XXX Mad Libs
Once upon a time, I thought all so-called literary erotica started exactly the same formulaic way:
Dear (Penthouse, Oui, Hustler, Screw, et. al.)
I used to think that all your letters were made up by (Ivy League undergraduates, volunteer firemen, pizza delivery boys, convenience store clerks, et. al.) But ever since my encounter with (our neighbor’s babysitter, my best friend’s mom, the Canadian women’s curling team, my hot math teacher, et. al.) I know they must all be true!
And they would go from there. They all came from some sort of porno Mad Libs book. Teenage boys everywhere thought these were the greatest stories ever, until they grew up a little and started having sex and became college students or pizza boys or whatever, at which point Penthouse Letters became absolutely hilarious, the kind of shit you would read aloud when you were stoned with your buddies, and you would laugh until the tears ran down your face as Steve, a starting all-Ivy tackle who wasn’t even high, gave a dramatic reading, shifting to falsetto for the female role:
“Now fuck me like you just got out of prison,” she says breathlessly. “Slam that throbbing man-meat into my pussy. Now!”
And as I remember it, that was the cue for Steve’s girlfriend to come walking in the dorm room door, which was even funnier for everyone except for Steve, who never read for us again.
Today, of course, the whole thing would be on YouTube, and Steve never would have gotten into grad school. But you can’t tell me the market for bad, unintentionally funny erotic writing has gone away. Because the snippets I’m sharing with you come from the here and now. It’s the same damned stuff, aimed directly at males, 18 to 34. I know this because an editor at Penthouse told me as much recently; and also an acquaintance of mine who is 20, going to college and has part-time jobs as both a convenience store clerk AND as a pizza delivery boy, told me that guys still love to laugh at bad pornographic writing.
Then he called me “a throbbing bonerhead,” but in a friendly way. And we got a laugh out of that. Guys are so predictable sometimes, but we’re fine with that, really.
Dear (Penthouse, Oui, Hustler, Screw, et. al.)
I used to think that all your letters were made up by (Ivy League undergraduates, volunteer firemen, pizza delivery boys, convenience store clerks, et. al.) But ever since my encounter with (our neighbor’s babysitter, my best friend’s mom, the Canadian women’s curling team, my hot math teacher, et. al.) I know they must all be true!
And they would go from there. They all came from some sort of porno Mad Libs book. Teenage boys everywhere thought these were the greatest stories ever, until they grew up a little and started having sex and became college students or pizza boys or whatever, at which point Penthouse Letters became absolutely hilarious, the kind of shit you would read aloud when you were stoned with your buddies, and you would laugh until the tears ran down your face as Steve, a starting all-Ivy tackle who wasn’t even high, gave a dramatic reading, shifting to falsetto for the female role:
“Now fuck me like you just got out of prison,” she says breathlessly. “Slam that throbbing man-meat into my pussy. Now!”
And as I remember it, that was the cue for Steve’s girlfriend to come walking in the dorm room door, which was even funnier for everyone except for Steve, who never read for us again.
Today, of course, the whole thing would be on YouTube, and Steve never would have gotten into grad school. But you can’t tell me the market for bad, unintentionally funny erotic writing has gone away. Because the snippets I’m sharing with you come from the here and now. It’s the same damned stuff, aimed directly at males, 18 to 34. I know this because an editor at Penthouse told me as much recently; and also an acquaintance of mine who is 20, going to college and has part-time jobs as both a convenience store clerk AND as a pizza delivery boy, told me that guys still love to laugh at bad pornographic writing.
Then he called me “a throbbing bonerhead,” but in a friendly way. And we got a laugh out of that. Guys are so predictable sometimes, but we’re fine with that, really.
p.s. -- One volunteer, so far ... l-o-l
I like how Anais Nin writes about some serious taboo like bestiality, pedophilia, and necrophilia. That woman was hardcore! You want me to read you the one about the guy who pulls the hot drowned chick out of the river and has his way with her on the bank?
"I have the right to love many people at once and to change my prince often."
Make that TWO volunteers, Cowboy. *wink*
This is really working out rather well, isn't it ...
Funny, my boyfriend and I love reading Anais Nin to each other and discussing it.