Romance novels treat women’s pleasure as if it’s not only necessary but sexy.
The men in those stories never get disgusted looking at a woman’s body, even one with curves or body hair or cellulite. They never argue about putting on a condom. They take as much pleasure in a woman’s experience of pleasure as they do their own—and they actively work for it.
Romance novels slow down the moments of life to describe in detail what it means when your partner looks at you coyly, what it feels like when their fingertips brush bare skin. They bring awareness to the things that happen so quickly in real life that it’s easy to get swept away and not notice their significance. They spread out the time it takes to fully experience being with another person intimately or not. And they always end happily (so I know what I’m in for when I want the harshness of the world to fall away).
Sure, they’re unrealistic. And most of them play at hiding secrets to create drama when I very much prefer honesty and truth-telling.
But, there’s something about getting to know the characters and watching them fight for and win their desires. There’s something about slowing down time to notice what’s happening as it unfolds (rather than looking back on it when it’s no longer yours). And there’s something about getting lost for a little while in the story.