Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

Consent is Sexy, Even When You’re a Vampire

Book: Beyond Heaving Bosoms: The Smart Bitches’ Guide to Romance Novels

When Candy was working on the Mad Libs-style games for the book, she started writing the snippet below for use in one of the games. It started out as an attempt to parody those YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME, WOMAN, AND RESIST NOT THY FATE moments in our favorite schlocky vampire novels. And then Dwayne turned up. And lo, it became too long for the book, and Candy was too fond of Dwayne to cut him short. Below is the complete Write Your Own Romance Scene that took on a life of its own; the vampire version that made it to publication is significantly different. Gabrielle tossed and turned in bed. A curtain fluttered in the room, the only other movement. Stark bars of light and dark cast by moonlight fell across the room, the straight lines broken where the wall joined the floor. Gabrielle tossed again, and moaned. She dreamed. Blood and madness. Ecstasy and tears. A ritual older than the pyramids. A face, austere and masculine, harsh angles and black eyes. His hand reached out, closer, closer, touching her, a finger sliding down her throat. Ecstasy and tears. The curtain fluttered again. A disruption of the shadows, so fast that it almost ended before it began. Gabrielle turned onto her back and kicked restlessly at her sheets, still fast asleep. The man. She could see all of him now. Feel all of him now. He was naked, his body smooth and muscled, not an inch of give on him anywhere. His finger continued on its trail downwards. Over her chest. Over the flat planes of her belly. Down into liquid heat and liquid pleasure. She gasped, paralyzed by the sensations. He smiled, baring his teeth, so very sharp, so very beautiful. He lowered his face against her neck, nuzzled against her jaw, gently, so gently. Then he reared back, ready to strike, a snake sure of its prey. Gabrielle snapped awake, limbs flailing free from the sheets. They hit something warm and solid. He was there, in bed with her. He was real, and very, very startled. For a moment, the face in her dream swam in her vision, but she blinked hard, and the face settled into more pedestrian lines. A pudgy face with a sweet mouth, fangs just barely peeking out, wide owlish eyes peering at her from underneath worried and startled brows. A moment to recover from her panic, and then: “Goddammit, Dwayne!” Gabrielle yelled. “What did I tell you about coming in here in the middle of the night trying to suck on my neck?” He flinched. “Uh, you told me not to do it?” he said, voice reedy with a touch of panic. “Damn right. Christ, man, you nearly gave me a coronary.” “I’m sorry, Gabrielle. It’s just…” “I know, I know. After we met, you can suddenly see in color. You can connect with me psychically. I’m your one true mate. You want to suck on my blood, then have me suck on your blood, then we suck on god-knows-what-else, and then we have sex doggy-style, and bam, I’m vampire, too, and we can have babies and save all you vampires from extinction.” “Well, yes,” said Dwayne, fidgeting just a little. Gabrielle’s face softened. “I’m sorry, babe. Look, I like you. But I just don’t feel that way about you.” “I know, Gabi.” He fell silent, but only for a little while. “But we’re soulmates,” he said, an edge of desperation in his voice. “All the signs are there. You make me see in color, Gabi. In. Color.” He grasped her hand in emphasis. “And I give you those nice dreams.” He paused. “Except you always wake up way too damn early,” he finished glumly. “I know, babe.” Gabrielle patted his hand comfortingly. “Look, Dwayne, you can’t just do this unilaterally.” His face looked so crestfallen, she couldn’t help but kiss his forehead. “Consent is sexy.” He looked up, not saying anything, blue eyes miserable. “Go back, Dwayne,” she said kindly. “I don’t know what to tell you. Look somewhere else. I’m not the girl for you.” Dwayne got of the bed and shuffled away. When he came near the window, he shifted into the other space. Gabrielle could no longer see him, but he could still see her; he perched on the windowsill, letting the curtains flutter past him and through him. She shook her head, wiped her hands over her face and sank back in bed, pulling the blankets over her and punching her pillows into a satisfactory position. In a few minutes, her calm, heavy breathing told him she was fast asleep again. He sat there watching for a while longer. “But you are, Gabi. You are,” he said, all the sorrow of a dying race in his voice, and turned back to the night.