When I was about 13, long before I developed some sort of adult attention defecit disorder and became too lazy to read anything but blogs and magazines, I used to suck down Young Adult books by the dozen. As I remember, my YA books were always about poor kids; Poor kids trying to fit in at rich schools. Poor kids living in boxcars and getting by on sheer luck. Poor kids keeping stiff upper lips after dad lost his job. (Ramona Quimby, I'm looking at you.) In one book, Papa Quimby took the family to a hamburger restaurant and it was as though Jesus Christ had descended to Earth and bought them a burger. Or that scatterbrain Booky (pronounced Boo-ky) whose family was so poor, she and her brother were on the school "lunch program" for welfare kids (which, I can only speculate, was the reason I thought SPAM sandwiches on stale bread sounded appealing). Even those Sweet Valley twins, Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield, lived in a "split level ranch house" which, in a suburb like Sweet Valley, was clearly only middle-class digs.
That's why, when browsing the site of a local publishing agent, I was really surprised by the volume of rich-kid lit. I don't know what happened to all the poor kids, but now it's all about brand names, naughty missent text messages, and throw-downs at debutante balls. I do remember a racy Babysitters Club special in which Stacy and Mallory went to Surf City, New Jersey - but it wasn't anything like this passage from the book "Psyche In A Dress" currently available in the Young Readers section:
The next night we ate avocados, oranges and honey in Orpheus's candlelit cavern deep in the canyon. I wore strapless pale lace and tulle and lilies in my hair.
"Tell me" he said. "Tell me a story"
This in itself was an aphrodisiac.
My throat opened like a flower.
I don't know if I'm disturbed, or just jealous that I never got to read anything close to this titillating. I suspect the latter. I have pretty much always been a perv - which would explain why Samantha Fox's song "Touch Me" really spoke to me at the ripe age of 11.
That's why, when browsing the site of a local publishing agent, I was really surprised by the volume of rich-kid lit. I don't know what happened to all the poor kids, but now it's all about brand names, naughty missent text messages, and throw-downs at debutante balls. I do remember a racy Babysitters Club special in which Stacy and Mallory went to Surf City, New Jersey - but it wasn't anything like this passage from the book "Psyche In A Dress" currently available in the Young Readers section:
The next night we ate avocados, oranges and honey in Orpheus's candlelit cavern deep in the canyon. I wore strapless pale lace and tulle and lilies in my hair.
"Tell me" he said. "Tell me a story"
This in itself was an aphrodisiac.
My throat opened like a flower.
I don't know if I'm disturbed, or just jealous that I never got to read anything close to this titillating. I suspect the latter. I have pretty much always been a perv - which would explain why Samantha Fox's song "Touch Me" really spoke to me at the ripe age of 11.
In case you are not versed on the inspiring musical creations of Samantha Fox, here is a little taster from "Touch Me."
Hot and cold emotion confusing my brain
I could not decide between pleasure and pain.
Like a tramp in the night I was begging for you
To treat my body like you wanted to.
(moan, moan)
Touch me , touch me
I want to feel your body
Your heart beat next to mine
Touch me - Touch me now!
Cuz I want your body all the time
(moan, moan)
Hot and cold emotion confusing my brain
I could not decide between pleasure and pain.
Like a tramp in the night I was begging for you
To treat my body like you wanted to.
(moan, moan)
Touch me , touch me
I want to feel your body
Your heart beat next to mine
Touch me - Touch me now!
Cuz I want your body all the time
(moan, moan)
So, I apparently could have used a little avocado and honey back in my pre-teen days.
Okay, now too.
No comments:
Post a Comment