PUBLISHED IN ISSUE 18
Dame Cartland is the most prolific author of the 20th century, having written over 700 novels, the majority of which were pulp romance, often seemingly unedited. Estimate sales of her books range from 750K to 2 billion. A true 20th century woman, she was born 1901 and died in Y2K.
Fantasy Synopses for 21st Century Heteroflexible Pulp Romance Novels
by Iris Fraser-Gudrunas
You date a younger man who has a healthy bravado in bed. Slowly you realize that even though it was a fun exploration, teaching him things has become tiresome. You part ways amicably and he thanks you for helping him grow. He treats all the women he sees after that with kindness and compassion and makes them all happy.
He asks you where and how you want it. You tell him. He does that. But makes it feel like it was spontaneous.
You tell him you like to be dominated, but you don’t like pain. He takes you to the threshold of the thrill of pain but never inflicts it. He moves with the flair, sensuality, and mastery. Emotionally and intellectually he treats you as a true peer but it makes you feel satisfyingly dominant in the world because you were used to being condescended to. It gives you great confidence and you begin to dominate your male peers professionally. The cycle continues.
You tell him you like having a sub around. He immediately puts on his collar and grovels like the trash weasel he is.
You have two subs and three doms. You all have your own lives and maintain a relaxed contentedness that each person’s different relationships play a role in their happiness. But you all also know in the back of your heads that if you crossed paths in any larger formation, that you’d have a wicked time.
You have seen each other at various parties and the palpably mutual gaze could be sliced like a thick cake. His piercing eyes makes your knees weak but you don’t stumble. When he slides up to you after the fourth party he tells you his name and asks you yours and then presses his body against you to dance. After that one song you start making out. On the way out together a young man comes up to him and they exchange a few gentle words.
You don’t even really ask but he tells you that’s one of his other lovers who moved here from Germany who doesn’t have many friends yet, but he’ll be fine and lets go. You have amazing and carefree sex and even learn a few fun hot tricks. In the morning he tells you 25 things he likes about your body. He moves out of town the next week. There are twenty more men in this story and they are all lovely and fleeting. You’re free to not get involved with emotional labour. Your career flourishes.
You meet at a cute event, he’s charming and handsome and sincere and you go home together the same night. You warn him you forgot to shave your legs and he says he doesn’t care unless it makes you uncomfortable. He respects women who want to shave their legs as well as those who don’t want to. You say it’s great that it doesn’t bother him but that you don’t care anyway because you actually don’t care if it bothers him. You clarify that you yourself like the feeling of hair-free legs and would get laser removal if you could afford it. He tells you his aunt has a clinic that does that and he’ll hook you up. You make sweet love. He uses your bristle for sensory pleasure on his cock. The next day he sends you the location of his aunt’s clinic. When you go she says that any friend of her nephew’s gets the full treatment on the house. You and he go on a few more sexy dates but you both agree it’s not true love even though it’s been very nice with no problems. You go on with your life smooth and shiny, looking for a partner who you can collaborate with professionally. He goes back to his job advocating for Planned Parenthood.
You have a really intense conversation on the beach after a whirlwind romantic first date. You get on the topic of consent and male aggression and he’s genuinely concerned about the state of the world and listens to you and agrees and you wonder if it’s the first time you’ve believed a male feminist. He tells you he gets off on consent. You yell, Yes! Yes! Yes! And you yes yes yes yes into the next morning and over a few other nights as well. At some point, you part ways because you have to admit you kind of like the emotional independence of dating jerks and he winds up dating this really awesome woman you know, who has been struggling with abuse by a former partner. He’s there for her through her journey to feel herself again. It doesn’t work out for them either but he has no bitterness that their relationship was through hard times. He also takes no credit and is just admiring of her resilience. You all become friends, cuz, why not?
You’re in a committed and non-monogamous relationship. You guys have lots of fun. Sometimes there’s group sex.
You cum five times as much as he does. Every day. For as long as you two are together. Maybe that’s forever, but that also doesn’t really matter.
He finds a new way every day to tell you he loves you. Every night the sex is an all-new adventure.
He sweeps you off on some wild adventure. Or maybe that’s a metaphor. And maybe he’s an allegory. Either way, you regret nothing.
You and your female friends are all exhausted by the various fuccbois and blithely abusive jerks you’ve all dated over the years. You realize that you might not win this gendered partner search in the current state of socialized norms. You all also realize that through it you’ve built a solid support network, helping each other to see your own strengths and potential and grow as adults. You’ve all learned a lot from each other and received so much love. The End.
He does something that hurts you pretty deeply. He is entirely appalled with himself. It happens through careless miscommunication and although it is partially your fault that you both got to this place he takes full responsibility because societal gender norms give him too much in life already and he’s ready to take the brunt of fixing this. He understands that he should actually have a larger responsibility to avoid situations that could bring back bad memories of likely myriad of toxic interactions with men. He learns a lot by actively deciding to be better and promises to never ever hurt you again. And. He. Never. Hurts. You. Again.
You tell him to get lost. He does.
Diana of Juárez gets away. She emigrates to another country and has access to an amazing therapist. She meets a wonderful romantic partner but harbours guilt for a decade about her dark past. Finally she tells him the truth. He’s shocked because he has also done something similar and also for the sake of women in his life. This is written about for the New Yorker.
Stalking the abuser. Times have changed, fucker. You’re actually a superhero and your sidekick is really hot. This is like Rockabilly Baywatch and someone options it for Netflix.
World peace exists and larping is fully accepted. The furries are no longer considered weird. You really enjoy seeing them around as you float down the street in yards of billowing silk. Everyone’s boats are floated and love is amorphous.
He has a fetish for fabrics and especially things like cashmere, silk, and hand-knotted meshes. You spend a lot of time getting dressed up in high-quality clothing together.
Prince is reincarnated and cloned, but in many slightly different versions, each matched to a femme who wants to spend time with their own personalized version of the artist-formerly-alive. Each time he is born at the Laboratory For Orgone Transfer Practices, he comes out fully-formed, woke, and asks: “If I was your girlfriend, would you tell me the things you wouldn’t tell me when I was your man?”
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