The Microsoft Man's Guide To Romance
(I dashed this off as a response to the MSN article linked below. Within a week, the size of my LiveJournal friends list doubled. Who knew I'd strike a nerve? My responses are in bold print, though you could probably tell -- my parts are the ones with swearing.)Mission: Use romance novels to woo her
All right, men, it's time for your homework assignment. If you want to learn how to sweep her off her feet, head to the bookstore. Don't stop at the newsstand or the self-help section. You're heading for the aisle that exists unknown to men, a dimension of sensual touch and whispered nothings, you're heading for -- the romance shelf.
I realize I just lost half of you, but for the courageous few among you willing to sacrifice your manly pride on the altar of your love's adoration -- bear with me.
This is worse than when the bitch tries to make you get rid of your motorcycle.
Even if your girlfriend majored in Russian literature, or has read Chuck Palahniuk's entire oeuvre, she's probably read a romance novel. There's a reason these seemingly simple novels sell millions of copies, and that reason will make you a man all her girlfriends will be desperate to steal.
Okay, wait. I have actually read a romance novel. If by "read" you mean "flipped through to find the dirty parts and then read them aloud to my drama-club friends while we huddled in the costume closet, convulsed with laughter at phrases like 'bulbous-headed rod' and 'secret velvety smoothness.'" Which I don't think you do. I know there are people who actually read all the way through a romance novel, but most of us just look for the naughty bits.
First, do some advanced research. Go to her abode and seek out the most bedraggled and dog-eared romance novel you can find.
Or, if your girlfriend is anything like me, you can sneak into her room and find her "erotica" stash. Which is something altogether different.
In all likelihood, this is the one she returns to time after time to relive her favorite passages. "Her favorite passages," you repeat eagerly. That's right -- that's what we're looking for. You can thumb through the book looking for marked pages, but there’s a way to find that most adored of pages... the one that really does it for her. Simply rest the book's spine on a flat surface and watch as it magically opens to the most frequently visited page. Ah, the unexpected treasures gleaned from literary archaeology.
Snooping = romance!
So, now that you've found the sacred passage, read it and prepare to be surprised. It may not be what you'd expect. Oftentimes, it won't even feature any action, per se -- it may just be a scene of the two lovers talking.
What? Look, romance novels are so badly written that no one's actually reading them for the dialogue. Romance novels are basically Masturbation-Aid Lite. Nobody masturbates to scenes of sweet, respectful sharing of emotions between equals. And if you do, thank you for reading this, Andrea Dworkin.
For the record, I did this letting-it-fall-open thing with a book of short stories I own, and it fell open to a scene where a young woman, having dressed as a leatherboy, gets fucked up the ass by a gay man in a leather nightclub while giving a blowjob through a glory hole. And there isn't a lot of talking, either, except such tender words as "Are you ready for me, little boy?" and "Holy God, my ass!"
Read what they're saying and you may discover a hidden insight into your lady's most romantic dreams. Continue for several pages to see how things develop and be sure to take note of everything the guy with the bronzed muscles and flowing locks of tousled hair does.
And women complain when men fantasize about idealized porno babes. But that's another essay.
When things simmer down, scan the pages for any other chapters that look well thumbed, and remember: Romance novels are secret instructions to women indicating what they should expect from a proper relationship!
WHAT? WHAT??!? Listen, cracker-ass, I don't know what kind of sadistic dating service you've been using, but if your girlfriend is receiving instructions from the Harlequin Mothership, you might as well cut off your balls right now, present them to her in a festive gift bag, and start stocking up on potpourri. Jesus.
Romance novels don't illustrate "proper relationships" any more than hardcore pornography illustrates "proper sex." For one thing, guys as ugly as the ones in pornography don't actually exist in real life. Aside from that, though, romance novels are actually female porn. And female porn involves a lot of nonconsensual sex.
Don't believe me? Pick up a romance novel sometime -- no, seriously. Flip through to the first sex scene. Nine times out of ten the hero, who is usually a pirate or a bandit or a rogueish, bad-boy nobleman who's used to getting exactly what he wants, will crush the heroine's writhing form in his sinewy arms and brand her lips with urgent kisses, and she'll be pounding on his chest with ineffectual girly fists all "Oh no, no, I'll never give in to you, you brute, you can't do this to me" but feeling strangely excited at the same time, and eventually he'll plunge his straining manhood into her yearning passion cave and she'll forget all about saving it until marriage.
What is this called, kids? Well, it might not be rape, exactly, but I don't really subscribe to the "if she says no, hold her down and fuck her until she says yes" school of "proper relationships." Mind you, in the fantasy world it can be incredibly hot -- I like a good ravishing scene as much as the next girl -- but you can't get away with that shit in real life unless you've negotiated beforehand, or you're James Bond (see: Goldfinger, Thunderball).
Romance novels allow women to experience that kind of fantasy in the safest manner possible, without even having to admit it to anyone other than themselves. It also allows for an intensely idealized portrayal of men as both sensitive and daring, attentive and aggressive, as false and unattainable as the 36-DDD plastic surgery specials in porn.
Men are not seriously looking for a bed full of blondes every night after work. Similarly, women are not seriously looking for the kind of weird, dependent, effusively poetic relationships you find in romance novels. Well, some of them probably are, but the only difference between them and their male counterparts is that, by virtue of possessing a vagina, they're marginally more likely to get laid.
Now that you know what she's interested in, it's time for a little more research. Go to the bookstore and ask the bookseller to show you which of the books written by your girl's favorite novelist sells the best. Buy a couple and skim through them for passages similar to what you found in your earlier research.
Then retreat to your hard drive full of real porn and wank yourself dry, frustrated by the lack of anything resembling content in the romance novels.
Even if you're not quite the image of the fellow on the cover, she'll appreciate your efforts and you’ll make her the envy of her friends when you lavish your romantic advances upon her. Now, armed with your secret knowledge of her printed fantasies, you can make her feel like one of the heaving-bosomed beauties on the cover as you take her in your rippling arms and... well, you get the idea.
Yeah, I "get" that you're full of shit, Mr. Advice Man Guy. Whatever. Go give your girlfriend a foot wax or something, pussy.