Women just as addicted to romance novels as men are to porn?

[_just me]

Women want to be swept up in passion. The men in romance novels and movies do not beg for sex. Asking for sex turns it into a chore. It does not get the juices flowing.

Women who read romance novels have more sex, on average, than women who don't. It doesn't seem that it is setting up unrealistic expectations or impacting relationships in a negative way if that is true.

I've never met a woman who was "addicted" to romance novels. But I am sure there are some out there who turn to erotica and masturbation rather than their partner. Same with men and porn. Turning to that rather than their partner is a symptom of something bigger, typically.

I think a much bigger danger is women seeking their need for excitement outside their relationship because it isn't being met inside it. There are plenty of women who are sexting and carrying on with other men through email and phone calls.
It's really not that hard to sext your wife or ravish her or try a different restaurant. ;)

[_cinepro]

Boy, I hope these don't count...

[_The Nehor]

An editorial showing the exploitative and seamy side of romance novels:

Last week at the supermarket, while shopping for my weekly supply of three dozen eggs and 12 pounds of mutton, I spotted a rack near the checkout lane containing several romance paperbacks. Normally, such trash wouldn't get a second glance from my coal-black eyes, but the sight of one book practically made my chiseled jaw drop. There, on the cover of Dark Passions was yours truly, Duncan Larksthrush, in the flesh.

At first I thought it must have been a coincidence. There must be thousands of men with huge, glistening pectorals and shoulder-length golden hair whose steadfast gaze betrays immeasurable fathoms of passion.

But there can be no doubt it was me. The cover artist must have followed me during a recent visit to my ancestral estate on the tempest-swept promontories of Northern Scotland. Judging from the picture, the sketch was based on the occasion in which I chanced upon Arden, the crofter's nubile young daughter, kneeling upon a rocky outcropping and picking some wildflowers from the weathered stone. Even though I had only just finished tilling seven acres of firm earth, I knew at once my broad, thewy arms could take her. "You rogue! I shall not allow this offense against my honor!" she cried out, her titian hair uncoiling in the Caledonian wind. As I dipped her low, her pounding heart betrayed her pleas for her chastity, and my turgid manhood would be denied no longer.

That bastard must have been hiding with a sketchbook in the bushes.

You can understand my smoldering rage. I certainly don't recall agreeing to have my well-hewn physique splashed across every newsstand and bookrack in town. Admittedly, my schedule has been full lately—I purchased a new leather arm cuff, reclined on an empty beach in my tattered sheepskin boots and full riding gear, waxed and re-oiled my chest—however, posing for the cover painting of Dark Passions definitely was not on my list. But apparently, a rugged, flat-stomached man's privacy means little to author Stephanie Blackmoore when it comes to the pursuit of profit.

I just hope no one I know sees it. The other blacksmiths would never let me live this down.

Nor can I imagine what would possess someone to depict such a scene. I was certainly far from respectably kempt: Having just finished reaping oats with my scythe, my white, blousy tunic was dirty and tattered. It was practically torn from my shoulders, and the striated muscles of my bronzed torso were exposed for anyone to see. And my errant tresses had slipped out of their leathern knot and clove to my cheek with the dewy sweat of a full day's labor. Blazes! Had I known I would be fronting a bestseller, I would have taken a shower and put on my nice red shirt, and maybe a tie.

I never asked for this. The life I chose to lead is one of solitude, whether I'm building log cabins in the foggy Ozarks, or tending to my vineyards in the Tuscan countryside. But those blissful days of rugged independence seem to be over. Will I ever again be able to collapse wounded into the arms of a busty field nurse during my town's annual Civil War reenactment without becoming the poster boy for the next vulgar potboiler?

Can't a brawny, brooding man ride his stallion slowly through the fresh-smelling air of a misty forest at dawn and think ruefully back to his tender childhood that seems to him now to exist in another world entirely—without having to constantly look over his perfectly sculpted shoulders?

No, this is no way for a free and unfettered man with a small fortune inherited from a distant noble relative to live. Therefore, I have decided to weigh anchor and set sail with my crew of strapping young seamen aboard my sloop, The Moonlight Arrow, toward destinations exotic and unknown. Once at sea, as the suzerain's daughter I have shanghaied from our last port-of-call clings hungrily to my abdomen, her honeyed breath playing about my breast, I will gaze stoically at the horizon from the prow of my ship, where none of those frauds at Harlequin/Silhouette would ever care to find me.

http://www.theonion.com/articles/how-di ... ove,11277/

[_Fiannan]

This is what women seem to like:



Just yesterday a female friend of mine who is a fan of True Blood said she liked it because it was "Like Twilight, just with boobs." Anotehr female friend said she liked it because it is "vampire porn."

As for the idea that women like to read about sex, while men like to see it, I think this is an antiquaited way of viewing human sexuality between the genders. Studies show that women watching porn have an increase in testosterone levels (associated with both health and interest in sex) and they get just as physically turned on as men. As for males and reading, who do you suppose reads Penthouse forums anyway?

[_Fiannan]

By the way, I was unsure if I should post the full cover page from Rolling Stone.

[_zeezrom]

This is what I looked like after painting my deck but my wife did not find me very attractive at the moment.

[_just me]

Are there men who are bothered by their partner reading romance novels or watching romance movies?

Just curious. My TBM husband wouldn't care. He would actually encourage it.

[_asbestosman]

Are there men who are bothered by their partner reading romance novels or watching romance movies?.

my wife doesn't read romance novels. When she watches chick flicks like Pride and Prejudice or whatever, I really don't care--just don't make me watch. I'm more bothered that she likes Farmville as much as she does. If she wants to play computer games, why not one with me and one that actually has a point? She's pretty good competition in Tetris and various puzzle games.

I don't see romance novels as a threat or competition. It's not getting her to look at other men wondering if they'd be more satisfying.

[_Fiannan]

This is what I looked like after painting my deck but my wife did not find me very attractive at the moment.

Well duh, if that is you with the brown hair and holding the blond's left breast then no wonder she freaked out. You could have at least offered her the services of the tall Swede guy next to her.

[_zeezrom]

Are there men who are bothered by their partner reading romance novels or watching romance movies?

If the novel reading took all her free time? Yeah, that would bother me. An hour a day would be cool. Maybe if she replaced her old Book of Mormon reading time with romance novels... that would be cool.

But I encourage her to participate in any and all fantasizing she can possibly muster while navigating life with young children! It isn't as easy as the old days when we were asked constantly to not fantasize!