I've spent eight months reading mob-themed erotica, and I need to unpack it.

Not because I'm embarrassed—though my 13-year-old self would be SHOCKED to discover what my 41-year-old self considers recreational reading. And not because I think these books are secretly good. They're not. They're objectively terrible: light on description unless someone's fucking, short on plot unless someone's measuring dick size, dialogue so stilted I started skipping pages like a frat boy fast-forwarding through PornHub ads.

No, I need to talk about them because I read six of these goddamn things, and I should probably figure out why.

This started innocently enough. I bought a Kindle Scribe earlier this year and went hunting for something fun. I devoured A Song of Achilles—masterful—and plowed through the mythological fantasy genre that scratched my Classics minor itch. Most were well-written and engaging, which is precisely what I want from books. I've abandoned too many novels I thought I should read—acclaimed science fiction, popular genre fiction, celebrity memoirs—only to accept I have very specific literary tastes. And when I read what I actually like, I get the urge to write.

After my Greek and Roman phase, I decided to browse Kindle Unlimited's free section for something to tickle different... interests.

Turns out that section is packed with romance novels. Not bodice-rippers. The stuff that makes bodice-rippers look quaint.

You know. Smut.

And wouldn't you know, I fell face-down—and ass-up, if we're being honest—into the most problematic possible sub-genre: forced marriage mob romance.

The plot is always identical: young woman gets forced into marriage with hot mob boss. He's obscenely rich, installs her in his mansion, gives her unlimited spending money. He kills people regularly, which is apparently very sexy. He's possessive and obsessive; she's meek but also strong-willed in that contradictory way these books never quite resolve. Maybe she's from a rival mob family and their marriage forges an alliance. Blah blah blah, she has to get pregnant, blah blah blah. Occasionally some actual mob activities interrupt the graphic sex.

If these aren't AI-generated, their authors are saving their real talent for other projects.

Yet I consumed six of them over eight months. Six.

What is wrong with me?

On one level, it's not that deep. I want sexy books with actual sex in them. I don't want Harlequin fade-to-black passionlessness or Victorian novels where horniness had to masquerade as propriety. I'm an adult with an imagination who wants stimulation at a reasonable price without watching real people being exploited on a screen. It makes perfect sense.

But here's what I've figured out through all this garbage: these books offer a judgment-free space to explore vulnerability.

In media criticism, there's text and subtext. With mob romance, the text is "forced marriage with violent mob boss." The subtext is "woman has wants and needs met by man with status and resources." Financial security. Physical satisfaction. Sexual fulfillment. Reliable housing. Social connections. It's outrageous, which is precisely why it's fantasy.

Do I actually want a violent, obsessive partner? Absolutely not—the thought is toxic and frightening. But I'm not fantasizing about the text. I'm fantasizing about the subtext.

Is this problematic? Obviously. I always tell people to question the media they consume, learn what it reveals about themselves, and reject the "let people enjoy things" cop-out. Critique everything while you enjoy it, and let others do the same.

Which is why, after a few months of this, I burned out completely.

So I picked up Sarah J. Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses.

For a book tagged "faerie smut" and banned from Utah school libraries, it's remarkably tame on the hanky-panky. What it is is a genuinely excellent fantasy novel with intricate world-building and three-dimensional characters. The protagonist, Feyre, is independent, capable, intelligent—and notably not a virgin waiting to be deflowered by some well-hung fae. There's sex, sure. But it's not the scaffolding holding together a flimsy plot. It's a fantasy novel with sex in it.

You know. For adults.

I finished it within two weeks and immediately bought the rest of the series. I'm working through A Court of Mist and Fury now—spicier than the first, but still focused on character, plot, and world.

In my search for smut, I accidentally found great fantasy literature. Task failed successfully.