Yes, I’ve read it. Yes, it’s everything that mommy porn ever pretended to offer and more.
But I’ve been there, done that, had my very own Mr. Grey.
I didn’t realize at the time how totally screwed up some women are to want that kind of thing. The 24/7 control part, not the red-hot sex part. I get that.
I mean my Mr. Grey was just another guy in a long string of unique lovers, a string long and fascinating enough to wrap around a Christmas tree and inspire girl’s night stories for generations.
Ah, to be young again. Le sigh…..
An older, wiser, and experienced single gal-pal of mine once responded to my latest single-vacation-booking with, ” Good girl. Go make your memories. It won’t be long, and that’s all you’ll have.”
At the time I heard those words as a call for pity. A signal to plan another of our night’s out downtown, dolled up, pushed up, puckered up and ready for action.
But it wasn’t that at all. It was a rare statement of meaty truth. There was nothing grey about it. She knew something that I did not. She was well on the other side of 40 while I was still in my early thirties.
Within a few years, my taste for fast times and fast men would dry up. Soon, I would long for the sizzle of slow burning romance and to wake up in the arms of a man who loved me. That was a far cry from wanting, more than anything after a night out, to wake up blissfully satisfied, and even more blissfully – alone.
I used to proudly boast, “My kind of guy has the good sense to get up and leave,” and, “I’m not the kind of girl who stays for breakfast.”
I take you back to my days with my Mr. Grey. They were stretched out over years, trying to get to know a man who did not want to be known. Agonizing and thrilling all at once, this relationship had me hooked like the slow burn of alcohol, and the deep breaths of inhaling from a burning cigarette. Just the thought of spending a night with this man of many talents would have me glowing for days.
We were not exclusive. We both had other relationships. I couldn’t bring myself to commit to a man with so many unknowns. I didn’t care enough to play his game, but I was entertained enough to accept an invitation almost always, whenever one was offered.
And I learned. Boy oh boy did I learn. The difference between a well-educated lover and an amateur. The difference between a player and man who wore his heart on his sleeve. The limits to which I would go when it came to pleasing a man both in the bedroom and out.
I learned that there’s a reason I love men, the way their bodies move against my own, and the way that they make my own body hum. The way they look when they shave in the morning, all sweet and cuddly looking from sleep, but masculine at the same time.
I learned that they’re all lying bastards, and all someone’s precious sons. I learned their needs are not so different from my own, and perhaps that’s why I have been hesitant to really commit, and ready to commit all at the very same time.
Learning about men meant learning about myself. I learned that I was tired of being with a man who craved attention. Made himself, however successful and affluent, look like an ass while trying too hard to maintain an air of mystery.
I learned that the most manly of men are the ones who can laugh with me, argue intelligently, admit fear,let me lay them out utterly and completely in the bedroom, and then return the favour another night.
My memories are fodder for many laughs, and for sharing my hard won wisdom with other women.
Christian Grey may have a helicopter, unending sexual appetite and stamina, but he lacks authenticity, and authenticity my little pink beasts, is raw and powerful and sexy.