My Confession

Al right, so here it is. I must admit to it. It was at a weak moment and it was pretty darned hot up in that attic.

I was in the attic to pick out some books to read. I couldn't be arsed looking for my librarycard and drive for a half an hour or so to get to the library and would have had to go to the same place to buy a new book. So to be a good little saver and recycler I thought I'd re-read some of my old books.

Here's the deal. I have a lot of books. LOADS. and they're all packed away up in the attic to enable me to get into my room without being buried under 2 tons of books. That would be silly. I have 36 huge boxes with nothing but books. I don't want to think about the amount of money I've spent but never mind. A lot of the books come from my maternal grandparent's home. I was asked what I wanted after they'd died and I said,(among other things); I want a free pick from their library. They all thought that was ok since I'm the only bookworm in the family and it paid off as I am now the prod owner of some rare books (probably boring as shit but they're mine).

It so happens that when I was in the attic, it was dead hot. It was about 28 C outside and probably about 38 C in the attic. I was sweating. A lot. I realised that to get to the books I wanted I'd have to move loads of the boxes. I did not fancy that so I made a deal with myself. I told myself that whatever was in the top box, I'd read it. I opened it up and what did I see?

Romance novels and loads of 'em!

When I was 12 or so I was really into Harlequin (Mills & Boon) etc. so I got loads from my uncle's wife (the only good to have come out of that bitch) and for whatever reason they've stayed in my possession since...

Oh well, I was a bit put off reading as I'd planned to sit in the sun with a really graphic crime/detective book but a deal is a deal. So I packed a bag full of the little things, hid them from my grandmother's sight (I was embarrassed) and brought them home to the sunlounger.

I think I've read about 40 of them in the past week (or less) and they're all more or less the same. Some are better and some are really bad!

The heroine is either a lost and insecure virgin or a woman who has been hurt in a previous - or several - relationship/s. A lot of the times they've been told that they are frigid little things. The heroine walks through life and is basically on her way of becoming a horrid bitter little spinster, frowning and snarling towards the poor men (who, according to her, are all bastards). And then.... She meets him! the man who she at first hates with a vengeance but little by little she understands that oh no, she loves him ever so much! This doesn't happen until they've had some encounters where the man in some way or another forces himself on her. At first she struggles but when she realises that he is too strong for her she gives in and after a little sigh moans his name and run her fingers through his hair while being pressed up against his muscular torso, wrapped in his sweltering arms and also manages to acknowledge the fact that there's something really big and hard pressed against her thigh or tummy as most of the females are short and waferthin - there aren't a lot of hurricanes in this sort of books and that's probably for the best as all the girls would blow away rather than just blow. Oh forgive me, I don't mean "blow". I mean "touching his towering manhood with her trembling lips"...

Like I said, some are good and some aren't. but they have all managed to amuse me in one way or another. What amazes me is that there must be a specific thesaurus for romance novel authors. They have a zillion different words for "horney" and "male genitalia", God forbid that the word penis should be mentioned, and they never seem to run out of them... and that amuses the hell out off me!

I'm quite happy about having read them despite it not being the gory murders I had planned to read. It's been fun but if you ask me I'll simply say;

"Me? Reading romance novels? Not in my life! I am an independent woman who does not need that sort of romance. If I want flowers, I'll buy them myself!"

And then I'll go and leave subtle hints to Boyfriend that he ought to take me out to a nice restaurant, give me flowers and finally take me to bed and make tender love to celebrate the fact that I am a modern and independent woman with no need for that sort of nonsense....

(This is for Boyfriend: I do need that sort of stuff so don't you be getting any ideas!)