|No matter how she apologised, Roger never did let Marjorie peg him again.|
According to dictionaries and Wikipedia, a lubricant is something, usually oil or grease, used to reduce friction between moving parts. But it can be somebody or something. In the case of the somebody, it’s the person that eases an awkward situation or presents a solution to same. Manners and/or alcohol could be a social lubricant. KY Jelly could be a sexual lubricant. There’s apparently quite a lot of different kinds of lube. Can I call it lube? I feel like we should be on a first name basis by now. So slipperiness. The personal lubricants are used during sex to shield soft places from harm. You know, pussies and cocks, butts and armpits too apparently. Though if you’re doing that with someone’s armpit then I don’t want to know.
Now, you might find yourself wondering why the hell I’m rabbiting on about this topic. Good question. I’m not entirely convinced I have an answer for you but here goes. I was reading a boy on boy book the other week and the lube was conspicuously missing. Anal sex without lube would be nothing but a world of pain so I don’t really understand what that was about. There was no mention that the characters were magically mysteriously naturally lubricated. There was no mention of it at all. Instead of enjoying the sex scenes, I was wincing and feeling very poorly for the lads involved. Especially the one on the receiving end. Ouches. Lube is, in some cases, a necessary fact of life. We don’t need to treat readers like precious little flowers who might wilt from the facts of life, do we? Seriously? I mean if they opened an erotic romance, expecting the bedroom door to remain very much open, then they’re up for the full ride, not just the gentile watered down version palatable to the mass market.
There are lots of different heat ratings in books, from bonnet rippers with their hand holding to orgies on the throne room floor of an alien planet. But if you’ve picked up an M/M book, or any erotic romance, then a certain level of honesty can be weathered, right? I’d have thought so. But with a whole new range of sexual behaviours becoming more common place in the romance genre, then maybe we need to think about honest representations in books. Because the realism portrayed in certain situations is a large part of what helps the reader to imagine it. Having something so integral to the scene missing can really jar the reader out of the story. If the sexual position would require an advanced degree in yoga with a sideline in acrobatics then the reader might very well have a hard time visualising it.
I was having a discussion the other day with a writer about what we do or don’t owe the reader in terms of authenticity and morals etc. At the end of the day, a romance book is most likely not where you’re going to learn your life lessons. That being said, I like romance as a genre because not only does it give us an emotional journey to undertake, but it often makes us reflect upon our own life and decisions. What we do or don’t want from a relationship. Even what we might like to try in the bedroom. Books make us think and this is a good thing. They give us adventures and hope and a whole wide world full of experiences we most likely never would have had without them.
So do we need the lube or does it not matter?
P.S. If you're after a how to on lube in the sexual manner then Paul Joannides "Guide to Getting it On" is still the best sex guide around in my opinion. It's also hysterically funny and heart-warming at times. Enjoy.