And now, ladies, just for yourselves... When Harry met Garry

From Fanlore
Jump to: navigation, search
News Media Commentary
Title: And now, ladies, just for yourselves . . . When Harry met Garry
Commentator: Hannah Betts
Date(s): 7 July 2001
Venue: The London Times
Fandom: multimedia
External Links:
Click here for related articles on Fanlore.


And now, ladies, just for yourselves . . . When Harry met Garry is an article that asks "Why do women like slash?" The article discusses Warrior Lovers and includes the added touch of some political RPS in the form of Brown/Blair written by the journalist. It also has a fairly early mention of the term drabble which suggests that this fiction form was well-known at the time.

The article is reprinted in full in Discovered in a Letterbox #19, a Pros letterzine.

Some Excerpts

THOSE crazy cats who make up the LSE Darwinist collective have just published a rather racy little number on a form of fiction that will be new to all but the most excitable literary connoisseur. The book, Warrior Lovers, by Catherine Salmon and Donald Symons, is an evolutionary take on slash, an erotic genre written by women for women in which girls get their kicks in the depiction of two stalwartly heterosexual men enjoying a sudden conversion and equally stalwartly getting it on. As an added kink these men must be part of an established double act — Starsky/Hutch, Holmes/Watson, Lewis/Morse, Dr Who and presumably any one from a galaxy full of possibilities...

Like any self-respecting form of sexual exotica, slash began in the Seventies and flourishes on the Internet. It sprang from the fevered imaginations of Star Trek fans who asked themselves what Kirk and Spock got to doing when they weren't spreading interplanetary concord and decided it must be each other...

Unusually for the realm of pornography, it's really rather good. When girls are running the show there's none of that "I've come to read the meter, so let's do the business" narrative void that male porn tends to fall into. Slash has inventive plots and established sub-genres, such as the drabble, a slash of exactly 100 words, or an HHJJ, or happy happy joy joy story...

The Darwinist take is that women don't have to worry about the future of the relationship. In their dealings with women, men are always on the lookout for a younger model, or so the argument goes, but in a union with a man this evolutionary pressure is off. The romance can thus be of the enduring kind that women are programmed to wish upon themselves. For my money, the answer is that, just as many men have a penchant for a bit of sapphic action, so heterosexual women find themselves enchanted by a story in which there are not one but two male bodies to get their teeth into. If this kind of thing lights a girl's candle, then she has two torsos over which to become inflamed...

Ladies, I give you Brown/Blair. Scene 1, Granita. Blair wears chinos and the softest of chambray shirts. Brown is dominant in pin stripe. It is the first occasion the two have sat opposite each other for some time. Blair breaks the silence. "Remember?" he asks the man who has been both brother and adversary, Cain to his Abel. "Remember that night in '94?" A wry smile crosses the Chancellor's lips. "Tony, how could I forget?" For a moment the rwo men are lost, each in their separate thoughts, before Blair continues. "I brought you here tonight, Gordon, because I want you. Not want you in my Cabinet want you; not want you to succeed me want you; and not want you like I want Cherie." Brown's gaze flickers and his hand moves instinctively to his mouth.and the nail-biting that is never far away. The Prime Minister seiies this errant hand and ... well, you get the general idea. All it needs is a bit of chemistry, the odd spot of tension. Just a discreet hint that beneath these virile Whitehall breasts beat potential homoerotic hearts. Blair might whisk a stray hair from Gordy's shoulder or offer to carry his briefcase. Brown might mix the PM a drink and supply an after-Cabinet massage.