![]() ![]() We preferred to read ones with, erm, less provocative images, or sought out versions that were a little more vague. The romance novels we read never had any racy covers. ![]() Kids our age were eating up Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings (which I haven’t read, by the way) or some other teen novel. But I mean, looking at us and the books we chose to read, you would never guess they were romance novels. We chose to violate our own imaginations and pop our own fantasy cherry at a tender age. And we were about 13-14 years old when this happened. Men fiddling about with the *ahem* “curly triangles” and “cupping bosoms” were just some of the regulars in the pages we would read about. The novels, of course, had sex scenes in them. ![]() Yeah, imagine about seven girls during Chemistry class, giggling, having their undies tied in knots in whatever escapade their heroine was trotting on about in the current novel in our hands. Among those books that we enjoyed devouring were romantic novels. ![]()
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