It doesn't happen like in my porn

“Woman…you got a lot of nerve walking in here, wearing that, looking as good as you do, and making me want you the way I do,” he said. He then felt his body raise, and he leaned forward just enough to kiss her. Those lips felt good.

Like you didn’t enjoy reading that! Can’t fool me!

I was seventeen when I was introduced to Harlequin Romance Novels. I was at the Library in Walkerton rummaging through a bin titled “free”. I found a novel called “The Other Laura”. My first name being Laura, my love of having my name in stuff, and the fact that it was free, all added up to me carrying that novel with me out of the library. I still have it.

I read it in one night. I started as soon as I got home, and I finished it at six in the morning. I remember leaping for the light in my room, as I heard my father’s footsteps on the floor as he awoke to go to work.

After that first novel, I was addicted. I spent a lot of time at eHArlequin.com, and I spent even more time, flipping the pages of these novels. I became a master at rummaging through used book stores, and I was even better at budgeting at how many of these novels I could afford.

I spent two months doing that, and then I had to give up my love of reading about romance for ten months of Grade 11. Time just didn’t allow for my love of reading these novels. So, me and Harlequin “took a break” from one another.

I grew out of my enjoyment for these novels. I replaced them with Cosmopolitain, Glamour, The Hamilton Spectator, and good books. I put my romance novels in a box and I put that box in the far corner of the basement labelled “Keep Out”. “The Other Laura” remained on my bookshelf.

I’m 20 years old now. As I mentioned before in other blogs, I’m having a hard time adjusting to being at home. I miss my life that I had in Hamilton. I miss my friends, I miss my roommate, and I miss all the fun I was having, and even the classes I went to.

In order to save my sanity, and stop the tears from strolling down my cheeks, I did what I tend to do: I made myself a steamy, hot, bubble bath. Lavender, vanilla, and a romance novel saved me from going bonkers one night.

I felt a certain rush (not that kind) when I flipped open “The Other Laura”. It was like seeing an old friend again, after too long of being separated. I skim-read that book in a three hour long bath. I was shrivelled up like a prune by the time I decided that I really should get out. My skin, very sensitive actually, wasn’t reacting well to the Lavender bubble bath that I found, and the pasta and pasta sauce in the kitchen was calling my name, and so was my brother in hopes that I would make it. But alas, I lied there, completely and utterly thrilled to have read such a fantasy. Wouldn’t it be great if I found a love like that (BARF!).

I mentioned my little “sanity savour” to my incredibly down-to-earth friends. I’m an idiot.

My friend Caylz, had something good to say. “It’s porn!” she said, in a set-me-straight kind of attitude, as she pondered how her friend could spend so much time in a bubble bath.

Claire indulged in coming up with her own scenario as to what they sound like. She read off words of romance, in a teasing manner, while Caylz concluded the story with “and then he stuck his head in her bosom!”

They killed it for me. They know it. I love them anyway. We had a good laugh about my little “night of fun in the tub”, and I think that when I get together with my ladies for Martinis, they’ll still somehow work into the conversation about how “I get off on my porn”, as Caylz has said to me.

This was the first romance novel I have read in a long-time. That novel was great, but unfortunately, my world of dating has actually happened to ruin the reality in these novels.

I’ve gone from “The Other Laura” to “He’s Just No That Into You: The No Excuse Guide to Understanding Guys”.

Oh the irony…

I still love my romance novels, but the realities of the dating world have completely ruined the “actuality” of them…along with Caylz, who now always asks about my “porn”. I’ve learned that “love” just doesn’t happen like that.

You don’t run into “The Other Laura”, in fact it’s more like “He’s Just Not That Into You”.

I’ve heard about love in the songs that play from my CDs. I’ve seen it in friends’ eyes. I’ve heard about it from people on television. I’ve seen it in the eyes of two people at weddings, I’ve even looked it up on the internet. My “Party Favourites of the 60s” CD said that “if I want to know if he loves me so, it’s in his kiss.” Well, I’ve been kissin’ and so far, I’ve only been missin’.

I don’t know much about love, but it’s my understanding that it’s an uncanny understanding of another person. It’s a kind of caring that you just can’t hurt, and it’s a kind of trust that bubbles over any circumstance of hurt. It drives your hormones crazy, and it’s about “not being able to keep your hands off someone”. It’s about the little things, like when he shows up to fix your tire on the side of the road, so you don’t have to pay for the tow call. It’s about a kind of attention that never leaves when you have something to say. It’s about burnt dinners, but still asking for seconds. Love has no lies. It’s about being together, without saying a word, and not wanting to go anywhere. It’s about feeling better, attractive, smarter, intelligent, confident, and overall just plain great, when that person is in your company. I want the most comfortable love that I can find, with lots of laughter, the little annoyances that make funny stories at dinner parties, and a true partner, but I’m not in a hurry.

There is a whole world out there just waiting for this strong, independent woman to bust into. I want the independent, early 20s life that I’ve been looking forward to so much. I believe people when they say, don’t rush, don’t hurry. I believe people when they say, that if I don’t find ALL of myself, before I find “the one”, I’ll regret it.

My mother just asks one thing of me when I bring home “the one“. She says, “Nemo is out there, but for the love of God, don’t kill your father by bringing home a jackass”.

My dear Caylz just asks one thing of me as well. That whenever a new man comes into the picture, we’ll have good laughs over my tales of first dates (the farmer), hairdo’s that are bad (my womanly power of being able to change them!), tales of making out (poke! Hello there!), and tales of when it all goes bad (cheers to the loss of my 200 pound tumour!). She’ll say something like “you’re gonna’ find a guy that loves everything about you”, and I’ll say “thanks”. Then we’ll sip out martinis and check-out the cutie at the bar!