Today is a writing day. So far I have had a small sleep, eaten a large biscuit and done very little writing. In my defence I have done some, and then came across a thorny problem in my plotting which needed resolving. I have spent the last hour trying to figure it out.
One of the ways I do this is to use Pinterest for inspiration.
So, I was bimbling about on Pinterest looking for some images to flesh out my ideas for a new set of characters, and it struck me that one of the very, very depressing things about the fantasy/sci fi genre is that despite the fact that it is more make believe than even the regular strands of fiction, and should therefore, be a place where all manner of things are possible and indeed desirable, mainly people’s fantasies seem to revolve around mahoosive tits and hairless vaginas.
Even for men.
(would that this were true – at least it would be fairer, if a trifle terrifying)
Looking at the images makes you think that it basically reduces large swathes of the female aspects of the genre to being the thinking man’s Razzle, with added Arthur C. Clarke.
I mentioned this before on Twitter a while back, when I was researching images of Goddesses. It was mildly depressing then. It is deeply depressing now, because it is not just Goddesses. It is space pirates, ordinary pirates, assassins, ninjas, demons, angels – you name it. You could be a magical city and guilds carpenter and if you’re a lady carpenter you’d have to be a sexy carpenter with a shiny pudenda and pneumatic tits, even if you do have a wicked way with a lathe and can lay out a chaos demon with a bit of 2by4.
If you have a woman fantasy figure she must, for the most part be clad in either no clothes at all, but with great hair and an impressive array of weaponry, or minimal clothing plus the same.
Her tits must put Katy Price of yore to shame, and yet magically stay perkily atop her rib cage as if they were filled with hydrogen, like zeppelins rather than the standard fatty deposits. Who knows, perhaps one of the greatest fantasies of all is that women of the future have ever buoyant, hydrogen filled tits? Just remember. Don’t smoke after sex if you’re bedding an intergalactic goddess.
Her vagina must be as bald as a coot. It must be so smooth you could race a sledge down it. Not only that, but it must be thrust towards the gaze at all times. Women in fantasy, I believe, all walk like a slightly constipated John Wayne, legs akimbo so you can get the full on foof shot. Never mind beavers. You can see the whole dam.
If fantasy woman is allowed any coverings at all for her nakedness, they are minimal. In fact the word minimal doesn’t even do this justice. If there is not such a word as micro-infinitesimal, there should be. These are the clothes of fantasy woman. They are like the belongings of Sport Billy before he takes them out of his magical holdall.
Let us be fair. She does get some covering, for the sake of modesty. She will sometimes be allowed a small coil of metal/wire around her boobs. These are not hooked at the back like some kind of medieval torture bra, which would be hellish painful, but at least provide some much needed support. No, they’re just plonked on each boob rather like the heating element in a kettle. Who knows? When she’s finished sexing you, she can probably boil up a brew on one tit and make you toast on the other.
That would be my fantasy anyway.
As for her nether regions. Sometimes you are allowed a loin cloth type affair. It is, for the most part, about as useful as a chocolate teapot, and the first gust of wind would see it rising and falling like the curtain on opening night at the opera. Would you like to see my ‘Ride of the Valkyries?’
Sometimes there are things to frame the vagina, like various thongs lashed around it. Probably to stop it blowing away in battle like a recalcitrant ground sheet, or to keep it from running off of its own accord to slaughter someone with its hysterical vaginal teeth. Sometimes weapons are poked into the thongs, like knives and guns, to remind you that, you know, weapons are like penises, and sex is like death and it’s all scary, but still, cop an eyeful of that tempting dryad minge. That would be worth paying the price for, eh? Lads, eh?
She is always willowy, despite the fact that being that thin in real life would mean she could barely wield that crossbow, let alone sling it casually onto her back whilst sporting two cutlasses, a small throwing knife and having some kind of pistol wedged between her buttocks, held there only by the impressive muscular control that tells you she’ll be a demon in bed and probably cause your knob to pop off in a single rhythmic squeeze.
Also, with tits that large on a frame that tiny she’s going to get shocking lower back problems if she doesn’t lash them into a decent support bra. Those coils just won’t cut it. Plus there’s the whole tits giving her a dead arm when she’s sleeping, which is totally going to put her off her game if a would be assassin tries to sex her to death in the night.
She is always hairless, apart from the hair on her head, of course, which must always look salon ready – she uses Vidal Sassoon’ ‘Kill and Go’. How she gets time to depilate that thoroughly I will never know, what with all the hacking and killing and questing she has to do. I expect Ray Mears has something wonderful you can do with ink cap mushrooms and mashed up ferns that causes all the hair on your body to fall off in one go, permanently. Either that or she is twelve. This would explain the fact that she does not have to don stout pants every 28 days and kill everyone in a murderous pre menstrual rage. She isn’t old enough to bleed, which is handy if you don’t actually have any pants.
It does not matter if fantasy woman has to see off an entire squadron of myrmidons bent on the destruction of the world as we know it, she must still look like she is not only desperate for a shag, she must actively want to shag you to death. Sex is her best weapon.
It is a shame that the creators of these images and stories have mostly taken the term fantasy and rather than come up with anything original, they have used it to depict their own fantasies of nihilistic lust, sexual acrobatics, the ever present threat of violence as foreplay and a worryingly pre-pubescent desire to show women with figures like school girls with added fun bags for extra pleasure.
They have set about creating futures and alternative realities in which the objectification of women as wipe clean toys for men’s wank fantasies is allowed to continue unabated, much as it does today.
It seems that even in the future, even in quantum realities, those who want to see the fantasy of a strong, independent, properly clad woman who can shift for herself and who does not have to be laid out for public display like a suckling pig on a table are in the minority.
P.S. Ray’s book will be out for Christmas, if you’re a hirsute elven queen desperate for strategies: ‘ Beauty in the Bush – Survival tips for the Fantasy Woman – including waxing, plucking, and vaginal polishing.’ ‘ Foraging for Beauty is the new black says She-Ra.” Warning – contains scenes of mild rotivation.