Tag Archives: real men

Mr. Grey is not MY dream man. Here’s why.

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I wasn’t going to post again about the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy. However, judging by the more than 13,000 people in the past few days alone who read my previous reviews coupled with the obvious fact the 50 SoG mania isn’t going away nearly as quickly as I might have wished, well–here I go again.  I feel the need to stand up for the good guys of this world–guys like my husband and my fav actor–who exemplify what being a man really should be about.  If you love 50 SoG, you probably don’t want to read any further . . . you’re not gonna like it.

When one considers the runaway success of the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy and millions of women’s obsession with its kinky billionaire “hero,” Christian Grey, I feel like something of a rebel for stating I am just not into Mr. Grey, his good looks and obscene wealth notwithstanding. I mean, what’s wrong with me? I’m a respectable middle-aged woman who leads a quiet life. I am supposed to be panting for this stuff!!

But no.

I am attracted to mature, well-adjusted, intelligent males. To men who are strong enough to display a tender and nurturing side whilst showing a quiet self-confidence to the world. To classy gentlemen who don’t constantly feel they have to prove their manliness. To men who don’t feel the need to beat the hell out of innocent young women with a belt. I’m just funny that way, I guess.

I married a man like that, the love of my life. I crush on another one, the talented actor and, I believe, thoroughly top-drawer human being to which this site is primarily dedicated.

My kinda guy.

And then there’s Mr. Grey.

Let me count just a few of the ways why Mr. Grey is NOT my dream man . . .

Give me a proper, mature grown-up, not a bratty, mercurial, hormonally-maddened teenager in a man’s body. I don’t care how hot you’re supposed to look with the top button of your jeans undone.  I don’t want a boy.

I’m not a spring chicken anymore, and even when I was, being involved with someone who would have me on a perpetual emotional roller coaster never appealed.  I’m not a drama queen, and I don’t wish to be involved with a drama king.

Nowadays, in my middling years, I’m a person dealing with a chronic health issue, one exacerbated by stress. That same health issue, FMS, also causes me a considerable amount of pain. I’m highly appreciative of peace and harmony and reasonable freedom from pain whenever possible.

Life with someone like you, Mr. Grey, would hardly offer that.

Space. Give me space.

I grew up the youngest by several years in my family, so I am a bit like an only child in certain ways. I like having some time to myself.  My hubby—coincidentally, also a youngest child by several years– and I love spending time together. There truly is no one else with whom I would rather share my life.  But–we also respect the fact that we each need our private time.

The idea of someone insisting on knowing everything I do and everywhere I go 24/7, someone who attempts to orchestrate my very life for me is not romantic; it’s– stifling. It’s creepy.

“Every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be watching you” was not meant to be a love song. Just ask Sting. It’s about an obsessive stalker.

A man can adore you without wanting to own you. Just ask Mr. Thornton or Harry Kennedy.

You can’t buy everything you want and need in life. Buy your wife the company she works for, buy the services of your submissives, buy—love and respect and trust. You have to earn those things, Mr. Grey. I know you had a lousy time of it as a kid, and I am truly sorry.

I don’t wish abuse—physical, mental, emotional, sexual—on anyone.

But learn from the horrors of past; others have. Treat fellow human beings as fellow human beings, not mergers and acquisitions and pieces of meat to feed your particular physical appetites. Money really isn’t everything.

Ultimately, for me, Mr. Grey, you’re far more sad  and creepy than deliciously sexy. And you have serious issues that giving an inexperienced girl great orgasms with a handcuffs and a ball gag or two  isn’t going to fix for either of you.  I don’t buy your sugar-coated “happily ever after.”  I hope the women who devour these books  do realize you’re only a pale imitation of what a real man is supposed to, and indeed, can be.

Oh, and by the way: nice, well-adjusted guys can also have a naughty side and enjoy some steam and spice. I speak from experience . . . just sayin.’