When I was five, I found and read my first romance novel. I've been reading them ever since, both good and bad and terrible. The most recent discovery is one called Brazen Ecstasy, a truly terrible example of the white chick/Indian chief variety most seen in the 1970s, when people were trying to be sensitive (white chick and Indian man respect and love each other between periodic bouts of perfectly acceptable steamy sex!) but ended up striking more of a Noble Savage kind of tone (pure Indian way of life superior to corrupting Western influences). I am rather fascinated by 70s romances in particular -- Sweet, Savage Love, anyone? -- and so paying fifty cents for this one at a grocery store in Kirkland seemed like a bargain. The love of my life eyed the title warily. "The ecstasy in those things is always brazen, isn't it," he opined.
"Or savage," I agreed, "or sweet, or tender --"
"As long as it's a hyperbole." I laughed as something occurred to me. "As for me, I would love to lose myself in mild abandon."
And thus this blog was born -- a blog which purports to chronicle my tentative forays into degeneracy, both modern and otherwise. A toast to the start of the endeavor!