When they speak of our generation, they will bring up our selfie-crazed and ALS-bucket challenge obsessed asses. But mostly, we will be known as the generation that allowed “50 Shades of Grey” to have not one, but two sequels. And a movie too.
I started reading E.L. James’ masterpiece but stopped when I realized that the main character was a 27-year old billionaire. You see, I like my porn realistic and with pictures involved. If the main character was really a 27-year-old man in our time and age, I expect him to be narcissistic, in debt, and trying to penetrate everything anally. I recently opened the first installment of this work of genius to a random page and decided to critique it; this is my incredibly biased and condescending take on page 185 of “50 Shades of Grey” by E.L. James.
Warning: hold on to your panties, spoilers ahead. (The parts in bold are the authors original ramblings.)
“You are one challenging woman, Ana Steele.” He kisses me passionately, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners.
I too enjoy being insulted right before being kissed; calling someone a challenging woman is the politest way of calling her a bitch. Also, that’s not how you use “taking no prisoners,” you British bimbo.
He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and ach-ingly slowly drags it down my spine. His well-manicured fingernail gently grazes down my back.
Ah, the old scoop and curl! Who scoops hair? Then curls it by a breast? What is wrong with you? First off, why are you rearranging her hair? Secondly, what’s a nape? Nobody has a nape, you just have a neck. This man honestly sounds like the single most annoying person on Earth, always lightly doing things and grazing things. Get off of her.
His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and hooking his finger beneath the top, he pulls me closer so that I step back against him. I feel him flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.
You need to just stop breathing and inhaling on her skin. You know she’s here to get penetrated, right? And again he’s grazing his finger against things. This is like 50 Shades of Fingers, he fingers everything except Anastasia – which by the way, is possibly the most obnoxious name ever.
“You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet.” His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, feather light kisses along my shoulder.
Hey, you know who drags their nose across my neck like that? My dog.
My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, full of expectation. His fingers are at my zipper. Achingly slow, once more he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm languidly beneath his touch.
You can tell that this is the part where the author picked up a thesaurus and dove in. Don’t you love when your breathing is full of expectation? My breathing is currently full of disdain. Also, sucking, pulling, kissing, twisting, and yanking. How about focusing? Pick one thing and stick to it.
“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” he murmurs against my neck.
IMAGINE A MAN GAVE YOU STAGE DIRECTIONS DURING SEX.
With that seductive instruction marks the end of this page. It is interesting to note that the words penis, vagina, and clitoris (or any of their alternative names,) were not used once during this intense sex scene. There was however an occurrence of the word ‘finger’ a whopping six times in one page, making it clear that the author is finger-obsessed and masturbates when people shake her hand. Good luck with that, E.L. James, I will forever resent the fact that I didn’t come up with this harlequin bullshit before you did, you sleazy billionaire.
