I caved. I read it. I didn’t read it to count the number of times the same words were used. I didn’t read it to bitch about how much better I could have written it. I started reading with an open mind. I tweeted while I was reading the book, and after I finished it.
I am… reading 50 Shades… *hangs head in shame*
One can not mock what one has not read.
Sometimes… ok, all of the time… my facial expressions give me away. I shouldn’t read this book at work on the floor.
The juniors clothing sections should go ‘kinky’ after the movie. I fit in those sizes right now. Junior girls have the best slutty clothes.
Having it *did* start an interesting conversation at work last night…
“Oh, you’re reading that book too?” *grins*
Finished the book. Six lashes? Seriously? Try 100!
*now passing that book on to a coworker*
That book wasn’t written for experienced masochists, but I can understand the buzz for vanillas. I remember back then…
I also can’t say it was written well… but then again, my blog isn’t either.
They also cut out some of the most fun stuff with that hard limit list…
But it did get me wet.
I am a masochist. I do not write fiction. And I am bored enough at work to tweet a link into the #50shades hashtag. 100 Lashes
I can only speak for myself. To me submission = confidence.
So many have mocked the writing, the research, the characters. I have more important things to do with my life.
What if all of this helps some women find what I have found?
I do remember back then before I knew anything at all about kink. It hasn’t even been three years for me.
I remember that first time.
I remember a tall, mysterious man with unreadable grey eyes… and so many rules… so strict…
I remember being swept up and away by all of the sensations, by the surprising joy I found in only being an object for his pleasure.
I remember that fucking.
I remember falling helplessly, hopelessly in love with him.
I remember the devastation when it ended.
It was only the beginning…