need some arrogant p.o.s. Telling me what I can eat, what I can wear, how I must behave…that would just not fly in my own little world!
I will once again reiterate: during sex, sure, go ahead and take charge, do with me what you will, teach me, mold me, let me know exactly how you want that blow job to go…and, by all means, go ahead and bite me, don’t draw blood, please, but maybe just a tiny little bruise, and, if at all possible, please, please, please aim for that exact spot where my neck meets my left shoulder; but be prepared to catch me when my knees buckle and I fail to stand. (makes my nerve endings all giggly-jiggly just thinking about it!) Bear in mind, however, that, despite my horrifying fourteen years of nunnery, I mean, celibacy, there will be times that I will put my own little spin on said blow job, and I will blow your’ mind (as well as your’ privates) when I do! Also, sometimes, I’m gonna want to be in charge… and, if you let me, you will LOVE it…
So, yeah, maybe I AM still vanilla after all, but, it’s vanilla with sprinkles…I told a friend this a few months ago, the friend I talked about recently, in that walking dream of mine, when the goddess made the funny (go here) the guy that I didn’t want to know that I wasn’t vanilla anymore. I told him I was vanilla with sprinkles. He sent me to Annie Sprinkles’ website! Soooo not what I was talking about!
My eyes were melting….