I remember the first time I picked up one of my Mom's romance novels and read a bit of it. Unfortunately I don't remember the title, or the characters. All I remember is one line:

"...Previously, she'd been a virgin in both passages..."

I had NO idea what that meant. I vaguely recall something about the hero flipping the heroine over before that line, but I still had absolutely no idea what it meant. I remember puzzling about it in the creek behind my house. At least, I puzzled on it until a big dog came along and scared me and I ran away. I'm not joking. He was (I now know) a Great Dane. It's a very clear memory.


But the first one I really remember reading, cover to cover, was "Romancing the Stone" by Catherine Lanigan writing as, of course, Joan Wilder.

I grabbed it because I'd loved the movie. Boy was I stunned. There's a sex scene like two chapters into it! And another fully detailed one later, where Joan and Jack finally get together.

I was eleven or twelve, and I was frankly shocked. And really intrigued. I must have read those scenes dozens of times, glancing around frantically so no one would see--I'd love to find a copy of the book now to see if they're as explicit as my recollection. (Not too much later I happened across a copy of "My Secret Garden", Nancy Friday's landmark collection of women's sexual fantasies. THAT scorched my eyeballs. WOW. I've actually been tempted to pick up another copy of that one too, to see if it's as hot as I remember. It probably is.)

I wanted to intrigue people like that. I wanted them to not be able to tear their eyes away from the page. I wanted to write exciting, sexy stories about people doing exciting, sexy things.

I wanted to write romance, so I could fit it all in.