Here I am again, asking questions about trends in romance.
Y'all know how I love the genre.
After reading it since the late sixties, I've seen many trends. But nothing like this.
So let me qualify some things before I delve into the heart of the matter. First off, I love romance in real life. I love flowers, long heated glances, slow pelvic-grinding dances, intimate whispers and small gestures of love. I also enjoy writing those kinds of scenes, because I feel our stories should reflect what we desire in real life. I desire to be treated with tenderness and respect. In fact, I demand it!
For over twenty-five years, I worked in the male-dominated field of heavy metals--and no, I don't mean the music industry. Think Mack Trucks and machines that apply threads to the inside and outside of metal pipes. I worked in the oily muck and mire of industrial manufacturing. And, as one of the few women in a plant of hundreds of men, I was fodder for jokes and innuendos and come-ons. I hated it. But I loved my children and worked those jobs to provide for them.
Having strange men walk up to me at work and ask what size bra I wore or if I wanted a quick _uck or if I gave good head birthed a strong feminist nature. My thinking being if a man isn't going to respect me from the get-go, how's he going to treat me when life gets rough? And life has a habit of throwing crap on our driveways, doesn't it? How will he treat me when I'm sick or busy with the kids or too tired from work, cleaning and laundry to rock his world?
So imagine my shock and WTF attitude over some recently read romances where the hero talks dirty to the heroine. In the book I just finished last night, the heroine walks into the bar and hustles a game of pool to make some money. The hero can't take his eyes off her. They exchange some cute flirting banter and he leans in to whisper, "You're going home with me tonight and I'm going to be the best _uck of your life."
I read that sad line and laughed outloud, knowing how I'd handle Mr. God's Gift to Women. I'd coil my fingers around his wrist, trail a fingertip across his palm and sweetly say, "See this right here? This is all the action you're going to get tonight...Jerk!" Oh yeah, that's how this ol' broad would've handled it.
But what did this young woman do? She was so turned on by his audacity, she went home with him!
But what did this young woman do? She was so turned on by his audacity, she went home with him!
I wanted to slap my hand over my eyes. What the hell kinda message was this for young women?
He tries ordering her about in all phases of her life and she balks--thank God for something resembling self-respect from the heroine. So he tells her in his commanding attitude, that he'll put up with her sassy mouth and headstrong ways during the day. Excuse me? Sassy mouth and headstrong ways??? I call this independance. He calls it indulging her (Oh God, someone keep me from strangling this guy).
He goes on to say at night, when they are alone in the bedroom, she will obey his dirty talk, because she belongs to him. Kinda like a bicycle or his favorite pair of boots--my thoughts, not his words.
Now, I'm all for the alpha male. I enjoy confident men. Love them, in fact. However, I feel a man who's self-assured in his masculinity doesn't need to control a woman by being bossy. She'll respond better to his thoughtfulness and respect.
OR is this my age talking?
Is the younger generation of women happy to be bossed around like brainless ninnies?
I'm sorry, but if I'm having sex with a guy and he commands me to tell him he's got the biggest cock I've ever had, I'd have to stop and do a comparison. I would purposely let the air out of his ego-filled balloon. If I'm a passenger in his car and he commands me to pull up my skirt and play with myself while he half-drives and half-ogles, as soon as he stops for the next red light, I am so outta that car.
I'm sorry, but if I'm having sex with a guy and he commands me to tell him he's got the biggest cock I've ever had, I'd have to stop and do a comparison. I would purposely let the air out of his ego-filled balloon. If I'm a passenger in his car and he commands me to pull up my skirt and play with myself while he half-drives and half-ogles, as soon as he stops for the next red light, I am so outta that car.
I'm befuddled here, folks. This is the third romance I've read where the hero talks excessively dirty to the heroine and all three books are in the top 1000 rankings at Amazon. Are my alpha heroes with a soft spot for those they love out of style? Am I at the bus station waiting for my ship to come in?
What say you?
What say you?

