|The Power of Love|
Writing my latest novel has led me to research the world of sex toys.(Of course, I had no existing knowledge). There is a reference to the term dildo in Shakepeare's Winters Tale, where the general tone is the jumping and thumping of maids. Now that sounds more like Fifty Shades. Several references to the dildesque can be found in serious literature by the likes of Saul Bellow. William S Burroughs's novel "The Naked Truth" features a dildo named Steely Dan III. In my life I have met several complete dildos with very ordinary names.
But, here is my point. Seemingly most females have at least one sex toy. Judging from reviews on sales sites such as Ann Summers, much satisfaction is gained thereby. This being the case, should a modern cutting edge writer of Romantica expect to enter such elements into her own text? Recently I saw an advertisement for a vibrating mobile phone that the lady wears within her under garment. This enables her lover to call her to express his love. This would revolutionise the commuter train experience. Just think - no more calls about "Did you remember to get the cat castrated and buy some dishwasher salt?" Instead there would be nothing but orgasmic gaspings. Trouble is, the show-offs would be faking remote controlled cyber-joy like all of those righteous anorexic joggers proclaiming their discipline and sacrifice . Oooh - I'm a scratchy bitch.
So huge is the toy industry that it would be pointless for me to add anything technical. I was only eight when Barbarella came out but it played on T.V. late slots for many many years. I have always thought that perhaps it encouraged women to break out a little. If you are too young to have caught it, take a peep at the machine of excess pleasure. Since then huge amounts of silicone have travelled many valleys. These days the soft hard and limp ware is there, whatever your needs.
The issue is their context in modern love. At what point can the meadow of unexplored love be nibbled by the rampant rabbits? (If you are in a private location and unaware of powered rubber rodents click here). If I am being deadly serious, many real life heroines have only come to know themselves by taking a walk on the wilder side of a toy story. Let us imagine such a person.
It was their first night in Venice. The Spring sun had teased the ripples of the lagoon before departing with a raised eyebrow of promise and return. The night drifted in, slowly weaving its slim cold fingers around the halos of lamps and the calls of boatman on the Grand Canal. This moment of life lived itself and was beyond her own desires. Only now she took his hand as the darkness seeped into them. Dare she reach out and offer her warmth as contrast to the chill? All day, the city had seemed to blind him. Now it slipped away from sight and she was aware of his restless young body and of her own. A night would be and could not be held back. She was tired but thrilled to the animal possibilities of decadence that she had not the power to resist. She let her hand soften a little to hint at her mood. She breathed more slowly and let her eyes find nothing but his. Although his gaze was on the horizon she knew he sensed her focus and that she was a woman. It had been a risk to bring him here. The dusk had blurred their differences and she was beginning to enter a remembered flow. Her lips needed his and yet she bowed her head and merely let her forehead rest on his hard upper arm. The last false light silhouetted La Chiesa Santa Maria de la Salute as he turned and with his palm raised her chin. His gaze caressed her and drew her out from her body so that their kiss was disconnected from time. She drowned in his strength and had no sense of will.
'This place isn't Venice, it will ever be you,' he said.
'I was wanting it to be us.'
'I've wanted that since you stepped out of that Bentley.'
'Then we've some kisses to catch up,' she said.
He let out a groan and cuddled her to him with a boyish bear hug clumsiness. He was to be her lover. She reached up to push his hair back and hold his face. She offered her lips and he took them instinctively as a man taking a girl. For now she could define their roles and he would respond. She knew in his kiss that soon enough he would tell her of his love. And she knew she would love him more but never let him leave with such a trophy.
Now, I had intended to spoof this with some kind of flat battery, vibrator cheap shot but I just bloody well couldn't because I was enjoying it. The fact is that sex toys are sex. Romance is Romance. The above scene is a glimpse of my next book. I suspect that this lady may well have found herself more fully as a result of experiment and a falling away of shyness. Late in her life she has learned of pleasure. It will be her gift.
Emma thinx: Keep the private lessons secret. Share the knowledge.