Help us welcome S.J. Drum today.
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Romance Authors have accomplished a feat the likes of which the real world cannot ever hope to achieve. I’m writing, of course, about the complete and utter eradication of Poop.
Am I the only person who, while reading romances, thinks about poop?
A common occurrence of “the Elusive Poop” is a story in which the heroine is handcuffed to a cot for two weeks and there is no mention of where she did number two or what happened to it after the evil deed was done. Even if she was nearly starved, sometime in those fourteen days she had to take a deuce.
If this situation occurred in real life, would the hero stumble over a bucket full of feces while attempting to rescue the heroine? I think I might be so mortified by the thought of a sexy warrior witnessing the aftermath of tainted water and non-existent restroom facilities that I would be wishing against rescue …
While I completely appreciate the need for brushing aside the unpleasant details of human body functions, I still find myself wondering about them while reading. I too write romances. I have not, and do not, intend to ever include the subtle nuances of uncontrollable, stress-induced, ass-blasting diarrhea.
Still, I find myself contemplating the pooping situation in nearly every book I read. In historical romances, where the hero and heroine often travel together for days and days at a time, I ask you … When did they poop? Was there a discussion? “Och, Lass. Doona mind the sounds. Me needs to leave a growler in yon bushes …”
I also think about poop whenever anal sex is introduced into a story. While I admit that I’m not experienced in the ways of anal sex, I believe if I were approached with the proposition, poop would be my very first thought. Yet, no one seems concerned with this when the impromptu butt-loving is initiated.
Am I to believe that the untried, inexperienced heroine isn’t worried about what the hero will find when he dips his stick in her dark tunnel? Am I to believe that the perpetrator of this act, the hero, has not one single moment of hesitation when he wonders if there’s a double-decker knocking at the other side of his woman’s round door? Has this ever happened? Has a penis ever been denied entry to the Exclusive Anal Club by reason of “full occupancy”? I do not know. Perhaps someone could enlighten me.
Do not misunderstand, I have no wish to write a scene which includes such details nor do I want to read a scene that includes them. I’m merely pointing out the lack of poop in the fictional world of romance as an object of consideration. Am I alone in noticing? Do you question when, where, and how pooping is accomplished?
If only reality could be more like fiction. Without poop, the world would be a peaceful place, devoid of cart-filling, bank draining bundles of 4ply toilet-paper and smelly gas station restrooms. If life could eliminate poop, no wife would have to endure being asked, “So, you wanna do it?” Directly after hearing the harmonic sounds of her husband laying a log cabin in the thin-walled bathroom. Stomach cramps would never attack on a first date, rendering a woman incapable of a graceful exit. Without poop, all the adventurous lads and ladies out there could enjoy unplanned anal sex without fear of encountering the much lamented brown roadblock.
*Sigh* If only life were like fiction …
I’d like to thank Four Strong Women for inviting me to Guest Blog and also extend an invitation for everyone to stop by my personal blog, Supernaturally Challenged. If you like quirky rants about everything from publishing to parenting, you’ll love my blog.
