My First Literary Harlequin Hardon
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Practically from the day I was born, I was thrust into a world of paperbacks being passed back and forth between the female members of my family. Each woman would put her initial on the first page of the book, signifying that she had worn it’s spine out for several days before passing it onto the next waiting feline.
Harlequin romance novels. With the front cover torn off. You see, my Aunt worked at a printing company and they would tear off the cover of the books that were used as review copies. They would end up in some employees handbag, and eventually the hands of young readers yearning to explore the world with their eyes and minds if they weren’t allowed to venture out into the real world. And so my love affair began with dashing men, throbbing manhoods, and buxom young ladies all wanting to be swept off their feet.
Each book held a promise of love as ageless as time itself. A strong woman that didn’t know all she needed to complete her life was, a man that smelled of the fields, and knew exactly when to press his body up against hers, was always waiting to take me to a fantasy world. I was smitten. I would curl up on my bed, feeling my blood pressure rise with every turn of the page, until, they finally locked lips and began the dance.
While I’ve moved onto mainstream novels, Harlequin novels will always hold a dear place in my heart, and my bed.
