Romancing the Alpha Douche

I love reading, and more than that I love reading about love, or romance to be more precise. I grew up reading my mother’s books; you know the ones. They had pictures of Fabio on the front. Then I moved into the classics; Jane Austen in particular. God help me, I still want a Mr Darcy all of my own, even though he was in his way the first example of an Alpha douche I can remember. Then I read Clan of the Cave Bear; hello the smexy!

These days there is romance everywhere, from clean and sweet all the way through to steamy erotic romance, but funnily enough there isn’t as much of it in real life, which is probably why romance as a genre is alive and kicking.

We want those muscular strong heroes; the silent types who can make you come in your panties with just one glance. The bad boys who we need to save, yet the thrill of the ride is what really gets our heart racing. We want them bigger, stronger and sexier than our reality could ever provide but why does that mean the Alpha has to be a douche?

Too often I see Alpha’s that while hot, are personality deficient. They see the heroine and know with one crook of their finger she will fall on her knees and… well you get the picture. In reality we’d call him an arrogant cocky bastard. The Alpha douche is possessive and volatile in a way that makes my skin crawl.

No matter how smoking hot he is, his need to control the heroine and his ability to get violently pissed off at the smallest hint of her talking to another man should be enough to slap a restraining order on him.

Back, to Austen, and Mr Darcy. Darcy is an Alpha. The strong and silent type (most likely because he’s British and that’s how they breed them*), but he wasn’t what I’d call a douche. He often said the wrong things, and he was too stiff and polite to stoop to having feelings most of the time, but he didn’t push himself on Lizzie. He wasn’t controlling and violent either.

Modern Darcy’s are the Alpha we should see more of, instead of the borderline psychotics that seem to abound, and yet, there is a glut of them.

If these characters are people we wouldn’t be willing to fall in love with in real life why do we fall all over them in books? What is it that drives us to want characters like that?

Have we moved so far forward in the rights and control women have over our lives that we instinctively crave treatment that takes our control away?

That’s what BDSM is for.

 

*This is solely my opinion from observing my English heritage.

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