August 13, 2012

A Guest Post by COCO LA CRÈME

Okay this article was supposed to be about Fifty Shades of Grey, and it will be on some level, but I have to confess something before I get started…

The truth is, I haven’t read author E.L. James’ ode to the kinky-curious. Never even cracked the cover.

Oh I’ve been tempted, the glossy black and blue jacket constantly winks at me from my desk at work. Faced out from the shelf and nestled comfortably between the soft, couples erotica and the hardcore bdsm books, it boldly asserts its purpose: to strike a balance between two seemingly disparate genres and, in so doing, to light a fire in the bedrooms of the nation.

In my opinion, anything that leads to more and better sex is a good thing; everyone benefits when a critical mass of people are being well and regularly laid. My main issue is that I’m pretty sure I’ve read this story before and …zzzzzz .. wha? Oh sorry. Let’s get on with it then.

It’s a tale as old as time, the romance novel formula that is guaranteed to incite a passionate and devoted female readership. You know it don’t you? Shall I whisper it to you now? A Young Girl, lacking in experience and unaware of her own beauty has a chance meeting with an Extraordinary Man. For no discernible reason, this Extraordinary Man/ Vampire/ Multi-Billionaire is completely captivated by the (rather unremarkable) Young Girl. Despite himself, and his unwillingness to commit, his feelings for her grow from simple desire to devotion bordering on scary obsession. Will she be drawn into his malaise and conform her life to his, or will she essentially still do exactly that and yet magically retain her indefinable spunk, wit and independence? Maybe somehow she’ll change him so that he’s slightly less socially maladjusted. Sigh. Romance!

Of course, I’m not trying to hate on a fellow writer making bank but Ms. James has straight-up told the press that she is not a very good writer and that the popularity of the book is surprising. Not-very-good writers do have a tendency to tell formulaic stories and then tart them up with a lot of adjectives and adverbs.  It’s not wrong it’s just true, a heartbreaking sort of the truth that leaves you feeling empty inside, the kind of truth that makes you want to clap your hands to your ears and curl up inside a lie, a comfortable lie, unlike the truth, which is apparently not very comfortable at all, not for me anyway.

Here’s another truth: I don’t believe I actually need to read the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy to know what they’re about or why they’re so fascinating. Isn’t it obvious by now that Young Girl + Extraordinary Man = dysfunctional  relationship + sex = $$$$$. I thought everyone had figured that equation out by now.

Now, as disappointed as I am in the quality of popular erotic literature, I can’t deny that it seems to be having a positive effect on sex culture. Women are talking about sex, smut and (gasp!) BDSM like the shit is brand new. Ladies are brazenly reading porn on the subway and then passing on their copies to the girls at work. Husbands and boyfriends are tripping over their own erect dicks in their haste to buy blindfolds, handcuffs and whips (whether or not they can properly use them is a whole other story and sadly the resulting mishaps will likely go unreported).

Still, anything that takes away some of the shame around sexual fantasy is a good thing but let’s face it, Fifty Shades is BDSM-lite, and many of its fans would probably shit their pants (or hold it in indefinitely) if they knew what some of their fellow kinksters enjoyed. There’s a whole new world to discover once you go down that rabbit hole…

Men who are submissive.

Women who wear diapers.

People who eat… well let’s stop there.

The point is that while I don’t think most of the Fifty fans will ever take up permanent residence in kinkytown we can HOPE (and pray on our sore bended knees) that their own little experiments will make them slightly more tolerant of their fellow humans’ so-called “deviant” lifestyles. (This won’t be like that thing with the secretly gay priests and politicians right? RIGHT???)

Well, I suppose I’m just whistling Dixie with that last thought. Fact is that this book was not written for me or anyone else who knows even one thing about BDSM and it’s unlikely to assuage much of our culture’s hypocrisy around sex. It’s just the latest page turner to feature some rather mundane erotic thrills and the thought of reading it is about as exciting to me as masturbating with a dead, dry branch (note: I do not like this).

So, I’ll leave this one to my vanilla friends and wish them all success with it. BUT for anyone who finds themselves still seeking once Mr Grey has left them high and dry, might I suggest you check out The Marketplace series by Laura Antoniou or the terrifyingly sexy work of Patrick Califia or M. Christian? Their beautiful prose will never make the bestsellers list but it does celebrate the rich creativity, incredible adventure and multi-sensory pleasure that define BDSM.  It is deep, disturbing and dangerous literature that makes these authors – and others besides – true kinkster faves. Come on and push your reading limits. I dare you!

Love CoCo

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