Men keep asking me what I think about E.J. James trilogy: Fifty Shades of Grey. I think that it is a successful popular culture venture. Stop salivating. The author constructed the protagonist with deft sexy strokes. He’s irresistible to most. Here’s a hint: women want men to take control – sometimes. Who doesn’t thrill to the idea of someone who understands your body and psyche so well that they can take you to the other side of heaven? What interested me about the first novel in the trilogy were the shades of character flaws. Christian and Ana understood each other’s nuances and were so attracted to each other that they didn’t run screaming, but were willing to compromise and yes, explore. So don’t assume that because women are reading the book that you should trot out your assortment of BDSM ware and be welcomed.
Now I’m puzzled. Is there something about my face or language that has been inviting men to talk to me about their physical predilections in great detail? I’m just getting to know you. Cataloguing your needs like Mozart‘s famous catalog aria sung by Leporello, in which he outlines the breadth and depth of Giovanni‘s conquests, is not turning me on. Too much information. I don’t need to know what and which pill and which toy and when and why you need a certain kind of stimulation for a satisfying encounter. Have a little faith in me and yourself. If I’m interested, I’ll learn about your needs in time. Wasn’t sex simpler a few years ago? Ah, the unadulterated freedom in assuming that everything would work, be in place and ready when you were. Sure I worried if I had lipstick on my teeth, that my hair had detonated in a full frizz attack, but I didn’t have to worry about your body’s ability to convey stimulation. Well I did date, I later learned, a coke addict – a brilliant film editor, but a disturbed man, who did have chemically induced challenges. He was my first love. I still love him, even though he died in 2000, the same year that I got divorced. So even as a nineteen year-old I understood the delicate male sexual psyche.
I’m only suggesting that you get to know me before you assume that I want to know your penis as a pet. I don’t need to hear a full accounting of blood flow, what does or doesn’t happen in the morning when you wake up, and how you need 45 minutes notice before a possible encounter. Geez, what happened to passion and spontaneity? Don’t serve up your sex with an egg timer. Get a clue and leave some mystery, men and women. Excitement builds in 50 Shades of Grey because Ana doesn’t know what Christian will do next, but she knows that she trusts him and that she likes what he’s done so far.
Sex isn’t, in my opinion, a calculated clinical play. It’s a choreography that seduces and retreats. Don’t circumvent the most stimulating part – the build up. If you want me tied in knots, physically , psychologically, or other, appeal to me as a woman and not just a body part. I’m pretty responsive, but I don’t respond to clinical details. Show me your vulnerability. Let me hold you for a while. Let’s talk. If you give me an inch, I may hand you the rest of the rope. Just chill.