As revenge for spreading the Twilight books around my social circle like a plague, Heather sent me all three 50 Shades books yesterday. I was going to ignore them, but I was struck by a sudden bout of sadomasochism – one far more real than anything remotely depicted in those books – and I dove in. I had just slopped a fresh batch of henna on my head, and was trapped in the house for at least eight hours .. how bad could the books be, anyway?
Completing the first book broke my brain entirely, resulting in the down there post below.
Then for some fucking stupid reason, I cracked open the second book around 1am. I can’t put down an unfinished book, so 5am saw me finishing the second and annoyed as all hell that these things are so popular. GOOD GOD THEY’RE BAD. I gave myself an eyeball hernia from rolling my eyes so many times. How can you possibly write a sexy times book when a) you never, whether by dirty slang or scientific terms, mention the word “penis” AT ALL, b) your sex-crazed heroine is still shocked and giggly at being touched down there (and I swear to god, the author used the exact same down there when he finally stuck a finger up her butt), the only term of endearment used throughout the book is “baby”, and it gets really creepy, and d) everything else that’s wrong with these fucking things.
I hope to god that there are no inexperienced virgins reading these books and getting their sex education from within. For starters, not all women have an orgasm during their first time (let alone more than one). For seconds, giving good head takes PRACTICE – you don’t look at your very first dick ever and suddenly you’re an idiot savant with no gag reflex. And thirds, you don’t soap someone up and THEN go to town down there – soap tastes nasty.
Oh, one more: when you’re writing a series of three scandalously depraved sex books and the only time the word “cock” comes up is as a verb – characters are constantly cocking their heads to and fro like fucking puppies – then SOMETHING IS VERY VERY WRONG.
There’s one more book to go. Depending on how much I hate myself later, I may read it this evening to get it over with (I hate not knowing what happens, even if it happens terribly).