I am a sucker for romantic scenes. Books, movies and songs are made about this exhilarating culmination. Guy meets girl, girl meets guy, they go through things together and separately and then that first kiss comes into focus.

It starts slow, just a short small nibble. Then the embrace gets stronger and stronger, the heartbeat increases exponentially, cheeks are blushing, both breathing heavily, things start to get French…

At that precise moment, nothing else exists. Just you and the object of your desire. Electricity flows from one body to the other. Romance is not in the air, but in those two – floating, energising and sweeten up the deal.

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There is always this guy in American soap operas – the dude next door. He usually is very tall and strong, quite a hunk actually, rough around the edges and most certainly an object of desire by wedded and unwedded women in the neighbourhood.

Sometimes, the main actress is not really aware of her feelings about him, other times she is. But before they actually hook up, a couple of seasons and numbers of episodes pass. Then they go through a misunderstanding, followed by a rough patch until they clear somehow magically the air and end up together by the season finale.

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