I'll Have What She's Having

Know the line? If you're a chick reading this, probably you do. It's from WHEN HARRY MET SALLY and Sally has just had her incredibly fake orgasm in the restaurant, convincing Harry that he no idea when a woman is faking it or not. I do believe that she succeeded, while at the same time, leaving all the other men in the room with raging hard-ons and the woman pining away for Harry, who obviously did SOMETHING to make Sally so vocally enthusiastic (ha! he wishes!)

And let's face it. If you're a chicka reading this, you probably faked it before, too. Haven't we all? I must admit, I've rarely faked it due to feeding a guy's ego. I couldn't care less about ego. But I HAVE faked it due to time restraints or lack of interest. So many guys want to hold off until they KNOW you have reached that ever glorious peak, and after a bit, all I can think of is, "If one more drop of sweat lands on me, I'm going to gouge out his eyeballs and make him use them as lube." After breeding as many times as I have, I have control over these little PC muscles, and the fakes have never been questioned. I know you girls are reading this and nodding, totally getting what I'm saying.

The men reading this are like, "No way! I'd know if she was faking it!"

So please allow us girls a moment to crack up, point at you and laugh hysterically.

Okay, that's better. Why in the world am I writing about orgasms? I mean, they're so much better to HAVE than to write about, but alas, it's on my mind. Why? Because I'm reading Harlequin's BLAZE line. I have finished four now. I did not like two of them, one to the point where I returned it to the store for a refund. Of the two out of four I disliked, they had a common occurance within the pages. Masturbation.

If you know me at all (mirc people, I'm looking at you!) you know my feelings on masturbation. It's just not for me. Never has been. It's like giving yourself a backrub. If you have to do all the work, what's the POINT? I mean, this is why men were created, right? That's THEIR job, not mine. And if for some ungodly and wicked reason there isn't a man, we have the bathtub. And I think that's seriously why I didn't like those two Blaze books. I couldn't relate to the heroine, because she was thinking things and doing things I'd never think and I wouldn't do.

So now I'm thinking of Blaze. The stories are SHORT. There's no love. I mean, it's implied (and in the one I finished last night, it was exchanged on the last page) but it's all raw lust and passion. (See the theme of the last couple of days tying in here?) According to my informal word count on these novels, I'd say they're around 50k words. According to the category, they state 70k, but if you do 250 words times the number of pages, I got 50-55K on these. (I tested it on two of the four. I'll do the others to see if they're the same.) I do believe my count is accurate, as well, because I can read one a day. Short and easy read, with raunchy sex and almost all of them mention some type of sex toy and even the occasional bondage elements. Is it romance? No. It's erotica. If she's describing the cream of the tip of his cock (her words, not mine), that ain't romantic. I don't care who ya are. That's erotica. Thankfully, she didn't go and describe the taste, because then I'd be analyzing the crap out of it with, "I wonder if he had anything alcoholic to drink?" or "Hope he ate a lot of fruit the day before!" and stuff like that. (Yes, guys, it DOES make a difference. YOU gargle and get back to me if you disagree.)

Of course, if the authors had chosen to share the details of taste with us, I doubt any would actually have the guts to say "Salty, warm, gel-like bleach", and let's face it, that about sums it up, regardless of what he chowed down on the night before.

Unless, of course, he was chowing down on you.

Then it doesn't count.

Why? Because we're the chicks who can fake it and make them go stupid in their he-man-I-made-her-word-rock mentality, when we all know our eyes were closed and IF we made the Big O, it was because of the one we had with us in our mind, not the one that was dropping bits of sweat on us in his rutting around like a pig.

Fantasies, orgasms, and ruttin' around. Yup, sounds like a Blaze waitin' to happen.