When the movie based on the book fifty shades of grey came out, my youngest sister began reading the book to see what the big deal was. She said she felt the book was cliché as far as how the story was told, but she was fascinated by the fetish. Something from the man’s past made him need to have power and control over a woman in his adult sexual and romantic life.
After hearing the hype from my girlfriends at the day job where I worked at the time, I had been expecting so much more. Mr. Grey introduces the innocent Anna Steele to a world of kinky sex play in which he is the dominant and she is submissive to him. Over time they explore Mr. Grey’s fantasies and over the course of the story, his past comes into light. At the end of the day it’s a love story with a deviant twist.
I wondered if maybe my attitude toward it was simply due to the fact that I see that stuff all the time.
The book was a bestseller probably because it shocked the world by shining new light on something that is rather common but rarely spoken of.
At the time, my Mom was mildly concerned that my impressionable young sister was reading it. “I don’t think you should worry so much about it”, I told her. “That’s actually a fairly common thing that people do. It’s just that up until now, it hasn’t been something you read about so rampantly in romance novels.”
I could write a book about some serious fetish business, I thought. I’d write a story about the kind of fetishes I’ve run into at the club. Sexuality is a very broad realm so a dedicated author could truly run wild with it.
I could write a love story about a handsome and mysterious man with a shit fetish. I could call it “fifty shades of shit.” Or I could write one about a man who likes wearing women’s clothes. Then the title would be “fifty shades of silk and lace”.
I used to date a man whose hobbies were photography and adult website building. After doing dinner, reading bedtime stories, and getting my son in bed, we would sit in the kitchen and cut the fabric squares out of the crotches of lace underwear. Sometimes he stayed up taking pictures of models or shooting solo videos of women masturbating while I was in bed. Other times I joined him and gave him a hand as an extra camera person. He had a passion for capturing naked women in pictures and film and the desire to share it with the world. I enjoyed being part of it with him.
I can imagine my shit fetish story coming to life on paper. What would a couple like that do together? If I were the main character starring in the book or the book based film, I would stand beside my newfound kinky lover wearing a diaper in my own small size to match his man sized one. I could see us climbing a mountain while pissing in our pants. I’d be reluctant to personally engage in such extreme fetish behavior but he would reassure me that it’s alright to let it all loose in the name of love.
The story would be beautiful and romantic, one about vulnerability and trust, friendship and outside the box romance. That’s what the big fad is now isn’t it?
When I lived with my Porn-lord ex, our dishwasher was often full of sex toys. It was simply the best way to clean them. Like so many other details of our life together, many of them mundane and not quite as notable as our panty de-crotching routine, the presence of dildos in the dishwasher was an expression of our love and the life that we lead together.
Love is a reflection of life, the merging of two lives, and the meshing of two partners who cherish and accept each other with all that doing so entails. Acceptance and unfaltering adoration are the keys to making love truly unsinkable.
If I starred in a love story about a man who delighted in wearing women’s clothing, I would be captured in great detail stretching the waist bands of my garter belts and shopping for silk panties in pastel shades, all in a size big enough for my lover to wear.
I would come home from work one evening to find my lingerie drawer ransacked and my closet rummaged through. The next surprise would be the sight of my romantic partner laying on the bed wearing a pair of my underwear. He would look deep into my eyes and say, “I want you to draw me like one of your French girls….wearing this, and only this.”