Well, it’s finally here. The movie version of the mommy-porn book Fifty Shades of Grey is dropping this weekend.
Along with the moist panties of middle-aged women all across America.
I don’t quite get the fascination that surrounds this story. I mean, I get just as turned on by erotic fiction as anyone else. But it’s not like I’m reading Faulkner– it’s FUCKner.
I will say I’m totally jealous of the woman who wrote this filth. She’s laughing all the way to the bank!
But let’s face it. She’s no J.K. Rowling. Hell, she’s not even Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings.
From the little I’ve heard (yes, heard, since I’ve been subjected to several passages read aloud), the prose bounces somewhere between painful and comical.
His breathing is ragged, matching mine.
“When did you start your period, Anastasia?” he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me.
“Err… yesterday,” I mumble in my highly aroused state.
“Good.” He releases me and turns me around.
“Hold on to the sink,” he orders and pulls my hips back again, like he did in the playroom, so I’m bending down.
He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string… what! And… a gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Holy fuck. Sweet mother of all… Jeez. And then he’s inside me… ah!
I pull him deeper into my mouth so I can feel him at the back of my throat and then to the front again. My tongue swirls around the end. He’s my very own Christian Grey-flavored popsicle. I suck harder and harder … Hmm … My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves. (137)
No, this woman basically churned out a harlequin romance novel with a BDSM twist and in a perfect storm of American boredom and Internet viral dissemination, the thing became a hit in book clubs and coffee klatches across the country.
And now it’s a movie.
Yeah, I don’t care how hot the guy is, I’m not even watching this one on Netflix.
Maybe I’ll see the musical though.