Pulp romance

I have often wondered:
Men have porn, Hooters and strip clubs, but seemingly women have no equivalent. This is clearly not true, but I only know of one strip join that features male dancers, that not enough the service all of the DFW. I was at the bookstore tonight when I figured it out, and I must admire how crafty women are. I was standing by the romance section of my local B&N when I said “those books are stupid women are just fooling themselves”. That’s when it hit me, those books are the female equivalents of porn and strip clubs, and better still men are as a group unaware of that fact. Men are visual, our fantasies must have a visual component to work, and they work best when nothing is left to the imagination. But woman aren’t visual, and based on what little I know about woman they quite prefer certain things be left to the imagination since they can much more aptly fill in the lurid details. In fact women might not even totally need the lurid, just the suggestively erotic, ie Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, or the seductive Vampire in Anne Rice books. Women want the fantasy to build; skipping to the “good part” doesn’t seem to be their thing. This is totally brilliant! Women can buy and openly read novels that using the male/female erotic currency exchange are the equivalent of Hustler or worse, and men don’t blink an eye. Men just shake their heads and think “how can they read that trash?” Ladies here’s to you, for putting this over on us for so long. It brings a wicked smile to my face to think of all men who think their wives are so good and pure, but in reality she’s going through two or three of these books a week. What makes me grin from ear to ear is that church books sales sell these novels by the sack. If men where smart enough to figure out that women aren’t men with breasts, and that what we think is erotic isn’t the only definition… Well nevermind we aren’t.


Here is the setup:
Imagine me returning home a hero of Her Majesties Armies, my uniform stained, my shirt in tatters, a bandage around my head. You are the servant girl who is charged with the care of my estate library, while I was off to fight the heathens to save the colonies and the Empire from falling into ruin.

Let’s begin:
Relief spreads through your body as the sound of hoof beats on the road tell you your prayers have been answered, I have returned. Running to the window you see me gallop up the road on a fiery black steed to show all those in the village their master has returned and the war is over. But from our secret exchange of letters you know the injuries I have suffered including a poison dart in the shoulder have left me weak, and that only through you loving nursing shall I recover. You run from the house in you night clothes to meet me, a flicker of a smile on my face at seeing you reminds you that I am still the man you wept for when duty called. But I have returned. Easing myself from the saddle in my weakened condition I am unable to stand, falling against you our bodies press into each other, my smell fills you mind, making you weak. The warmth of my body, the beating of my heart against you, dulls your reality, you long for the embrace to never end. Alas, as the stable boy lifts me off you, and the maid starts screaming for a doctor, the spell is broken and reality returns with a crash.

Now fill in the rest however you want. Hope I capture the spirit of both trashy and smutty. ;)