by Maya Rodale
“Perhaps tomorrow. I don’t think I can make it further than the bed.”
—One Night in London by Caroline Linden
Virginity is no longer a Big Deal in most romances—only 1 percent of readers said heroines should be virgins. These days, when heroines are willing or even eager to be divested of their virginity, do we still have “an awakening” of the heroine? We do, and we see an awakening of the hero now, too.
The orgasm may be the new awakening, as even sexually experienced characters may not have had an orgasm with previous partners.
It is a very rare romance novel sex scene that doesn’t have one, both, or all members of the scene climaxing at least once after demonstrating what and how and when it’s achieved. The sex scene now is about the anticipation and discovery of pleasure and reveling in it every step of the way. Even when characters don’t have spectacular sex together the first time, there is a still an intimate—and in its own way—pleasurable process of mutual discovery. Even when a character is “forced” to orgasm in romances portraying dominant and submissive role-playing, the character consents to it and anticipates it.
When the level of experience between the hero and heroine is uneven, authors still find ways to portray the awakening for both characters. The less experienced character may lie there, gasping for breath and whisper, “I had no idea.” Eyes have been opened not just to a new, fun way to pass the time but to the pleasure one can get from an erotic, emotional sexual encounter.
The more experienced character will lie there, gasping for breath and whisper, “It’s never been like this before.” Elle Keck, an editorial assistant at Avon, with the long blonde hair of a classic romance heroine, says it’s a way of demonstrating “this is why this is special.” The connection is deeper, the experience more profound because of the person it’s done with.
And when it’s the hero who says to the woman, in Keck’s words, “out of all the women...you’re the best,” it’s not just a compliment. What a profound shift that presents: A woman’s value is not lost with participation in a sexual act. In fact, she is now more special and more valuable.
Ruined or revered?
Charlotte was a week shy of seventeen when her life changed, falling into two halves like a shiny child’s ball: before and after.
—Potent Pleasures by Eloisa James
In Potent Pleasures by Eloisa James the dividing line between before and after is sex and there are major implications for crossing that line—as well as in real life. Our culture’s sexual paradigms are built on an either/or dichotomy. A woman is either a virgin or a whore, a prude or a slut. We are valued for our sexual “purity” until we lose it; then a woman is valuable only for sex, and then only as a commodity, not as a person.
In her book The Purity Myth: How America’s Obsession with Virginity Is Hurting Young Women, Jessica Valenti writes, “The lie of virginity—if such a thing even exists—is ensuring that young women’s perception of themselves is inextricable from their bodies, and that their ability to be moral actors is absolutely dependent on their sexuality.”
We see this in portrayals of female sexuality in literary fiction, when the sexually “transgressive” heroine dies in the type of horrible death reserved for villains. Madame Bovary’s self-inflicted death by arsenic poisoning caused an uproar when it was published because it wasn’t gruesome enough.
The fates of so many heroines of literary fiction send the message that sex = death: Juliet, Anna Karenina, Clarissa Harlowe, Catherine Earnshaw, and Edna Pontellier. Hester Prynne lived, but only as a cautionary tale and an example of seventeenth century slut shaming. Readers like to see emotional justice, in which the good are rewarded with a lifetime of happiness and the baddies are punished, usually with death. The message is obvious. Stories that dared to present an optimistic view of female sexuality, like Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure or Lady Chatterley’s Lover, were banned for obscenity, making these books—and their heroines—worthless.
But a romance heroine does not lose heroine status once she has sex. In fact, she is rewarded with a happy ending that consists of personal acceptance, love, and respect. The only thing that changes as a result of her sexual activity is that she now has more orgasms, a fuller knowledge of herself, and a deeper connection with the person she loves.
This is one reason romance novels are so revolutionary: They break the association between a woman’s value and her level of sexual experience. They take back control and put it in her hands. And these books provide a satisfying alternative to the idea that a woman is either a virgin or a whore. She can just be her own woman.
LADY PORN
Try this experiment at home: Leave a romance novel out in a public-ish place. Wait for someone to pick it up and flip through looking for the sex scenes to dramatically read aloud. I bet you won’t be waiting long.
Romance novels are known for the smutty parts, the naughty bits, the cheap and easy thrills they provide. Never mind that romance novels come in a variety of “heat” levels, ranging from mild, hot, and scorcher, or from chaste inspirationals to stuff that makes 50 Shades of Grey seem like child’s play. Despite this range, the genre is still often reduced to just “porn for women.”
This suggestion can give some people the vapors (pornography!), others get their unmentionables in a twist (it is so much more than that!), and others smile knowingly and say “oh hell, yes.” Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blogger Sarah Wendell points out, “Romance is not porn for women. Porn is porn for women. There is nothing wrong with either one.”[107]
But let’s leave aside debates of “what is porn?” or “are romance novels porn?” or “what is male porn and what is female porn?” and focus on the fact that women are interested in reading about sex as it is portrayed in romance novels. In a big, billion-dollar way. While there is a growing trend of video pornography by women, for women, it still doesn’t have the reach that romance novels do. Only one is in Walmart (but shhh—don’t tell them!).
Whether we define these books as lady porn or not, the sex scenes have a big impact on how the genre is perceived. Sixty-three percent of survey respondents think the sexy bits contribute to the bad reputation of romance. “I think if there was no sexual content then they wouldn’t be vilified to the extent that they are,” says Jane Litte of the blog Dear Author. Two subjects simply fraught with angst and tension are porn and women’s sexuality. Romances don’t exactly shy away from either.
While some regular romance readers skip past these parts (too repetitive) and others prefer straight up erotica, most romance readers enjoy reading stories where the sexual component is a large part of the story and the development of the characters. It serves women’s sexual needs from education and experimentation to escape and just plain pleasure.
The female sexuality portrayed in romance novels is also insanely different from almost every other portrayal out there. For one thing, “the female-to-male ratio of orgasms is always more skewed to women,” points out Avon editorial assistant Elle Keck. This is the space where women, unmediated or censored, can explore all different aspects of their own sexuality, in their own voice and on their own terms.
Keyword: explore. Not: perform. So much of female sexuality is a glittery show to turn men on and sell products. “There is...ample evidence that the more mainstream media girls consume, the more importance they place on being sexy,”[108] Peggy Orenstein writes in her book Cinderella Ate My Daughter. This doesn’t make them feel good; in fact, they report more depression and less ambition.
This pressure to perform sexiness has even more consequences. Orenstein cites the work of Stephen Hinshaw, chair of the Department of Psychology of UCLA, in explaining how damaging performing sex for other people can be: “Girls pushed to be sexy too soon can’t really understand what they’re doing...they do not—and may never—learn to connect their performance to erotic feelings or intimacy. They learn how to act desirable but not how to desire.”
Romance novels
flip the script by focusing extensively on how it feels for the woman. In fact, the focus is on the pleasure a female feels, not just from her partner’s touch but also from the entire experience with a lover. They tend to focus on the hero’s pride in pleasing the heroine: “The books often point out that he loved seeing the pleasure on her face,” says Keck. His triumph is not from getting laid, but getting her off. Really good sex scenes in romances focus on emotions the characters are experiencing just as much, if not more, than the physical descriptions of the act.
The Sex Talk
Around the ages of 11 to 13, puberty is starting to hit, bodies are starting to change, and adolescents start to become aware of sex. Naturally, they have questions, but getting answers isn’t easy.
The Daily Show hilariously exposes this in a segment called “Sin City’s Missing Sex Education,”[109] which featured interviews with students in Las Vegas who were pressing for sex ed in their schools so they can make “healthy, educated decisions about their own bodies” and with Susan Patton, “The Princeton Mom,” who thinks sex education should be taught by parents to their children. “They may not be experts but they can speak from their own experience,” she says.
But when kids’ questions about the transmission of STIs were posed to her, Patton admitted she didn’t know the answer. Her response: Google it.
Coincidentally or not, 11 to 13 is also the age when a majority of romance readers (41 percent) discover the genre. Some readers don’t quite pick up on the sexy stuff happening early on; it is only later that it dawns on them what was happening (all those euphemisms!). But for many teens—and grown women—romance novels provide a safe, nonjudgmental way to learn about sex.
Because romance novels have thus far frequently featured virgin heroines, the reader can learn along with her, like a trusted best friend or older sister who has an experience first and reports back. “She represents me when I was young and discovering all these things,” says Maddie Caldwell, the leader of a Brooklyn-based romance book club. “She was learning about sex. I learned with her. She was my avatar.”
This is not to say that romance novels take a moment to share information on how to prevent the spread of HPV or pregnancy, though in contemporary romance novels, it is highly unusual to see unprotected sex; there is at least a passing reference to ripping foil or a momentary pause while he puts a condom on. Romance novels are also guilty of perpetuating false information about the location of the hymen or how easy it is to achieve simultaneous orgasm with your partner through penetrative sex (though I would argue that we’re getting better at providing more accurate and still sexy scenes).
What romance novels can teach readers about is the mechanics of sex and how to make sex pleasurable. They also teach about arousal.
“The female reading it is learning what turns her on. And that’s empowering,” says Sarah Wendell. “So even if you have a narrative that is very stereotypical, you still have the reader experiencing arousal and figuring out ‘okay, I like these scenes but I don’t like those scenes and now I understand my own sexuality based on what I’m reading.’”
When so much sex education directed to women (and men!) is “overwhelmingly negative and both condemnatory and keeping them in ignorance,” as Wendell says, romance novels are a way to explore different scenarios in a safe, nonjudgmental manner. The only risk is perhaps the 99 cents you paid for the e-book.
And then there is the sheer quantity of romance novels and diversity of sexuality presented. There is something for everyone, from “vanilla sex” to BDSM and beyond. “One of the things that I think was good about 50 Shades is that it made the idea of sexual role play something that everyone understood was a thing that was happening,” Wendell says. “This is a thing that people do and it’s okay to be turned on.” And that is just one book. There is undoubtedly a romance novel for every desire.
Great sexplorations
The comedian Louis CK tells a joke about the different acts of courage in dating. When men go on a date, their big courageous act is asking out a woman. For the woman, it’s saying yes. “A woman saying yes to a date with a man is literally insane and ill advised...when you consider that there is no greater threat to women than men.”
It’s funny because it’s true. It is not safe out there for a woman because Men. We tell women to carry mace and rape whistles and to curtail their movements so as to avoid dangerous situations. If women do go on a date, many text a friend when they’re home safe. We have a buddy system for dating! It’s tricky out there for gays and lesbians as well; it was (and in some parts of the world still is) a crime punishable by death to explore those sexual desires. And that is to say nothing of the risk of STDS for all parties involved, and unintended pregnancies. Or soul-crushing rejection, mortification, and failure.
Sex is risky. That’s part of what makes it so thrilling.
But in romance novels, readers can explore a variety of sexual desires and practices in the safety and privacy of their own home, with no consequences and very little risk. “The reader can live vicariously through the heroine and fall in love with the hero, but without any of the consequences,” says Maryanne Fisher, PhD, in an article for Psychology Today.[110] “She’s not cheating on her husband (most readers are married) because it’s just a novel. She isn’t at risk of becoming pregnant, but she can imagine the seduction by the hero. She gets the thrill, the rush of falling in love—all for a few dollars.”
Studies have shown that when we read, the experience in our brain is more involved than originally thought, as The New York Times reports:
Researchers have long known that the “classical” language regions, like Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area, are involved in how the brain interprets written words. What scientists have come to realize in the last few years is that narratives activate many other parts of our brains as well, suggesting why the experience of reading can feel so alive. Words like “lavender,” “cinnamon” and “soap,” for example, elicit a response not only from the language-processing areas of our brains, but also those devoted to dealing with smells.
While the article and the study did not mention reading erotica, it might not be a leap to conclude that all those sensory words and descriptions of action and feeling are lighting up the brain all over. In short, “The brain, it seems, does not make much of a distinction between reading about an experience and encountering it in real life; in each case, the same neurological regions are stimulated.”
So what, then, does that say about women reading romances with scenes of forced seduction? Or what about the rise of the BDSM romance, with its often male-dominant and female-submissive scenarios? Do women really want to be raped and dominated?
Not necessarily, but that’s not to discount readers who do have rape fantasies. “The thing about a rape fantasy is that you are consenting from the beginning,” says Wendell. “The fear and other aspects of that situation are erotic to you. There is an undercurrent of empowerment in deciding to participate willingly in that scenario. If that’s what floats your boat, that’s fine.”
Recently, the big trend has been the BDSM fantasy, as exemplified by 50 Shades of Grey, and the explosion of similarly themed erotica in its wake (however respectfully or accurately it may or may not be depicted). “I do think BDSM romance is the new rape book,” says Maddie Caldwell. “And not in a bad way.”
There’s more at work here than a yearning for spanking and new accessories to shop for. Jane Litte, of Dear Author, explains the deeper appeal:
One of the reasons I think BDSM is such a popular subtrope of romance is because those books really talk about the power exchange, which I think is an inherently interesting issue for women because it’s something we deal with every day. They really explore the emotional idea of trust and partnership. The idea of permission. The idea you can trust the partner with anything.
Can a real-life woman trust this man enough to say yes to a date with him, at night, with wine? Can a woman have enough trust to
bare her body (which probably doesn’t look like the ones on TV), risking her physical safety or emotional security? Or, hell, can a woman trust a boss not to judge her differently because she’s a woman, or can she count on her partner to take the trash out? We all know the everyday version of trust; in romance, we can explore it, experiment, learn what it feels like by reading about it, often in far more sexy context.
As with the hero who knows just what the heroine wants, even if she doesn’t know it herself, the BDSM hero’s goal “is to bring you pleasure even if you’re afraid to go there, or you don’t know what’s on the other side,” as Litte says.
It should be noted that not all BDSM doms in romance novels are men or billionaires or heterosexual. The heroine isn’t always the submissive either. The novel Bound to Be a Groom by Megan Mulry depicts a heroine who loves being in charge with a hero who likes taking orders. The novel The Siren by Tiffany Reisz depicts a heroine who is an erotica author, one of the only female doms at an S&M club, and who teaches her editor that he likes to submit.
Lust and...
For all the talk of porn, pleasure, heaving bosoms, and turgid members, for many romance readers, the appeal of sex scenes is not just about the blow by blow description of the sex act(s). Only 28 percent found the graphic descriptions to be what makes love scenes sexy. Seventy-one percent find the emotions of the characters the sexiest part of a sex scene and 83 percent get most turned on by the tension between the characters.
And, I would add now, the tension within the characters as they struggle with desire, deny it, and finally surrender to it.
Brenda Chin, the editorial director at ImaJinn books and former Harlequin editor, eloquently explains how the sexual tension of the characters impacts the reader:
You have to have a great buildup of sexual tension between the characters. Sexual tension comes from characterization. It must be spot on and we have to identify immediately with the heroine. The reader needs to fall for the hero. We need to know that he’s a good guy. And then we can sit back and watch. If the author puts a lot of sexual tension all the way through, by the time they get together, they’re ready to burst and so are we.
