Do our heroes need a masculine revolution?
Over the last thirty years romance heroines have made a dramatic change in profession, personality and perspective. No longer do we read over and over the stories of a woman who only wants to be a mother or wife to a rich baron or oil merchant, more focused on taking care of her husband and maintain her reputation than herself.
Due to the real life feminist revolution the possibilities for romance heroines have expanded. Every heroine doesn’t have to be a teacher and nurse but now can make a living as a vampire hunter, CIA agent, Forbes 500 company owner and even dominatrix. While previously we were surrounded by bodice rippers, which could only justify a woman succumbing to her sexual needs if she were forced to do so, now our heroines are completely in charge of their sexuality, and can bask in the power of giving pleasure or take it as they desire. To have long committed relationships, one night stands, or falling in love with more than one person at a time.
But while our heroines have progressed in their characters and journey’s, what about our heroes?
Our heroes haven’t been given the ability to change as much as our heroines have. Romance heroes still have to be very well off financially (with the rare exception of a government employee like a police officer or firefighter, who make up for their lack of funds in prestige and the ability to defend and protect their woman). They always possess male oriented jobs, like contractors, businessmen, software developers and army rangers. They always have to look amazing, with washboard abs, thick full heads of hair, tall lean builds and long thick cocks, while a heroine is allowed to have a few extra pounds or small breasts. They always know how to pleasure their women, while heroines don’t need to possess the same level of skill in pleasuring the hero or even themselves (though rarely are they so inept that they can’t give the hero something to return for his efforts).
So why is this? If heroines can have some flaws why can’t our heroes? Why do our heroines have infinite choices but our heroes are boxed in? It seems to me we need a new revolution, a masculine revolution, so our guys can get a fair shake.
In real life women love heroes that are balding or short. Not every man is born with the innate knowledge of how to make their woman scream to the rafters, but many need a little training in that department. Not to say they can’t make you pant and moan, but they might guidance to get that ultimate best high.
And what’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with writing a hero that’s not perfect, just like many of our heroines? I love the idea of a hero taking on a less masculine job, like a receptionist or a manny, while still having that alpha control in the bedroom. There’s something very sexy about a man who can be nurturing and caring, while also having that masculine bravado that makes you cream. A hero who’s an interior decorator, could be even more manly, when having to defend his chosen profession. And a man who can could delicate pastries and elegant wedding cakes would have me swooning.
We often justify our lack of options for men as romance’s being fantasy land. That the hero is supposed to be the idea man, but not everyone’s version of ideal is the same. Many women love a bald head, the same way some women like beards and other’s don’t (I’m not a beard fan myself). So why don’t we write many different ideal men, one for every taste. With all the discussion that goes on about finding an original story, why do we leave so many tantalizing options on the table?
If heroines are allowed to do whatever they want, have foibles and imperfections, why can’t heroes? What do you think? Do you like your heroes perfect, or are you going to join me in the new masculine revolution to get our heroes more options.
And while you’re thinking about which side you’ll pick, how about you read a little excerpt from my new release, Midnight Mirage, out this month from Siren Publishing. I’m sure my heroes, Lincoln and Gabe, would be more than happy to help persuade you on the subject.
Lincoln and Gabe, best friends and the hottest new alt-rock duo Mirage, only want one thing. Mallory. They’ve been waiting a year for Mallory to open her heart to both of them and accept the alternative relationship they wish for.
Mallory’s flattered by their attentions but can’t believe they’re any more than sweet words. They’re rock stars, surrounded by beautiful woman. They can’t possibly want a plain-Jane reporter like her.
When a crazed fan forces their hand, their protective instincts take over. Gabe and Lincoln aren’t willing to wait for their woman any longer. They initiate her with intense pleasure, ringing in the New Year in the naughtiest way possible. But when they whisper words of love and forever in her ear, she runs away.
Will Mallory be able to open her heart and return their affection, or will insecurity keep her from the men who love her?
“Is tonight the night?”
His best friend’s voice invaded his thoughts, distracting Lincoln from the round hips and long black hair of the woman bouncing in front of them. Her body swayed as she made her way through the crowd toward the backstage area where they stood.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on, mate,” Gabe continued, unbidden, as always. “My bollocks are turning blue waiting for you.”
Lincoln cast his eyes to the side, catching a glimpse of his best friend in the semidarkness. From Gabe’s firm stance, his focused eyes, and the bulge in his pants, he was just as interested and desperate as Lincoln was.
Lincoln turned away from his friend, staring back to where the woman bounced to the music. It would be much better if she were dancing to their music, instead of the Mötley Crüe wannabes onstage, but her passion and interest were intoxicating regardless of the drivel ringing through the air.
“God, she’s gorgeous,” Gabe smirked as his eyes scanned her temptress form. “How can you stand waiting?”
Gorgeous didn’t even start to describe her. She was beautiful, sexy, vulnerable. She wore tight dark jeans that molded to her ass, a
golden corset spread across her chest, pressing her breasts high, ready to greet him like the New Year. In the past year they’d known Mallory, they’d learned a lot about her. They both knew her looks were only the beginning of her beauty.
And Lincoln wasn’t doing any better at waiting than his friend was. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from telling her exactly what he wanted to do to her. And he’d gotten in the habit of fisting his hands at his sides any time Mallory was near, just to stop himself from reaching for her, or accidentally touching her, which he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started.
Willa Edwards has dreamed about being a writer since she was four years old. When she picked up her first romance novel at fifteen she knew she’d found her place, and she’s never looked back.
She now lives in New York, where she works with numbers at her Evil Day Job and spends her nights writing red-hot tales of erotic romance. When she’s not at her computer, you can usually find her curled up in bed with her two furry babies, her nose pressed to her e-reader.