Every women on the bus tonight is reading porn. Technically, they’d call it erotica’, but we all know it’s porn.
They’re reading ”50 Shades of Grey’ – which as far as I can work out is about a boy wizard who discovers he’s related to Jesus after getting spanked by a vampire. It’s a blockbuster and it’s filled with S-E-X.
If you want to know the difference between women’s erotica and male pornography just try the following experiment. Pull out a copy of ‘Razzle’ on the Number 38 to Eastwood Toll and you’ll soon be told what’s porn. Pull out ’50 Shades of Grey’ and no one will say a thing even though THEY ARE EXACTY THE SAME!
I’m not complaining about the double standards. Men and women have always had different ideas about what constitutes pornography. For men, porn is physical. It’s big boobs. Long Legs. Wank mags. It’s physical descriptions and physical acts. We’d get turned on by a medical dictionary if it had the only the semblance of a plot. Or pictures. We’re not fussy.
For women it’s psychological. It’s love stories. It passion and desire. No girl reads a ‘frig mag’ or watches cum shot compilations because they find gunk tanks sexy.
I’m complaining about the lowering of standards. Women’s erotica used to mean something. Lady Chatterley’s Lover was not just about rough dirty sex in the wild woods but class struggle and social immobility as summed up in the classic passage:
“She pulled his penis from his pants. Fully engorged, an angry red, it bent to the left like screaming Leon Trotsky. He gave her a dark lustful glare which appeared to say “I want you. I want you know with a longing greater than my desire for an equitable and fairer redistribution of economic resources.”
What do we have in 50 Shades:
“I am daunted by his kitchen. It’s so sleek and modern and none of the cupboards have handles.”
A girl who gets turned on by the Ikea catalogue?
In Nabakov’s Lolita we had characters like Humbert Humbert, whose name suggests his own duality, and in which trying to be good runs up against illicit desire. In 50 Shades we have Anastasia Steele. a name that only fit for a high class dildo.
50 Shades isn’t crap, because it’s bad fiction. It’s crap because it tells us that women want nothing more than to be locked up and shackled by a billionaire. Would we all think better of Josef Fritzl if he’d only had a private jet, a solid gold Bentley and dungeon made of Gucci?’
I believe 50 Shades is just a fad.
In 12 months time the only person still talking about ‘mummy porn’ will be posh boy David Cameron when he’s looking for MILF’s. By that point my own potential blockbuster will be released. A proper kinky best seller that feeds the mind and stirs the groins.
Women, you submissive sluts, you know what to do, it’s time to fill up your Kindles with my kinky tale of financial shenanigans: “Macroeconomic Monetary Movements of The Southern Eurozone Countries 2008- 2012: A Love Story”!
Do it, do it now! YOU WILL DO WHAT I TELL YOU! You know you want to…