Dinosaur Erotica, Literal Ants in Literal Pants and Other Seemingly Undesirable Objects of Desire

(Yes this is a rerun, but I have two new things on the way including a contest so there's that. But for now you get this. Again.) 

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It probably doesn't speak horribly well of me that not one, but three readers (thank you Eric, Leah and Amy!), saw articles about dinosaur erotica and yes...thought of me.

At first I was kind of like, eh. I mean, after already writing about snowman erotica, horny leprechaun erotica, and Santa Claus erotica, there really couldn't be that much more to cover re: people fucking weird-ass things.*

And dinosaurs? Seemed like the options ranged from clawy scratching to hideous mauling, with all in-between combos also un-good.

But everything has its own life lesson to offer and dinosaur erotica was no exemption. I learned plenty of interesting stuff like:

--Scientists haven't found any fossils (soft tissue doesn't generally fossilize well) but speculate that dinosaurs probably had huge wangs, like 6ft long. The kind of hugeness that could really change the tenor of the exhibits in the Natural History Museum.

--No one is sure how dinosaurs had sex (rear entry position on sexy spiky lady Stegosaurus = instant castration.) 

--Scientists are hard at work (er...) rigging up computer simulations of which positions dinosaurs used to fuck to avoid the castration issue.  "These prickly dinosaurs must have had sex another way," said Heinrich Mallison, who is considered an expert, despite using the term "prickly dinosaurs."

--These phrases appear in Ravished by the Triceratops, according to someone who actually read it.

--I looked into the creature's eyes and saw the rage there, but I saw lust as well.
--I decided that I probably could get all this meat in me.
--I couldn't believe this was happening — I had a ten-ton monster licking my ass!

However, for me, the salient point in all this was:  the two chicks who are churning out all this dino ass-licking erotica started making enough money to quit their day jobs in one month!

This is their career advice:

If you find a market that is underwritten or doesn't exist, populate it.

Not to be mean, but their books aren't even good--not even cheapo niche erotica good--and they're really short, like 29 pages.

So of course, I started searching for an "underwritten market." It was surprisingly difficult.

Satan erotica?  Taken. "Gingerbread man erotica"? Taken.  Clown sex....at the Republican National Convention....with spanking?  Taken.

Finally I hit upon "ant erotica"

Maybe! There are no books about it and an interest, by these three dudes at least. Here's what one guy said on an ant erotica page that was pleasingly listed under the subhead of "romance and relationships."

"For over 10 years I have loved the feeling of ants crawling over my penis and balls....It started when I rented a house that had large secluded greenhouses which were unused. In these greenhouses large black plastic sheets had been put down to stop plants growing. One day during summer I lifted one of the sheets and found the whole ground covered in a moving mass of ants and ant eggs. I couldn't resist touching the mass which instantly crawled up my arm with a tickling, biting feeling. I brushed them off but the erotic feeling I had made me go back again next day. 

I stripped off, pulled back the sheet and gently lay down in the ants up to my shoulders and head. The feeling was amazing. Like a slow creeping tickling sheet being pulled over my body. There was no biting until they reached my cock and balls when I started to get lots of nips. This made me very erect and the more my foreskin pulled back the more they seemed to bite. it was divine. I was brushing them away from my face and at the same time twisting my nipples really hard. After a few minutes I had to masturbate and came all over the ants. After I had brushed off the ants and replaced the sheet I found my scrotum and foreskin were very red with small spots of blood over them. They swelled up over the next hour or so but not too much. Probably the acid in the bites. I rubbed some antispectic cream on and in a day or so I was reasonably back to normal. 

Needless to say this became an almost daily experience and sometimes up to three times a day."

******
"Needless to say" (!)  Exactly. Who wouldn't be right back out there the very next day (and sometimes up to three times a day)?

Anyway, is this a book?  "Fucking the Ant Hill"? Or maybe "Ants in My Pants: Literally. I mean there are seriously ants in my pants, biting my cock and balls, and I'll be back out there tomorrow. Needless to say"? Too wordy?

At the bottom of the ant page, I saw some promising links to "Fun with crickets" and "Slug fetish" which--needless to say--I clicked on immediately.

Under "fun with crickets," some guy named Don wrote this about some photos of him fucking (getting fucked by? making love to/with?) a couple bags of crickets.

I went out to the local pet store, and picked up a bag of 36 medium crickets, and another bag of 60 small cricket. I started out with putting cooked hot dog juice on the cock to be eaten, and started out with the small crix. I wasn't to please with the amount of munching that I received. So, I pulled the old tool out, cleaned it off, and applied a nice thin coat of peanut butter. Then I added all of the crickets to the container. The feeding frenzy was in full swing, and I was receiving a good bang for the buck. 

I think I may try meal worm, next, since I have yet to use them. 

One more thing about the crickets, I tend to swell up after a good feeding frenzy, and end up looking a bit like franken cock, if you know what I mean.

I actually don't know what he means about "franken cock" and I am evenly split over whether I actually want to know. However I do love how unerotic his story is, like Don's some guy hanging around the hardware store talking which tools he used patching up the old fence. I also love that Don decided that others would want to see pictures of the crickets eating (oh God) hot dog juice off his wiener. And the best part is, others did want to see the pix!

Like commenter David who had nothing to say about the hot dog juice, the wiener or the crickets, but commented: "Great job! Nice clarity on the container. What is the container, and where did you get it?" 

Which leaves me confused. To write for a market, you must understand it and I'm not yet there. I think I would be focusing on the slow erotic slathering of hot dog juice over my swollen hard cock, or maybe the smoldering lascivious look one of the crickets gave me as it started feeding on my balls, which were pulled tight to my body, as I tried desperately not to come all over those slutty, slutty crickets (medium-sized).

But clearly, I would need to focus on...the container.  And its clarity. And the fact that it's from Target, as Don later reports.

So, for now, my day job stays.

xoxo
jill

*Not judging as much as being completely completely fascinated.

Bad Erotica All Over The Damn Place, Plus a Contest!

Still love him.

Today's story on weird-ass erotica was killed by an editor's editor who found it "too weird." Which to me is not a thing. Sort of like the sentence, "That's ok--I've had enough."  I'm running my reject here for you, even though it actually doesn't seem quite weird enough by the rather high standards of weirdness we've developed over the years. 

So to sweeten the deal, I'm adding a contest. Send in a link to the very worst erotica you can find. You can comment below or use ye olde email (jillhamilton001@gmail.com). Deadline is January 22, so you have plenty of time to look around, then set fire to your search history.  Winner will be the entry I deem the best worst erotica, as determined by a ridiculously unfair and unfathomable system based on funniness, personal taste and the ancient Mayan calendar. 

The lucky winner will, one day in the very near future, walk out to their mailbox and be shocked to find a discreetly packaged Cadet Dildo courtesy of Good Vibrations lurking within. It might be a vibrating version of the Cadet or not. We still haven't worked out the details on that part, but it will for sure look like a dick (in one of three colors!) and I think that is an important feature of a pretend penis. That's $42-80 of penis-shaped silicone that's pretty damn perfect for all your pegging needs!

Yes, we ARE happy to see you

In the meantime, I'm also pleased to inform you that dear sullen Morrissey was the recipient (winner, perhaps is too strong a word here) of this year's Literary Review's Bad Sex in Fiction Award. The judges were particularly swayed by this passage from Morrissey's List of the Lost which certainly lends credence to his assertion that he's asexual. 

"At this, Eliza and Ezra rolled together into the one giggling snowball of full-figured copulation, screaming and shouting as they playfully bit and pulled at each other in a dangerous and clamorous rollercoaster coil of sexually violent rotation with Eliza’s breasts barrel-rolled across Ezra’s howling mouth and the pained frenzy of his bulbous salutation extenuating his excitement as it whacked and smacked its way into every muscle of Eliza’s body except for the otherwise central zone"

Anyway, here's the too weird/not weird enough article. And don't forget to enter the contest. That dildo could soon inside you or inside an orifice of someone you love! Or at least someone you like well enough to feel comfortable sticking a fake penis (in one of three colors) in one of their holes.

Fuck, I've missed you.

 xoxoxxo

 jill 

******

 7 Least Appealing Objects of Desire in Erotica

We are truly in a golden age of erotica. Maybe not quality-wise, necessarily, but in quantity—we've got it covered. Anyone or anything that is even vaguely fuckable has fanfic or a cheapo Amazon book featuring their heaving bosom and/or throbbing manhood and/or whatever spiky thing they have in their loins. Within seconds you can access smut featuring Santa Claus, Dobby the House Elf or a pterodactyl “who might have carnal pleasures in mind.” (Sure, some of it's meant to be funny/parody stuff, but, well....there's sure a lot of it. There's clearly something else going on here*--like how vehemently anti-gay politicians seem to spend a whole lot of time talking about gay dudes.)

Here then are erotica's 7 Least Appealing Objects of Desire.

--Not Obviously Sexy Celebrities!

Celebrities who rarely make anyone's freebie list finally get to throb with desire in stories like The Audition in which a hopeful contestant walks into Pat Sajak's (!) office and “is shocked to see Pat Sajak with his pants on the ground and one hell of a hard-on.” As one would be. Other erotic fodder includes the “Happy Days” cast, Ray Romano, Beavis and Butthead, and Mowgli and the Village Girl from “Jungle Book” (who, apparently, also have balloon fetishes. Because Mowgli/Village Girl erotica wasn't quite specific enough.)

Best/worst sentence (from The Audition): “Pat uses each hole well, like the proverbial gopher popping in and out of Vanna and Lila’s boxes.”

Real Sex Lives: Kat, "Let the horrible erotica begin."

(You have arrived in the midst of a grand celebration in which we're running IBWMW's all-time favorite Real Sex Lives.)

Kat wrote this for no other reason than to illustrate what bad smut is. Or perhaps to purge herself of the sentence, "He proceeded to kiss her with the fury of a toddler throwing a temper tantrum." Writes Kat, "Let the horrible erotica begin."

The couple walked along the edge of the water. They had only just met but knew that they were soul mates because that is how soul mates meet: on the beach at night.

They sat down on the blanket that the man, a massive Adonis with flowing gold locks, tanned skin and arms like a coal miner, had brought with him, knowing that he would meet the one who would complete him and would want to immediately to ravage her body as the ocean high tide ravaged the beach. He didn’t bring a condom though because he didn’t want any latex barrier between the woman’s love cave and the purple headed womb ferret that he was going to burrow into her.

He grasped her face and proceeded to kiss her with the fury of a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, and then laid her back. Their lips smelt together like two pieces of metal and they knew their bodies had been created to come together and create a single beast with two backs.

Her lips tasted better than his favourite bottle of beer and he was thirsty. He started to strip her clothing like removing old paint from a priceless antique desk. He kissed and munched on her neck as if he were a vampire and going to suck the blood out of her, except that she would like it. His hands wandered over her corporeal form like they wanted to touch her everywhere.

The woman hadn’t worn panties because she, too, had known that she was going to meet her soul mate on the beach and would spread her ivory appendages for his man-stick to enter her love-socket and create a piston of passion. The man looked up at her making sure she was ready for his tongue to do a Charleston on her pleasure button. She looked at him with eyes that would devour him if they were mouths. His hands spread her legs wider so that he could look at the entrance to her tunnel of love. His mouth moved closer and he blew lightly on her slices of salami displayed before him as if in the window of a fine deli. She shuddered at the sensation as if she were having a seizure. He gazed up her and whispered that he had skipped dinner and was starving, and would she mind if he sated his hunger with her womanly sauce. She replied that her highway to heaven was starving too: for his mouth and his tallywhacker.

Like a convict escaping from prison, his tongue darted from his mouth and attacked her love-bump like it was the getaway car. He sucked on her man in the boat and held it with his teeth and rasped it with his tongue. Up and down, back and forth, up and down, back and forth. And up and down, back and forth a lot more times.

He pressed his mouth into her center burrowing his tongue past the toll booth and up the highway. It was like having a threesome with his tongue being his wingman who got the first round. Her power of speech failed her when the pleasure came as scattering bunnies taking off for Wonderland.

He slid back up her body, the grit from the beach sticking to their skin like sandpaper. His bayonet stabbed her strawberry short cake and they began to rock back and forth as if traumatized by the ecstasy of each other. Her legs clamped around his hips like the jaws of a great beast and they lovingly bruised each others nether regions until he erupted into her like a tube of vanilla icing.

"I'm so glad we made love instead of fucking like people in other erotic pieces, my shining unicorn," the woman said.

"I would never degrade our spiritual connection by fucking you. Or asking your name," the man replied.

Fini

She hasn't posted in a few months but you can read more from Kat at Kat O'Nine Tales.

(The Th'ayes Have It, image courtesy the dear and generous Chaffyn. No implication of badness by its proximity to the bad smut, for the record.)

Bad Erotica, that is, Erotica Other People Like

Somebody mentioned erotica for folks over 60, which reminded me of this post. Pretend like you haven't met before.  

As part of my affiliate deal with Good Vibrations, I get to pick from an assortment of free stuff each month which I can offer to you as a prize or keep for myself*. (My motto: if you're going to sell out to a corporate overlord, do it for a sex-positive, girl-power one that showers you and your loved ones with free sex toys.)

Usually I pass the free sex toy love on to one of y'all, but a couple months ago, Good Vibes was offering a book called Lust: Erotic Fantasies for Women. Oh yes, I decided selfishly--giving not a whit of thought to you and your needs--this one's for mama.

When it arrived in its discreet brown wrapper, I snuck away to be alone with my new smut and started reading. There was a story about an anonymous encounter on a subway which was kinda good. Something about a lady working at a fruit stand and a TV star who comes and whisks her away, eh... Next. I kept reading and reading, hoping to get to "the good part," as it were, but it started to become apparent that, for me at least, there wasn't gonna be a good part.

By the time I got to a story about retiree sex, I stopped looking to be aroused by the book and started reading as sort of a sociological study. (Yes, I am this nerdy. Reading porn as an intellectual exercise. I would appreciate it if you'd not bring it up again.)

I am not at all against retirees having sex. I'm all for it, I swear! But seriously, listen to this supposed "erotica" in "Moving" by Susan St. Aubin.

We trade medical notes: he sometimes takes Viagra in the afternoon. Mornings he can do without. I tell him about the hormone cream I've started using in my cunt to bring back its raw silk texture.

What. The. Fuck???

My point here is not that it is unsexy**, but that yes, though it is unsexy to me, it's completely fucking off-the-charts sexy to someone else. For all I know, writing it was so fucking hot to Susan St. Aubin that she had to slip away several times while writing it to push her hand between her legs to relieve the growing pressure in her hormone cream-covered raw silkiness.

I find it fascinating how different people are turned on by different things. Your particular biological predilection, plus snippets from your experiences--people you knew growing up, a sexy movie scene you saw in 2003, an early lover, an idea you saw in a book--all converge in your brain to form an idea of what is erotic to you.

A friend of mine lent me a book called The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Vol. 5. I turned to something called "I Want to Watch you Do It" because I liked the title. In it, the girl makes the guy jack off in front of her while she watches, then he takes charge and bosses her around. She, overcome with lust, can do nothing but obey his sexual commands. "Just do what I ask and don't say a word until you come at least twice. Nod your head if you agree," demands the guy, as her puts her through a series of moves. Oh, darling, I loved that #$##! But that's because it happens to fire up whatever particular erotica neurons I have set up in my brain. You, by contrast, might be left completely cold. Perhaps you need a vampire involved, or a fetching Scotsman, or a fierce dominatrix wearing a specific brand of blue boots.

I can imagine that Mammoth contributor Joshua Hoobler would be among those unaroused by my beloved story of sexual instructions. His story, "Not at Risk," lavishly shares the details of some dude giving himself enemas (5 of them!) and having sex with a series of three dildos. (Each oh so very very special.)

On Sunday morning I wake up early, have my regular bowel movement, wipe thoroughly, take the enema bag out from the bathroom cabinet, fill it with warm water, hang it on the towel rack, grab the Astroglide, slip on some latex gloves, lube up my asshole and commence upon a series of two quart enemas...It takes me at least three and sometimes up to five to get to where the toilet water is as clear when I'm done as it is when I sat down. 

Again, the point is not that this is unsexy***, but that this guy and I have a vast chasm--oh so very, very vast--between what we each consider sexy. When he was describing the particular quality of his friggin' poo, I not only wasn't turned on, I was whatever the complete opposite of turned on is. In truth, I really kind of wanted to retch.

However, if me retching turns you on, I would direct you to Puke Planet, a site for those with a vomiting fetish.

Which, I think, kind of makes my point...

xoxox
jill

*I also get a 20% commission on anything you order from Good Vibes through In Bed With Married Women. Might I suggest the We-Vibe couples vibrator thing? The woman wears it during penetration, while it hums along outside and inside at the same time. Haven't tried it but, damn, sure sounds good.
**Though, c'mon it totally is!
***But, holy fuck, it is so so so unsexy!!!

What if the Guy in 50 Shades of Grey was...a Leprechaun? And other really really bad erotica.

My Twitter friend @stillmansays sent the following missive:

"@Jill_Hamilton please write about this... Abraham Lincoln: Presidential Fuck Machine."

I dutifully clicked the link.

And, well, Holy Fuck.

Abraham Lincoln: Presidential Fuck Machineis an e-book about, well, I'll just show you the blurb:

Few people know that Abraham Lincoln was the greatest fuck machine of all time. His sexual prowess is unmatched in the history of American presidents. When he gets word of a nefarious plot hatched by the insane Emperor of Japan, he must learn to use his most potent power--the power of his cock!

Uh, what??? "Abraham Lincoln" and "fuck machine" in same sentence? Cock power as 1800s foreign policy position? Possible need for insane Emperor to do anticipatory waxing for diplomatic summit?

The book is on Amazon, and has one of those "Click to LOOK INSIDE!" buttons. So--of course, yes!--I fucking well did click, immediately. And I am so glad I did because, well, behold this opening:

April 22, 1863

It was a balmy spring morning and the White House was abuzz with activity. I rose early, as I always did, and paced restlessly around the bedroom. Mary looked angelic in sleep, so I didn't wake her. As I stripped my nightclothes and prepared to dress, I noticed that my cock was fully erect and ready for duty, most likely due to some dream or humour that had overtaken me in the night. My birthmark itched, as it often did as such times. At first I considered mounting Mary and using her soft familiar slit to relieve the pressure in my prick but she was never very agreeable in the morning. Do not judge me too harshly, dear reader, but I must admit that, at that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to visit Martha instead.

As you know, I completely adore the idea of people's odd specificity in their porn/erotica, and this whole Lincoln thing is so...exactly that. The reference to humours, a man speaking of his "nightclothes" and even, gak, mention of his birthmark--even worse, an itchy birthmark. (Oddly, I find the birthmark detail much more off-putting than the idea of a pantless Lincoln and his "iron hard prick.")

The Lincoln porn turned me on to (note to self: think of different way of putting that) a whole new world of weird-ass e-book erotica. Holy crap, there are all kinds of these short ebooks about humans getting it on with every manner of literary creature, both mythical and beastly. Lincoln, at least, was both real and a human. Something which cannot be said for the other romantic leads in this genre.

For example, at the bottom of the Lincoln book page under "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought" was the title...Snowballin': I Fucked Frosty. Yes, that Frosty. The Snowman.

Of course--of course--I immediately pressed Look Inside! but there was no snowy, snowy action on page one and I had to content myself with the cover blurb: 

When a boyfriend fails to fulfill his sexual duties, sometimes the only option is to turn to the cold embrace of a snowman.

"That is someone who is not looking at their options realistically," said my husband when I told him about this, as he tried with increasing desperation to move the conversion in directions far, far away from snowman fucking. As a result, I was alone as I tried to figure out how things might have gone down with Frosty. I suppose his carrot nose is an obvious place to start, but I just read somewhere that it's dangerous to insert carrots in one's orifices. (Can't remember why it was dangerous, just retained the salient point--"do not fuck carrot.") Though I suppose, in this case, carrot loss is less of a concern than genital frostbite.

I eagerly looked under the Frosty book's "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought" and found all kinds of crazy-ass shit, including The Horny Minotaur, Fucked by the Lake Monster, Bred by Trolls, Merlin's Magic Wang, and Bred by the Boogeyman. I never knew this, but there is a whole sub-genre of these "Bred by" books. "Well, of course I didn't want to fuck the Boogeyman, but he forced himself on me."

However I found myself most intrigued with The Horny Leprechaun 1 not only because it has spawned a sequel, The Horny Leprechaun 2, but for fuck's sake, it's about a Leprechaun. Not only that, but this particular Leprechaun sounds like he's kind of a dick. Here's the blurb:

Some Leprechauns are not so nice........

All Karen wanted to do was go to Ireland.  That is until she goes out hiking one day and finds the rainbow's end. Unfortunately, she runs into one pissed off Leprechaun who thinks she is after his gold. Now the Leprechaun wants payment for trespassing with sexual acts that some called depraved while others might call it magically delicious. Karen finds herself with a bit of a sadistic man who takes what he wants and Karen finds that she likes it.

"The Horny Leprechaun 1" also starts with possibly the most alarming book preface I've ever seen:

"Warning: This story contains oral sex, forced seduction, and anal sex" ...WITH A LEPRECHAUN! A JERKY, BOSSY LEPRECHAUN! [ed note: yelling typeface part added]

This stuff must be getting to me because I'm already writing a scene for The Horny Leprechaun 3 (maybe 3-D? seek funding?)

Karen: "Helloooo, I'm in my hotel....What are you wearing?"
Horny Leprechaun: "Green booties with curly toes, ya filthy whore. Now get ye gigantic human-sized ass over to me mushroom house and I'm gonna pound ye with me wee green prick."

Fuck, that's hot.

To someone. Else.
 
Anyway, I'm gonna go keep looking at these. Need to figure out which first: Goblin Gangbang or Cum For Bigfoot 12 ? Or maybe I should just go seasonal with Bred by Santa (An Impregnation Sex Story). Oh, quit your judging. I read the first page already. Santa's not cheating or anything. Mrs. Claus is dead (one of many of his mortal wives over the years, apparently) and Santa needs to have a male heir. Anyway, I don't want to, like, fuck Santa, he forced me--for breeding.

Or maybe I should just stop.  I just had the suddenly sobering experience of seeing "Your Browsing History" for this session and am realizing that for the foreseeable future, whenever I log onto Amazon, I'm going to see messages like, "Recommended for YOU: Taken and Milked (a forced lactation sex fantasy)."

Right. I'm gonna go now. 

xoxox
jill

(image: The Grinder by the beyond fabulous and completely strange Mark Ryden. He is also obsessed with Abraham Lincoln, though probably not in the "fuck machine" way.)