Samara’s Bad-Girl Guide to Writing Erotica

 

Ever since the appearance of Fifty Shades of Grey, the worst book to have ever sold 100 million copies worldwide, everyone is writing erotica.

I don’t want to discuss this Idiot Book, the fact that Anastasia is a virgin who can orgasm 20 times an hour, never worries about getting a urinary tract infection or somehow made it through college without a working laptop.

Bad erotica is sprouting up everywhere. All of it hackneyed and formulaic.

The characters are always flawless. Or if they have flaws, they are so endearing they make the character even more adorable.

For women,”clumsy” is the most popular endearing flaw. For the record, I am clumsy. There’s nothing sexy about. I fall down, smack my head on things, injure myself frequently and am generally shocked to still be alive.

Last week, in a meeting with a group of men, I dropped my pen under the conference table. I reached down to get it, hit my head on the edge of the table, and sustained a near-concussion. No dicks got hard.

I would like to read about a female character with some really detracting flaws.

“Monique had a grotesque mutant butthole growing out of her face. Her ass stunk like Exit 13 on the New Jersey Turnpike and she cleared a room whenever she broke wind.”

 

And of course. every male character has a frighteningly enormous cock. Let’s go for some diversity:

“Her eyes widened as he slipped his sweatpants down his short stubby legs. His peeny seemed erect but it was so small, there was no way to tell. She gave it a swift headbutt, because men loved that.”

 

Another thing that really gets my hackles up is how all these beautiful women smell. They always smell like fresh-baked bread, or lemons.

Can’t we try something a little different?

“She jerked open her vest, radiating the scent of stale cigarettes and 3-day old crab legs.”

“Her pussy smelled like an elderly man he once knew who moved to Florida and did something with pit bulls.”

 

There are only so many ways to write a traditional sex scene, and they can become repetitive and boring. It’s important to be innovative and unique in your erotica. Here are a few little snippets I’d like to share with you.

You’re welcome.

 Blake and Thalia

Blake unzipped his pants quicker than a hooker running from cops. His tube sausage flopped out. She began jerking off his pork sword roughly, like it owed her money.

Thalia released her breasts like one would release the Kraken. They were long and heavy, as if she had loaded a shitload of change into a pair of old tube socks and taped them to her chest. Blake wandered around them like a hobo at a hydroelectric plant.

He crammed his meat flute into her greasy rat’s mouth. He moved as awkwardly as a 6’2″ guy trying to get a laid in a Honda Civic. Thalia breathed heavily, making sounds like a child caught in a dry cleaning bag.

“Your bajina feels like I’m jerking off into wet balloons,” Blake said, struggling to breathe, like a fat man digging into nachos. Thalia thrashed around like a Jawa getting gummed by a toothless Sarlaac.

Blake moved over Thalia’s body stiffly, like a disabled person trying to have intercourse with a mailbox. Thalia’s pubes were thick enough to star in their own episode of Duck Dynasty. Her hairy ham wallet was trembling as he bit into it, and then peed on her bed, marking his territory like an irate Doberman.

Blake’s eight inches of throbbing pink Jesus rammed into her vintage golf bag. He dove into her nappy lunch meat like Scrooge McDuck into a room full of gold. As his all-beef thermometer slammed into Thalia’s hot pocket she orgasmed so hard, she sweated like a gerbil in a gay bar.

They fell asleep entwined together in the afterglow.

Thalia woke up the next morning with a meat pie in her hand and her mouth tasting like an ashtray.

 

 Garth and Savannah

Garth gazed at Savannah like a gluttonous person would gaze at a cheap, all you can eat buffet. All the calories rushed to his penis.

The cameltoes created by her pudgy baby-fat labias made him want to plunge into them like a sex-crazed Mario the plumber. He longed to take a bite of her wobbly jello salad. Savannah’s bald, fat-lipped special place was so enticing, he longed to hump her like a blind baby kangaroo trying to body box.

Savannah breathed raggedly, like an asthma patient at indoor casino that allowed smoking.

“Garth, I’m gonna touch your weiner all over that yucky looking part at the top, the entire peeny.”

She ran her wet toilet-plunger tongue over her thick lips. Moans like belches escaped her lips.

Savannah reached down, sliding her hand under Garth’s clammy beer-gut. She let out a small choke of lust as her acrylic nails scraped the bald, encrusted dent of his urethral opening. He roared mightily as he shoved her off the bed, causing her to lustily smash her head on the nightstand.

Garth did a jiggling frantic nut-swing. He plowed his pink tractor beam inside her field of dreams. Savannah’s velvet clown hole was as tight as Uncle Fred’s hat band.

Her rosy walls of lust shrink-wrapped around his beef jerky with a grape-squashing force. They squeezed his shaft harshly, as one would squeeze  out the last morsel of toothpaste from the tube. Garth felt like mini feminist ninjas were attacking his nut sack.

He cupped Savannah’s buttocks like a couple of freshly baked loaves of gluten free bread and gave them a quality-approving squeeze.

Slowly, he tamed Savannah’s skittish sphincter like it was a nervous filly. Soon it was as relaxed as a psychiatric patient on Seroquel. He took turns violating Savanna’s brown balloon knot with matching Pilgrim Thanksgiving salt and pepper shakers his Aunt Tillie had given him for a housewarming present.

“I’m gonna tongue punch you in the fart box!” he bleated at her.

 —

So, release your inner perv and give it a try!

 

Did you read 50 Shades of Grey? Do you have any interest in writing erotica?’
How did I do?
Talk to me. I’m listening. 

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