Tagged: bdsm

Would Freud Have Laughed? An Apology

I have to think he would have at least smirked. But from what I remember being taught about him, he was a very serious, very serious man. So no. Even jokes that I am only able to attempt after his research and ideas have had a century to take root in western society wouldn’t have caused him to laugh.

I love blogging. I love it because it forces interesting questions, questions like this one about Freud, into my head. You see, life is so very easy for a smart, not to mention good-looking, eligible man like me that I need some way to make it challenging. So I write. I try to see if I can make a total stranger laugh in the same way that I can make someone laugh that I’m talking to in person. And here’s the real challenge. I try to see if I can make them laugh for the same reason.

By the way. Please send me a check for, I don’t know, $300, each month from now on to support my quest. Make it payable to Pete Deakon and mail it to PO Box 3392, Parker, CO 80134. Thank you.

A man like me doesn’t just appear. It takes a very special woman years and years, like 18, to mold a boy-child into a man like me. This woman wouldn’t have been afraid to punctuate the training with a wooden spoon if necessary.

One more thing. This woman, the mother of a man like me, a man who shed the constraining shackles of fear long ago, a man who publicly bears his soul in ways that make her shake her head in disappointment, this woman has no problem walking out of a movie. Not that she’d even let herself be taken to a movie of Fifty Shades‘ caliber. Even by her son.

I’m sorry folks. I want this blog to be a place you can come for truth and laughs. I failed yesterday. The opening of yesterday’s post, the truth I sought to share, was it is really funny to think of an adult man and his mom watching Fifty Shades together. I didn’t take her. She hasn’t seen the movie. We don’t live in the same town. The parenthetical apology was an “I’m sorry for picking on you again, mom.” Not that I’ll ever stop.

But picking on her doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I do. She’s my mom. I just am compelled to avenge myself every once in a while.

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By the way, she finally added to yesterday’s discussion. And on a separate note, Glenn’s review of my new book is up. Buried Within – Isn’t As Gay As I hoped

Review of Fifty Shades of Grey, by Sam Taylor-Johnson (Based on the Book)

Did you know this movie was going to have sex scenes? I had no idea. Neither did my mom. I’ll leave the awkwardness of our watching it together to your imagination. (Sorry, Ma. I had to.)

What pisses me off about this movie and book is that they leave me speechless. I thought I knew.

I thought I knew. Really, if you think you know the story based on overhearing things, you don’t. And you don’t want to know the story. It’s past ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. It’s stupendous in its ridiculousness. A friend loves the books. And she’s cool, so I can’t go the one further step that I want to and say people who enjoyed the book are ridiculous too. To each his own. But I can safely say that she’s in the same category as Chris Rock’s women who listen to degrading rap and say, “He ain’t talkin’ ’bout me.”

I had to watch the movie because it’s based on a book that sold 100 million copies. I was a fool. At least I didn’t pay for it.

Did anyone else laugh uncontrollably when Christian tells Anastasia, “If you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit for a week”? My laughter wasn’t at the movie, but at me. At first I thought that he meant she wouldn’t be able to sit because he had spanked her so hard with some “playroom” device. Then I realized, nope, he meant…

Have I ever mentioned I’m an Eagle Scout?

Does anyone else find it funny that a female author’s written-for-women fantasy involves a man making sex so good that the woman needs a week to recover? I’ve always thought the goal was making sex so good that the woman wouldn’t want to stop for a week. Lesson learned I guess.

The trouble with this whole Fifty Shades phenomenon is that we let it frame the discussion. It seems to force the questions, “Is BDSM really a secret fantasy for all these women?” and if so “Why is it a fantasy?” moreover “Is it right or wrong?” And also, “Do women want to change men?” and “Why do women want to change men?”

The truth, in and of itself always sobering, is we don’t have to allow E.L. James to frame the discussion. She is not a dominant. We are not submissives.

I wanted to watch this movie because I thought it would give me some pointers about what book buying audiences want to read, as my books aren’t selling. What I really learned is that I will never be able to read audience’s minds. My next book (after the illustrated children’s book that is coming soon) will be more of an escape than my first two. It will have more violence and the violence will be more graphic. It will have more sex and the sex will be more graphic. It’ll be that way because I can see now that people like to read that and it will be fun to write it. But it will be my kind of violence and my kind of sex. Not yours.

Oh. Back to the review. Don’t watch the movie. Or do. Whatever.