Brokeback Mountain is no Elbrus.

I simply cannot resist.

I know I should not. I know it is mean. Also, who am I to judge?

But I physically cannot resist.

Today, at work, as you do, I finally had a moment to glance through the much talked about Artush and Zaur.

Before attempting to secretly print it out and risk getting sacked, I thought: 'Let’s just glance through and see if it is worth it?'

I read a few pages, and came to the scene of the two young lovers meeting -again. According to the author, they had been playing some very naughty games back in childhood. I am trying not to think what the author meant by “childhood”- not to get disturbing images in my already disturbed enough head. Neither of them, years after, was sure the other one would recognize him. That also seemed a bit strange to me. However old, fat or bald my ex lovers might be right now, I would hope I can still recognize them, should we ever accidentally meet again. That, of course, might have something to do with the fact that in my childhood, the naughtiest thing I had done was probably nick someone’s newspaper from an open mail box. Homosexual or, in fact, any-sexual love was not on my mind in my childhood days. But OK. Never mind that bit. More importantly, the author mentioned, fondly, that the lovers’ “keys” were much smaller back in those days. Right, moving on....

The scene of the main characters meeting again was kind of good. The passionate glances across the room, the tension, the agreement to meet back at the hotel.... I was curious and kept reading. Until I got to the actual sex scenes.

Brokeback Mountain can take a back seat. Move over and make space for a properly revealing gay love scene.

I personally have no problems with love scenes, gay or straight. Far from it! However, I could not fight the feeling that I was reading cheap porn. And no attempts to bring in the ideas of Armenian-Azeri peace; or the tragedy of the Bakuvians who no longer simmer in one big gay multicultural pot could distract me. Sorry. Porn.

But most importantly, what I thought was the funniest part is that the author clearly attempted for the love scene NOT to sound pornographic. He avoided the word penis, clearly assuming that if he replaced it with metaphors like a key or the mountain of Elbrus, it would make things a lot more....more...what? Romantic? Sexy? Erotic?

And no, I am not going to spare you the details. This bit was my favourite, and I am dying, absolutely dying here to share it with you.

I shall attempt a translation. Please remember! This is not my choice of words.

Yesterday, as soon as he saw the open peach of the loved one, he got overwhelmed and cried. Hot tears fell upon his ready for an attack dagger. And Artush sunk the dagger, wet from tears, up to its handle in Zaur’s sheath. And now he was upset: “Oh why did I not use Vaseline, or at least, cream? Why be so rough? Yes, tears are sacred (eh? ) but cannot replace the cream! No, they cannot! “

I know this book was a brave move somewhere like Azerbaijan. I know it is controversial and therefore, must be appreciated. Maybe? the author tried to use the old One Thousand and One Nights style language to add an Eastern touch to his novel- a good way to make it more exotic. Maybe, I am just a girl and my understanding of what is erotic is totally different.

All I remember from reading this book are the daggers, teeny-weeny keys, the Elbrus mountain ready to erupt and... peaches. Which, sadly, used to be one of my favourite fruits. Until now.