tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27705800709064118282024-03-19T07:03:35.839-04:00The PervocracySex. Feminism. BDSM. And some very, very naughty words.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.comBlogger1406125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-67642605278000814752023-01-19T17:40:00.003-05:002023-01-19T17:40:22.592-05:00Moved.<p>This site is no longer actively maintained, but will remain up as an archive for as long as Alphabet allows it. For my more recent writing, go to <a href="http://Pervocracy.com">Pervocracy.com</a>.</p>Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-85341094026303928682018-07-07T10:55:00.001-04:002018-07-07T10:55:08.942-04:00Acting out.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In retrospect, there were some unhealthy things that drove me to have sex, often violent and risky, with several dozen people and post all about it on the public Internet.<br />
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Also in retrospect, this turned out to be a really good plan that vastly improved my life.<br />
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I don't think that's how this story is supposed to go. I'm supposed to say something like "I now realize I did these things because as a person who struggled with self-esteem and body image, I wanted to feel desirable," but my feeling is more along the lines of "I wanted to feel desirable, and fuck, <i>it worked</i>." It worked great. Made me feel like the sexiest fat little weirdo on Earth. 100% recommended. Just use a condom.<br />
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I wanted to silence some inner pain by blotting it out with physical sensation, and... that was a fine decision. It was a Band-Aid on the problem, which is a great metaphor because Band-Aids make you feel better and help you heal. Kink helped me wean off self-harm and it put me in touch with people who were knowledgeable about gender, sexuality, and mental health.<br />
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It was also a really fuckin' fantastic physical sensation. That's not a minor detail. Sex and kink are emotionally validating, sure, but I wasn't moaning and quivering with <i>emotional validation</i>.<br />
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I put it all online because I wanted attention, and again, that worked out fantastically. It turns out that the attention of random Internet strangers is actually really powerful and good for your self-esteem, and can open so many doors and lead to long-term friendships. Everywhere I've traveled, I've met fascinating people who knew me because of my decision to describe all the ins and outs (and ins and outs) of my sex life on the Internet, and it's led to all kinds of great experiences.<br />
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I've got regrets, but only the regular kind. I trusted some creeps, and alienated some actually-okay people. I said and wrote some stuff I shouldn't have. I got overly passionate about some teapot tempests. I didn't always take the best care of my body, but in a "that'll be sore" way, not a "ruined forever" way. I turned in some really mediocre articles and presentations because I'm terrible at working on a deadline. You know, the wages of sin.<br />
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There's no question that I got lucky on certain things, and I have to shy clear of outright advising people to follow<i> </i>this life path. (Mostly because <i>it has to find you</i>, maaan. Also, I dunno, liability?) But if you're looking for a story of contrition, you're not going to find it here. I'm all grown up and looking back on my promiscuous past, and my main reflection was "fuck, that was <i>so much fun</i>."<br />
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(I said "was," and this is all written in past tense because it's kind of a retrospective four years after I last wrote on this blog, but I'm not <i>done </i>with kink or sexuality or general exploration, God no. I'm just in more of a middle-aged pervert stage now.)<br />
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I went through a wild-child phase, and man, it sure beat the hell out of being a domesticated child.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-52990973957136009782018-07-07T08:32:00.001-04:002018-07-07T08:32:19.231-04:00Hello again.Well, hi. I guess it's been a while.<br />
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A lot's happened. Three jobs. (Four if you count getting laid off, then rehired two weeks later.) I turned thirty. I came out as trans and started taking hormones. Rowdy and I moved in together, then two years later moved out again, but we still see each other and still consider each other family. I had cancer, but I got better. (Melanoma, successfully removed surgically.) I live in an old barn out in the woods now, which is kind of nice.<br />
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I've been plenty active <a href="http://pervocracy.tumblr.com/">on my Tumblr,</a> so if you want more moment-to-moment updates on what I've been up to, albeit mixed in with random arguments and shitposting in a format that's frustratingly difficult to search or sort, that might give you an idea.<br />
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I'd like to say "I've just been <i>so busy</i>," as an excuse for neglecting this blog, but the truth is probably somewhere between "I've been drastically underestimating how bad my mental health issues really were" and "I've been ashamed that I don't have as much weird sex as I used to, and am not as confident speaking about sex from the perspective of someone who is no longer a cute slutty girl."<br />
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Well, I mean, let's be clear here, I'm still fucking cute.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-8727869983434157592014-12-11T23:41:00.001-05:002014-12-14T21:44:37.598-05:00Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 25.Hi! I still exist! I got a new job as a nurse and I was very busy for a while. I'm still busy, but I have some actual free time now.<br />
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And I spent that free time reading <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i>, because dammit, there's only two chapters left now and I've already left you hanging for like four months.<br />
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When we last saw our heroes, they were in Georgia, because Ana went there to get away from this confusing relationship and clear her head and talk things through with her mother--and Punch ThunderMeat stalked her there and totally prevented any head-clearing by taking her away from her mother and monopolizing her time. ROMANCE.<br />
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Content warnings for this chapter: Stalking, gaslighting/mindfuckery, graphic sex and BDSM, and do I even have to mention emotional abuse.<br />
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<i>“Oh, Mom.” Hot, unwelcome tears prick my eyes as I cling to her. “Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.” I give her a lopsided, bittersweet smile. “I think I’ve kissed a prince, Mom. I hope he doesn’t turn into a frog.”</i></blockquote>
This is backwards. She kissed a frog, and the frog gave her a big song and dance about how maybe if she's very good he'll consider being a prince. One day a week. Maybe. And his princehood is going to involve a lot of being green and hopping.<br />
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<i>She thinks Hank BeefSaw loves me, but then she’s my mother, of course she’d think that. She thinks I deserve the best of everything. I frown. It’s true, and in a moment of startling clarity, I see it. It’s very simple: I want his love. I need Slab CrumpleMuscle to love me. This is why I am so reticent about our relationship – because on some basic, fundamental level, I recognize within me a deep-seated compulsion to be loved and cherished.</i></blockquote>
Break my fucking heart, why don't you. "This relationship would work great, except that I lucidly understand he doesn't love or value me." God, it's not even that. It's "this relationship would work great, except for my gosh-darned inconvenient need for him to love or value me."<br />
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I've been there. I've spent <i>years</i> in the land of Don't Ask For Love, You'll Ruin Everything. I got out. I got into a relationship where my romantic advances aren't rebuffed with an eyeroll and a muttered "cliiiingy," but returned with cuddles and affirmation that my emotional needs are valid. I cannot recommend it highly enough.<br />
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[Ana and Chuck StagBlast exchange emails while she gets on a plane. His emails are weirdly cold and distant and refer to some vague "situation" that's bothering him. On a writing level, this is meant to make the audience anxious and thus emotionally invested, but within the book, it comes off as Gaston ThornJaw deliberately making <i>Ana</i> anxious and thus emotionally invested.]<br />
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<i>As I mentally flick through all the scenarios that could be ‘the situation’, I become aware that once again the only empty seat is beside me. I shake my head as the thought crosses my mind that Christian might have purchased the adjacent seat so that I couldn’t talk to anyone. I dismiss the idea as ridiculous – no one could be that controlling, that jealous, surely.</i></blockquote>
JESUS H. CHRIST ON A JETLINER! SOMEBODY HELP THIS WOMAN.<br />
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And seriously, let's talk about love. When you say you love someone, it isn't purely an abstraction, a declaration of relationship. It also means that you <i>actually love</i> them--you strongly like them and think good things about them and want good things for them.<br />
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If what someone thinks about you is "you are so likely to betray me that the only way I can trust you is when you're physically isolated from all possible co-conspirators," that's not love. That's a hostage situation.<br />
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<i>The journey [from Sea-Tac to downtown Seattle] is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. [...] I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along the I-5 into Seattle. Twenty-five minutes, later he drops me outside the impressive façade that is the entrance to Escala.</i></blockquote>
Twenty-five minutes is slow? At the peak of rush hour on I-5? Were they in the Hovercar Lane?<br />
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<i>I stand paralyzed as he closes the distance between us, devouring me with his eyes. Holy shit… something’s amiss – the strain in his jaw, the anxiety around his eyes. He shrugs out of his jacket, undoes his dark tie, and slings them both on to the couch en route to me. Then his arms are wrapped around me, and he’s pulling me to him, hard, fast, gripping my ponytail to tilt my head up, kissing me like his life depends on it. What the hell?</i></blockquote>
What the hell indeed. Once again, I'm sort of caught between the <a href="http://fanlore.org/wiki/Watsonian_vs._Doylist">Doylist and Watsonian</a> implications here. The Doylist one is "what could cause this mysterious man's tempestuous brooding? read on to find out!" But the Watsonian one is "gawd, if he milks this Dramatic Mainpain any harder, he's going to chafe something."<br />
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<i>He steps out of his shoes and reaches down to take each of his socks off, never taking his eyes off me. I am rendered speechless by the look of hunger in his eyes. Wow… to be this wanted by this Greek god.</i></blockquote>
Yeah, but not so much in the "perfect marble muscles" sense. More in the "he'll turn into various barnyard animals and assault women who are then also turned into animals" sense. I thought you were into classic literature, Ana.<br />
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Also, he's bending over and taking his socks off without breaking eye contact. That seems awkward.<br />
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<i>“Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he commands, his voice urgent, strained. I do as I’m told and wrap my arms around his neck, and he moves quickly and sharply, filling me.</i></blockquote>
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So they have sex or whatever. It's pretty generic, neither offensive nor arousing, which makes me nervous, because the last time Ratchet RocketCock had sex without being a dickweed about it, it meant that he was warming up to be a <i>major</i> dickweed immediately afterwards.</div>
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And he is! Ana (nervously) tells him she has a job, he asks where, she says something to the effect of "pfft, like you don't already know," and:</div>
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<i>“With your stalking capabilities, I thought you might have… ” I trail off as his face falls.“Anastasia, I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your career, unless you ask me to, of course.” He looks wounded.</i></blockquote>
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How dare you accuse me of being a stalker! Never mind that I tracked you down while you were drunk at a bar, found out your address to send you unwanted gifts, followed you to your mother's home uninvited, and threatened that I could find you anywhere if you tried to run away--How dare you use a word as cruel and hurtful as "stalker"? I am wounded, ma'am, positively shattered.</div>
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<i>“I have something else to tell you,” I murmur as his hands start on my shoulders. “Oh, yes?” he asks mildly. I steel myself with a deep breath. “My friend José’s photography show is opening Thursday in Portland.” He stills, his hands hovering over my breasts. I have emphasized the word ‘friend.’“Yes, what about it?” he asks sternly. “I said I would go. Do you want to come with me?” After what feels like a monumental amount of time, he slowly starts washing me again. “What time?” “The opening is at 7:30 p.m.” He kisses my ear. “Okay.” Inside my subconscious relaxes and then collapses, slumped into an old battered arm-chair.“Were you nervous about asking me?” “Yes. How can you tell?” “Anastasia, your whole body’s just relaxed,” he says dryly.</i></blockquote>
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Gosh, why ever would she be nervous? Maybe because the last time someone brought up José, you <a href="http://pervocracy.blogspot.com/2014/07/lets-read-fifty-shades-of-grey-chapter.html">threatened to beat her </a>but graciously allowed her to bargain you down to a hate-fuck instead?</div>
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Sure is really fuckin' hilarious that she's nervous right now. That silly, silly girl.</div>
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Like most things in this book, this is a bona fide abuser tactic--switching rapidly between "I might hit you" and "oh my God, did you seriously think I would hit you?" is a great way to keep someone completely unsure of what reality they live in.</div>
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<i>“I want you ready and waiting in my playroom in fifteen minutes.” He stands and gazes down at me.</i></blockquote>
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Against all my better wisdom, the page that follows is actually kind of hot. Ana kneels in the Red Room waiting for Hank PorkThud, and E.L. James builds up a relatively decent sense of anticipation as she looks around the various furnishings and implements wondering what exactly he has planned. It's the first bit of the book that I could actually relate to as a kinkster. Except for sentences like this:</div>
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<i>Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself down, to connect with my inner sub. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my inner goddess.</i></blockquote>
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Oh geez, Ana, you already have two people in your head giving you nothing but grief and bad advice. Do you really want a third?</div>
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But more importantly, I've never felt desperate to connect with my inner sub during a scene, because I wouldn't even be there if I wasn't already an outer sub. If there's a single sentence I can say to destroy <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i>, I think it's this:</div>
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<b>I bottom because I like it.</b></div>
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Not because I can tolerate it, and that means I have no excuse to say no. Not because it's the only chance I have to experience love or relationships. Not because enduring it is my only way to escape worse punishment. Not because I can't turn down my partner.</div>
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I bottom because I am a kinky, horny little bottom who <i>likes</i> the smack of leather on his ass, who fucking <i>gets off</i> on it, who goes out of his way to find people who will tie him up and hold him down and pound fist-shaped bruises into his skin. Who snuggles up against his lover in the night and whispers "I want you to bite me."</div>
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I bottom because I like it.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>This is so… I want to think wrong, but somehow it’s not. It’s right for Flint PlankThrust. It’s what he wants – and after the last few days… after all he’s done, I have to man up and take whatever he decides he wants, whatever he thinks he needs.</i></blockquote>
Ana does not.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“We don’t have a signed contract, Anastasia. But we’ve discussed limits. And I want to re-iterate we have safe words, okay?” Holy fuck… what has he got planned that I need safe words?</i></blockquote>
E.L. James, seriously, if you were going to write a whole book about it, you could've at least read the Wikipedia page on BDSM the whole way through instead of skimming.<br />
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Safewords are for any kind of play, because you might need to stop any kind of play. Hell, you might need to safeword <i>cuddling</i> if you get claustrophobic and they're restricting your movement too much. Saying "ooh, this play must be scary if we need safewords" is like saying "ooh, this car must be fast if it has brakes."<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Good girl,” he pauses as he stares at me. “My intention is not that you should safeword because you’re in pain. What I intend to do to you will be intense. Very intense, and you have to guide me. Do you understand?”</i></blockquote>
No. No no no no no. You don't get to tell someone when they should and shouldn't use their safeword. Someone using their safeword is revoking consent to play with you, and you don't get to tell them when they're allowed to say no to you. That's not how "no" works.<br />
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<i>“I am going to tie you to that bed, Anastasia. But I’m going to blindfold you first and,” he reveals his iPod in his hand, “you will not be able to hear me. All you will hear is the music I am going to play for you.” Okay. A musical interlude, not what I was expecting. Does he ever do what I expect? Jeez, I hope it’s not rap.</i></blockquote>
...As I've said before, Ana has my sympathies, but I don't <i>like</i> her.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Leaning down, he nuzzles my neck. Tracing his teeth and tongue from the base of my ear to my shoulder. He hums softly as he does, and the sound resonates through me. Right down... right down there, inside me. Unbidden, I groan quietly.</i></blockquote>
Down where? Your toes? Your knees? Is the humming sound making you have sexy feelings inside your knees? Are you a cicada?<br />
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(Note: please do not do this to real people who say "down there," as they may have genuine issues with talking about their genitals and mocking them will be hurtful. Please do this all you like to fictional characters who have been contrived by the author to say "down there" for some goddamn reason.)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Hush now,” he breathes against my skin. He holds up his hands in front of me, his arms touching mine. In his right hand is a flogger. I remember the name from my first introduction to this room. “Touch it,” he whispers, and he sounds like the devil himself. My body flames in response. Tentatively, I reach out and brush the long strands. It has many long fronds, all soft suede with small beads at the end. “I will use this. It will not hurt, but it will bring your blood to the surface of your skin and make you very sensitive.”</i></blockquote>
Like hell a flogger with beads on it won't hurt. Soft suede might be a nice warmup, sure, but solid beads? Either he's going to have to use the lightest little bunny taps ever, or he's going to leave serious marks and possibly break her skin. Beaded floggers are not beginner toys--they concentrate a lot of force into very small impact points. The difference between suede tails and solid beads is like the difference between being hit with a snowball and being hit with a stone.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“What are the safe words, Anastasia?” “Um… yellow and red, Sir,” I whisper. “Good girl. Remember, most of your fear is in your mind.”</i></blockquote>
In fact, all of it is! That's how minds work! But just because something is in your mind doesn't mean it can't be in there for a damn good reason.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Abruptly, the soft silent hiss and pop of the iPod springs into life. From inside my head, a lone angelic voice sings unaccompanied a long sweet note, and it’s joined almost immediately by another voice, and then more voices – Holy cow, a celestial choir – singing acapella in my head, an ancient, ancient hymnal.</i></blockquote>
Okay, this is actually kind of cool. Except for the cringe-inducing "holy cow, a celestial choir!" And the belief that turned-off iPods "hiss and pop." Is she thinking of cassette tapes?<br />
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Anyway, he ties her down all spread-eagley and then takes a fur glove and rubs it all over her. And then he takes a glass tube and rubs it on her, and discovers the electron. Or something like that.<br />
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No, he doesn't really do that, he just puts the fur away and whaps at her with the flogger. Once again, I'm a little embarrassed to find some good writing hidden in these scene:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I want to move, to writhe… to escape, or to welcome, each blow… I don’t know – it’s so overwhelming… I can’t pull my arms… my legs are stuck… I am held very firmly in place… and again he strikes across my breasts – I cry out. And it’s a sweet agony – bearable, just… pleasant – no, not immediately, but as my skin sings with each blow in perfect counterpoint to the music in my head, I am dragged into a dark, dark part of my psyche that surrenders to this most erotic sensation. Yes – I get this.</i></blockquote>
I find that almost disturbingly relatable. Being pulled into bottomspace is a darkening and deepening for me, a folding back into my own head while the physical sensations on my skin transform from pain to sex. So yeah, I get this. It's the first thing that makes me wonder--96% of the way into the book--if maybe the heroine of this kink story has a little potential spark of kink inside her.<br />
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I just wish it was something Ana could have come to under her own terms, instead of being the meager bit of pleasure she managed to squeeze out of a miserable situation.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Please,” I beg, and in one swift move, he lowers me back onto the bed, and he’s lying on top of me, his hands on the bed beside my breasts as he supports his weight, and he thrusts into me,.as A the music reaches its climax, I fall… free fall… into the most intense, agonizing orgasm I have ever had, and Christian follows me… thrusting hard into me, three more times… finally stilling, then collapsing on top of me.</i></blockquote>
Gosh, three whole thrusts? Look, I don't want to mock people who have premature ejaculation, I realize it's not something they can control and it's not funny... but at the same time I have to wonder a little about E.L. James' personal experiences and if she even <u>knows</u> that intercourse sometimes lasts more than fifteen seconds.<br />
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Post-coitally, Buck FizzleStain gives her aftercare in the form of a half-hearted shoulder rub and an immediate turn back into demanding she tell him all her private thoughts so he can use them against her. She asks him if she said anything revealing in her sleep, it turns out she didn't, and then things get ugly again:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Torch LargeKnob stops his heavenly massage and shifts so that he’s lying beside me. His head propped up on his elbow. He’s frowning. “What did you think you’d said?” Oh crap. “That I thought you were ugly, conceited, and that you were hopeless in bed.” He crease on his brow deepens. “Well, naturally I am all those things, and now you’ve got me really intrigued. What are you hiding from me, Miss Steele?” I blink at him innocently. “I’m not hiding anything.”[...] “You are hiding something, Anastasia. I may have to torture it out of you.”</i></blockquote>
And on that cheery note, we're on to the last chapter of Fifty Shades of Grey! We're almost there! The finish line is in sight!<br />
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I'm going to try really, really hard not to wait another four months to get there.</div>
Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com77tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-11301171579696855712014-08-14T16:20:00.000-04:002014-08-16T09:15:14.713-04:00Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 24.First order of business: is anyone going to the <a href="http://geekykinknewengland.com/">Geeky Kink Event</a> this weekend? Rowdy and I will be there and would love to meet people in person. We will also be hosting a Pervocracy room party Saturday evening--I'll post about this when I know specifically when and where. (UPDATE: 7-11pm, 5th floor. Look for the room with "PERVOCRACY FIELD HQ" sign on the door.)<br />
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Also, I'm officially an RN now, so that's cool.</div>
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Onto the book. When we last left our heroes, they were... you know what, I could write one of these that would work for literally every chapter. When we last left our heroes, Ana was all "I want you, but I don't enjoy anything about your actual personality or sexuality," which was understandable because Ralph ChunderStorm's personality was mostly obsession and manipulation, and his sexuality was mostly violent coercion.</div>
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But in this chapter... well, all that is still happening, but in Georgia!</div>
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter: </b>Physical, sexual, and emotional abuse, of course. Forced eating. Murder reference. Child molestation. Dog bites. Another long-ass chapter.</div>
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<i>Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feet are mouthwateringly naked, and he’s staring at me. His private-joke smile etched on his beautiful face and his eyes a molten gray.</i></blockquote>
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I just realized that I have no idea what Arousal SexBerry looks like. I mean, obviously he looks like Robert Pattinson in white greasepaint, but we're not supposed to know that. All we know from the book is he's got gray eyes and messy red hair, and he's tall. (And he's a white guy, but we only know that because E.L. James describes José as "all-Hispanic-American" and has him drop random Spanglish in every sentence, so we can assume anyone who doesn't get that kind of treatment is white.) That doesn't exactly paint a picture.<br />
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Is he muscular or lean or soft? Does he have freckles or birthmarks? Are his features strong or delicate? Is there anything about him--thick eyebrows, a slightly crooked nose, full lips, dimples, a few lines around the eyes--<i>anything </i>that makes him look like a specific person instead of a generic beautiful blankness? I don't need an itemized list of all these things, but <i>any</i> of them would be nice. It would do a lot for me compared to "he was hot, just take my word for it."<br />
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<i>“Eat,” he says, his tongue caressing the front of his palate as he enunciates the ‘t’.</i></blockquote>
Go ahead and try this. Try and say "eat" that way without spitting"eaTUH" or "eathhh" all over your keyboard. You might want to be alone in the room for this.<br />
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<i>“Wake up.” No. Please. My eyes flicker unwillingly open for a split second. [...] Why is he waking me? It’s the middle of the night, or so it feels. Holy shit. Does he want sex – now? “Time to get up, baby. I’m going to switch on the sidelight.” His voice is quiet. “No,” I groan. “I want to chase the dawn with you,” he says, kissing my face, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my mouth, and I open my eyes.</i></blockquote>
At least it isn't sex this time. He got her up at 5:30 in the goddamn AM because he's feeling <i>whimsical</i>. What a peach.<br />
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We are now 86% of the way into the book. I don't read a lot of romances so maybe I just don't understand the format, but this seems like a bit late in the game for the two leads to still have nothing in common and zero trust in each other.<br />
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<i>“Can’t I have a shower?” He sighs. “If you have a shower, I’ll want one with you, and you and I know what will happen then – the day will just go. Come.”</i></blockquote>
Ew. Ew ew ew ew. Dude. Having sex with someone is not an involuntary reflex. You can decide not to have sex with her and then you won't do it. (He can't even decide not to get in the shower with her? <i>That's</i> an involuntary reflex too?) This whole "men can't help themselves if sex is available" thing is awful, for both men and women, and patently untrue.<br />
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I'd add in "or she could stop him," but at this point, that's barely worth considering as an option. We all know she can't. The only thing that makes <i>any</i> of the sex or play in this book consensual is that she decides she's okay with some of the things she can't stop him from doing.<br />
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<i>“I’ll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?” He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile very sweetly. “Don’t rain on my parade, Anastasia,” he warns softly.</i></blockquote>
This "soft warning" stuff pushes me into a very particular fantasy every time it comes up. It's the fantasy where instead of going "oh my gosh sir, don't get angry sir, I'll do whatever you want to make sure this never goes beyond soft warning sir," I say "OR YOU'LL DO WHAT?" and make him spell out his bullshit. See if it's still sexy then.<br />
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In this fantasy I am extremely good at martial arts and willing to use them, because that's clearly going to be necessary once he actually answers the "or what."<br />
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Also, this is one of those times where Face KnuckleTarget doesn't actually seem very dominant. Of course there's different styles of dominance, so I don't want to say this way is <i>wrong</i> (if it were consensual and opt-out-able), but... I feel like the classically dominant thing would be to say "You <i>will</i> eat. That's an order." Not "YOU ARE MAKING ME HAVE A SAD." That's more manipulative than powerful, and one of (many) reasons this book doesn't push my BDSM buttons at all.<br />
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<i>“I want to roll my eyes at you.” “By all means, do, and you will make my day,” he says sternly. I gaze up at the ceiling. “Well a spanking would wake me up, I suppose.” I purse my lips in quiet contempla-tion. Christian’s mouth drops open.</i></blockquote>
So now she... likes spanking? When did this happen? Not onscreen, that's for damn sure.<br />
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I'm not sure if she's even saying she likes it here, or if she's just so used to it being part of her life that she might as well joke about it.<br />
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<i>“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea.” I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I ever get enough of this man?</i></blockquote>
You're not fooling anyone, E.L. Ana just spent five pages miserable that he's waking her up at 5:30 to march her off God knows where. Having her suddenly rhapsodize ecstatic about him remembering her brand of tea does not make up for that.<br />
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Actually, it just sounds kind of pathetic, like seriously, knowing what your partner likes to drink is not that magical. Here, I'll do it right now: Rowdy likes Starbucks coffee, medium roast, no cream or sugar. Am I an amazing super-boyfriend or what? And I don't communicate entirely in death glares, so, hey, bonus.<br />
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<i>Outside, in the relative cool of the half-light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me. “You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can’t help emulating. He’s so lovable when he’s playful and carefree.</i></blockquote>
I've got a lot of words for this, but "playful" and "carefree" didn't make the list.<br />
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<i>[Toxic Womanizer is blasting music in his car and Ana doesn't like it so she changes the song to Britney Spears. I dunno.] He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down. Victory!</i></blockquote>
Once again, Ana going "sooo wooonderful" about being thrown scraps is not having the intended effect on me.<br />
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<i>“It was Leila,” he answers my unspoken thoughts. How does he do that? “Leila?” “An ex, who put the song on my iPod.” Damien warbles away in the background as I sit stunned. An ex… ex-submissive? An ex– “One of the fifteen?” I ask. “Yes.” “What happened to her?”</i></blockquote>
Hey, one of "the fifteen" has a name! Although Ana seems more concerned with being quietly horrified that... why exactly is she horrified? She already knows Clod Thuddington has had submissives before. Is this exchange supposed to show that she can only cope with that fact through constant denial? Charming.<br />
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For me, anyway, the horror comes from that last question. What <i>happened</i> to her? They broke up, obviously. But Ana seems like she expects the answer to involve a shallow grave in the woods.<br />
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<i>“What happened to the other fourteen?” I ask. Jeez he’s talking – take advantage. “You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?” “You’re not Henry VIII.”</i></blockquote>
"Ha ha, no, but seriously, did you behead someone? I wouldn't put it past you."<br />
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<i>“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.” “Elena?” “Mrs. Robinson to you.” He half smiles his secret private joke smile. Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all-foreign sounding. A vision of a glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes to mind, and I know that she’s beautiful. I must not dwell. I must not dwell.</i></blockquote>
EW! EW EW EW! "I bet your molester was gorgeous! I'm so jealous." OH GOD EWWW.<br />
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..."Elena" is foreign-sounding?<br />
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<i>He turns and grins at me as the GPS urges him to turn right into what looks like an industrial complex. He pulls up outside a large white building with a sign reading Brunswick Soaring Association. Gliding! We’re going gliding? [...] “Another first, Miss Steele,” he says as he climbs out of the car. First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider… shit! No – he said that he’s done it before. I relax.</i></blockquote>
This whole "I've never done anything nonsexual with anyone but you" shtick is getting really depressing for me. I know I'm supposed to be thinking about how special Ana is, but instead I'm thinking about fifteen (nineteen? how does that math work) women who all got the "sorry, you're only good for sex" cold shoulder about sleeping in his bed or participating in his hobbies.<br />
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<i>He walks round and opens my door. The sky has turned to a subtle opal, shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us.</i></blockquote>
I made a picture of what that would actually look like.<br />
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<i>“Hello, Taylor,” I murmur shyly. [Taylor is Lord Growlingly's personal assistant, or manservant, or something like that.] “Miss Steele.” He nods a greeting at me, and I frown. “Ana,” he corrects himself. “He’s been hell on wheels the last few days. Glad we’re here,” he says conspiratorially.</i></blockquote>
Okay, time for a lesson about Good People.<br />
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Good people are good all the time. They may not be <i>nice</i> or <i>happy</i> all the time, but they are non-abusive and generally decent all the time.<br />
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There is no such thing as a conditionally good person. If someone is selectively good when they're getting everything they want, but monstrous when they don't, they are not a good person. That's like saying a dog is tame because it only bites people when it's hungry or angry or the weather is bad or someone is wearing stripes. After a while you've just got to admit that "well, it doesn't <i>always</i> bite" is not going to win it a Canine Good Citizen title.<br />
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It is not other people's job to make sure that demanding assholes always have everything they demand to keep them "good." If they were actually a good person, they would be good <i>even when they were slightly inconvenienced</i>.<br />
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<i>I hear and feel his movements as he climbs in behind me. Of course he’s strapped me in so tightly I can’t move round to see him… typical! We are very low on the ground. In front of me is a panel of dials and levers and a big stick thing. I leave well alone.</i></blockquote>
I know that this is actually just E.L. James being too lazy to research, but it comes off as Ana being incredibly incurious and passive. I mean, I don't know a damn thing about flying, but I would at least want to know which indicators were for speed and altitude. It's hard for me to like a character who writes off 99% of her surroundings as "probably something technical or whatever."<br />
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<i>We head west, inland away from the rising sun, gaining height, crossing over fields and woods and homes and I-95. Oh my. This is amazing, above us only sky.</i></blockquote>
Well, I should hope so. You're in a goddamn plane. If there's something else above you, you need to be very concerned about that.<br />
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<i>“See the joy-stick in front of you?” he shouts again. I look at the stick that is moving slightly between my legs. Oh no, where’s he going with this? “Grab hold.” Oh shit. He’s going to make me fly the plane. No! “Go on, Anastasia. Grab it,” he urges more vehemently. Tentatively, I grasp it and feel the pitch and yaw of what I assume are rudders and paddles or whatever keeps this thing in the air.</i></blockquote>
Stick between her legs, tee hee hee.<br />
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Really, "rudders or paddles or whatever?"<br />
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And man, why can't anything ever be fun? This ought to be awesome, right? She's getting to fly a glider! That's totally sweet! Except that the framing is all about her being terrified and going "no no no," and him not giving her a choice. Can't we ever just enjoy anything in this book?<br />
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<i>[They land uneventfully, which I guess is a good thing, but in terms of writing, it's kind of a "god forbid anything should actually <u>happen</u>" thing.] As soon as I’m out, he grabs me and holds me flush against his body. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, tugging it so my head tips back, and his other hand travels down to the base of my spine. He kisses me, long, hard, and passionately, his tongue in my mouth. His breathing is mounting, his ardor … Holy cow – his erection… we’re in a field.</i></blockquote>
Holy cow, we're in a field! Holy horse, we're in a barn! Holy guinea pig, we're in a box of wood shavings!<br />
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<i>“Breakfast,” he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic.</i></blockquote>
I have another challenge for you. After you're done spitting "eaTTT" at your computer, whisper "breakfast" erotically. Try it. This will be fun.<br />
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<i>[They go to IHOP. Erotically.] “I know what I want,” he breathes, his voice low and husky. I glance up at him, and he’s staring at me in that way that tightens all the muscles in my belly and takes my breath away, his eyes dark and smoldering. Holy shit. I gaze at him, my blood singing in my veins answering his call. “I want what you want,” I whisper. He inhales sharply. “Here?” he asks suggestively, raising an eyebrow at me, smiling wickedly, his teeth trapping the tip of his tongue. Oh my… sex in IHOP. His expression changes, growing darker.</i></blockquote>
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<i>“Can I treat you?” I ask Christian. “Treat me how?” “Pay for this meal.” Christian snorts. “I don’t think so.” he scoffs. “Please. I want to.” He frowns at me. “Are you trying to completely emasculate me?”</i></blockquote>
This is completely unsurprising, but it's weird when you remember that this is a character we're supposed to like.<br />
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I bet you this scene won't be in the movie. Come for the erotic romance! Stay for the bickering about who pays for the Moons Over My Hammy!<br />
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<i>Of course he doesn’t ask me for my mother’s address. He knows it already, stalker that he is. When he pulls up outside the house, I don’t comment. What’s the point?</i></blockquote>
You know what emotion is really romantic? Resignation. So hot.<br />
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[Ana goes home and finds out she got the publishing job she applied for a couple chapters ago. She's planning a barbecue with her family and Brisket DryRub, but of course he cancels at the last second.]<br />
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<i>“I have to return to Seattle. Something’s come up. I am on my way to Hilton Head now. Please apologize to your mother – I can’t make dinner.” He sounds very businesslike. “Nothing serious, I hope?” “I have a situation which I have to deal with. I’ll see you Friday. I’ll send Taylor to collect you from the airport if I can’t come myself.” He sounds cold. Angry even. But for the first time, I don’t immediately think it’s me. [...] Oh no. The last ‘situation’ he had was my virginity . Jeez, I hope it’s nothing like that.</i></blockquote>
"I must go! Someone, somewhere, hasn't had sex with me!"<br />
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...No, actually, that's an incredibly weird assumption to make because someone used the word "situation." Although I can't entirely blame her for wild guessing, because of course he can't be arsed to actually tell her.<br />
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They exchange some pissy zero-content emails. It's amazing how much page space you can fill when every one-line email has full headers and signatures.<br />
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Ana talks in her sleep apparently, and of course Meat WobbleSack won't tell her what she said, because everything's gotta be difficult around here. Presumably it was "I love you," because he's being all cagey about it, but whatever. The chapter kind of just ends at this point.</div>
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Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com95tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-12343181547164373362014-07-24T21:19:00.001-04:002014-07-25T08:43:51.273-04:00Let's Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 23!The trailer for the <i>FSoG</i> movie is out, and <a href="http://pervocracy.tumblr.com/post/92738184664/saw-the-fsog-trailer-really-not-much-to-comment">here's my mini-review</a>. (And <a href="http://pervocracy.tumblr.com/post/92742335039/look-at-fifty-shades-of-greys-knot-now-look">one more thought on it</a>.) I have a weird mix of glee and sorrow that they're making a movie out of this. I am looking forward to it being so-bad-it's-good, a <i>Showgirls</i> for our time--but I'm also terrified that it's going to give millions of people the idea that BDSM is "abuse but they're perverts so it's okay." I don't want that.<br />
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Based on the trailer, it seems like it will be very faithful to the book, which might work in my favor. The audience consensus might end up being "wow, when you see this stuff actually acted out it's miserable," and then the whole thing will sink beneath the murky waves from which it arose. I can hope.</div>
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Anyway, we still have four chapters left in this book. Let's get slogging. As a reminder, when we left off, THE EMAIL WAS COMING FROM INSIDE THE BAR!!!</div>
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter:</b> Emotional abuse, do I even have to say it? Stalking, bigtime. Weirdness around drinking. Child molestation, molestation apologism, and implied (?) physical child abuse. Period sex.</div>
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Also, this is another long-ass entry.</div>
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<i>I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him. “Ana, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “It’s Christian, he’s here.” “What? Really?” She glances around the bar too. I have neglected to mention Christian’s stalker tendencies to my mom.</i></blockquote>
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"There are certain things about our relationship that sound like abuse, so I can't ever tell other people because they might think it was abuse, which it's not, but it's important I watch my words because if he thought I was calling him an abuser he might <i>really</i> do something awful." That's one of your classic warning signs.</div>
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(If I sound sardonic, it's only because I've lived it. Hell hath no fury like an abuser who trusted you with their little secret.)</div>
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<i>His bright gray eyes are shining with – anger? Tension? His mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense. Oh holy shit… no.</i></blockquote>
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"Hooray, my lover's come to surprise me while I'm on vacation! Look at his smile! He's coming in for a big hug! Oh, I'm so happy we can vacation together, we'll have so much fun!"--a purely hypothetical book I would much rather be reading.</div>
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<i>He turns to greet my mom. “Mrs. Adams, I am delighted to meet you.” How does he know her name? He gives her the heart-stopping, Christian Grey patented, full-blown-no-prisoners-taken smile. She doesn’t have a hope. My mother’s lower jaw practically hits the table. Jeez, get a grip Mom. She takes his proffered hand and they shake. My mother hasn’t replied. Oh, complete dumbfounded speechlessness is genetic – I had no idea. “Christian,” she manages finally, breathlessly. He smiles knowingly at her, his gray eyes twinkling.</i></blockquote>
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What the hell? She saw him rage-glaring at her daughter like five seconds ago.</div>
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Although maybe she missed that, which makes this even creepier.</div>
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<i>Crap – Is he mad? Maybe the Mrs. Robinson comments? Or the fact that I am on my third, soon to be fourth Cosmo?</i></blockquote>
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Every time I think Gorp RaisinNut can't get any more controlling... he gets angry that his girlfriend might have had one too many drinks while she was 3000 miles away from him.</div>
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This is one of those "not actually a dominant" things, too. Like, correct me if I'm wrong, but he never gave her any kind of order about how much she was allowed to drink. (And when they're together he's usually pouring wine down her throat as fast as he can.) He just gets all glarey when she breaks the imaginary rule in his head that he never told her about. She can't win.</div>
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There's nothing wrong with playing that way if it's consensual, but I'd classify it more as "emotional sadism", "mindfuck," or "humiliation" than as dominance as I usually understand it.</div>
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<i>He reaches over, takes my hand, and squeezes it gently, running his thumb across my knuckles to and fro… and I feel the familiar pull. The electric charge zapping beneath my skin under the gentle pressure from his thumb, firing into my blood stream and pulsing around my body, heating everything in its path.</i></blockquote>
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...Ow?</div>
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<i>I glance quickly at Mom who is staring at Christian… yes staring! Stop it Mom. As if he’s some exotic creature, never seen before. I mean, I know I’ve never had a boyfriend, and Christian only qualifies as such for ease of reference – but is it so unbelievable that I could attract a man? <u>This man? Yes, frankly – look at him </u>– my subconscious snaps. Oh, shut up! Who invited you to the party? I scowl at my mom – but she doesn’t seem to notice.</i></blockquote>
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Ana, I'm pretty sure your mom is staring at him because he flew from Seattle to Georgia unannounced to glare and paw possessively at her daughter.</div>
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Also, wow--that grammar--sentence structure--was there an editor?--wow.</div>
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<i>“I don’t want to interrupt the time you have with your mother. I’ll have a quick drink and then retire. I have work to do,” he states earnestly.</i></blockquote>
<div>
<div>
Even if this weren't a milk-spittingly outrageous lie, "earnestly" still wouldn't be the right word.</div>
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<i>The waiter arrives with our drinks. “Hendricks, sir,” he says with a triumphant flourish.</i></blockquote>
<div>
"Et voila! It is... a moderately priced gin! TA-DAAA!"</div>
</div>
<div>
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<i>“Anastasia, your mother will be back shortly. I’m not comfortable talking about this ["Mrs. Robinson"] now. Later maybe. If you don’t want me here, I have a plane on stand-by at Hilton Head. I can go.” He’s angry with me… no.</i></blockquote>
<div>
"I flew across the country to see you, but hey, no pressure."</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It would be so great if she told him to go, though. Really so great. Taking people at their word is a powerful tool against passive-aggression, and there's a great satisfaction to be found in resisting the pressure to say "oh, no, please don't go" and instead saying "Wonderful! I'm so glad you gave me this choice. Call your plane."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(It's on standby? Like the crew are actually in it poised to leave at any moment? Being on Dash BlitzDance's air crew must be exasperating. Especially since Hilton Head is a good long way from Savannah.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ace Rimmer then gets into a long conversation about "Mrs. Robinson"--which I'm not going to quote much of because it's in that trademark "lots of pained, snippy questions and answers" conversational style I love so much--where he basically says that they're still friends and business partners, and she's not a child molester because he says so.</div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“I think of her as a child molester, Christian.” I hold my breath waiting for his reaction. Christian blanches. “That’s very judgmental. It wasn’t like that,” he whispers, shocked.</i></blockquote>
<div>
So. On the one hand, survivors react differently. It is not immoral or Failing At Feminism or anything else for a survivor to decide how to feel about what was done to them. If an adult doesn't interpret their experience as molestation, I am very uncomfortable running in and telling them that they're wrong about their own life.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
However, Ructabunde Quisquilian is not a real person. He's a character and the author is the one who decided he should forgive his abuser, and that's not such a simple situation. In a book with more subtle characterizations, this might be an illustration of "survivors don't always stick to the script." In this one, I'm worried it really is "hey, sometimes kids don't mind being molested."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
...You know, this erotic romance novel really didn't need a child molestation side plot. We could've avoided all of this and been much happier.</div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Christian sips his drink, watching me closely, his expression guarded. What is he thinking? Did he love her? I think if he did, I will lose it, big time. “Well ladies, I shall leave you to your evening.” No… no… he can’t leave me hanging like this.</i></blockquote>
<div>
Well, what did you expect? It's not like Mr. Fancy RichPants is going to go home with you and sleep on the futon in the guest bedroom. So he goes to a hotel room for the night. You'll live.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't like being too harsh on Ana, but she does a whole lot of complaining in this chapter about how they've been apart for two whole days and she's dying for lack of his touch and oh my gosh Ana, you're not a stalker but you might have some minor cling issues of your own.</div>
<div>
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<i>“Well strike me down with a feather, Ana. He’s a catch. I don’t know what’s going on between you two though. I think you need to talk to each other. Phew – the UST in here, it’s unbearable.” She fans herself theatrically.</i></blockquote>
<div>
Whoa. Ana's mom <i>ships them</i>. Whoa. Weird.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ana's mom gives Ana a long speech about how obviously she (Ana) is super in love with Christian Bale and all they need to do is talk their problems out, and more or less demands her daughter go up to his hotel room and maybe stay the night.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Holy shit, Ana's mom, way to sell your daughter out when she's very visibly uncomfortable and also <i>this guy just stalked her for 3000 miles</i>.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He’s in a suite, like the one at the Heathman. The furnishings here are ultra modern, very now. All muted dark purples and golds with bronze starbursts on the walls. Christian walks over to dark wood unit and pulls open a door to reveal a mini-bar. He indicates that I should help myself, then wanders into the bedroom.</i></blockquote>
<div>
Either it's "ultra modern, very now" or it's purple and gold and bronze starbursts. It's not both. (The Savannah hotel isn't named, but the Heathman is <a href="http://portland.heathmanhotel.com/accommodations.aspx">a real place</a> and its suites are mostly cream and gray.)</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For someone who was growling at her for her drinking earlier, he sure was quick to go right back to encouraging her to get drunk as soon as it serves his purposes.</div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“You were so mad at me,” he breathes. “Yes.” “I don’t remember anyone but my family ever being mad at me. I like it.”</i></blockquote>
<div>
The only proper response to "you're so cute when you're angry" is "then right now I'm fucking <i>adorable</i>."</div>
</div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He runs the tips of fingers down my cheek. Oh my, his proximity, his delicious Christian smell. We’re supposed to be talking, but my heart is pounding, my blood singing as it courses through my body, desire, pooling, unfurling… everywhere.</i></blockquote>
<div>
This is concerning. Maybe you should lay down for a little bit until your heart rate stabilizes and we've dealt with those pools of singing blood.</div>
</div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Are you bleeding?” He continues to kiss me. Holy Fuck. Does nothing slip by him? “Yes,” I whisper, embarrassed. “Do you have cramps?” “No.” I flush . Jeez… He stops and looks down at me. “Did you take your pill?” “Yes.” How mortifying is this?</i></blockquote>
<div>
Very mortifying. Not because she has her period--that's just nature--but because of how incredibly weird he's being about it. Like, my partner will ask me if I have cramps, but that's because he'll give me Advil if I am. Men O'Rrhagia here seems to just be asking lots of questions because he wants to make her cringe.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. It’s dominated by a super-king size bed with elaborate drapes. But we don’t stop there. He takes me into the bathroom which is two rooms, all aquamarines and white limestone. It’s huge – In the second room a sunken bath, big enough for four people with stone steps that lead into it, is slowly filling with water. Steam rises gently above the foam, and I notice a stone seat all the way round.</i></blockquote>
<div>
Summary of this passage:</div>
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<i>He squeezes my nipples between our thumbs, pulling gently so that they elongate further. I watch in fascination at the wanton creature writhing in front of me.</i></blockquote>
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I once had a contest with Rowdy to see who could get further in reading a FSoG sex scene while hooked up to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delayed_Auditory_Feedback">a speech jammer</a>. I highly recommend this as a form of "it's 3 AM and nothing seems like a bad idea anymore" entertainment.</div>
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<i>He guides my hands down the sides of my body, past my waist to my hips, and across to my pubic hair. He slides his leg in between mine, pushing my feet further apart, widening my stance, and runs my hands over my sex, one hand at a time in turn, setting up a rhythm. It is so erotic. Truly I am a marionette and he is the master puppeteer.</i></blockquote>
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Oh God it's just so beautiful.</div>
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<i>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.</i></blockquote>
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They should've sent a poet.</div>
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<i>He uncurls from around me, placing me on the floor as he makes to stand. As he does, I notice again the small, round, white scars on his chest. They are not chicken pox, I muse absentmindedly. Grace said he was hardly affected. Holy shit… they must be burns. Burns from what? I blanch at the realization, shock and revulsion coursing through me. From cigarettes? Mrs. Robinson, his birth mother, who? Who did this to him? Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation, and I’m over-reacting – wild hope blossoms in my chest – hope that I am wrong.</i></blockquote>
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In the real world, some spotty burn scars could mean anything from "grease explosion in the kitchen" to "really bad medication reaction." But in this ultra-simplified world where all things are plot relevant at all times, of course it'll turn out to be from all the horrible trauma that made him into a kinkster. (I'm guessing birth mother, because she's a cartoon evil woman, whereas Mrs. Robinson is being played unnervingly close to "society just doesn't understand.")</div>
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Man, E.L. James really had fun with this guy's history. "Trust fund baby or tragic deprived past? Let's do both!"</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="clear: both;">
<i>“I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs. Robinson.” Oh! I blink at him. Crack addict or whore? Possibly both?</i></blockquote>
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Wow, real sensitive reaction there, Ana.</div>
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<i>“She loved me in a way I found… acceptable,” he adds with a shrug. What the hell does that mean? “Acceptable?” I whisper. “Yes.” He stares intently at me. “She distracted me from the destructive path I found myself following. It’s very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you’re not perfect.”</i></blockquote>
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You know what? I can kind of buy this. For all the Cullens are nice and rich and... rich and nice, I can see them not being well equipped to care for an adopted son with trauma and abandonment issues and disgracefully unrefined table manners. And I can see him feeling pretty alienated in his adolescence if people at the country club are getting all "the poor dear is from a <i>disadvantaged</i> background, you know" on him.</div>
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It doesn't excuse Mrs. Robinson's behavior and it doesn't excuse how he goes on to treat Ana. But it does give a pretty relatable explanation for why it might've been easy for someone outside the family to seduce him with a "I'm the only one who <i>really</i> understands you" story.</div>
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Anyway, then they have about twelve more rounds of Ana asking variations on "do you like her more than me?" and E. Edward Grey saying stuff that works out to "no, but you should still feel jealous." They go back and forth for a while before settling back into their usual groove: pressuring Ana to do BDSM.</div>
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<i>“You can always safe-word, Anastasia. Don’t forget that. And, as long as you follow the rules, which fulfill a deep need in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we can find a way forward.”</i></blockquote>
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This is one of those paragraphs that's great if you just imagine that it has anything to do with the rest of the book.</div>
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Just use your safeword and follow the rules and it'll go great for you! What do you mean, nobody ever actually gave you a safeword or a workable set of rules? Pointing that out is topping from the bottom and I won't have any of it.</div>
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<i>“Why do you need to control me?” “Because it satisfies a need in me that wasn’t met in my formative years.” “So it’s a form of therapy?” “I’ve not thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.” This I can understand. This will help.</i></blockquote>
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Ergh. No. BDSM is not an illness nor is it a therapy. (And it sure as hell isn't both, because how would that even work.) BDSM can be therapeutic in some ways, but that isn't more important than the need to play safely and consensually, and it isn't ethical to use people for therapy without their knowledge.</div>
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Anyway, this seems to imply that the need that wasn't met in his formative years was to get everything he wanted whenever he demanded it. So, um, poor dear.</div>
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They fuck some more in the bathtub and it's pretty standard. He calls her "baby" a lot. Not much to say about this except that it's pleasant and consensual (as consensual as things can be when we all know how it would go if Ana said no to him). Which just makes me worry when the next shoe is going to drop.</div>
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<i>And I come, my orgasm ripping through me, a turbulent, passionate, apogee that devours me whole.</i></blockquote>
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If you're playing the home game, that's five metaphors in sixteen words! Ms. James may have just set a regional record!</div>
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<i>“What do you want to do?” he asks.</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>“Talk.”</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>He smiles.</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>“About what?”</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>“Stuff.”</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>“What stuff?”</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>“You.”</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>“What about me?”</i></blockquote>
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This is why I don't copy most of their conversations. They're so guarded and tight-lipped with each other, even their pillow talk reminds me of those scary notices on Armed Forces Radio about how if you're captured you should only give your name, rank, and serial number.</div>
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Whenever they talk, you get the whole page but you only need the left three inches.</div>
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<i>“All submissives in training, when I was training. There are places in and around Seattle that one can go and practice. Learn to do what I do,” he says.</i></blockquote>
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HEY! NO! PARTY FOUL! You do <i>not</i> get to mention the CSPC in this book!</div>
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The CSPC ("The Wet Spot") is the Seattle playspace where I began my kink career. (Which is very different from "being in training." I mean, they provided a space, safety guidelines, and occasional classes. They weren't, like, putting me through organized Submission Exercises until I earned my black hankie.) It's a very nice space and resource for the community and I don't want it even being mentioned in this book, much less reduced to some sort of weird Sub Training Facility.</div>
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Ah well. Odds are E.L. James didn't actually mean the CSPC, because:</div>
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Doylist - That would've required research. Easier to handwave and just say "there's places."</div>
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Watsonian - The CSPC has standards of behavior and would've kicked out a creeper like Kidney BoneThrust five minutes into his first party.</div>
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<i>What? “Oh.” I blink at him. “Yep, I’ve paid for sex, Anastasia.”</i></blockquote>
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Okay, they'd better not mean the CSPC, because I am absolutely certain the CSPC does not provide rent-a-sub services.</div>
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Not a lot of places do, really. Professional subs exist, but as far as I know, they're a lot less common than pro-doms, and very unlikely to have sex with their clients. (EDIT: Some pro-subs do have sex with their clients.)</div>
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Sex and sex work do happen in a lot of BDSM spaces, but the main purpose of the spaces is for kinky people to mingle and play. They're not like... whatever E.L. James thinks they're like. They're not places you can drop in and book the next available sub you want to practice angry sex on.</div>
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<i>“You didn’t wear your panties to meet my parents.” “Did that shock you?” “Yes.”</i></blockquote>
She didn't wear her panties because you'd stolen them and wouldn't give them back, dick. Way to get all "whoa, that sure was wild of you" about something you forced her to do.<br />
<br />
The rest of this chapter isn't half bad, though. (It's all bad! <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pCW0bd-gH0">OHOHOHO</a>!) Ana and Yeasty PottleDeep have something resembling emotional intimacy--he coughs up some actual details about his life and emotions, and she says she enjoys some of the BDSM stuff they do, and asks for more.<br />
<br />
It's all a lot of E.L. James going "Ana had some character development where she became more open to BDSM. She did. Right back there. You must've missed it." But at least it means a break in the overt abuse, and I'll take that however I can get it.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com90tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-67340485873551572102014-07-23T22:49:00.001-04:002014-07-23T22:51:19.397-04:0030 Days of Kink: Days 18 & 19!<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 18: </b>Any kinky/BDSM pet peeves? If so, what are they?</i></blockquote>
Most of the things I dislike about kink rise above the level of "pet peeves," like the fact that we as a community still lack a workable consensus action plan for what we do when we find out that one of our buddies might have committed physical and/or sexual assault. That's not really an "aw man, this has anchovies on it"-level complaint.<br />
<br />
But for a pettier peeve--you know what, I'm going to say the color black. Like, there's nothing <i>wrong</i> with black clothing or black toys or black dungeon walls or black website backgrounds. But goodness there are a lot of them. It gets monotonous, and sometimes has a really cheesy "kink is spooky like Halloween, boo!" feeling to it. I own green and blue rope, a gray flogger, and wear various colors to parties, because sometimes I'm not Halloween, dammit.<br />
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(I also own a shit-ton of black stuff, for reasons ranging from "that was the only color I could get it in" to "I'm not actually that much of a brave iconoclast and sometimes I kind of like being Halloween.")<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 19:</b> Any unexpected ways kink has improved your life? If so, what are they?</i></blockquote>
It's inspired me to do a lot of writing which has, in turn, vastly improved my life. I also met Rowdy at a kink event, and knowing him has improved my life tremendously, because he's a wonderful partner and I completely love him and he has cute freckles.<br />
<br />
But honestly, the main way kink has improved my life is... that I get to do kink. I enjoy it so much more than I first thought I would, and in so many different ways. It's an integral part of my romantic and sexual life. Which makes this question a little like asking "how has chocolate cake improved your life?" Oh, I can think of stuff like "it looks nice on my table, I hear it has antioxidants or something" if I have to, but the real answer is <i>because it's chocolate cake</i>.<br />
<br />
Maybe the biggest unexpected way kink has improved my life is that I've learned different and much better ways of looking at consent. Because while kink definitely isn't a magical consent haven, the kink community has popularized some pretty cool concepts around negotiation, safewords, limits, the idea that agreeing to one thing is not agreeing to everything, and the idea that who you are does not imply what you're willing to do. Even when I'm not doing kink, these are useful. It's helped me to structure my statements about what I want based on <i>what I want</i>, not on what I think I'm allowed to ask for. It's helped me put trust in my own limits.<br />
<br />
I have not purchased an extended warranty since I started doing kink.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-78487053313957188272014-07-21T03:37:00.002-04:002014-07-21T11:39:40.897-04:00Let's Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 22!Home stretch, you guys. And a tough stretch it is. This chapter is almost entirely composed of emails. Here's that bug-eyed guy graphic again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkvCr64MFHBaJrHKFphnSdPaNdAb-rUldApIoVRtq6rZo7B8iux44D58WaIlPFhn07KjwD86z2aU8sYGh-oeQADe6f3R2RO4gL4Gnf7NHkWPuWGWaz4GZRaBLO8asdTpymajhjz0vr6E/s1600/Fifty-Shades-of-Grey-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkvCr64MFHBaJrHKFphnSdPaNdAb-rUldApIoVRtq6rZo7B8iux44D58WaIlPFhn07KjwD86z2aU8sYGh-oeQADe6f3R2RO4gL4Gnf7NHkWPuWGWaz4GZRaBLO8asdTpymajhjz0vr6E/s1600/Fifty-Shades-of-Grey-008.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's originally meant to illustrate "how can I ever live up to this sexy, sexy book?" I have to assume he'd opened it to a section that wasn't forty pages of grouchy emails.<br />
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter:</b> Do I have to say emotional abuse? You know there's emotional abuse. Jealousy. Stalking, SO MUCH STALKING. Homophobia. Physical abuse. Kidnapping. Slut-shaming. Child molestation. Excessive drinking. And other sexy romantic things.<br />
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Also, this chapter (and hence this entry) is loooong. FYI.<br />
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<i><br />I am manicured, massaged, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne. The First Class lounge has many redeeming features. [...] </i><i>I open up my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.</i></blockquote>
...I'm pretty sure it's going to work.<br />
<br />
(Yeah, yeah, what she means is probably "it has a 3G modem that works on many networks," but since the lounge almost certainly has wifi, it's kind of pointless right now.)<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>From: Anastasia Steele</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><i>Subject: Over-Extravagant Gestures</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>Date: May 30 2011 21:53</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>To: Christian Grey</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><i>Dear Mr. Grey</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><i>What really alarms me is how you knew which flight I was on. Your stalking knows no bounds. Let’s hope that Dr. Flynn is back from vacation. I have had a manicure, a back massage, and two glasses of champagne – a very nice start to my vacation. Thank you.</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>Ana</i></blockquote>
I'm only doing this once because it would be incredibly ponderous to repeat it every time, but this is what every email in the book looks like. For dozens of pages. LITERATURE.<br />
<br />
Anyway, Ana's right, it is very alarming. Airlines don't give out "X is on Y flight" information, specifically because of how common stalking is. But of course Buster SharkPants is Just That Powerful, and there's nothing sexier than a rich guy throwing his weight around until people let him get away with breaking important security rules.<br />
<br />
As for Dr. Flynn (Saw ClampSpline's therapist), even in the unlikely event he's competent and not just being paid to say "you're wonderful, change nothing" over and over, he's only going to help with things his patient describes as problems. Since I'm sure Axe BodySpray will characterize things as "I try so hard but my relationship is troubled" instead of "I stalk my girlfriend when I can't beat her," there's not much Dr. Flynn can do.<br />
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<i>[email from </i><i>Übel</i><i> BöseKopf:] Who was massaging your back?</i> [...]</blockquote>
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<i>Aha! Pay back time. Our flight has been called so I shall email him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee.</i></blockquote>
This super powerful and confident dominant has turned into my mother circa 1999, yelling "were there <i>boys</i> at this party?!?" And Ana's characterization is running right off the rails. She's terrified of the guy, but once again she's all "tee hee I'm so naughty" about baiting him. I don't get this. Maybe it's an attempt to take back some power, to make her tormentor ridiculous? Or does she want to set him off because it's better than not knowing what the next blow-up will be about?<br />
<br />
I suppose the in-universe explanation is that she wants to set him off because she loves his punishments, but that would sell better if she wasn't always crying about how much she hates his punishments.<br />
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<i>Dear Sir, A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge – so thank you again for that treat. [...][email ends][...] Oh, he’s going to flip out – and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blonde, perma-tanned way – honestly, who has a tan in Seattle? It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay – but I’ll just keep that detail to myself.</i></blockquote>
Okay, "serves him right," so she... wants to make him angry as revenge for buying her an unwanted first-class upgrade, even though she knows he'll take it out on her later, she feels it's worth it to upset him. This sounds like the most superfantastical relationship ever.<br />
<br />
I'm sure she knew Jean-Paul was gay because of the way he kept calling her "girrrllfriend" and flipping his wrist at her, because I've seen Chick Tracts with less lazily offensive characterization than this book.<br />
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It's also lazy of the author to make him gay, because hey, what if Jean-Paul was straight? What if he was straight and gave her a purely professional massage and that was something Dowel BentRod just had to deal with? News flash: sometimes your partner will encounter people who could be attracted to them. I'll wait here while you recover your monocle.<br />
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<i>“Miss Steele, you’ll need to stow your laptop for take-off,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. [...] She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth.</i></blockquote>
Was that really necessary? For chrissakes, Buff Wonderful isn't even here, and still every woman onscreen has to be a caricatured sexual threat?<br />
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<i>The plane jolts as it pulls away from its stand, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too… no Christian for four days. I take a sneak peek at my BlackBerry. [email:] </i><i>Dear Miss Steele, I know what you’re trying to do – and trust me – you’ve succeeded. Next time you’ll be in the cargo hold, bound and gagged in a crate.</i></blockquote>
ANA! You're supposed to be in airplane mode! You shut that off right now, young lady!<br />
<br />
Anyway, ha ha, those threats of physical violence sure are hilarious from the guy who's repeatedly been physically violent to her!<br />
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<i>Holy crap. That’s the problem with Christian’s humor – I can be never be sure if he’s joking or if he’s seriously angry. I suspect on this occasion he’s seriously angry. Surreptitiously, so the flight attendant can’t see, I type a reply under the blanket. [...] You see – I have no idea if you’re joking – and if you’re not – then I think I’ll stay in Georgia. Crates are a hard limit for me. Sorry I made you mad. Tell me you forgive me.</i></blockquote>
Once again, I don't know Ana's deal here. Like, she set out to make him angry, and now she's really shocked that he's angry? I don't want to criticize her too much, though. She's a little inconsistent sometimes. He's threatening to throw her in a box because she got a massage. I think he's the problem here.<br />
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<i>To: Christian Grey: [...] I like traveling first class, it’s so much more civilized than coach. So thank you. I mean it – and I did enjoy the massage from Jean Paul. He was very gay.</i></blockquote>
My sympathies are still with Ana, because she's the one suffering the abuse, but man, some days she is not an easy person to like.<br />
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<i>You were right when you said I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body… and I agree with you now. Having said that, I want to be with you, and if that’s what I have to do, I would like to try, but I think I’ll suck at it and end up black and blue – and I don’t relish that idea at all.</i></blockquote>
This whole "you're not a submissive" thing is... it's entirely correct. She's not. That's fine. Most people aren't. This is a fact, not a problem.<br />
<br />
The weird thing is that Dirk HardWood isn't even trying to make her into a submissive. In another BDSM novel, this is where "I will train you in submission until you love it" would come in, but in this one, he sits on his ass and complains about her not being submissive. His training method is to pout until she trains herself with zero guidance or support.<br />
<br />
You know, for all his talk about being the Domliest Dominant Who Ever Dominated, he's kind of lacking in actual... domination. I mean, that means different things in different relationships, but my general idea of a dom is someone who gives orders and enjoys receiving service. Goofus BreakWhip here isn't really doing that. He hardly ever gives Ana clear, achievable orders. There's sort of the implicit orders of "put up with all the crap I do to you" and "never interact with another heterosexual man", but beyond that? Even if Ana were a super enthusiastic submissive, he's not giving her much to work with.<br />
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<i>My mother lounges beside me in a ridiculously large floppy sun hat and Jackie O shades, sipping a Coke of her own. We are on Tybee Island Beach, just three blocks from home. She holds my hand. My fatigue has waned, and as I soak up the sun, I feel comfortable, safe, and warm. For the first time in forever, I start to relax.</i></blockquote>
Every time Ana is in a safe place, we get another one of those "E.L. James, how could you not know what you were writing?" moments, because she seems very happy in Georgia. Way, way happier than she ever is when she's around her supposed lover. This is sort of the opposite of how romance works.<br />
<br />
After some lying in the sun not being completely miserable, Ana checks her email again. It's an enormous, multi-page, wall-to-wall "you don't understaaaaand me" whine from Smurf ChopSticks, so I'll try and spare you and only quote bits.<br />
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<i>I am annoyed that as soon as you put some distance between us, you communicate openly and honestly with me. Why can’t you do that when we’re together?</i></blockquote>
Well, probably because every time she does, you threaten or outright beat her for it. Just a guess.<br />
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<i>I apologize for frightening you. I find the thought of instilling fear in you abhorrent.</i></blockquote>
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<i>Do you really think I’d let you travel in the hold? I offered you my private jet for heaven’s sake.</i></blockquote>
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Ah, the old "swing your fist at them and then yell 'why are you flinching? you think I'd punch you? imagine how that makes me feel!'" game. Always a favorite of... super sexy romantic heroes, yes, that's definitely how that sentence ends.</div>
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<i>What I think you fail to realize is that in Dom/sub relationships it is the sub that has all the power. That’s you. I’ll repeat this – you are the one with all the power. Not I. In the boathouse you said no. I can’t touch you if you say no – that’s why we have an agreement – what you will and won’t do. If we try things and you don’t like them, we can revise the agreement. It’s up to you – not me.</i></blockquote>
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Everything he's saying here is great, if we ignore the minor detail that it has absolutely nothing to do with his behavior in the entire book up to this point.</div>
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Yeah, she said no in the boathouse--and he said "since you don't want to be spanked you have to let me fuck you." (Then threatened to spank her anyway.) That's not "I can't touch you if you say no." That's "I will slightly modify how I touch you if you say no. If I feel like it."</div>
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<i>I want to share my lifestyle with you. I have never wanted anything so much. Frankly I’m in awe of you, that one so innocent would be willing to try.</i></blockquote>
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What does that mean? Everyone who does BDSM is a newcomer when they start. Are we all awe-inspiring? I mean, I know <i>I</i> am, but...</div>
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...but the actual implication here is that he's in awe that a nice girl wants to do BDSM, instead of the dirty sluts who are usually into it.</div>
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<i>I will endeavor to keep an open mind, and I shall try and give you the space you need and stay away from you while you are in Georgia. [Ana's reaction:] He’s going to try and stay away! Does this mean he might fail to stay away?</i></blockquote>
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Well shit, she's getting pretty good at this game.</div>
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<i>“Now that’s an impressive piece of technology.” [Ana's mom] points to my laptop. Oh crap. “Oh… this?” I strive for casual, surprised nonchalance. Will Mom notice? She seems to have grown more astute since I acquired a ‘boyfriend’. “Christian lent it to me. I think I could pilot the space shuttle with it, but I just use it for emails and Internet access.” </i></blockquote>
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<i>Really it’s nothing. Eyeing me suspiciously, she sits down on the bed and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Has he emailed you?” Oh double crap. “Yeah.” My nonchalance is wearing thin, and I flush. “Perhaps he’s missing you, huh?” “I hope so, Mom.” “What does he say?” Oh triple crap.</i></blockquote>
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We're up to triple crap here. This is serious business, this... um, telling your mom that your boyfriend lent you a laptop so you can email him. Not quite sure why this is such a tense conversation.</div>
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Maybe because the next thing that happens is Ana and Methyl MerCaptan have incredibly drawn-out, hilariously bad email sex. IN THEIR SUBJECT LINES. THIS IS A THING THAT HAPPENS.</div>
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<i>From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Panting Date: May 31 2011 19:33 [...]</i><i><br /></i><i>From: Christian Grey Subject: Groaning Date: May 31 2011 16:35</i></blockquote>
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oh my sweet goodness</div>
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After dinner, they email again, and what with the email headers and their tendency to speak in frustrated questions and clipped answers, this means that an utterly inane "how was your dinner?" conversation stretches over four pages.</div>
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Jack SteelCrank mentions he had an old friend over for dinner, and Ana decides that this must mean his molester "Mrs. Robinson," which sounds like sort of an unreasonable jump until you realize he's never mentioned having any other friends. As per usual, Ana has a jealousy freak-out, because that's obviously the reasonable way to respond to molestation. ("Molestation" is a word Ana explicitly uses, by the way, so that's not just my interpretation.)</div>
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<i>I struggle out of bed and fire the mean machine up again. I am on a mission. I drum my fingers impatiently waiting for the blue screen to appear. I hit Google images and enter ‘Christian Grey’ into the search engine. [...] Then, on the third page, there’s a picture of me, with him, at my graduation. His only picture with a woman, and it’s me. Holy cow! I’m on Google!</i></blockquote>
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Holy cow! Everyone is "on Google"! Google is a Panopticon!</div>
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Anyway, after copious amounts of angst over anything and everything, Ana goes to the bar with her mom and starts tossing back Cosmopolitans to drown her "my boyfriend was molested, poor <i>me</i>" sorrows.</div>
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Man, there is a <i>lot</i> of drinking in this book. Fuzz WhaleFeet first kidnaps Ana when she's staggering drunk, then feeds her tons of alcohol every time they talk, explicitly saying it's because when she's drunk she's more open to BDSM. When she tries to order a soda, he insists she gets wine instead. Then when she's away from him, she relaxes with a few more drinks.</div>
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She emails Brunt FussThud again from the bar, because of course she does, and after some snippy back-and-forths about "Mrs. Robinson" (wasn't the guy in <i>The Graduate</i> like 21, anyway?), he sends this:</div>
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<i>To: Anastasia Steele</i> </blockquote>
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<i>This is not something I wish to discuss via email. How many Cosmopolitans are you going to drink?</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Holy fuck, he’s here.</i></blockquote>
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Oh Jesus Christ Ana RUN.</div>
Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-18090511682001134742014-07-20T16:49:00.001-04:002014-07-20T16:49:05.036-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 17!<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 17: </b>What misconception about kinky people would you most like to clear up?</i></blockquote>
I have to pick just one?<br />
<br />
I think what I'd most like to clear up is the single image I feel like most people have of kink. I think there's an idea that all kink is super-serious, heavily sexual, involves both dominance and SM, involves a lot of trappings and props, and is between a man and a woman. And everyone's got a collar on. Even the doms.<br />
<br />
When... there is no one image of kink. But here's a couple images I'd like to mix in with the black leather:<br />
<br />
- Me, fully clothed, cheerfully folding and sorting Rowdy's laundry. He hits me afterwards, not as a punishment, but as a reward.<br />
<br />
- At a party, a woman demonstrates how she uses a urethral sound on her partner. She's wearing gloves and using surgical lube. She's joking around a lot and everyone is laughing, including the guy with the sound in his dick.<br />
<br />
- Cuddling with Rowdy, I ask him to bite me, and he does, still cuddling me.<br />
<br />
<div>
- Kinky people gathering in a mall food court, not to do anything kinky, just to socialize and connect in an atmosphere where they don't have to hide who they are.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
- A bondage workshop held in someone's living room. Some people are clothed and others are in underwear, mostly just for freedom of movement. People are passing around books with bondage diagrams and instructions and trying them out. Other people are in the kitchen nibbling on the cookies someone brought.<br />
<br />
- A different party. I went with Rowdy planning to play, but the energy just sort of feels off to us, and we're more tired than we expected, so we just cuddle and watch people play.<br />
<br />
- A friend playing as a puppy. He's not doing anything kinky or sexual, he's just going up to people who pet him and fawn over him, as you do with puppies.<br />
<br />
I could go on forever. I'm still missing lots of stuff here--my experiences are really just one little corner of Kinkland. But you get the idea. There's a lot in kink that you don't see in images like <a href="http://thumb7.shutterstock.com/display_pic_with_logo/1868738/187006439/stock-photo-bdsm-woman-beating-herself-with-flogger-187006439.jpg">this</a>. I don't want to say "it's not black leather, it's t-shirts," because that's just reductionism in another direction. It's not black leather; it's black leather <i>and</i> t-shirts <i>and</i> pink latex <i>and</i> nice button-down shirts <i>and</i> people running around with no shirts at all going "wheeeeeeee."Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-88285427290549553552014-07-19T21:54:00.004-04:002014-07-19T23:04:15.855-04:00Let's Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 21!There's only 25 chapters in this book. We're gonna make it.<br />
<br />
I have to admit, it's all starting to blur together for me. In the first part of the book, things were already horrible, but at least they moved a little. Ana worked, went out with friends, graduated school, moved to a new city. Now we've entered this vague Timeless Zone where the pacing becomes an undifferentiated dribble of "we had really icky un-fun coercive sex... and then later we had some more." I don't know the month, much less the day of the week, and the relationship isn't developing one inch past the "I want you to submit to me but I don't actually like you" point we were at a hundred pages ago. Trying to enjoy this book as a piece of fiction is like trying to paddle a canoe through gravel.<br />
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter: </b>Emotional abuse and manipulation, bigtime. Workplace sexual harassment. Trying to help an abused friend. Sparkly GIF.<br />
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<i>A glorious Seattle morning greets me – sunshine pouring through the full-height windows and flooding the room with too-bright light. [...] </i><i>I lie back for a moment staring through the windows at the lofty vista of Seattle’s skyline.</i></blockquote>
Which way do these damn windows point? If she's at the <a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Escala/@47.6129216,-122.3390453,18z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x5490154b5e3a44e3:0xa5ce990b5233fe81">actual location</a> of Escala, the big "skyline" buildings are south of her, and the sunrise is blocked by First Hill. Even if we say it's an imaginary building with the same name, I still don't know where you can go in Seattle that you're downtown, you can see the skyline, and the sunrise shines straight in your face.<br />
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...A half mile offshore on the Bainbridge Island ferry, I guess.<br />
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<i>Life in the clouds sure feels unreal. A fantasy – a castle in the air, adrift from the ground, safe from the realities of life – far away from neglect, hunger, and crack-whore mothers. I shudder to think what he went through as a small child, and I understand why he lives here, isolated, surrounded by beautiful, precious works of art – so far removed from where he started… mission statement indeed.</i></blockquote>
I had a kinda crappy upbringing too, but I'm not a super-billionaire-vampire, so I have to settle for living on the second floor and having some interesting fridge magnets and an xkcd poster.<br />
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<i>An elegant middle-aged woman is cleaning in the kitchen area. The sight of her stops me in my tracks. She has short blonde hair and clear blue eyes; she wears a plain white tailored shirt and a navy blue pencil skirt. She smiles broadly when she sees me. “Good morning, Miss Steele. Would you like some breakfast?” Her tone is warm but business like, and I am stunned. Who is this attractive blonde in Christian’s kitchen? [...] “Oh, I’m terribly sorry – I’m Mrs. Jones, Mr. Grey’s housekeeper.”</i></blockquote>
Oh no, not a blonde woman! "Blonde woman" is universal shorthand for "sexual competition" and that's terrible!<br />
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I'm not sure whether to be baffled by Ana's constant jealousy or sympathetic. On the one hand, she can't get <i>rid</i> of this guy and he's slowly closing a Darth-Vader-like chokehold on her life--she has a lot of things to fear from him, but him forgetting about her isn't one of them. Since they met he's constantly been obsessing over her and spending about 90% of his waking life either screwing her or screwing with her. It's not bloody likely that he'd suddenly forget all about her because his housekeeper is blonde.<br />
<br />
But on the other hand, for all that he makes his presence and sexual demands inescapable, he's a master at withholding affection. The simultaneous messages of Biff Tardigrade are "you can't leave me" and "you can't have me." So, okay, I can't really blame Ana for being insecure, not when she has to live in such a maelstrom of mindfuck.<br />
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Do wish she wouldn't focus it all on blonde women, though.<br />
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<i>[Darth Sufferable is on the phone talking about Important Manly Business Things]: “Unless that company’s P&L improves, I’m not interested, Ros. We’re not carrying dead weight… I don’t need any more lame excuses… Have Marco call me, it’s shit or bust time... [...] “Clear my schedule this morning, but get Bill to call me. I’ll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon, that will need at least half an hour… </i><i>Schedule Barney and his team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude everyday this week…</i><i>"</i></blockquote>
It's intentionally written to be incomprehensible and all blur into a bunch of Manly Business Not To Worry Your Little Head About, but man, even in sloppily written half-conversations Colt FootStomp sounds like a horrible CEO. He swears at his subordinates, he works for about an hour a day, and his idea of management is barking a lot of orders at people and then hanging up.<br />
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I mean, I'm not saying it isn't <i>realistic</i>, but it does not serve to endear him to me.<br />
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<i>I throw my arms around his neck and my fingers twist in his still damp hair. Pushing my body flush against his, I kiss him back. I want him. My attack takes him by surprise, but after a beat, he responds, a low groan in his throat. His hands slip into my hair and down my back to cup my naked behind, his tongue exploring my mouth. He pulls back, his eyes hooded.</i></blockquote>
I'm getting confused by the specifics of the "no touching Dick WangPeen" rule. It obviously doesn't mean no skin contact. And apparently it doesn't mean no contact that she initiates. And it doesn't mean she can't put her hands on him. Except when it does. I have no idea what definition of "touching" we're working with here, except "whatever he says it is," which is really boring because that's his definition for everything.<br />
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<i>“Well, sleep seems to agree with you,” he murmurs. “I suggest you go and have your shower, or I shall lay you across my desk, now.” “I choose the desk,” I whisper recklessly as desire sweeps like adrenaline through my system, waking everything in its path.</i></blockquote>
And then they have shockingly not-horrible sex. Both of them explicitly say they want it, Ana (wonder of wonders!) internally admits to wanting it and enjoying it, and Louse GropeGroin doesn't hit her or insult her or do anything else randomly shitty during the act. It's an actually okay sex scene.<br />
<br />
I'm still not turned on--I mean, the writing is like <i>"It’s so raw, so carnal, making me so wanton."</i>--but I am sort of goggling with astonishment.<br />
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<i>“You. Are. Mine,” he says, each word a staccato. “Do you understand?” He’s so earnest, so impassioned – a zealot. The force of his plea is so unexpected and disarming. I wonder why he’s feeling like this. “Yes, yours,” I whisper, derailed by his fervor. “Are you sure you have to go to Georgia?” I nod slowly. And in that brief moment, I can see his expression change and the shutters coming down. Abruptly he withdraws, making me wince.</i></blockquote>
Oh, silly me, thinking for one goddamn second that they were having consensual sex because things were temporarily okay. It was just another piece of manipulation. Just another crumb of "maybe we could have the kind of relationship you want" that he dangled out in front of her only so he could immediately snatch it back to punish her. For wanting to see her own mother.<br />
<br />
I've been wrong before, but is there anyone who finds this kind of manipulation sexy? Is there anyone out there whose BDSM fantasy is "guy who pouts and throws tantrums until I obey him out of exasperated guilt and fear?" Nothing against you if you're into that and you pursue it consensually, and I mean that. It's just so far I haven't met anyone who's into that.<br />
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<i>“Have you bought your air ticket?” “No, I’ll buy it when I get home – over the Internet.” He leans on his elbow, rubbing his chin. “Do you have the money?” Oh no. “Yes,” I say with mock patience as if I’m talking to a small child.</i></blockquote>
I'm not going to copy the whole conversation, because it's long and annoying, but the key points are:<br />
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1) Every time these two talk it's like pulling teeth. The rhythm is: pointed question, terse answer, angry question, defensive answer. It doesn't feel like the way that couples or friends usually talk. It's the way that teenagers tell their parents that their day at school was <i>fine, okay?</i><br />
<br />
2) Bold ZapFino insists Ana take his private jet (of course he has a private jet) to Georgia, and she declines and says she'll book her own flight. He then insists Ana tell him where she's applying for jobs, and she refuses. Since I am an Amazing Book Psychic, I predict with a million percent certainty that Ana will end up on the jet. The job thing's a little less certain, because it's a toss-up between her working for Gort BaradaNikto, her working in a job that seems independent but turns out to be all about him, or her not working at all because that would just distract her from licking his boots all the time.<br />
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<i>How could he mean so much to me in such a short time? He’s got right under my skin… literally.</i></blockquote>
Ew.<br />
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<i>Christian has ordered me to take my BlackBerry and the Mac. I roll my eyes at the memory of his overbearing bossiness, but I realize now that’s just the way he is. He likes control over everything, including me.</i></blockquote>
But she doesn't like to be controlled, that's just the way she is, and why doesn't that carry equal weight? I mean, I know damn well why not, I'm just saying.<br />
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<i>A woman with long, black, pre-Raphaelite hair standing by the reception desk distracts me from my introspection. She has the same bohemian, floaty look as the receptionist. She could be in her late thirties, maybe in her forties. It’s so difficult to tell with older women.</i></blockquote>
So now Ana is at a job interview at some place called Seattle Independent Publishing and it seems pretty unremarkable so far. So please enjoy this description of "pre-Raphaelite hair" and the fathomless age of a wizened thirty-nine-year-old.<br />
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<i>“Have you traveled far?” he asks pleasantly. “No, I’ve recently moved to the Pike Street Market area.”</i></blockquote>
Pike Place Market! Pike PLACE! How can you screw this up? This is not esoteric local knowledge!<br />
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(Side note: I used to work there! Whoo.)<br />
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<i>“So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, Ana?” he asks. He says my name softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know – it’s unnerving. </i><i>[...] “You have a very impressive GPA. What extra-curricular activities did you indulge in at WSU?” Indulge? I blink at him. What an odd choice of word. [...] “And where do you see yourself in five years’ time?” he asks. With Christian Grey, the thought comes involuntarily into my head.</i></blockquote>
I realize this isn't a book about job interviews, but for chrissakes, Ana, contain yourself.<br />
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We do learn that she was a campus librarian, though, which is kind of cool. It's one of those precious little scraps of humanizing detail. I mean, I think the actual librarians on college campuses are professionals with advanced degrees and not moonlighting undergrads, but whatever. I'm so glad for Ana to do anything interesting with her life.<br />
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<i>Jack Hyde asks sharp, intelligent questions, but I’m not thrown – I keep up, and when we discuss my reading preferences and my favorite books, I think I hold my own. Jack, on the other hand, appears to only favor American literature written after 1950. Nothing else. No classics - not even Henry James or Upton Sinclair or F Scott Fitzgerald.</i></blockquote>
She seems awfully scandalized that a man whose job is publishing contemporary books would like contemporary books.<br />
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(And Upton Sinclair? Really? I mean, nothing wrong with him I guess, but he's not really a Designated Stuffy Literary Author. Whatever, I'm sure he just happened to be the second Google hit on "what are some old-timey authors to make my character sound smart and stuff.")<br />
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And now we get a conversation between Ana and her friend Kate that's just... well, it's legitimately good, in a way, but... oh, just look at it.<br />
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<i>[Ana:] “Incidentally – will you please stop winding Christian up? Your comment about José at dinner yesterday was out of line. He’s a jealous guy. It doesn’t do any good, you know.”</i> </blockquote>
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<i>“Look, if he wasn’t Elliot’s brother I’d have said a lot worse. He’s a real control freak. I don’t know how you stand it. [...] But – if you don’t want me to interfere, I won’t,” [...] “Ana,” she pauses staring at me. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You’re not running to your mother’s to escape?”</i> </blockquote>
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<i>I flush. “No Kate. It was you who said I needed a break.”</i> </blockquote>
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<i>She closes the distance between us and takes my hands – a most un-Kate thing to do. Oh no… tears threaten. “You’re just, I don’t know… different. I hope you’re okay, and whatever issues you’re having with Mr. Moneybags, you can talk to me. And I will try not to wind him up, though frankly it’s like shooting fish in a barrel with him. Look, Ana, if something’s wrong, you will tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand.”</i></blockquote>
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This is (except for a bit I snipped out where Kate says she was trying to make him jealous so he'd value Ana more, which is terrible, but I forgive her because she's still the best person in this book) a really excellent model for how to talk to a friend who's being abused. Kate expresses her concerns, but also respects her friend's boundaries. She understands that her actions could worsen the abuse, so she isn't pushy and doesn't demand that Ana leave, and she ends by saying that she's open to talk no matter what.</div>
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The scene is brilliantly handled, except... how could you possibly write this and then deny that you're writing an abusive relationship? I mean, Kate does everything short of slipping Ana a women's shelter's card, and <i>good for her</i>, but this whole dialogue and the things that made it necessary are not a place that erotic romances should be visiting.</div>
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<i>[It's been a few chapters since we had email bickering, so here's Ana:] Dear Sir, The morning was exemplary for me too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the impeccable desk sex. Don’t think I didn’t notice.</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>[And here's Crud NoseFlake:] ‘Weirding’ is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Impeccable? Compared to what, pray tell?</i></blockquote>
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Picking on her grammar (<a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/weirding">incorrectly</a>) instead of answering the actual issues? I swear, if you wrote a manual on "how to make a character hateable," you'd leave this one out because it seems too obvious.</div>
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And it's dickish beyond all human imagining that his response to "the sex was good" isn't "why thank you, I enjoyed it too," but "pfft, how would you know?"</div>
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<i>[Ana, still concerned about blonde women and their man-stealing ways:] Is Mrs. Jones an ex-sub of yours?</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i>[Burn FlintNugget:] Mrs. Jones is a valued employee. I have never had any relationship with her beyond our professional one. I do not employ anyone I’ve had any sexual relations with. I am shocked that you would think so. The only person I would make an exception to this rule is you – because you are a bright young woman with remarkable negotiating skills.</i></blockquote>
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God what a slime.</div>
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Honey, you're fooling yourself if you think "I wouldn't have sex with an employee... except for a very special one" isn't the line he gives <i>everyone</i>.</div>
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<i>“Ticket please?” The bored young man behind the desk holds up his hand without looking at me. Mirroring his boredom, I hand over my ticket and my driver’s license as ID. I am hoping for a window seat if at all possible. “Okay, Miss Steele. You’ve been upgraded to first class.” “What?” “Ma’am, if you’d like to go through to the first class lounge and await your flight there.” He seems to have woken up and is beaming at me like I’m the Christmas Fairy and the Easter Bunny rolled into one. “Surely there’s some mistake.” “No, no.” He checks his computer screen again. “Anastasia Steele – upgrade.” He simpers at me.</i></blockquote>
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Of course. I told you I was psychic.</div>
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(The "oh my heavens, a first class passenger, what an honor to be in her presence" thing seems weirdly reminiscent of <i>Left Behind</i>, if you've seen <a href="http://www.patheos.com/blogs/slacktivist/2011/08/07/left-behind-index-i-posts-1-50/">Fred Clark's reading of it</a>. <i>Fifty Shades</i> has lots of class issues, what with the extended fawning over Snort OinkPig's private helicopter and ginormous penthouse and ultra-luxury everything, but this scene is particularly weird about "someone with money is just the most impressive thing ever.")</div>
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Now if you'll excuse me, I have to lose myself in an extended fantasy where Ana gives up her seat to a standby passenger and books herself a new flight--coach class, thank you very much--to Alaska and drops her cellphone in Eklutna Lake and flees for the hills and is safe forever. Mmmm. Now that's wish-fulfillment.</div>
Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-16372612188706307812014-07-17T20:04:00.001-04:002014-07-17T20:04:08.616-04:0030 Not Even Slightly Consecutive Days of Kink: Days 15-16!First of all: there is fanart for <a href="http://pervocracy.blogspot.com/2014/06/30-not-necessarily-consecutive-days-of.html">day 12</a>!<br />
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Credit to sbloyd. Rawr.<br />
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<i><b>Day 15:</b> Post a BDSM/kink activity you’re curious about and would like to try.</i></blockquote>
One I've wanted for a long time is sensory deprivation. I have a fidgety mind; it's hard for me to sit quietly for more than a few minutes without reading or doodling or pacing or reciting facts about sharks.<br />
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("We now rise for a moment of silent prayer." "......" "......MALE SHARKS HAVE TWO PENISES.")<br />
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I already use physically intense play to shut that down in one way, by overwhelming myself with so much sensation that my mind is absolutely swamped with it and doesn't have any processing power left for fidgetyness. But I'd like to address it another way through BDSM, the opposite way, by giving myself absolutely <i>no</i> opportunity to avoid my own mind.<br />
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So I'd like to be locked in a closet for as long as I can stand. Preferably a whole weekend, but honestly I think I'd probably only last a couple hours. I would like to be stuck in there with my thoughts and absolutely no way to shut them down. I'm not even sure what that would be like. My fantasy is that being forced to face my own mind would lead to some breakthrough that made me permanently less inclined to avoid my own thoughts, but even if that doesn't happen--I still want to know what it's like.<br />
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On the more sexy-fun side of BDSM, I would love to bottom in an interrogation scene. I'm fascinated by the two kinds of power I'd have in that scene--both the power to spill the beans and stop the torment, and the power to <i>not</i> spill the beans and endure. The push-pull between "I'm so tough and stubborn" and "I can stop this at any time" feels fascinating. Plus I just want to be tied to a chair by someone in a uniform.<br />
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Speaking of uniforms... another thing I haven't tried but have been contemplating is topping in medical play. I have all these skills from my nursing education, and a powerful desire to misuse them. Although I wouldn't want to be a Naughty Nurse. Maybe an extremely authoritative and straight-laced nurse in scrubs and a labcoat. Or an EMT! I would be a Naughty EMT and wear a crisp white shirt with shoulder straps and combat boots and tie people to my backboard! YES.<br />
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<i><b>Day 16:</b> What are the most difficult aspects of having a sexuality that involves kink or BDSM for you personally?</i></blockquote>
(note: little bit of sexual assault talk)<br />
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The secrecy. It's gotten to be much less of an issue as I get older, but it still bites at me sometimes how much conscious effort I have to put into "who can be trusted with what?" about things as basic as "how was your weekend?" or "so I hear you're a writer."<br />
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It hurts when I'm hurting and can't seek help. A big part of the reason I told almost no one (and still haven't told my parents and a lot of my friends) about being sexually assaulted is that it took place in a scene. I don't want to change that story to make it more acceptable, but I also don't want to have to preface it with an hour of BDSM 101 where I explain what a "scene" is and how "tie me up" doesn't mean "do anything you want to me," <i>really it doesn't</i>. So silence becomes the path of least resistance.<br />
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And it hurts when I'm proud. I mean, I've been published in some cool places, I've flown across the country to speak at colleges, I've been cited in academic papers for chrissakes... and there's so many people I can't tell. I just submitted a story for publication in an erotica anthology and if it gets accepted I can't make the "omg guess what" phone call home. Boo hoo, I know, but it does hurt (especially in a family that values academic success very highly) that I've done all this cool stuff and there's so many settings where I can't tell anyone about it.<br />
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<br />
The "your world is now the same twelve people and no matter what happens you'll keep running into them" factor in the BDSM community can get a bit trying at times, too. It can be charming and comforting sometimes, but if there's someone who's very active in the scene who you don't like (or who's seriously hurt you, for that matter), you're going to spend a whole lot of time awkwardly avoiding eye contact.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-5256486896161005792014-07-08T11:32:00.003-04:002014-07-08T13:20:30.253-04:00Let's Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 20!<div>
Call Mara Wilson a <a href="https://twitter.com/MaraWritesStuff/status/485877288060588032">"sad fuck"</a>, will you, E.L. James? Well, I've got some news for you: all of the fucks in your book are sad.</div>
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In fact, we're heading into a particularly sad one right now, as when we last left our heroes, Gaston Von RockThrust was angrily dragging Ana into a boathouse in his parents' backyard to punish her for offenses consisting of:</div>
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A) Making plans to go visit her mother.</div>
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B) Having drinks with a male friend.</div>
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and</div>
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C) Not letting him finger under the table <i>during dinner with his parents</i>.</div>
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And don't worry, she's genuinely terrified and trying to deflect or escape him the whole time. Now that's how you make a fuck sad.</div>
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Note: all Christian Grey names in this entry are automatically generated by the <a href="http://spencerdub.me/manlyname/">Manly Name Generator</a>, courtesy of Spencer Dub.<br />
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter: </b>More or less outright rape. More detailed emotional abuse than usual, including some real-life stories.</div>
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<i>“Please don’t hit me,” I whisper, pleading.</i></blockquote>
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You have to wonder if E.L. James ever had a moment of self-awareness writing lines like that.</div>
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Unfortunately, I think she mostly channeled it into "yeah, it sounds bad, but they're kinky." Which would be fine, except that being kinky doesn't actually change what's ethical to do to people. <i>Consent</i> can change that. Ana may be kinky (although so far it seems like she's emphatically not), but she sure as hell isn't consenting to anything going on here.</div>
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<i>Stepping forward so I am flush against him, I pull gently on his hair, bringing his mouth down to mine, and I kiss him, forcing my tongue between his lips and into his mouth. He groans, and his arms embrace me, pulling me to him. His hands find their way into my hair, and he kisses me back, hard and possessive. His tongue and my tongue twist and turn together, consuming each other. He tastes divine.</i></blockquote>
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This would be sexy, except that it comes directly after "please don't hit me" and it's pretty clearly an attempt to distract and defuse him, so it becomes just another one of those unpleasantly realistic details James manages to slip into an otherwise slapdash book.</div>
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It's also a good illustration (really, this whole scene is) of the weirdly inconsistent way Ana is written. She spends three paragraphs telling us how terrified she is of Buck SlamKnob, then tosses in "he was so gorgeous and I was so turned on." I think it's supposed to represent a mixture of fear and attraction, but the "attraction" parts are so much less frequent and less convincing than the "fear" parts that it comes off more like Ana trying to make excuses for him.</div>
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<i>“You said no.” “What?” No to what? “At the dinner table, with your legs.” Oh… that’s what this is all about. “But we were at your parents’ dining table.” I stare up at him, completely bewildered. “No one’s ever said no to me before. And it’s so – hot.”</i></blockquote>
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Really? He had fifteen play partners before Ana and not one of them ever told him no? Even when "making unreasonable demands" is clearly his primary kink?</div>
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I'm choosing to believe he's lying, because the alternative is fucking terrifying.</div>
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(Actually, in E.L. James's mind, the explanation is probably "yeah, but they were fifteen <i>submissives</i> who were all fucked-up and into that stuff, so of course they wouldn't say no," which is also terrifying, but in a different way.)</div>
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<i>"I’m mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that?"</i></blockquote>
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Yeah, that was pretty shitty of José. So maybe you should go talk to fuckin José about it.</div>
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<i>“I want you, and I want you now. And if you’re not going to let me spank you – which you deserve – I’m going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours.”</i></blockquote>
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At this point, we all know this is rape, right? I'm too sick of this stuff to even go into it. I want them to go driving or something so I can make fun of the bad writing and research. I don't want to watch another damn "it's consent, it's just... non-optional consent!" scene.</div>
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<i>"Don’t come, or I will spank you,” he says through clenched teeth.</i></blockquote>
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You know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of the "nice guy" thing. That's where a guy is an asshole to women who won't date him, women who will date him but don't precisely meet his standards, women who will date him and precisely meet his standards but they seem like they're <i>trying</i> to meet them... but then explains that because he would be nice to the theoretical perfect woman, he's a nice guy. Because a condition <i>technically exists</i> where he might be nice, he's nice.</div>
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Buff MacSlamGroin is a respecting-consent guy. As long as you consent to everything he wants, he'll respect your consent! What a champ.</div>
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<i>“Here. You may put these on.” From his inside pocket, he produces my panties. I don’t grin as I take them from him, but inside I know – I’ve taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face – You didn’t have to ask for them.</i></blockquote>
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At this point, I'd've let him keep the damn panties. They sell panties at Wal-Mart. You can get a six-pack for like eight bucks. That's a small price for not having to grovel to this asshole for your own clothes back.</div>
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<i>“Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that – but I still want to spank you,” he says softly. “I don’t believe I deserve it Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.” “Unprovoked? You kissed me.” He tries his best to look wounded. I purse my lips. “It was attack as the best form of defense.” </i><i>“Defense against what?” “You and your twitchy palm.”</i></blockquote>
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Oh jeez, they're actually spelling it out. This is a thing I did occasionally with Benny. I'd try to cut off his nastier behaviors by making myself extremely sexually available. Insult me? Maybe if you see my boobs you'll forget about that! Hold me down? Maybe if I play with your dick you'll get distracted and let me go!</div>
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(A sticky part of this dynamic, which Ana also experiences, is that I usually did enjoy the ensuing sex. Partly in a "relieved" way, but also partly in the regular way. Which obviously <i>doesn't make it okay</i>, but it complicates the tidiness of the "I was only doing it to escape greater suffering" narrative.)</div>
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Not only is this a terrible thing to put in a romance novel, it's even a terrible thing to put in a fetish novel. Like, there are circumstances where I can get into the fantasy of "he can take me whenever he wants." I cannot ever get into the fantasy of "I'm starting to learn how to defuse him when he gets into his moods."</div>
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<i>Kate hugs me hard. “I need to speak to you about antagonizing Christian,” I hiss quietly in her ear as she embraces me. “He needs antagonizing, then you can see what he’s really like. Be careful, Ana – he’s so controlling,” she whispers. “See you later.” I KNOW WHAT HE’S REALLY LIKE – YOU DON’T! – I scream at her in my head.</i></blockquote>
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But she's... completely right? I'm really curious what Ana thinks she knows about Slab PlankCrunch that Kate doesn't, because he is incredibly controlling, and Ana's said as much.</div>
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Unless what she means is "don't antagonize him because he takes it out on me every time," which is true but incredibly depressing.</div>
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<i>It’s obvious Grace adores him with a mother’s unconditional love.</i></blockquote>
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His mother loves him in an almost motherly way. She's like a mother to him.</div>
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<i>“Anastasia, I’m delighted that you’ve met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You’re such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself."</i></blockquote>
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"All I do is constantly rage at you and abuse you and tell you that you only exist to meet my needs and you're not even good at that... and for some reason you have low self-esteem! What's your <i>problem</i>?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(Also: "self-contained?")</div>
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<br /></div>
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Anyway, then he goes on to demand Ana take him along on her visit to her mother, because God forbid something in her life not be about him.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I have never felt as alive as I do now. It’s a thrill to be sitting here beside him. He’s so unpredictable, sexy, smart, and funny.</i></blockquote>
<div>
This is one of those sentences that seems to be imported from a different, much more pleasant book, because we haven't seen Smash ThudChest be <i>any</i> of those. Hell, he's not even all that unpredictable, as long as you remember to always lay your bets on "I predict he'll do something terrible."</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“I still want more,” I whisper. “I know,” he says. “I’ll try.” I blink up at him, and he relinquishes my hand and pulls at my chin, releasing my trapped lip. “For you, Anastasia, I will try.” He’s radiating sincerity.</i></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.” “Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic.”</i></blockquote>
<div>
Sometimes Ana just does my job for me.</div>
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</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, they're about to have sex, but then Ana asks if she can touch him (she doesn't do it, she just asks, and respects it when he says no), and he flips out and gets all snippy at her, because it's been like five whole minutes since the last time he threw a tantrum over trivial shit.</div>
<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>My subconscious snaps at me. <u>And what the hell are you doing? Touching is his hard limit. Too soon, you idiot, he needs to walk before he can run.</u> My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying, her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch’s Scream. I ignore her, but she won’t climb back into her box. You are making him mad – think about all that’s he’s said, all he’s conceded. </i></blockquote>
Oh yes, let's feel lots of guilt about pushing this guy too hard by politely asking if you could touch him, while he goes right ahead and repeatedly forces you into sex and beatings. That seems fair.<br />
<br />
I don't want to be mad at Ana about this, because I can understand her feeling this way and I don't want to blame her for Punch ThornCheese's behavior or her reactions to it, but... I am mad that she was written this way. I am very mad that "girls trying to seek a little affection from your boyfriends, you need to check those wild megalomaniacal impulses and continue letting him use your body until he's good and ready" is the message written here.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I shake my head resigned and grasp Christian’s toothbrush. My subconscious is right of course. I’m rushing him. He’s not ready and neither am I. We are balanced on the delicate see-saw, that is our strange arrangement – at different ends, vacillating, and it tips and sways between us. We both need to edge closer to the middle. I just hope neither of us falls off in our attempt to do so.</i></blockquote>
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<div>
Ew, she's still using his toothbrush. Ewwww.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ew, "he'll beat me a little less, and I'll ask for affection a little less" being presented as a fair compromise with concessions on both sides. Ewwww.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two round, shiny, silver balls, linked with a thick black thread. “These are new,” he says emphatically. I look questioningly up at him. “I am going to put these inside you, and then I’m going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine.” He pauses, gauging my wide-eyed reaction.</i></blockquote>
<div>
When he's mad, he spanks her for his pleasure, but when he's happy, he spanks her for her pleasure! What a... reasonable... arrangement.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Fuck, this is sexier than the toothbrush.</i></blockquote>
<div>
...I technically agree with this statement.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>His touch against my sensitized skin is all sensuous tingle. It’s overwhelming, and he starts again. A few soft slaps then building up, left to right and down. Oh, the downs, I groan.</i></blockquote>
<div>
Because of all the abuse and misery, I don't spend enough time criticizing the writing in this book. But it really is awful. It's an endless flat gray swamp of telling-not-showing, grammatical abominations, and complete poverty of imagery. I've seen more color and texture in a sheet metal catalogue. I've gotten more aesthetic enjoyment out of minor surgery. I've felt more engrossed in the prose of IKEA assembly directions. And literally the only word in those is "IKEA."</div>
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<div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“The woman who brought me into this world was a crack-whore, Anastasia."</i></blockquote>
<div>
And now it's time for a little "He only hates women because his mother was terrible, but I'm no good at writing terrible people on purpose, so what's the laziest possible way to say a woman is bad? Crack whore? Sure, that'll do."</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“She died when I was four. I don’t really remember her. Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep.”</i></blockquote>
<div>
<div>
So Carlisle told his adopted son "your birth mom had sex for crack?" Ouch. He couldn't phrase it as "your mother was a troubled woman" or at the most explicit, "your mother was addicted to drugs" or something? What the hell, Carlisle.</div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>And I slip into a dazed and exhausted sleep, dreaming of a four-year-old, gray-eyed boy in a dark, scary, miserable place.</i></blockquote>
<div>
Well, she does know what dark, scary, miserable places look like. She's in one.</div>
</div>
Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-81895261323105421672014-06-26T17:09:00.001-04:002014-06-26T17:10:27.029-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 14.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 14: </b>How would you say real life BDSM/kink varies from fantasy BDSM/kink? If you haven’t experienced real life BDSM/kink how do you think it might differ?</i></blockquote>
There's three main differences: consent, commitment, and clumsiness.<br />
<br />
Which are all part of one main difference: in fantasy everything works out. That's what fantasy means. It may not work out for the <i>best</i> necessarily, but it works out in a way that's satisfying somehow to the fantasizer. Real life is full of randomness and accidents and disappointments and plot threads that never properly resolve. Fantasy is the realm where man plans and for once God plays along.<br />
<br />
So in fantasy, it's okay to do things without consent, because you can be assured that either the person secretly likes it, they secretly like not liking it, or they don't like it but the author of the fantasy likes it just fine. Any time you assume consent in fantasy is fine, because you wouldn't be assuming it if the author didn't want you to. In reality, trying to guess which of someone's "no"s are secretly "yes"s is an excellent way to become a sex offender.<br />
<br />
In fantasy, it's easy to make big commitments at the drop of a hat. Become someones 24/7 live-in servant who never wears clothes and is so high-protocol they can actually pronounce the capital letter in "Master"? Heck yeah! Never goes wrong! In reality... I don't want to say "it always goes wrong," but it requires a lot more thought about financial arrangements and family relationships and what if the servant needs a day off. And--importantly--how are you going to handle it if either partner decides they don't want to be in this arrangement anymore? It is possible to do BDSM full-time in real life, but you still have to deal with real life.<br />
<br />
In fantasy, nobody ever falls on their ass, slips out of their ropes, or farts at a truly inopportune moment. In reality, oops.<br />
<br />
Finally, one more difference that I didn't list above because it doesn't start with a "C": art design. Fantasy BDSM often comes with a lot of trappings, a lot of black leather or latex outfits and custom-built toys and lavishly equipped, literally underground dungeons. And everyone around is either a slinky sex kitten or a muscular sex... lion? Not sure how that works. Sex tiger, maybe. In reality, leather shit is <i>expensive, </i>lots of kinks can be done without any toys,<i> </i>and kinksters have roughly the same distribution of body types you'd see at your local bank office. We're a motley bunch of scruffy sex alley cats.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-30755675377009478392014-06-25T20:18:00.004-04:002014-06-25T20:22:07.825-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 13.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 13: </b>Explain as best you can what the appeal of kink/BDSM is to you? Why are you drawn to what you’re drawn to?</i></blockquote>
I went swimming in the lake today. The water was cool and clear and I floated away from the children splashing by the shore, away from the noise of the road, drifting alone with the trees and the sky. Out in the deep water, I swam laps for a good hour before paddling back to shore. I found a comfortable sitting log among the shade trees by the lake and sat with my toes dangling in the water, resting and communing with nature. (Nature was mostly spiders.)<br />
<br />
My muscles were sore from the effort of swimming. It was a little achy, but overwhelmingly it was a feeling of comfort, like my muscles were better settled on my bones than usual, better able to relax. In a way they almost felt virtuous, like they had <i>earned</i> this comfort.<br />
<br />
Sometimes being hurt in kink gives me this same feeling. It's the good hurt, the hurt of strong muscles and days in the sun, a hurt that brings pride as well as comfort. It's a little pain mixed with a lot of endorphins.<br />
<br />
Of course that's all well and good, but there's a whole lot of stuff that "oh yes, endorphins, just like a good hearty workout, totally understandable" doesn't actually explain. My interests cluster around humiliation and control as much as they do around endorphins, and that's harder to explain with wholesome workout metaphors.<br />
<br />
The appeal of those things is... complicated. But for me, it's often about freedom. Submission frees me from guilt and uncertainty about how to please others--I just have to do what I'm told, and I will be pleasing. Humiliation frees me from impossible expectations--nothing is expected of me but to have receptive flesh. Roleplay frees me from being myself at all. And a violent scene frees me from thinking about <i>anything</i> but here and now and ow.<br />
<br />
When I say "when I'm bound, I feel free" I'm not speaking in baffling contradictions or engaging in willful denial. I mean it takes a huge freakin' load off my mind.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-76438815988076794192014-06-23T10:07:00.000-04:002014-06-23T10:07:01.436-04:0030 Not Necessarily Consecutive Days of Kink: Day 11 & 12.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 11:</b> What are your views on the ethics of kink?</i></blockquote>
The long answer would require reposting about 75% of everything I've ever written.<br />
<br />
The short answer: the ethics of kink are the same as any other ethics. If something is okay in other contexts (example: hitting someone who's agreed in martial arts practice), then it's okay in kink. If it's not okay in other contexts (example: hitting someone who didn't agree because you hear that they do martial arts sometimes), then it's not okay in kink.<br />
<br />
Kink doesn't happen separately from "real life." It's not a special case. There's some kink etiquette that differs from other areas of life, but the fundamental ethics are the same. The presence or absence of <i>consent</i> can change whether something is ethical, but not the presence or absence of kink.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 12: </b>Tell us about a humorous BDSM/kink experience you’ve had. If you haven’t had one, talk about aspects of kink/BDSM you find funny.</i></blockquote>
I once had a play partner tie my arms up to my chest with my elbows bent and set me free to wander around the party with my hands stuck up near my chin. I think he meant it as a "you can walk but you can't use your arms" bondage thing.<br />
<br />
I made my hands into two-fingered claws and stomped around making tyrannosaurus noises.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-44840272453850532842014-06-18T11:54:00.001-04:002014-06-18T12:05:07.380-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 10.[Note: due to the nature of the question, this one briefly visits a wide variety of unsettling places.]<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 10: </b>What are your hard limits?</i></blockquote>
Not many.<br />
<br />
I've got loads and loads of things that don't turn me on, things I don't want to do right now, or things I don't want to do in certain ways, but as far as things that I categorically don't want to do at all, ever?<br />
<br />
It mostly comes down to stuff I think is unethical. I'm not doing anything with animals or with people who don't or can't give informed consent. I'm not doing stuff with someone behind their (or my) partner's back. I'm not doing anything where real-life sexism/racism/etc. is part of the play. Basically, if I don't find something ethically acceptable outside of kink, I'm not going to make an exception for kink.<br />
<br />
Other than that, there's not much I find "ethical but too icky to ever consider." I'm an almost-nurse and roadkill-pokingly unsqueamish, so things involving bodily fluids and functions fascinate me more than they disgust me. Permanent marking doesn't necessarily bother me either--I don't want obscenities tattooed on my face or anything like that, but the idea of picking up some incidental scars suits me fine.<br />
<br />
Oh! Gunplay! Gunplay is a hard as hell limit, at least in any form that violates the "all guns are loaded, all guns are real, do not point a gun at anything you are not willing to destroy" rules. Although knifeplay is fine with me--I've had a genuinely sharp knife right up against my neck--so I'm not consistent or anything.<br />
<br />
And of course there's a whole pile of things I won't do that don't come up very often in kink, so I'd feel silly enumerating them one-by-one. I mean, I won't eat a brick? If anyone ever asks me to erotically eat a brick, I will not do that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Maybe the ultimate hard limit for me is emotional pain. I don't ever want play to hurt my heart. I don't want a scene to ever intentionally make me feel worthless or abandoned or repellent. I want my play to hurt, but I don't ever want it to truly hurt <i>me</i>.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-34144440854724339082014-06-17T12:39:00.002-04:002014-06-17T14:26:30.030-04:00Let's Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 19!Last chapter Our Heroes had an ooky gynecologist appointment and a bunch of sex, and that was about it. I always feel so indifferent and unaroused by the sex in this book. It's like trying to read a sex scene starring Ted Bundy--even if the scene itself were great, the outside knowledge I have about these characters spoils any chance of it being erotic.<br />
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter:</b> Physical and emotional abuse, as always. Child molestation, and Ana being a shit about it. Eating disorders, somehow. Horror movies, if that's a thing I need to warn for?<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I roll my shoulders. They’re stiff. His demands for a personal trainer don’t seem so outlandish now, in fact, they’re mandatory if I am to have any hope of keeping up with him.</i></blockquote>
No. Nothing is mandatory. If you enjoy athletic sex then by all means train for it, but if you don't or can't--this guy's sexual demands are not immutable facts of the universe. He doesn't <i>have</i> to make Ana do athletic stunts; he chooses to.<br />
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Sprocket WireCrimp seems to do this a lot, this total abdication of responsibility for his sexual desires. He just declares "I'm a hitter so if you're around me you will be hit," like he isn't constantly making the choice to hit his partner. And like "it's not really my choice" is an excuse that should earn him a special exemption from making compromises, instead of a goddamn terrifying problem that should earn him permanent single status until he figures out how to make it his choice.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear. While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he’s done this on purpose. He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins at me. Hell… two can play that particular game. Resolving there and then not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes.</i></blockquote>
Okay, I've done this. It's not my proudest moment, but I've hidden Rowdy's briefs while he was in the shower. His response was "oh grow up" and of course I gave his underwear back. It was a goofy joke, not an actual humiliation power play.<br />
<br />
So there's something really disturbing about seeing my goofy joke translated into this nightmare relationship where she's afraid to even ask him for her underwear back, and would probably be literally beaten for it if she said "oh grow up."<br />
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That's one of the invisibly horrible things about abusive relationships. Not the beatings that happen, but the beatings that don't happen but would if the abused partner ever asked to be treated like a human. It's easy to see that Solder TinSnip doesn't hit Ana in these scene. It's terrifying to realize that's because he doesn't need to.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and</i></blockquote>
that shirt that sexily hangs off his shoulders, accented by a tie that sexily hangs off his neck, and socks that sexily hang off his ankles. His shoes hang off the tops of his feet. Sexily.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>We speed up the I-5,</i></blockquote>
Through downtown Seattle? Not unless it's 3 AM.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Where did you learn to dance?” I ask tentatively. He turns to gaze at me, his eyes unreadable beneath the intermittent light of the passing street lamps. “Do you really want to know?” he replies softly. My heart sinks, and now I don’t because I can guess. “Yes,” I murmur, reluctantly. “Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing.” Oh, my worst suspicions confirmed. She has taught him well, and the thought depresses me – there’s nothing I can teach him. I have no special skills.</i></blockquote>
Yes, that's what's bad about your boyfriend being molested as a teenager. That now you don't get to teach him how to dance. Ana goes into a long reverie about how much she hates "Mrs. Robinson," and it's 100% jealousy that she got to do so much fun stuff with her molesting victim, 0% concern about the whole <i>molesting</i> issue.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Ditto, baby,” he says softly as Taylor speeds into the night toward Bellevue.</i></blockquote>
Hey! I lived in Bellevue for ten years! I don't really have a thing to say about this, I just thought you should know.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey is on the doorstep waiting for us. She looks elegantly sophisticated in a pale blue silk dress; behind her stands Mr. Grey, I presume, tall, blond, and as handsome in his own way as Christian. “Anastasia, you’ve met my mother, Grace. This is my dad, Carrick.” [...] “Is she here?” I hear a screech from within the house. I glance nervously at Christian. “That would be Mia, my little sister,” he says almost irritably, but not quite.</i></blockquote>
Mia. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pro-ana">Ana and Mia.</a> This is crossing the "coincidence" line and diving deep into "what the HELL" territory. Is E.L. James trying to send a secret message? Is she secretly involved with pro-ana? Is she trying to imply this book is actually a metaphor for eating disorders?<br />
<br />
Or--and this is so terrible I suspect it's the real answer--does she just think it's a cute in-joke? Like, we all know she had to replace the names in a hurry so that they wouldn't be named "Bella and Alice." I have a sinking horror that she was picking out replacement names for all the characters and thought naming a pair of them after an Internet trend she heard about would be <i>cute</i>.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I flush scarlet, and seeing Kate sitting with Elliot, it occurs to me suddenly that the only reason Christian invited me is because Kate is here. Elliot probably freely and happily asked Kate to meet his parents. Christian was trapped – knowing that I would have found out via Kate. I frown at the thought. He’s been forced into the invitation. The realization is bleak and depressing. My subconscious nods sagely, a you’ve-finally-worked-it-out-stupid look on her face.</i></blockquote>
Holy shit, I'm going to agree with Ana for once - that is depressing as fuck.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“We were just talking about vacations, Ana,” Mr. Grey says kindly. “Elliot has decided to follow Kate and her family to Barbados for a week.” I glance at Kate, and she grins, her eyes bright and wide. She’s delighted. Katherine Kavanagh, show some dignity!</i></blockquote>
Yeah, Kate, how dare you be happy about something you're doing with your partner! Everyone knows all the cool kids are into misery these days.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Are you taking a break now you’ve finished your degree?” Mr. Grey asks. “I’m thinking about going to Georgia for a few days,” I reply. Christian gapes at me, blinking a couple of times, his expression unreadable. Oh shit. I haven’t mentioned this to him. “Georgia?” he murmurs. “My mother lives there, and I haven’t seen her for a while.” “When were you thinking of going?” His voice is low. “Tomorrow, late evening.”</i></blockquote>
Okay, so not "thinking about" so much as "already booked a while ago," unless Ana thinks plane tickets are like bus tickets and she'll just pick one up at the station. Not that I blame her for not telling Brass JumpRing. Anyway, just wanted to catch you up on this because of course it's going to be the cause of his next freakout.<br />
<br />
Good lord this guy is high-maintenance. Can't fuckin' paint your nails without him crying and pounding the floor because you didn't ask him first and let him pick the color. Even if he weren't so overtly abusive about it, dating this guy just sounds exhausting.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“For how long?” Christian asks, his voice deceptively soft. Holy crap… he’s angry. “I don’t know yet. It will depend how my interviews go tomorrow.” His jaw clenches, and Kate gets that interfering look on her face. She smiles over-sweetly. “Ana deserves a break,” she says pointedly at Christian. Why is she so antagonistic towards him? What is her problem?</i></blockquote>
What is <i>her</i> problem? What is <i><b>her</b></i> problem? What is <i><b><u>HER</u></b></i> problem?!?!?!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Ana and Clamp HackSaw go on to have an excruciatingly miserable dinner with his family, which I don't feel like typing up in detail, but basically the entire thing is Caliper NeedleNose whispering furiously at her about how he hates every decision she's ever made. (Kate mentions Ana seeing a male friend, which of course makes things a million times worse because nobody is even <i>trying</i> to make this not look like textbook abuse.)<br />
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<i>Grace reappears carrying two plates, followed by a pretty young woman with blonde pigtails, dressed smartly in pale blue, carrying a tray of plates. Her eyes immediately find Christian in the room. She blushes and gazes at him from under her long mascara’d lashes. [...] So the Greys have staff, and the staff are eyeing up my would-be Dominant. Can this evening get any worse? I scowl at my hands in my lap.</i></blockquote>
Hey, waiter lady, being terrified of this guy and hating absolutely everything about our relationship is my gig! You better not be trying to get in on this sweet deal!<br />
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<i>“Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?” he asks me quite openly. I know I’m meant to say yes, but I don’t trust him. Before I can answer however, he’s on his feet and holding his hand out to me. [...] “I’m going to show Anastasia the backyard,” Christian says innocently to his mother.</i></blockquote>
Oh god. This is like watching a horror movie. No, Ana, no. Don't go into that basement!<br />
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<i>He bends down and scoops me over his shoulder. I squeal loudly with shocked surprise, and he gives me a ringing slap on my behind. “Keep your voice down,” he growls.</i></blockquote>
No, Ana, scream. Scream. Scream for his parents, scream for Kate, make a scene and get the whole fam-damn-ily out here. He's the one with something to lose if you do that, not you.<br />
<br />
I know that isn't really true, isn't really how it works. I know he could make some "oh, this crazy girl" excuse that fooled everyone and then he'd retaliate against her later. But I still wish she would scream.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“I need to be alone with you.” “What for?” “Because I’m going to spank and then fuck you.” “Why?” I whimper softly. “You know why,” he hisses. “I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?” I plead breathlessly. “Anastasia, I’m in the moment, trust me.” Holy fuck.</i></blockquote>
At least in horror movies there's usually a Final Girl. There's one woman who escapes, who may be injured and terrified but she never gives up, who crawls out of the house of horrors and wipes the blood from her face to wave down a passing car, who lives to see the sun finally rising over the hills.<br />
<br />
This book gives me no such hope.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-4958152132649944362014-06-17T10:27:00.000-04:002014-06-17T10:27:16.862-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 9.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 9:</b> Post a kink related song or music video you enjoy.</i></blockquote>
I'm gonna have to go with this one (NSFW, obviously):<br />
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<br />
I like it because it's so goofy and unpolished and real. The people and setting are what a lot of BDSM really looks like--a bunch of geeks in a building that looks more like a black box theater than a scary dungeon, mixing a lot of laughter and fun in with what they do.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-72018885071734411062014-06-16T15:23:00.001-04:002014-06-16T19:23:03.208-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 8.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 8:</b> Post a kinky image you find erotic.</i></blockquote>
I didn't want to just grab some porn image, so instead I went for the Overachiever Olympics and did an entire photoshoot of self-bondage. Honestly, it didn't come out all that sexy-hot (to my tastes), but I'm still pleased with the results.<br />
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<b>NSFW</b> below.<br />
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Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-5540646859334966572014-06-15T17:45:00.000-04:002014-06-15T17:45:46.051-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 7.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 7:</b> What's your favorite toy?</i></blockquote>
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<br />
Is that cheating? I feel like I'm trying to out-clever all these questions. If it asked me my name I'd probably start into "does naming things give us the illusion we understand them? is a name a real part of a thing? if I have more than one name, am I still one person?" instead of saying my goddamn name.<br />
<br />
A hand really is my favorite toy, though. There's other toys I like, but this one is an impact toy, a sensation toy, and an insertable. It's very easy to carry for travel and always ready to use.<br />
<br />
I have a pretty formidable collection of floggers and restraints and dildos and <a href="http://www.swtchr2.biz/evil_stick_family_tm.htm">evil sticks</a> and whatnot. They're lovely. There's a lot of craftsmanship in them, the underground artistry of leather and steel and silicone. These toys are beautiful and carry a lot of personal meaning and I'm very proud of them. But when I feel a hand on me, I know it can feel me too.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-13973537622814651022014-06-14T21:42:00.001-04:002014-06-14T21:44:37.958-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 6.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 6:</b> Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.</i></blockquote>
I've only ever had two sexual fantasies in my life.<br />
<br />
Okay, I've had thousands, but they've all been installments in a long-running series, and I've only had two of those. I switched around age 21; I don't remember the exact time or why I did.<br />
<br />
The first one was softer and sweeter. It was about a couple, a man and a woman (I can't tell you their names; for some reason that's one the part that feels too personal), who could travel between parallel universes. They had found a little pocket universe that was all their own. It was just a house, a big fancy villa with a courtyard and a pool and all the fixin's, and that was the entire universe. And they fucked their way across the universe.<br />
<br />
Their sexual discovery tracked with my own; they started off with just the glee of "we can touch these parts of each other? that's a thing we can do? WHOA" and then moved into more elaborate scenarios. They were kinky, of course (the woman was dominant), but it was always in a soft sort of way. It was a way they played around, but they were also in love and ended their scenes gently holding each other.<br />
<br />
<br />
After about seven years of this, I abruptly switched tracks, and things got darker. The couple in love went away, and instead, I imagined a single character at a time, very alone in their world. There are several characters like this, male and female, and they're all sort of impersonalized. Their names are just letters of the alphabet. Jay, Kay, Elle, Em, you get the idea.<br />
<br />
They live full-time in a computer simulation created for the purposes of kinky sex. Basically the Sex Matrix. It allows them to do anything they want, with outlandish scenarios constructed on command, and without fear of harming their real bodies. Some of the people they encounter in the simulation are other users, some are NPCs, and it's not always clear which is which.<br />
<br />
The sex they have is extreme, ludicrously anal-focused, and... running up against that "somehow <i>this</i> is the part I find too personal" wall again. But none of it is happening to their real bodies, and they can unplug themselves whenever they want, and... that makes it all okay, right?Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-14174602954701376332014-06-13T10:07:00.001-04:002014-06-14T20:20:46.545-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 4 and 5.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 4: </b>Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?</i> </blockquote>
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<i></i><i><b>Day 5:</b> What was your first kinky sexual experience? If you haven’t had one yet, talk about what you hope to have happen.</i></blockquote>
I'm putting these together because I think I answered Day 4 pretty well in <a href="http://pervocracy.blogspot.com/2014/06/30-days-of-kink-day-3.html">the last entry</a>.<br />
<br />
Although I'll add one more: student films. I got a film degree at a point in my life when I knew about kink, had already had kinky experiences, but at that particular point in my life I was mostly celibate. (Not out of kink-guilt. Partly because I'd just had a terrible breakup from a terrible relationship, partly because I didn't turn 18 and "legal" until halfway through my junior year, and partly because I had approximately zero social skills.)<br />
<br />
I had no intention to make my final project kinky in any way. It wasn't about my kinks. It was just a horror film about a guy who joins a cult to try and raid their ill-gotten riches. But the cult "initiates" him by torturing him. A lot. Creatively. For most of the film. There's an entirely excessive number of "wait, we have to initiate you some more" scenes in the film. I figured I was just ramping up the horror, right?<br />
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...Oops. In retrospect, oops.<br />
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(<b>Content warnings for the next bit</b>: Statutory rape, emotional abuse, legal system fuckery.)<br />
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Day 5 happened when I was 16 years old. My boyfriend's parents were out of town for the weekend and we had the whole weekend and the whole house to ourselves, which is <i>whoooa</i> when you're 16. (Well, I don't know about you. It was for me.) We walked around the house naked the entire weekend, which was amazingly sexual at the time, even if nowadays it usually just means I'm feeling lazy as hell.<br />
<br />
We had sex a bunch of times, but the last time on Sunday night, I asked him to spank me. I was all shy and stuff about it. And he did. He started out with little tippity-taps. "No, I want you to <i>spank me</i>," I said. So he wound up and did it for real, smacking me <i>hard</i> on the ass, over and over. I went from "um please just a little um you know um" to "FUCK YEAH FUCKING SPANK ME THAT'S FUCKING RIGHT." It was <i>fantastic</i>. I didn't want it to end. But when it did end, I tackled him and fucked the hell out of him.<br />
<br />
That was the last time we had sex.* The next morning the police were there. My mom had reported me as a missing person, filed a restraining order against my boyfriend, canceled my scholarships and withdrawn me from my school. (The first two because I hadn't come home when commanded so she told the cops I'd disappeared for a week, the second two because I had a B average. GOD I LOVE BEING AN ADULT NOW.) My life utterly fell apart and wouldn't be back together for more than a year, the abuse at home peaked from "bad" to "how did I survive that?", and even though the restraining order was not upheld in court, my boyfriend decided I was not worth this level of trouble.<br />
<br />
In retrospect, he wasn't worth <i>my</i> trouble either--he was way too old to be dating a 16-year-old and didn't exactly make up for it by treating me well. But that spanking. I don't regret that. That <i>changed</i> things. Forever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*We did have sex one more time a couple years later, but it was thoroughly mediocre and rekindled absolutely nothing. I'd kind of caught on that he wasn't such a spectacular person by that point.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-27074821643114016212014-06-12T12:05:00.003-04:002014-06-12T12:22:31.558-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 3.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 3:</b> How did you discover you were kinky?</i></blockquote>
How did you discover you have arms?<br />
<br />
<br />
I masturbated for a long time before I understood it was masturbation. I knew that such a thing existed, but it was dirty and sleazy and desperate. I didn't do anything like that. All I did was touch myself between my legs and it felt nice, then felt <i>really</i> nice, then I didn't feel like doing it any more that night.<br />
<br />
It was the same with kink. There were things I knew fascinated me far before I could say "that's a sexual feeling." I was eight years old, maybe six, <i>way</i> pre-puberty, and I would lie on the floor with my action figures making them play erotic games of capture, torture, and submission.<br />
<br />
This goes back as far as I can remember.<br />
<br />
(The mental image gets much better when I point out that I didn't have any matching sets of action figures. So this generally involved Commander Data making an off-brand Power Ranger his slave, with the assistance of a Tyrannosaurus and a sentient pickup truck.)<br />
<br />
I was about fourteen or fifteen when I started having unrestricted private access to the Internet, and more or less instantaneously I discovered kink and BDSM. Of course, at the time I thought it was this fascinating but disreputable thing <i>other</i> people, disreputable people, did. It took about a year for me to realize that my fascination was not academic and my fantasies were not unconnected. So I guess that's when I discovered I was kinky? But it's really just when I discovered the name. I already knew.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-54999805753214520402014-06-12T10:46:00.001-04:002014-06-12T11:13:32.086-04:00Let's Read Fifty Shades of Grey: Chapter 18!It's baaaaaack.<br />
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When we last saw our heroes, Stud BeefThud had arranged a really weird gynecologist exam for Ana at his house, because he is rich in the creepiest possible way.<br />
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<b>Content warnings for this chapter:</b> Emotional and physical abuse, as always. Casual misogyny. Graphic BDSM and sex--I guess I'm pretty inconsistent in warning for that, because that applies to my entire blog and much of my life, but anyway, there's some in here.<br />
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<i>Dr. Greene is tall, blond, and immaculate, dressed in a royal blue suit. I’m reminded of the women who work in Christian’s office. She’s like an identikit model – another Stepford blonde.</i></blockquote>
I think Ana/E.L. might have some issues with other women. Just minor little ones. Like repeatedly talking about how blonde women remind her of soulless identical sexbots.<br />
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<i>“Thank you for coming at such short notice,” Christian says. “Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Grey. [...] Well Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is paying me a small fortune to attend to you."</i></blockquote>
This is not the behavior of "the best gynecologist in Seattle." This is the gynecologist in Seattle who is most deeply in debt to the Mob.<br />
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<i>After a thorough examination and lengthy discussion, Dr. Greene and I decide on the mini pill. She writes me a pre-paid prescription and instructs me to pick them up tomorrow. I love her no-nonsense attitude – she has lectured me until she’s as blue as her dress about taking it at the same time every day. And I can tell she’s burning with curiosity about my so-called relationship with Mr. Grey.</i></blockquote>
Taking this paragraph one sentence at a time: There's no such thing as a prepaid prescription. How do you turn "it's important to take it at the same time every day" into a long lecture? I don't think a gynecologist is going to be fascinated by the scandalous possibility that one of her patients has sex.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"She said that I had to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks.” Christian’s mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him like an idiot. “Gotcha!”</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He narrows his eyes, and I immediately stop laughing. In fact, he looks rather forbidding. Oh shit. My subconscious quails in the corner as all the blood drains from my face, and I imagine him putting me across his knee again. “Gotcha!” he says and smirks.</i></blockquote>
See, her joke was funny because he wants to have sex with her, and his joke was funny because she never knows when he's going to beat her! They're two funny people!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Do you want to do this?” he breathes, looking down at me intently. “I haven’t signed anything.” “I know – but I’m breaking all the rules these days.”</i></blockquote>
Somebody missed the lesson on Saying You're An Asshole Doesn't Actually Make It Okay To Be An Asshole.<br />
<br />
It's weird how often people get away with this socially. Like, apparently if you're a jerk that's bad, but if you go "ha ha, I know I'm such a jerk," then it's adorably self-deprecating and therefore okay. Except it's really not. It's just a way to say "if you call me a jerk I won't listen or change anything, because I have fully accepted this horrible, horrible part of my personality."<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Are you going to hit me?” “Yes, but it won’t be to hurt you. I don’t want to punish you right now. If you’d caught me yesterday evening, well, that would have been a different story.” Holy cow. He wants to hurt me… how do I deal with this? I can’t hide the horror on my face.</i></blockquote>
If he's angry he wants to hit her, but if he's not angry, he also wants to hit her! It's just an endless fountain of hit! If only we could point him at a turbine instead of a terrified unwilling partner, we could finally have a sustainable energy source!<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Don’t let anyone try and convince you otherwise, Anastasia. One of the reasons people like me do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. It’s very simple. You don’t, so I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about that.”</i></blockquote>
"I spent a great deal of time thinking about how you don't enjoy pain, and I came to the conclusion that this is incompatible with me getting everything I want, so I decided to ignore it. Aren't I dreamy?"<br />
<br />
One of the many nasty things about this book is that it acknowledges that kinky women exist, but much like blonde women, they blend into a homogenous morass of not-quite-humanity. Vader ThorpYelm's past submissives don't have any names or distinguishing features, they're just "the fifteen," and Ana and Kent ForksFife always talk about them like there's something cheap and dirty about the fact that they might've actually <i>enjoyed</i> playing with him.<br />
<br />
(Then again, three months ago this guy was probably telling some poor woman "you're special, you're not like the fourteen...")<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>My inner goddess is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette.</i></blockquote>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUxT_vC7b4t1YuSBw59EBxgilvDbRD3nxehvTSUzRiX1jAdTGwwLsfcDWKiQuLcBIQnz8MmXM3CzZAMaVuziAgwjpMOeuJBQRcNe1VNdIGTguXDitwcmIivzLte1bzU_AgsLpgjjmYkc/s1600/dalekrina.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUxT_vC7b4t1YuSBw59EBxgilvDbRD3nxehvTSUzRiX1jAdTGwwLsfcDWKiQuLcBIQnz8MmXM3CzZAMaVuziAgwjpMOeuJBQRcNe1VNdIGTguXDitwcmIivzLte1bzU_AgsLpgjjmYkc/s1600/dalekrina.png" height="348" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: <a href="http://you-go-ballerina-dalek.tumblr.com/post/30742787157/pic-from-arcadianinthewhoniverse">Ballerina Dalek blog</a>. I love the internet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>He unclasps my bra and then taking both straps, he slowly pulls them down my arms, brushing my skin with his fingers and the tip of his thumbnails as he slides my bra off. His touch sends shivers down my spine, waking every nerve ending in my body. He’s standing behind me, so close that I feel the heat radiating from him, warming me, warming me all over. He pulls my hair so it’s all hanging down my back, grasps a handful at my nape, and angles my head to one side. [...] Pulling my hair behind me, to my surprise, he starts braiding it in one large braid, his fingers fast and deft. He ties it with an unseen hair tie when he’s finished and gives it a quick tug so I’m forced back against him.</i></blockquote>
Well, that was unexpected. EXTREME BDSM HAIR BRAIDING. I like how the author describes it really quickly, so we don't have time to think about him standing there for like fifteen minutes twiddling with her hair.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.” I give him my hand. He turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center with a riding crop I hadn’t noticed is in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprise hardly registers.</i></blockquote>
Ow! God damn it! Don't do that! Seriously, even if the person you're playing with is into being cropped, don't spring it on them like it's a freaking prank. That does not encourage them to give you their hand in the future.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i> He takes my elbow and moves me to beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather cuffs.“This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.” I glance up. Holy shit – it’s like a subway map.</i></blockquote>
You mean like one of these things?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyRXmITHcTnA94ezlJyYB_lxcPDkwxLvloFWWtZT0EcO3vky0K89kxKHi89hLMugyWBdQQl4K_-lxrOXT0_ylb8EI0J5E9eWMafeqUzGrHoR9eQr1DlwnWvY488KzaX9UFhLJfqw3meg/s1600/slideypanel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyRXmITHcTnA94ezlJyYB_lxcPDkwxLvloFWWtZT0EcO3vky0K89kxKHi89hLMugyWBdQQl4K_-lxrOXT0_ylb8EI0J5E9eWMafeqUzGrHoR9eQr1DlwnWvY488KzaX9UFhLJfqw3meg/s1600/slideypanel.jpg" height="288" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I spent 45 minutes googling "playground slidey thing but I don't mean a slide."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
...Actually, that's kind of a cool idea. I hate to give E.L. James credit for anything, but I might someday use that idea.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>This is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It’s singularly the most exciting and scary thing I’ve ever done. I’m entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked-up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear. Kate and Elliot, they know I’m here.</i></blockquote>
See, for me, I know a date is going well when I <i>don't</i> spend a lot of time thinking about will alert the police if I go missing.<br />
<br />
(<a href="http://yesmeansyesblog.wordpress.com/2010/04/26/what-is-a-safecall/">Safe calls</a> are a good idea, actually. But this is less "I have people watching out for me, that's nice" and more "at least they have a place to start the missing person investigation.")<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Uncoiling from the floor, rising lazily, like a jungle cat, he points the end of the riding crop at my navel, leisurely circling it – tantalizing me. At the touch of the leather, I quiver and gasp. He walks round me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my body. On his second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind… against my sex.</i></blockquote>
Oh good, it wasn't officially a bad romance novel until someone called a vulva a "sex."<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>With one thrust, he’s inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his muffled moan at my ear. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me. Jeez, it’s deep this way. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at my throat. I feel the build up again. Jeez no… not again… I don’t think my body will with-stand another earth-shattering moment.</i></blockquote>
She always seems so unhappy about her orgasms. "This guy hits me, which I hate, but I put up with it because he has sex with me... which I also kind of hate."<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>“Well done, baby,” he murmurs. “Did that hurt?” “No,” I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. Why am I so tired? “Did you expect it to?” he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some escaped tendrils of hair off my face. “Yes.” “You see most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia.”</i></blockquote>
Yes, but the reason it got in her head is because of the umpty-zillion times you've done things that did hurt her.<br />
<br />
Then they have a bunch more sex in this chapter, but I never know what to write about the sex scenes. They're not hot to me but they're not interestingly bad. It's just a bunch of thrusting and a bunch of Ana screaming in her head about how this is the best ever and also the worst ever. But mostly the worst.Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com59tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2770580070906411828.post-546743960649992582014-06-11T17:04:00.000-04:002014-06-11T17:08:34.092-04:0030 Days of Kink: Day 2.<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Day 2: </b>List your kinks.</i></blockquote>
<div>
1. Butts</div>
<div>
2. Butts</div>
<div>
3. Buttttttsssss</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
With that out of the way... this one is difficult for me. I've never really experienced sexuality as an itemized list of fetishes. I can't say, like, "rope bondage, feet, having my nose tickled with an ostrich feather by a man dressed as my third grade teacher." There's nothing so specific.<br />
<br />
I'm more like "confronting the physicality of my own flesh," and that's great for poetry readings, not so much for actually figuring out what the fuck I'm going to do tonight.<br />
<br />
I also say "I don't know yet; I'm still discovering" a lot. I've been in the scene for, shit, seven years now, and I still feel like a newcomer when I see just how much is out there. Or a kid in a candy shop, and I'm too caught up in "I want to try one of <i>everything</i>!" to start narrowing myself down.<br />
<br />
And secretly, part of the reason I get all "I like almost everything, really I'm just into this for the philosophy" is that I do have some specific kinks, but I feel weirdly embarrassed and shy about them. Like saying "I like to be dominated" is vague and sanitized enough to feel totally chill, but when I get too close to what really makes me squirm in my pants, saying "I like to get threatened that someone will shove a huge thing up my ass" gets uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
Not so uncomfortable that I won't do it, though! So, in no particular order:<br />
<br />
1. Biting, punching, wrestling, and other forms of no-tools SM. On a physical level I like flogging, but I liiiike skin-to-skin rough body play.<br />
<br />
2. Things in my bum. Like, a <i>lot</i>. Like, I don't talk about this much because I know that if I get started I'm going to start sounding weird as it progresses from "oh yeah, anal sex, lots of people are into that" to "no, you don't understand, I would put a traffic cone in my ass if I could."<br />
<br />
3. Related but not totally overlapping: the general concept of putting way too much phallic object in way too little orifice. Again, it gets weird fast--I don't just mean "big dicks," I mean "...maybe two traffic cones."<br />
<br />
4. Being held down and forced to do things, assuming that the things are exactly what I wanted to do anyway. Inclusive of when I feel like doing them and who I want to do them with. This all hinges on a very generous interpretation of the word "forced," obviously, but once we've established what exactly I want to be forced to do, the scene can get plenty rough.<br />
<br />
5. Humiliation, but only in a specific way. I don't want to be told that I'm useless; I want to be told that I'm <i>useful</i>, and the top will be using me now. I like the feeling of being used.<br />
<br />
It's weird how shy I felt about saying those things, and how "oh, is that all? that's not so bad at all" I feel having actually said them now. Kind of a huge relief actually.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Next up: I'm finally getting back to Fifty Shades of Grey!Cliff Pervocracyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02080142422250604406noreply@blogger.com15