Fava Beans and Light Bondage: My Safe Word is Elephant

Some time ago, my cousin’s wife sent me a copy of an ad she saw on craigslist – a couple were looking to unload their hand-crafted BDSM playroom. This confused me. Why would she be sending me this? And that’s what I asked her.

“I know you read the Fifty Shades books,” was her answer, to which I replied, “I also read the Hannibal Lecter books. Want to come over for dinner Saturday?”

She laughed.  I laughed. And the awkward moment was over. But this interaction has lingered on the edges of my subconscious since. It begs the question:

Why is there such a stigma on romantic fiction?

No one assumes I’m a cannibal because I read Thomas Harris’ books, or that I practice witchcraft since I’ve read the Harry Potters. I don’t abuse my children (I have every book by V.C. Andrews); or intend to kill all my neighbors in a televised fight to the death (Hunger Games).

I have an eclectic taste in books, as evidenced by my extensive collection (Stephen King novels? Got ‘em all), but because I read [and write] primarily romance – clearly, I’m a fetishist?

And she’s not alone in her assumption. Society on a whole denigrates the readers and writers of romantic fiction. Novelist William Giraldi makes us all out to be idiots. Thankfully, the Washington Post doesn’t agree with his opinion...

                                                                                                                                                 TO READ THE FULL ARTICAL, FOLLOW THE LINK TO PURCHASE THE NEW ISSUE: https://issuu.com/indtalemagazine/docs/2023-nov-ind?fr=xKAE9_zU1NQ