If anyone had thought I did what I did I would have denied it to my deathbed. Well, maybe not my deathbed. But I certainly did a number of things to ensure that not a soul knew about my addiction.
My obsession?
Romance novels. And not historical romance novels, either. The crazy, stupid, over the top, pathetic and horribly patronizing Harlequin (yes, I said Harlequin) paperback novels you can buy at the grocery store. Eventually I learned that I couldn't keep buying the books at $6 a pop and turned to the public library.
And even then I would only check them out at libraries that had self check out. The embarrassment and humiliation that was a potential to experience by having someone find me out was the only thing that stopped me from buying more.
As of right now I have four garbage bags full of books. A rough estimate I think puts it at about 50 books a bag. Seriously. That's almost 200 books. And that's not counting the library books I took out. I would never leave the library without taking at least four books with me.
I'm horrified be this collection. I'm even waiting until my family is out of the house to smuggle them to the Goodwill. Part of me thinks I shouldn't donate them, I should burn them.
They are bad books. Let's not even think about the writing. It's not good. I'm talking about the other stuff. Favourite titles? Anything that has "virgin" in the title will be an emotional roller coaster. Bah.
I'm sure that it's a formula. Introduce mousy, average girl (who never has a last name) doing some sort of menial labour to pay off debts (never her own, a sick mother or deadbeat brother or father). Enter a jaded billionaire who sees her and feels something strange. Obsessed with her, she Is offered a job she thinks "great, I can pay off my debts". They sleep together, she falls in love and then...the misunderstanding happens. He gets angry, turns her into his mistress. He feels hurt, betrayed, upset. And then acts like an asshole. Then there's the big flourish. She defends him, proclaims her love sand he overhears the selfless declaration. Or he learns that those debts were not her own, and that she in fact was a virgin. Cue sappy epilogue with children and happiness.
What can I say? I was hooked. I was guaranteed a happy ending, with some sauciness included. And then I found the "Blaze"series of Harlequin. Ummm. Much saucier.
But now that I've come out, having these books is troublesome. If I've been gay for quite some time, what was it with my crazy Hetero book collection? It's bizarre. I don't quite know what to do with this worry.
I'm not straight, and I am sure that the romance, being taken care of (barf, did I just think that) was the novelty. I don't know. I have to think this one through.
So moving forward I am opening myself up to better smut. Smut that doesn't require heroines to be virginal or drop dead gorgeous. Smut that allows women to explore love and loss in a way that doesn't not require that they give up their autonomy and power.
Not gonna lie, a part of me will miss those books. They was a certain comfort in reading the predictable storylines. I knew I was going to get a traditionally happy ending. But, this is a year of new beginnings. And quite frankly having this much heteronormativity so close to my bed is freaking me out.
Not to mention the free space. Those puppies were taking up two dresser drawers and my whole night stand.
Sigh. Don't judge me too harshly.
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