I recently found these "If 50 Shades were written by a Man" comments.  I hope you laugh as much i did.

 
At the touch of her lips, it grew long and swollen. I sighed as she squeezed and pulled expertly. It was the best balloon giraffe I'd seen.

 'Harder!' she cried, gripping the workbench even tighter, 'Harder!' 'Alright,' I said, 'What's the gross national product of Nicaragua?'

 Staring at her naked body, I asked what she wanted. She told me to go for something between a smack and a stroke. So I went for a smoke.

 'How do you feel about using toys in the bedroom?' she asked. 'Fine,' I said, 'But I can't see how we're going to fit a Scalextric in here.'

 Her body tensed and quivered as she felt wave after wave flow through it. I probably should've told her about the new electric fence.

 As I lay there on the floor, my naked body covered in treacle and whipped cream, I heard those inevitable words . . . 'Clean up on aisle 3.'

 Frantically I tore off her dress, bra and knickers. My heart was racing but I just managed to close the wardrobe door before she got home.

 She leant over the kitchen table. 'Smack that bottom,' she squealed, 'Smack it hard!' 'I am,' I said, 'But the ketchup just won't come out.'

 'I'm a bad girl,' she whispered, 'Punish me in a way only a real man can!' 'Alright,' I said and left my wet towels on the bathroom floor.

 'I want it now against this wall!' she ordered, 'And keep it up as long as possible.' 'Don't worry,' I said, 'I know how to put up a shelf.'

 'Hurt me!' she begged, leaning over the dining table expectantly. 'OK,' I replied, 'Your turkey's too dry and your sprouts are overcooked.