People get shitty about 50 Shades of Grey for many reasons, but in terms of sexual lies that make me cross, few people have pointed out the one that most annoyed me.
Towards the end of the book (and I don’t think this really counts as a spoiler), Christian and Anastasia have mind-blowingly wonderful sex in a bath.
There’s nothing wrong with mind-blowingly wonderful sex, It’s a bloody good thing. However, it’s a bloody good thing that is almost impossible to do in the water.
Having sex in a bath is a bit crap
There seems to be quite a common misconception that watery sex is one of the funnest fucks you can have – it’s wet, it’s slippery, you can be comfortably naked, etc. Men I’ve known seem to particularly enjoy the look and feel of a nice, wet pair of tits. Understandable.
However, just because my tits are wet that doesn’t mean we’re going to have good sex. Sex in water is rubbish – the water washes away all of those natural cunty juices that make penetration so fun. Lubes wash away, too. Essentially by having sex in the bath you’re removing one of the crucial things about fucking – the slicky wetness.
Women’s and men’s magazines alike carry hot stories of watery sex – couples coupling on beaches, in baths, in swimming-pools and showers. Exotic confessions written in breathy, sexy tones imply that this fucking is amazing – what could be hotter than having sex on a beach? I’ll tell you what’s hotter than sex on a beach: having sex in a fucking bed.
I think it’s the fact that its unusual – lots of people have a desire to fuck in places where they traditionally wouldn’t. The unusual nature of it makes it a bit sexier. That’s why the ‘hot sex confessions’ section of magazines is so often filled with stories like this:
“The best sex I ever had was during a romantic bath with my partner. I sat in front of him and he soaped my breasts, then I sat on him and, with gentle rocking motions and the water lapping at our hips, we both came together in a nice wet explosion.”
The problem with sex in the bath
I’ve fucked in showers and baths before. One of the key problems (because I am not a Christian Grey-style millionaire) is that baths are fucking small. I don’t care how tiny and delicate you are, in a bath with another person you’re always going to feel big. A big, awkward slippery pile of elbows.
Even if you do manage to manoeuvre yourself into a good position (say, crouched on top of him lowering yourself onto his dick as in the above example) then you have to deal with the splashing. Two people displace a hell of a lot of bathwater, and if you fuck at the speed that is usually required to achieve an orgasm, you splash buckets of water onto the floor, and soapy water into your eyes and mouth until both of you are crying out for a nice dry towel and the safety of a boring bed.
Even if you’re lucky enough to have a gigantic bath (and I’ve stayed in a couple of hotels which did) you still have to deal with the lack of cunt-juice and the fact that you cannot get any grip whatsoever on slippery surfaces. So call me boring, call me old-fashioned, call me unadventurous, but I just don’t want to fuck you in the bath – it will never be more than an incompetent, wet wriggle.
More realistically, the story above should read:
“The most frustrating and injurious sex I ever had was during a romantic bath with my partner. I squeezed into the tub in front of him, feeling six times my normal size and displacing enough water to drown a hippopotamus, and he soaped my breasts. Having done that, we were a bit stuck for ideas, as both of us were wedged into a receptacle designed for – at best – just one average-sized adult. I wriggled round, displacing more water and accidentally elbowing him in the solar-plexus, then eventually managed to get into a crouching position over his dick. I slipped on the side, bending his cock at an uncomfortable angle and he cried out in pain. Taking control, he had a go at thumbing it into me, and I took a deep breath as it rasped against the dry walls of my cunt. I rocked back and forth for a bit, annoyed that I couldn’t get a grip on the slippery bath floor so I could actually fuck him properly. Instead of coming together in a soapy-wet explosion, we puffed away at it for a few minutes until he got shampoo in his eyes and asked me if we could call it a day. I was only too pleased to say ‘yes.'”
Baths: shave your legs in one, wash your hair in one, have a wank in one if you fancy it, but for crying out loud don’t ever try to fuck me in one.
Do you want to lick melted chocolate off my nipples? How about squirting whipped cream all over your cock and letting me noisily slurp it off? Are you willing to drizzle nacho cheese into the crack of my arse then fuck me to a sticky, cheesy completion?
Then you’re probably my kind of guy.
Food in sex is bloody weird. I think my general hatred of it stems from a rather naïve 16 year-old experience in which my boy bought some sort of ‘penis knickerbockerglory kit’ from Ann Summers, covered his cock in cream and chocolate sauce, and completed the fiasco with (I’m not making this up) brightly-coloured hundreds and thousands. He then insisted that I lick off this sticky, sickly mess until I felt so ill I’d rather have spent the afternoon bent over the toilet bowl than the side of the bed.
If you want a blow job, the best way to get one is to unzip your trousers and tell me to give you a blow job. You don’t need to cover it in fucking chocolate – I’m not a reluctant 12 year old, and your cock is not a brussels sprout that you’re forcing me to eat at Christmas. I like sucking your cock, that’s why I’m here.
And conversely, if you don’t want to lick my cunt, then don’t. If you don’t like the taste of it, I’d strongly advise you not to put your face there at all. Smearing it in toothpaste or custard or raspberry jam is just going to make a mess of the bedsheets, and mean you’re concentrating more on cleaning me up than on tonguing my clit until I squeal like a strangled cat.
I like sex more than sweeties
Some people might love the food thing, and if you do then good on you. Someone’s got to keep Ann Summers afloat, after all.
But flavoured/scented/sweet-smelling stuff leaves me cold. Getting messy is fun – ask any splosh fetishist – but the need to make sex taste and smell like dessert removes one of the things that I love most about fucking. The smell of your cock. The smell of your sweat. The beautiful, musky, angry scent of boys.
It’s not just food – flavoured condoms, scented lube and edible underwear can shit off as well. These things make sex unsexy, and fit better behind the counter at Greggs than in my bedroom.
Chocolate, whipped cream, flavoured lube, strawberries, toffee sauce, ice cream, condoms that taste like bananas – they can all fuck off back to the lollipop-scented candifloss-coated shitfuck sweetshop nightmare that they came from. I want your dick to taste like dick.