Sadly, for my husband, 50 Shades had the opposite of it's intended effect:
"Make your dinner? Oh no I ain't making your dinner, what do I look like your slave?"
"You want to what in my what? What do I look like a whore?"
"You better get away from me with that thing because I'm not some submissive bitch that's going to drop what she is doing to please you."
Thankfully my relationship is far from the one depicted in the novel, but I can't help to think now that all men are just a giant penis with hands. Because essentially they are. Giant penises with hands.
And thankfully I have said none of those things to my husband. But I thought them. And said them aloud in the closet where he couldn't hear me. A self-affirmation if you will.
I do not like BD. SM
I do not like it Sam. I Am.
Is there actually a BDSM relationship that isn't rooted in some kind of emotional, sexual , psychological fuckedupedness?
I just made that word up.
Fuckedupedness. Copyright 2012.