Fifty Writers on Fifty Shades of Grey (12 page)

DR. HILDA HUTCHERSON

F
IFTY SHADES OF GREY
is an important book. It has single-handedly given millions of women permission to explore erotica, get in touch with their inner sexpot, and try new ways to heat up the bedroom with their partners. No longer is it embarrassing to read adult fiction on the plane, train, or in the checkout line of the local grocery store—where I recently saw a woman in her seventies eagerly devouring every word as she waited to pay. I can only imagine what the rest of her evening was like!

Women are reading it in book clubs. Friends are sharing stories about their sex lives. One woman told me that
Fifty Shades
saved her marriage. Women are using the book to learn new techniques and to begin a dialogue with their partners about sex.

Fifty Shades of Grey
is a work of fiction based on fantasy and, as such, can take artistic license when describing almost anything. However, when it is read by millions of women—and
men—around the world, from ages sixteen to ninety, one would hope that the fantasy is based somewhat on reality.

Fifty Shades
also has a darker side that has led to my love-hate relationship with the book. Let’s begin with Mr. Christian Grey. The man is a jerk. Pure and simple. As he himself said, “I am fifty shades of fucked up.” He is not a jerk because he enjoys domination and submission or kinky sex. BDSM is an accepted way for consenting adults to express themselves sexually. Those that practice BDSM are not mentally ill, victims of child sexual or physical abuse, or just-plain-old-weirdo freaks. They don’t need to be fixed. Many people enjoy the sensations that are created during this form of sex play. The motto in the BSDM community is “Safe, sane, and consensual,” meaning that any activity must be safe and performed only between consenting adults who are fully aware of what they are doing. Trust and respect are key elements in BDSM play between consenting adults.

I can’t imagine why any woman would want to be with this man. He is handsome, rich, and well endowed. But that’s where it ends. He is selfish, a stalker, possessive, and controlling. He arranged her OB/GYN appointment, told her how to take her birth control pills, and didn’t want her to masturbate, for example. He has a temper, mood swings, and doesn’t want to be touched. He doesn’t make love, withholds affection, and doesn’t want to cuddle after sex or spend the night. He is simply emotionally abusive. Who would put up with that? Think of the young men reading this book who will get the wrong idea about sexual relationships.

All that said, the man knows his way around a woman’s body! He tells Ana that she has a beautiful body, that she should not be ashamed or embarrassed, and that he derives pleasure from the sight of her naked body. How many of us have ever felt embarrassed while naked? Since most of us are having sex under the covers, in the dark, I would say that the number is large. Mr. Grey kisses her entire body, including her feet. He appreciates
the scent of a woman. Running his nose up between her thighs, he murmurs, “You smell so good.” Men of America, listen up! Many women fear that their natural scent is somehow offensive. Mr. Grey just helped millions of women exhale. He loves the taste of a woman: “‘Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine,’ he breathes.” After fingering Ana, not only does he enjoy the taste of her secretions, he offers his thumb for her to taste and appreciate her own flavor. Bravo, Mr. Grey!

Every woman should look at her vulva and vagina, appreciate her scent, and taste her secretions. Learning to love your body completely frees you and allows you to enjoy sex fully. Mr. Grey understands that the clitoris is powerful and needs lots of attention. He massages, circling slowly. He swirls his tongue around and around, taking his time. He massages her G-spot while he continues his gentle assault on her clitoris. He even appreciates her pubic hair. What a man!

Mr. Grey is responsible and practices safer sex, unwrapping a gold foil–wrapped condom—extra large Magnum, no doubt—every time they have intercourse. He has instant firm erections, is capable of having sex multiple times without rest, is never in a hurry, never boring, and never comes before his partner. Wow!

Anastasia Steele is just as problematic. She is a virgin who has never touched herself, yet she has easy orgasms, three her very first time having sex. Her first orgasm was through nipple stimulation alone. She comes easily with penetrative sex alone, even when he slams into her, and she has multiple orgasms every time. Her unrealistic responsiveness is annoying. Almost as annoying as her “inner goddess.” She really got on my last nerve. Ana deep throats and swallows sperm her very first time providing oral pleasure. Whose fantasy is this anyway?

Anastasia comes on demand. Christian has only to command that she come for him—“Come for me”—and she explodes into a million pieces. Really? And the kicker: Anastasia Steele explodes into a massive orgasm when he flicks her clitoris over and over with a riding crop! I am expecting to see more than
one bruised clitoris in my office in the coming months, as this is far from reality for almost every woman.

Since more than 75 percent of women do not experience orgasm through intercourse alone, many worry that something is wrong with them when they can’t come within five minutes or have multiple glorious orgasms. And is this the message we want men to hear? They have already been telling women for years that they are defective when they don’t come the moment their nipples are sucked or their vaginas assaulted by a stiff penis. It all makes me want to scream!

Anastasia allows Christian to abuse her emotionally and physically. She does not give consent to the spankings that she receives, so this is not BSDM play, but abuse. She allows herself to be treated poorly by this man simply because she doesn’t want to lose him. What a poor message to send to young female readers.

I do applaud the book’s instructional value when it comes to anal sex, woman-on-top positional sex, hand jobs, fellatio, cunnilingus, masturbation, Ben Wa balls, sex toys, ice play, erotic massage, safer sex discussion, and condom instructions. It encourages women to explore sexual pleasure without shame or guilt. And that is a good thing. I just don’t think it makes up for the toxic relationship between Mr. Grey and Anastasia Steele.

LOIS GRESH

E
. L. JAMES’ Fifty Shades trilogy is a by-product of feminism and women’s equality. It’s porn for women, and that’s why it’s so popular.

Porn and its softer cousin, erotic romance, are like the Dollar Menu at McDonald’s. They’re addictive, and what satisfies a craving one day just won’t cut it the next. If you buy a hamburger today, then tomorrow you’ll need a double bacon cheeseburger with large fries and a supersized Coke.

If male porn addiction arises from dopamine-oxycontin releases during orgasm, then the same is true for female porn addiction. In the best of times, repeated orgasms with the same person leads to bonding. Repeated orgasms based on porn or erotic romance means bonding with the fantasies. Male or female, the brain becomes neurologically hooked.

Today’s women are overburdened. Single mothers struggle to earn a living while raising children alone, managing the home, paying the bills, and hoping they can cover college tuitions that cost more than houses. The workplace is infected
by outsourcing, minimum wages, and no benefits. Despite so-called feminism and women’s equality, single mothers are still in cages.

In the meantime, many stay-at-home mothers with college degrees don’t know what they want or how to cope. They feel guilty if they leave their children at day care, feel guilty if they pursue careers or if they
don’t
pursue careers. They worry that their husbands will leave them, because after all, the divorce rate just keeps skyrocketing, doesn’t it?

Men also cope as best as they can. It’s not that they’re evil or hate women. Everyone’s simply
coping
, and the focus has shifted from substance to whatever-gets-me-through-the-night. Jolts of Snooki and
Mob Wives
, dashes of Kardashians, a blip of fake-forever love on a dating show followed by two minutes of a sex tape. In 2012, life is an endless stream of 1980s MTV sleazed down to limp meaning and jacked-up excess.

As men turn to porn and away from reality, women become sexually frustrated. The women feel unappreciated, unloved, unattractive even in their youthful prime, and almost sexless. For a porn-addicted man, a real woman can’t measure up, and increasingly, young girls and women find themselves with men who would rather have sex alone in the glow of a computer screen. For examples, just read any number of recent articles about the subject, such as, but certainly not limited to, Davy Rothbart and Alex Morris’ 2011
New York
magazine articles.
⁵

Early feminists considered porn as something evil leading to rape. Gloria Steinem, who famously exposed
Playboy
in 1963 as a sexist empire when she became a bunny, labeled sadomasochism as pornography. One of feminism’s earliest leaders, Steinem probably would have pegged
Fifty Shades of Grey
and the rest of the trilogy as porn. And she would have been right.

The difference is that Fifty Shades is
female
porn.

When men choose porn over their wives, why shouldn’t women choose their own forms of erotica? This is exactly what women are doing with Fifty Shades and similar books, all of which are topping publishing charts.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I was a fan of Steinem’s back in the day. An elder stateswoman of feminism, she led the charge for equality. She came along in the ’60s, a glamorous yet intelligent and strong female. But by the time I was a young woman in the late ’70s and early ’80s, many men equated feminism with “lesbians who hate men,” or so they told me in the office. They made it clear that, if I was a feminist, I could lose my job.
I
didn’t want to burn my bra.
I
didn’t hate men. In fact, I rather
liked
men. Given that I worked for engineering companies where I was the only female professional in a sea of men, it was best for me to tell the truth, that I was working for the same reasons the men worked: I needed the money.

At first, I wanted a college education because I wanted to be a geneticist. I’d been a straight-A student in school. But my family had humble resources and told me that girls didn’t need college. I should become a secretary, a teacher, or a nurse.

I didn’t know anything about feminism or women’s equality, but I did know that I was incredibly bored. Starting at seventeen and earning minimum wages, I wrote medical newsletters, technical manuals, and a book about poverty, and I also programmed in a variety of languages and studied engineering and circuitry. I somehow got lucky and had a couple of terrific bosses who promoted me into management. They only cared that I did a good job; my gender wasn’t an issue. They liked the fact that I needed the money and had to support my family, that I had no choice. It meant that I worked all the time and did my very best for them. But being the
only woman
, I
knew
I was lucky.

In the late ’70s and ’80s, female professionals were supposed to dress like men. Shoulder pads in blazers hanging below our thighs, tentlike skirts hanging to our mid-calves, short spiky
hair. Women’s magazines told us to climb career ladders and break glass ceilings.

But I
liked
being a girl.

No shoulder pads for me. No drooping blazers and tent skirts. I didn’t care about career ladders and glass ceilings. I was working to take care of my child, and I preferred intellectual stimulation to boredom. I remembered Gloria Steinem, who retained her femininity while projecting strength and intelligence, and I had no other role models. I forged my own path and made my own rules. I wore pants, simple button-down shirts, and loafers. I kept a casual blazer—short, without shoulder pads—on hand for meetings.

But after twelve to fifteen hours at work when I finally came home to my husband, I just wanted to be a girl. A physical entity, pure female, and with my brain switched off.

In those days, being a major breadwinner in pants could jeopardize a woman’s relationship with her man. What if he stopped seeing her as a sexual object? What if he turned his back on her and fell in lust with
Playboy
centerfolds? My God, what if he became
addicted
to porn? Worse, what if she had to make do at a minimum-wage job with no benefits while raising three kids on her own?

Oh, wait. These are
today’s
problems, only they’re widespread and much worse.

Luckily, today’s woman can do more than cry all night. If her man’s grooving to porn in a dump somewhere, she can sit in her own dump and groove to Fifty Shades. She can stock up on all forms of erotica and download whatever-gets-her-through-the-night fantasies. If she wants, she can fantasize about a very rich bad boy who lusts after her, who finds her sexually attractive—one who has his hang-ups, all of which she’s able to overcome, winning his heart. This is the potency of classic romance.

Anastasia Steele feels appreciated, desired, attractive. She has multiple orgasms. Her guy is consumed by angst. She must help him. It’s
classic
.

And yet we live in the age of porn, and so modern romance novels come in all forms—cowboys, aliens, threesomes, paranormals, kinky, kinkier, and
kinkiest
. If yesterday, a woman got turned on by one subgenre—say, paranormals—today she might lust for other kinks. She might lust for a rich bad boy who’s into BDSM and who ultimately finds himself and falls in love with her.

There’s really nothing new here. It’s traditional female sex fantasy, except hamburgers will no longer do. Today’s woman demands a triple bacon cheeseburger with extra sauce.