Fifty shades of shit
Anyone who writes probably reckons they have a book in them somewhere. I certainly do, and a few years ago I set out to write mine. Made it as far as half way down page one and gave up; surprisingly boring to write, and equally boring to read. Maybe I would try again later; and maybe now is the time.
The latest publishing sensation is Fifty Shades of Grey, an apparently poorly written novel which has so far sold in excess of ten million copies and made the author a millionairess.
The reason for this success is that the novel is a story of domination by a businessman of a virgin (who doesn’t remain a virgin for long). There are whips, there are pullies, there are most likely throbbing members. It’s soft-core porn for nice ladies who would not normally consume soft-core porn and can disguise their guilty reading pleasure by downloading the book onto their e-reader where it can sit uneasily next to How to Knit a Nightmare and Quick Dishes for a Despairing Housewife.
The masters of crap fiction for women, Mills and Boon, have not been slow to get in on the act and are now offering a series of short stories under the not at all derivative title of Twelve Shades of Surrender. Cuffing Kate is one of the “stories”.
After nearly ten years of living with she who must be obeyed and two cats, I reckon I am sufficiently experienced in being dominated to make a contribution. I am drafting a storyline and plan to include the extensive use of pliers and waterboarding; just to spice things up a bit. The only outstanding tasks are to write it, and decide whether I want the inevitable Ferrari in red or yellow.
The title? Fisting Fiona. I know, I know; wealth is inevitable.
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