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Posts Tagged ‘fifty shades’

I should have known better.

SAM_0820

Innocent, pure, virginal, beautiful and shy girl meets the richest, most handsome and most interesting man in the world. Of course she falls head over heels in love with him. Love at first sight. Most gorgeous man in the whole wide world decides that virtue is to be rewarded, marries Pamela and they live happily ever after. Sorry, wrong book. I mean Anastasia, but I’ve read all this before. Didn’t Barbara Cartland write this same book about seven hundred times? Oh yes, she did.

The pure, virginal etc. girl – whose intelligence is outstanding, or so she says –  gets drunk and her best friend tries to take advantage of her. Hold on, a friend who tries to rape you when you’re drunk is hardly a friend. Apparently she’s not that intelligent, because she still considers him his best friend, because oh my, what he tries to do is not rape. Then a knight in shining armour, or rather shining BMW, comes to rescue this damsel in distress. Hold on, I’ve read this before as well. It’s what knights in shining armour do as a rule since Tristram rescued Iseult. Though damsels in distress usually weren’t drunk after too many margaritas, cheap wine and beer.

Knight in shining BMW takes her to his castle/loft and fucks her. Virginal girl feels the most shattering orgasm a woman has ever felt in History, it takes her like seven pages to describe it. So shattering it is that as soon as he withdraws she immediately demands another, and knight in shining BMW complies. Hold on again, who’s fucking her? Bloody Superman?  Then the innocent inexperienced shy girl performs the best blow job a woman has ever performed, outdoing  Monika Lewinski at the first go. Very deep throat, semen swallowing and all, about seven pages. Is this romance or science fiction?

Anyway, the experience must have been shattering indeed, because the now ex-virgin suddenly becomes a hydra with three heads. There’s the Jiminy Cricket Victorian headmistress personality, the dancing queen/inner goddess personality and the ex-virgin who is deeply in love after a couple of fucks personality. The three personalities are unable to decide if their lover fucker is Angel Clare, Fitzwilliam Darcy or Edward Rochester (literary references to remind us they are intelligent), but they all agree they’re being fucked by Michelangelo’s David reincarnated. The inner goddess, by the way, is always hot and wet and ready for sex, even when wearing a Tampax. In short: the Queen of Blow Jobs suffers from schizophrenia. Three split personalities? Get Dr. Freud here and fast.

Well, ex-virginal girl thinks about fifty ways to leave her lover after discovering that her knight is shining armour is the dark knight after all, but of course she doesn’t leave. Not everyone gets seven orgasms that last seven pages per chapter. It’s so very romantic, when she comes down the stairs and finds Richard Gere playing the piano and gets a seven page orgasm on the instrument – oh sorry, I’ve got the wrong story, that’s Pretty Woman. Then we get seven pages of sex and shattering orgasms (give it to me, baby) on the sofa, then seven pages of shattering sex in the lift, on the billiard table, against a wall, I don’t know, even up the chimney, who cares. It gets utterly boring. Yeah we know, pretty woman. You’re carried to infinity and beyond every time he fucks you. I wonder why the author didn’t copy Fanny Hill for the sex bits, after all, she copied the Twilight series all over the place, classical music Edward Cullen likes included. Meanwhile, the fourteen pages contract the Dark Knight carefully wrote stating which services he demands for his money is forgotten in the intelligent girl’s handbag. Intelligent girl apparently doesn’t realize that getting paid for sex is what prostitutes do.

Intelligent ex-virginal girl then gets a job as PA in a publishing house. Her duties, apparently, include getting pastrami sandwiches for her boss, and running to the next Starbucks to get coffee for aforesaid boss. The rest of Bridget Jones working hours are devoted to sending hot emails to Daniel Cleaver and er, I’ve got the wrong story again. Sorry. Well, as I was saying, Bridget – I mean Anastasia, works very hard sending hotmails – guess what, not from her Blackberry or her mobile, but from the company computer. Oh my, how intelligent she is. But America is the land of opportunities: in a week she has proved to be so invaluable to the company that she is immediately promoted to chief editor. I must move to the United States ASASP, because I can write really hot emails and apparently that’s all I need to become chief editor somewhere.

As for the Dark Knight, well, yes, he is twisted, but so very attractive, clever, interesting – no, it’s not for his money, even though he’s richer than Rupert Murdoch plus Bill Gates plus the whole Rockefeller family. What woman could resist him? All of us like Hannibal Lecter, after all. So elegant, so cultured, so impeccable a taste in music, food, wines…. oh my, I’ve got the wrong story again.  Hannibal… Christian Grey likes his women tied, manacled, lashed, spanked, humiliated, gagged, caged. He is able to pay, and pays very well, for what he wants. Several prostitutes accepted his terms and his money, or so he says. Oh my, I’m so sorry, they weren’t whores, they just fell for him, but as they were not as intelligent as Anastasia, they couldn’t keep him. As the very intelligent ex-virgin reminds us every two pages or so, every woman hungers for Christian Grey (she keeps repeating “he’s MINE, you slut”, just in case). Oh wait, lesbians don’t, that explains why his second-in-command hasn’t fallen for him, of course. But the rest, oh, the rest, all of us want him for ourselves, no matter how sadistic he is or how humiliating would be to be deprived of our own free will, to have someone monitoring every breath we take, to have even the freedom to choose our own food denied, to be unable to pee without a man watching us. Anastasia knows better: she knows all he needs is love, and because love is all he needs, the nymphomaniac (well, how would you call a woman who wants to be fucked when she’s pregnant, hurt and has an urinary catheter inserted into her bladder?) Anastasia gets a wedding ring – diamonds are, after all, a girl’s best friend.

Not to mention that she gets all his money as well. But it was never about money, or was it? Would she ever have considered moving in with him had he been living in a camper van and  bought her clothes at Wal-Mart instead of Neiman Marcus?

I kinda doubt it.

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