Amnesia

I have no idea how it got on my bookshelf. I really don’t. I don’t remember buying it. I don’t recollect anyone saying, “Kate, this is a terrific read.” I don’t recall receiving it as a gift. How the badly written, poorly translated, BDSM erotica got in my list to read is beyond me. Perhaps it was a joke. A terrible gag gift from someone who wished to see me suffer.

I can just imagine them sliding the book in between the others I have yet to read, snarking quietly, “This will pay her back for all of the moving we’ve helped her do over the past three years, oh yes!”

Regardless, I pulled it off the shelf after finishing and being terribly disappointed with “Hannibal Rising”. (Frankly Mr. Harris, you let me down. I was expecting greater things from a young Hannibal.) On a totally unrelated note,  I don’t normally cringe after paying $24.95 for a hard cover, but this was one of the times I did.

Seeking to dull the pain, I searched and found “The Story of O.” Let me disseminate the cover text for you, shall I? Oh wait, I can’t, because I threw the damn fool thing out.

For those of you who know me, realize I’ve never had a problem discussing sex in normal discourse. It’s a natural and wonderful behavior if done properly. I don’t even mind reading erotica every now and then if I’m seeking a shiver up my spine or to warm me on a cold day. Hell, I’ve even been published in the field.

You also know that I have a dear fear of throwing out a book. I push myself to the end of books I don’t necessarily like, just to say that I was able to finish them.

Yet 20 pages into this novel, I very politely closed the book, got out of my bed, walked to the garbage and threw it away.

For those of you who are curious as to my actions, I will tell you what I learned in the first few pages.

O (She doesn’t get a real name for some reason), after being stripped of her constraining little bra, her garter belt, stockings and underwear while in a car, is brought to a mansion by a trusted lover and told that she must obey the people inside, no matter what, and she gives no rebuttal.

At first, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to continue.

From there, she is brutally tortured and taken (I would call it raped) by four masked men, including her lover, and then whipped for no good reason. The writer teases the reader into thinking you’re going to get a real justifiable reason later on, but as this behavior continues, nothing is offered except detailed accounts on how to torture an already submissive woman into submission.

Ugh.

The hardcore BDSM movement may cringe at my description, but I’ve always viewed sex as a trusted communion between loving partners. I don’t view a little kink wrong here and there, say if your mate wants to experiment with some handcuffs and some delicious spanking with perhaps a paddle or a riding crop. Just as long as everyone wins.

Beating someone with a whip until welts appear is not my idea of a good time, nor was reading that particular book. Despite the promised payoff that was due to come in time, I was not about to wait around for it.

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