My boyfriend, John, and I were having dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant when he brought up Valentine’s Day plans. “We should go see ‘Fifty Shades of Grey,'” he suggested. John was ravenous for the books. Like millions of others, he found them arousing, though the only thing they aroused in me was confusion.

“How can you be so turned on when the writing is so bad?” I wondered. I didn’t love the movie idea, but it seemed better than an overpriced dinner or some other forced romantic gesture, so I agreed. “We’ll see a hot naked guy, hear some Beyoncé and have a few laughs—how bad can it be?” I joked. John wasn’t amused. He looked at me with disgust, like I’d just murdered his dog.

“Forget it. I’ll go with someone el...