Lies Damned Lies
You know you've had fantasies about it before. You're a gorgeous lady in times before social networking -- back when social networking actually involved being social. A handsome gentleman caller approaches you warmly, caressing your neck. You invite him up to a lofty bedroom with velvet draping and scented oils (or something). He begins to kiss you gently, you return the kisses ... it's getting hotter, and you just can't stand the thought of your hands on anything but each other! You rip off his coat, he tears open your dress, revealing heaving bosoms, suffocating against the confines of a whale-bone corset! Take me, Dr. Egon Spengler! Take me now!
Except all of this would be highly inaccurate. Because romance novelist Deeanne Gist
has gotten to the bottom of all the lacy underthing mysteries and debunked bodice-ripping scenes like the one I just described at the annual convention for Romance Writers of America
. But a girl can dream (if that's her thing).