I've always considered myself fairly liberal, morbidly curious, and caught somewhere between risk adverse and 'go big or go home.' However, when I decided to see what all the fuss was about Fifty Shades of Grey, the first book of the naughty New York Times best selling book trilogy, I turned about fifty shades of red and felt seventy shades of guilt.
I read three books, via my best friend Kindle in three days time. Shirking my family, sneaking off between dropping kiddos off here and there and making dinner, I was bewitched by sultry Christian Grey and mousy, inexperienced Anastasia Steele.
Why the guilt? Was it the mention of the 'Playroom,' the flogger (OH sheesh) or the shower sex? No, it was none of this, although I learned a lot more about what caning is than I ever needed to know. The guilt didn't even stem from the BDSM, (again, lots o' info I could have gone without.) The guilt stemmed from the fact that I felt like I had to sneak away to read it! I am a grown, confident woman, aren't I?
I told my husband what I was reading and he playfully shook his head at me and wagged his eyebrows. I've even recommended it to some who I think may enjoy the little fantasy ride. But my kids?! I couldn't even look them in the eyes when they asked me what I was reading. I am a mom. Not a secret middle of the day mommy-porn-reader. Am I? NO! Maybe? And you know what, who cares, right? If I can have sex, I can certainly read about it, can't I? So why the guilt? I'm not just a mom. I am a grown woman that enjoyed a naughty escapade of a book. Big deal. I'm a fairly well-read person. I enjoy 'challenging' books just as much as the next gal.
Hmm. I need to reconcile this unnecessary and unwarranted guilt. Until I do, I won't flaunt my newly archived books around. But I vow I won't sneak around the next time something overtly provocative finds its way onto my Kindle. I'll just change my password so my kids can't find it...
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