Part I – 8:30pm, day 1 of reading Chelle Bliss’ “Throttle Me”
Okay, I get it now. A pattern is emerging. Chelle Bliss seems to be specializing in insta-love type of stories. Her main character in the novella-prologue to “Throttle Me,” Maria, who’s a 50-ish year old mother, used the term “insta-love” in one of her inner monologues in “The Gallos: The Beginning.” It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me that THAT would be the common theme throughout the family’s kids’ individual romantic tales.
As I sit here scratching my head, I have to wonder: where do I stand, really? I consider myself a staunch feminist. In my mind, a woman, who’s of legal age and sound mind, can and should take hold of her sexuality; she can and should steadfastly pursue her own romantic intents, without causing physical, psychological, and/or emotional harm to herself or others. In “Throttle Me,” however, I couldn’t help but think of Suzy, the heroine, as a slut.
Sorry, but there it is. Suzy the Slut. I mean, come on, the way Ms. Bliss wrote about Suzy? It’s just sleazy, not sexy. For a woman who’s living in what seems to be an urbanized city (Ms. Bliss didn’t mention what the setting is), would one consider her to be a sane person if she flags down a strange man, in the middle of a deserted road, at night, while he rode a Harley Davidson motorcycle? She then immediately ogles his body after he steps down to help. Suzy proceeds to have inner monologues while mentally slurping up City, a.k.a. Joe Gallo, her hero, and spazzing out while he’s asking her safety-related questions after he saw her on the side of the road. Oh, and did I mention? Ms. Bliss made Suzy not just a slut, but a modern day stupid damsel in distress. Suzy knew her car was in the last legs of its life, and yet, she blatantly continues to drive it around without a plan B in case the said car fails on the road. (Honey, saving money doesn’t mean you disrespect your car.) Plus, she let her cellphone die during the same car fail incident. She’s also in a lacy, white tank top and fuck-me heels. She rides on City’s bike, BEFORE she knew his name, lets him buy 2 drinks in a strange biker bar, and then, finally, has sex with her savior that same weird night. Jeeeeeyyyyyzus H. Christ. I so don’t want to finish now.
But I have to. I bought the damned book.
BTW, I also don’t think it’s cool for decent men, regardless if they’re tatted up, muscled bikers, to bring strange women to their own homes on the first night they met, just to have sex. Hello?! Have they ever seen Crime & Investigation? #stupid I regret buying this book.