I was reading through my
semi-completed novel today and two things struck me. First, it’s not nearly as bad as I
remember. There are some really good
bits in there. I told Mrs. Slap today
that between the campfire sex scene and the gunfight at the dam I wasn’t sure
which was my favorite chapter. On the
same note I’m struggling to figure out what publisher would pick it up. It really is cowpoke on cowpoke, which fits a
lot of the stuff published by women’s erotica e-publishers, but it’s got a
couple of gunfights and a scene that is a little more twisted than the typical
erotic romance publishers put out. Maybe
a publisher for gay men? Very limiting
market, though. If there is still a
market for Laurel K Hamilton, whose books have descended to wall to wall
fucking and gore, then there may be a place for me.
The other thing that struck me was one
exchange between the two main characters after one of the fights:
“May
I ask why, if you carry a pistol on your belt and a Winchester in a saddle
sheath, did you go at Big Mo with a lasso?”
“Not
really sure,” Johnny said, scratching his head.
“It’s a pretty rare occasion that I actually ever draw a gun, but I use
the lasso all the time. Just was
natural, I reckon. Good thing, too. I don’t want any more blood than necessary
between our brands.”
“So
you are good with a rope, too, Sir Cowboy?” said Antonio, moving his eyes
across Johnny’s form. “My imagination
runs wild.”
“Ease
up, there, buckaroo. We’ve got miles to
go and a judge to meet.”
I had a group of friends in college
that were largely obsessed with bondage, so much so that when I got out of
college the idea that people didn’t just sit around and discuss the advantages
of silk scarves vs nylon cord or the best time to take off the blindfold was
kind of weird. None of them could afford all
the crazy gear, but one dorm mate made special trips to the local K-Mart with
his girlfriend to see which cutting boards made the best paddles. Everyone I knew read Anne Rice’s The
Claiming of Sleeping Beauty.
The world of BDSM, with all of its
whips, ropes, and leather chaps, looks surprisingly like a western. For the most part you just have to trade the
shiny black leather for worn brown, swap the zipper mask for a cowboy hat, and
move the scene from the abandoned Berlin factory to a Colorado ghost town.
A couple of years ago an adult film
studio made a film from Zane Grey’s To The Last Man. The studio, Raging Stallion (how awesome is
that name?), specializes in exceptionally manly men with muscles and beards
doing exceptionally manly things with other exceptionally manly men. Alas, I have not seen this film, but I have
read about a controversial scene where a cowboy is tied up and sexually
assaulted by two gunhands riding for another brand. There are some interesting chat board
discussions that focus just one this scene; some think it is disgusting, but
just as many think it’s the hottest scene in the movie.
Despite their occasional similarities,
this gets to the difference between traditional BDSM literature and what you
find in Westerns. BDSM is a safe place
in fiction. We can feel the anxiety of
the bottom while knowing that, ultimately, they will come away relatively
unscathed. Behind every red bottom
spanking there is an open palm of love, so they say. In Western fiction, the world is harsher,
without guarantees of safety.
Take Lonesome Dove, for example. Early on Lorena, the town prostitute / main
love interest for several characters, is kidnapped by an Indian outlaw, Blue
Duck. Sounds like the start of some kind
of erotic bondage romance? Anyone
familiar with Lonesome Dove knows that part of the story is neither romantic
nor erotic.
 |
| Not fun |
 |
| Fun |
With its whips, chaps, ropes, and
masks, there’s a lot of room for kink in westerns. Just don’t always expect that warm, fuzzy, “he
tied me up because he loves me” feeling.
(Note about the title- in my 20’s I
read all of the classics of erotic bondage- Story of O, 9 ½ Weeks,
Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, etc.
By the time the 50 Shades phenomena hit I’d had my fill. 50 Shades of Yoga, though, now that’s fun.)
