|Hot cocoa. Because I am not putting a picture of hot sex on my blog...|
This made me shake my head a little bit. You see, when you get to my advanced age, you realise that the ability to have hot sex is absolutely no indicator of a good relationship. Okay, these books are dealing with the beginnings of relationships, where two people are just getting together. It is reassuring to know that the hotness of the sex shows that they are compatible in bed. But, let's face it, we've all had someone we fancy something terrible, with whom the sex is great, but after a few months, when the hotness of the sex begins to wane, when being groped at every available second has lost its power to enthrall and charm and has become a complete nuisance. When you want to talk about that leak in the kitchen ceiling or whose turn it is to cook dinner without attempts to fondle your bosom it makes you want to shout THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE!
|Very nice dear, but who's doing the washing up?|
Many people don't want to read about real life, I suppose. They want their romantic fiction to be swoony, gorgeous men sweeping women off their feet and into bed. And this is fine and perfectly normal. But it's not the kind of fiction that I write. Because I don't find sex very romantic, to be honest. It's nice as part of a romance, but building a whole life on how hot the sex is between a couple just seems a bit...short sighted. Okay, so he can make you swoon in ecstatic ecstacy every night, well that's lovely dear. But does it mean he will stand beside you and hold your hand when you get bad news? Will he cuddle you on a cold night, and keep you company during your insomnia? Will he cook dinner and keep the house tidy and look after the animals when you are confined to bed with a vomiting bug that is not the least picturesque?
And often I read books where I think the answer to any of these questions is 'nah'. And that's not romance, that's hormones.