Have you read it yet?
You know… that book. The one everyone’s still talking about. The one they’re calling ‘Mommy Porn’.
I’m talking, of course, about “Fifty Shades of Grey.”
Everyone from your best friend to your next-door neighbor to your great-aunt Matilda has probably read the book by now. It’s become a publishing phenomenon, soon to be a major motion picture. The search for an actor to play Christian Grey onscreen has become almost as extensive as David O. Selznick’s search for Scarlett O’Hara.
Will Matt Bomer win the part? Or Alexander Skarsgard? No – it’ll definitely be Chace Crawford. Or maybe Channing Tatum…?
All this flap reminds me, oddly enough, of a famous scene from the film “When Harry Met Sally.”
Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan are friends, both a little neurotic, who fear that having sex will ruin their friendship. At lunch, the two discuss his recent sexual encounters. She’s disgusted that he leaves immediately after having sex. She asks if the women are… satisfied when he leaves. He says of course they are. She suggests that perhaps these women are all faking it. He’s shocked at the idea. He doesn’t believe it.
She proceeds to demonstrate, very publicly, a fake orgasm at the table in the middle of Katz’ deli. When she’s finished, she calmly picks up her sandwich and takes a bite. A lady at a table nearby pauses and says, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
I can’t help but wonder – is being a naive, submissive sex slave to a controlling man like Christian Grey what women really want?
Do we want what Anastasia Steele is having, handcuffs and all?
I think the answer is… a qualified ‘sort of’. We want to be wanted. Sought after. We want a man to desire us so badly that he’ll do anything to have us. Like flying us off in his private helicopter, in the middle of the day, to land on his private helipad, where we’ll have mad, passionate sex in his fabulous penthouse apartment. Or his fabulous mansion. Or his fabulous whatever.
And allowing a partner to dominate sexually – in the context of a safe, consensual relationship, of course – is a fantasy that appeals to many women. We’ve brought home the bacon. We’ve fried it up in a pan. In the bedroom, we just want a man to be… a man.
The fact that we can read about Anastasia’s racy exploits in private on our iPads and smart phones and Kindles doesn’t hurt, either. The days of being embarrassed by the lurid cover of a romance novel – remember Fabio and his clenches with half-naked, bosomy models? – are over. We can read “Fifty Shades,” or “Bared to You,” or even the “Kama Sutra” on the train or at our workplace, and no one’s the wiser. No one can condemn us, or give us withering looks, or ask us why we’re reading one of ‘those’ books.
Let’s face it. Most of us are tired and frazzled. We work, we raise a family, we maintain a relationship with our husband or partner or significant other – some of us, for many years. Under those conditions, passion often goes out the window. Sex becomes, not an erotic encounter, but another chore to tick off the list. Say ‘bed,’ and most women think of… sleep.
And I’m no exception. (Sorry, Mr. Oliver.)
[“When Ollie Met Katie” – Scene One]
Mr Oliver: (looks up from book he’s reading in bed) Are you feeling a bit frisky, Katie?
Me: (riveted to Vogue magazine article) No. Not really. Tired.
Mr Oliver: (shrugs, and rolls over) Right, then. G’night.
Me: (doesn’t look up from article) G’night.
Therein lies the appeal of Anastasia and Christian, I think. They’re spontaneous. They’re adventurous. They have sex on his desk or in a shower stall, and they go at it at the drop of a hat. They spice things up with Christian’s necktie, or handcuffs, or… ahem… other things. And that’s what most women need – not necessarily the handcuffs, or neckties, or the other things, mind you – but spontaneity. Passion. Attention. Desire.
We want those things for ourselves… and we want the real thing, thank you very much, not a close approximation.
In another film, “Shirley Valentine,” Pauline Collins is a taken-for-granted Liverpudlian housewife who’s tired of talking to the kitchen walls. She goes to Greece on holiday with her girlfriend and meets the roguish taverna-owner Costas, and they have a romantic fling. She likes herself again, and with Costas’ help, she eventually gets her mojo back.
Costas, however, wastes no time in seducing the next lone female tourist who turns up. But instead of being devastated, Shirley accepts it. After all, he’s given her much more than a passionate encounter in the Aegean Sea. He’s given her back herself.
Her husband arrives in Greece to bring her back home. He’s missed her and realizes how much he took her for granted. She’s sitting at a table just outside the taverna when he walks by. He doesn’t recognize her. She’s transformed herself from his invisible, taken-for-granted wife into a beautiful, desirable woman.
In any relationship, it takes a real effort – on both sides – to sustain that spark of passion. Too often, just like Shirley Valentine, we end up talking to the walls. We don’t hear each other anymore. We let dishes and jobs and school runs get in the way.
We need to stop now and then and look at each other, and think of Anastasia, and say firmly, “Let’s have what she’s having, shall we?”
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