There are times, after a long day's work, when I'd rather not see a woman tied to a bedpost, her skirt fetchingly hitched up around her thighs, being slowly strangled to death. Neither, if I'm honest, do I relish the sight of 19th-century prostitutes lying prone in east London alleyways, their fallopian tubes splattered all the way to The Strand. And forgive me if I am less than joyful at watching a successful working woman being anally raped by her bitter, emasculated husband.
Read more...
Read more...
