It’s almost enough to make me read romance novels again

Except that The Sum of Me, in what has to be one of the most hilarious posts I have read in some time, dissects precisely why I gave them up years ago: the incredibly over-the-top manner in which sex is described (and then repeated, and repeated again…):

See, if you don’t read or have never read Romance, then you just have

NO IDEA about how the nookie is described. I think it’s better now,

mostly – though it’s still all laden with superlatives, the blinding

ecstasy seems to be toned down to more reasonable levels. But when I

was a little virginal girl, I was reading the stuff that – in my

opinion, anyway – kinda deserved to be called “bodice-rippers” and

“porn for women.” I mean, these people had orgasms that went on FOR

PAGES. Hell, if the meek and demure virgin heroine turned out to be

multi-orgasmic on her wedding night, it could go on for a whole

frigging chapter.

Because of this, I grew up (because I began

reading them at a very young age) with this way totally warped

expectation for all things remotely sexual. To say nothing of the

generally romantic. This goes for kissing, too – I can remember my

first kiss and thinking like: um? Is that… all? I … I guess… he’s not, well… he sure ain’t no Tate MacEwen, that’s all I’m sayin’.

And

then actual nookie. Even though I was grown-up and logically KNEW there

would not be fireworks and crashing waves and little putti singing and

showering us with rose petals, I was still a little disappointed. (Side

note to the men out there, thinking “yeah, there woulda been fireworks

if it was me, babe!” — No, there wouldn’t have been. And all the girls

are laughing at you for thinking so. Seriously, man – belly-busting

guffaws.) So you know, practice makes perfect, yadida yadida, and

real-life orgasm? I don’t think this is headline news or anything, but

it’s really a FABULOUS thing, we all know this, I mean rrrrrrrrrrrowr –

and yet still — listen to me: it pales in comparison to the written

description as given in romance novels.

In romance novels, it’s

not uncommon for the heroine – or hero, even – to actually faint with

pleasure. Like, without the aid of drugs. Passed out cold because the

orgasm was that good.

And then they IMMEDIATELY HAVE SEX AGAIN.

This, apparently, is how you can tell if it’s true love.

There’s lots more, but I’m trying to finish my coffee and not spray it all over the office computer.

(link from another cool romance-related blog, Smart Bitches, Trashy Books.)