I was talking to a friend about the stories I write, and what they have in common. When I said they all explore the shape and boundaries of intimacy, I found I’d taken us down a cul-de-sac of different interpretations, which was interesting.

To my friend, intimacy meant physical intimacy. To me, physical intimacy is an essential, but the least important part, of a romance. As I’ve posted before (in All you need is love and The Jude Knight Manifesto), I’m far more interested in creating connections between my characters that are emotional, intellectual, familial, and spiritual.

So what is the enduring appeal of stories about entitled alpha-jerks who accidentally discover true love with the woman they intended merely as a convenient shag-buddy?  You know the ones I mean. The hero is a duke or a billionaire or a football star, and the heroine is unwillingly intrigued, but ultimately gives up her own dreams to make his come true. Such tales usually come with explicit descriptions of the sexual act that focus on the woman’s pleasure, which often seems to be directly associated with her helplessness.

The Guardian had an interesting article on why many leading writers are abandoning such story lines. Do you read them? Do you write them? Can you explain this phenomenon to me?