I was given Lady Chatterley's Lover for my birthday. It was written in 1928. I'll get around to reading that soon. Then maybe in 84 years I'll see what all the fuss is about with this Grey character.
And I even once read one of these erotic novels that are now topic de jour. Yeah, that's right, I read an erotic novel long before any of you knew your Grey from your riding crop. I had joined a book club and one of the girls suggested we all read The Piano Teacher. Dutifully, I went hunting for this book I had never heard of.
I went to a cute little church-run bookshop in a cute little church-run town with my soon to be mother in law. We were looking through the books when suddenly I stumbled upon the Piano Teacher. LOOK! I said to mother in law, shoving it in her face. IT'S MY READING MATERIAL! What are the chances?!
She sort of looked at me a bit funny and went about her day.
I bought it and took it home to read in time for my next book club meet-up.
From what I recall, The Piano Teacher is about a girl who starts having piano lessons in a sinister university where the teacher whips her (yes, all erotic novels love a good whipping, it seems) when she gets her C Major wrong. Bit of an odd book to suggest at a book club with people you hardly know, I thought. But I persevered. I quite enjoyed it. The girl ended up having to get her kit off to be spanked in front of an array of lecturers who were all there to watch her perform / get whipped. I think that was the plot, I'm a bit hazy now. All I remember was there was a lot of spanking.
It turns out there are two novels called The Piano Teacher. The rest of my book club read a book about 1950s Hong Kong under British rule.
Anyway, I think we all agreed I was the real winner, enjoyed as I had a bit of soft porn.
Christian Grey is described by all the media outlets that are shoving him in my face as a modern-art loving, helicopter flying, rich, powerful man who likes to bonk twice in a row. He sounds like a right knob. I've met men who like modern art. I've met men who own their own helicopters. They were rich, yes, powerful, yes. But also pot bellied, dull and sported receding hairlines. Not exactly the stuff of fantasies.
My fantasy man, who goes by the name of Channing Tatum, is my crush-of-the-month because he took loads of drugs in the excellent 21 Jump Street, then gate-crashed band practise and jumped through a giant symbol, shouting 'Fuck You Miles Davis!'
That's enough for me. Perhaps there is something wrong with my loins. I'm turned on by funny. It does help that Channing, or Channers, can I call him that? is built like a dream boat, of course, but that's what I want. A fit bloke crashing into a drum kit. You can keep your helicopter piloting, chocolate fudge caramel voiced sadist, thanks.