50 Shades of Reality

(pinterest.com)

As you may know from a previous post,

I have been reading the 50 Shades trilogy.

I am now wading (a good description I think) my way through the last (and definitely the least) book.

I can honestly say that I have realised a few things about myself from reading the books.

I have learnt that I never want to be so wealthy and self-absorbed
that I would expect my housekeeper to clean my sex toys or bondage room.

I don't find the thought of someone feeding me wine via their mouth
after they have been eating cold dolmades
at all titillating.

I have realised that my favourite tie of my hubby's is the one that I bought him years ago
and is still his favourite,
even though he has never used it to tie me to the bedhead.

Someone, somewhere, may be enjoying multiple orgasms multiples time a day
just from having their nipples tweaked
(I should be so lucky)
but really, as a mum of 3 kids and with a hubby working full-time,
I can't see it happening here any time soon.
Christian and Ana Grey may be able to fit repeated frequent sex romps
in to their busy, billion dollar empire
but I know that I can't.
I doubt I could even if I was 20 years younger and child-free.
Even a quiet night in front of the telly or a game of pool for them
ends up horizontally.

As much as I love and adore Mr Boozle,
he is never, ever going near my pink bits with a razor.
Ever.

(And I am sure that as much as Mr Boozle loves and adores me,
he would never, ever want to go near my pink bits with a razor either.
Ever.)

(mimosanthemorning.com)

But the thing that I have realised most is that
reading books with so much full-on sex in them is not necessarily a good thing.

It is like repeated exposure to violence.

You get desensitized.

Apparently repeated and frequent exposure to hot, graphic, perfect sex

has the same effect.

At the end of a reading session,

the last thing that I want is nookie.

Not what Mr Boozle was hoping for when he found out that I was reading them, I might say.

(welovedhere.com)