I love romance novels, but...

I read books from just about every genre and sub-genre. Often I will read a mix of genres depending on what comes to hand, but sometimes you get in the mood for a single type of novel. So you read just mysteries, or just science fiction. Or just romances. These last few days I have been in a romance novel mood, so I have been indulging. And I have to say that some of these novel are, to put it bluntly, nothing more than soft porn.

It wasn't always this way. I first started reading romance novels in the late 1960s, during high school. I remember picking up a Harlequin romance off a rack in a variety store. I enjoyed that first romance novel and began looking around for others. In those days Harlequin was the king (queen?) of regular romances. Gothic romances with darkly sinister heroes living in forbidding houses were also very popular. Regular or gothic, kissing was about as sexual as the books got. And mostly the hero and heroine didn't have sex at all until the very end. When they got married. And you only knew they were going to have sex, but you didn't get the details.

Then Bodice Rippers came on the scene. They started appearing in the early 1970s and I can remember that they made quite a splash. Their covers featured (as they mostly do today) nubile women in various stages of undress clasped in the arms of usually shirtless and incredibly muscular men. And they were a lot more daring than romances had been up to that point. Over the years they have become more and more daring....

Honestly, a large portion of what is published under the banner of "romance" these days is less about romance than it is about sex. The setting may be modern, medieval, western, a pirate ship, you name it. Whatever the subgenre, you will find yourself in the midst of almost continuous sex scenes and when the plot isn't focusing on a sex scene, it is relating the man's desire to start having sex with the heroine or her physical responses to the mere thought of the hero. In fact, women in romance novels have no control over their own bodies which have some truly amazing reactions to the mere sight of the heroes.

And the sex scenes can get pretty steamy. Expect just about every sexual position, including missionary. Oral sex. Sex in the library. Sex on the stairs. Sex in the stables. Sex in carriages. Bondage. Sex with objects. I have seen rape scenes as well, but the heroine almost always forgives the man or at least finds excuses for him. So far the only thing I think I haven't seen in regular romances you can find in any bookstore is sex with animals. Thankfully.

Oddly, while a woman's body parts may be discussed using their proper names, you rarely see the word "penis." No, more usually that particular body part is referred to with euphemisms: member, rod, loins, or staff, for example. And often a man's penis may be called "his manhood," "his masculinity," or "his throbbing sword." I have even read historical novels that use the word "cock."

Foreplay in romance novels in strangely regimented. I have noticed over the years that there are trends in foreplay that make a sweep of the genre until almost every novel, from every publisher, uses the same devices. For example, a few years back most romance novels featured heroes sucking on the woman's breasts--through her clothes. These days, though, there is an hysterically funny trend. It seems that the, ah, "masculinity" of romance heroes has grown to such proportions that the heroine must be prepared to receive his magnificence. This preparation involves the man inserting his fingers to stretch her enough to receive him.... A few novels have even gone so far as to get rid of the heroine's virginity this way. It's a wonder some of these romance heroes can even walk based on the stated proportions of their "masculinity" even in a flaccid state. Much less ride a horse.

A couple of years ago I wrote a micro short story inspired by romance novels:

The Wish by Susan Umpleby

Monica leaned forward to peer eagerly at the newest romance novels on the display rack. The vivid covers featuring muscular heroes embracing beautiful, scantily clad women made her heart race in anticipation. Placing one copy of each new title into a hand basket, Monica wondered what life would be like if she were a romance heroine. While paying for the books she thought it would be exciting if she could suddenly plunge into the pages of one of her favorite novels. As she left the bookstore, Monica whispered, "I wish I could be a romance heroine" and laughed at her own foolishness.

The man walking towards her on the sidewalk could have stepped off the cover of any romance novel. A tailored shirt emphasized his wide shoulders. Jeans molded themselves to his muscular thighs and hugged his lean waist. His ruggedly handsome face and deep blue eyes made her tingle with awareness as warmth seemed to flood her body. She felt suddenly breathless. How amazing to be reacting to a complete stranger like this.

"I wish you'd stop doing that," the man said peevishly as he stopped in front of her.

She gaped at him in amazement. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Narrowing his eyes, he said, "Your thighs. They were taunting me." His gaze wandered over her body. Monica flushed, growing annoyed. This couldn't be happening. As she stepped hurriedly back, though, she felt her thighs thrusting arrogantly against the narrow skirt she wore.

"I don't even know who you are," she squeaked as the stranger leaned closer. "Max Osborne," he murmured absently, looking with appreciation at her chest. "God, it's distracting when you do things like that."

Monica looked down, appalled to see that her breasts were swelling, jutting proudly toward him, and she prayed the buttons on her blouse would hold. What was happening to her? Feeling the heat radiating between them, she wondered if she was becoming ill. Max's eyes fixed intently on her lips as she bit them and Monica felt them grow fuller under his gaze. As he dipped his head she felt her lips open helplessly under his kiss. His hand cupped her breast, bringing Monica to her senses and she pulled away from him. How could she behave this way in the middle of the sidewalk with a man she'd just met? As she walked away from Max she felt her bottom surge roundly inside her skirt and knew his eyes were following her. Her mind racing with confusion, Monica suddenly remembered the wish she’d made as she left the bookstore. "Oh, Lord," she groaned. "I've become a romance heroine!"

She staggered as she walked, desperately trying to control legs that willfully thrust forward. Monica found it difficult to keep her balance. Her tumescent buttocks caused her back to arch uncomfortably, while her engorged breasts heavily pulled her shoulders forward. She felt like a travesty of a woman, and she marveled that she had ever thought that being a romance heroine could be fun. Thank God she had stopped him before he ruined her best silk blouse by sucking on it! Reaching the bookstore, she lunged through the door. Lurching up to the counter, Monica laid down her shopping bag and made her request. The clerk looked confused. Monica mumbled again, struggling to control passion-swollen lips: "I want to exchange these for some mysteries, please."