I scrolled to the channel and read the description, along with seeing a small thumbnail preview of the current part of the movie showing in the guide on the TV. I've heard of this movie of course... who hasn't at least heard of it? ... but I knew very little about it. It was a topic of conversation more than once at lunch or coffee or other meetings with friends and co--workers. "Appalling," was the most common word I remember, "stupid" was another, "ridiculous" yet another. As they commented, I watched my friends and colleagues look down their noses at the simple mention of it. None had seen the movie, or if they had, they would never admit it. The movie had already started and was about twenty minutes in. It was late, Jonathan was asleep, and I had to admit that I was a little intrigued. Even if Jonathan woke up--ha, right, like that would happen--I could grab the remote and change it before he even knew what was on. I clicked the channel and started to watch.
Absentmindedly brushing my hair as the show played on the TV before me, I became more and more focused on what was going on in the movie. For the first time ever, I was openly exposed to the subject matter of "BDSM." This was no longer a topic that was hidden ... this movie at least put it in front of you with a stark, blatant depiction of what BDSM was, or at least what this screen writer thought it was. Dakota Johnson is a lovely woman, and Jamie Dornan certainly has a gorgeous body and abdominal muscles that would make any woman swoon, but as I watched, if found that their characters were, well, unconvincing. It wasn't the characters or their story that held my interest, though, ... it was the blatant sexuality of what they were doing, the extreme things they were doing. That is what kept me enthralled.
I watched with growing curiosity and interest. At first I watched with a distant, uninvolved, nonchalant approach, like I was watching a documentary. As the movie played out before me, though, I watched with more personal introspection and, well, yes, even arousal. The real turning point for me, and what really intrigued me and made me really start to get into the movie, was the scene when they negotiated their "contract" about what items and activities they would include in their sexual encounters, which included many things of which I had never heard. "Do people really do that?" I thought. I asked that question to myself meaning both two things: "Do people really do all those wild sexual things, and do people into BDSM really negotiate contracts like that?"
As I watched further, the sensuality of the scenes began to take their toll on me. I was getting aroused. My breathing was shallower during certain scenes. I felt my nipples harden, rubbing against the fabric of my gown as my breathing became more intense. After a few minutes, I realized that I was unknowingly running my fingers on the upper edge of my nightgown, just over my chest near my collarbone. As the back of my nails touched the inside of my breasts, I could feel my arousal further down as well, between my legs, and all over my body. As the movie played on into its final scene, I was lost in the character of Anastasia Steele. I was no longer watching the movie or watching her ... I was feeling the part, as if I *was* her.
The final scene was a bit of a shock that brought me out of my imagined role and sensual arousal. The character of Ms. Steele allowed herself to be spanked by Mr. Grey. Not a playful spanking or even a hard swat or two by a lover. Instead, this was a sheer, all out whipping, a beating, and her character reacted as I would have expected an abused woman to react, or even as I thought I would have reacted myself. She told her lover that she would never allow him to do that to her again.
As the movie concluded, I was far from sleepy, and the story and the content really seeped into my mind. I let the credits just roll as I stared at the screen. It didn't fit. The last scene, the sensuality of their play throughout the film, the physical restraint, all of it up to that point was intimate and sensual, even if it was a bit wild, with the specialized BDSM room and all the metal and leather restraints and devices. However, her submission to the whipping at the end of the movie, followed by her rejection of it, all bound with his desire to inflict pain on someone he professed to care about, well, it just didn't fit. Is this what BDSM is really about, I thought, or is it just Hollywood attempting to portray the subject, yet failing to do it properly through a lack of understanding?
My thoughts turned to one of the scenes, one of the first times they made love. There was some restraint there, where she was cuffed on her wrists and ankles, and that certainly got my blood flowing again. I reclined quietly and let my imagination go, thinking of my hands like hers, over my head, held in place by my lover's hands, or bound with cuffs or rope, blindfolded so I could not see what my lover was doing, where he was looking, or what he was about to touch. Were his lips hovering over my mouth, about to give me a deep, passionate kiss? Was he focused more on his own hands, about to play with my chest or move between my legs? Or was he just simply positioning himself over me, about to lay on top of me, ready to plunge into me and make me his?
Almost involuntarily, my hand moved in between my legs, touching myself, and I was almost surprised at how wet I was. I don't know if I've ever felt myself get that wet before without someone else to help. Certainly never when I was by myself, alone. My mind moved past that thought, my hand still holding the hairbrush, moving it between my legs and pressing the end of the brush into my body. Not inside me, just using the pressure of the brush handle against my more, well, sensitive spots. It didn't take me much longer before I felt an orgasm build, and I let it consume me. I stifled my panting and breathing as best I could, but some sounds I just couldn't prevent. That actually made the pleasure subside, as I couldn't focus as much on it as I wanted to. It wasn't a full out natural release. I had to contain it, or I might be yelling out, making way too much noise, and surely wake Jonathan.
Wait ... Jonathan? I thought of Jonathan, my husband, for the first time since I started the movie, as the feeling of my orgasm subsided. In this little fantasy of mine, with my lover over me, not once was there a thought of Jonathan. I mean, I could understand if I had thought about Jamie Dornan and pictured him over me, since I had just watched several intimate scenes with him in them. However, it wasn't him I imagined either. It was instead some nameless, faceless, hard--bodied lover that just exerted his strength over me.
I lay back, pondering this as I closed my eyes and relaxed on the couch. I thought about the whole BDSM fantasy that I had just imagined, whether BDSM was really like what was depicted in the movie, or whether it was something entirely different. I wondered what so many people found so fascinating about it. I also thought about this nameless, faceless lover, one who knew me intimately, knew what excited me physically, emotionally, mentally, and one who had complete dominion over me. Before I knew it, while laying back imagining this gorgeous other man with me, I drifted off into another fitful sleep.
