by Katie Harper
I recently finished reading the latest release from a bestselling author. If you’re a fan of this author or read the book you’ll recognize this scene. The hero and heroine are running for their lives from the worst plague of locusts this side of a Charlton Heston movie. They see an automatic car wash and pull their car in. They chat for a bit. He passes her a note that says, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” She checks yes. They have sex. OK, the note part is me editorializing, but you get the gist. They have amazing mind blowing sex, in this.
Yup, she manages to shimmy out of her skin tight jeans and climb on top of him in the driver’s seat of that car. All while being attacked by a supernatural infestation of bugs. Maybe you’ve never tried it, but this is a very difficult maneuver. You have a gear shift, a steering wheel, and his protruding…leg to deal with. This is not something that should be attempted at home. It will only end in tears.
Encounters like this are common in the romance novel. A couple will get it on anywhere and everywhere. On the beach, in a dressing room, up a tree, in the back of a police car, in the middle of a nuclear holocaust. If there’s a page to spare it will be filled with the impossible. Have you ever actually tried to have sex on a beach? Let me tell you, that movie From Here to Eternity lied!! It is not all passion and crashing waves. It’s sand in places you don’t want to think about. It’s a body covered in hydrocortisone cream because the sand over-exfoliated your entire body. It’s coughing and sputtering because you were nearly drowned by a rogue wave. It is not Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr. It’s two drowned rats hoping that no one has a video phone and access to YouTube.
I ask the question I’ve asked before on this blog, why do we read this stuff if it is so far from anything remotely resembling reality? The answer is the same, because we don’t want reality. We live with reality every single day of our lives. We live our vanilla lives going to work, taking care of kids, and arguing with our spouse over who left the cap to the toothpaste off. We’re sick of half-melted vanilla. We want double chocolate chunk with whipped cream, nuts, and a banana. Especially if that sundae is served up by a tanned hard body with eighteen inch arms and tight pants. Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to hit the book store and the Ben and Jerry’s case at Wal-Mart.