Our own literotica...

[Tyrion Cheddar]

So a friend--not me--was perusing the site literotica.com and came across a forum thread in which site members described ideas or themes for erotic stories that would apparently meet their personal needs, and then asked others for help in writing them. The following are some actual (and serious) examples:

The Pizza's Revenge, in which all the leftover pizza from porn videos over the years gets mad and takes revenge on the co-eds in those scenes.

Stories set in Historic Scotland, in which Scottish warriors either ravage women or are captured and violated, the author stating he prefers this setting because the men wore exhibitionist clothing (the kilt.)

Villainess destroys all superheroes, in which a beautiful villainess destroys all the famous superheroes, leading to a climactic scene in which, wearing high heels and a long tight black dress (don't ask me), she mockingly confronts Superman, telling him he's finished and that now there will be no stopping her from implementing her evil plans.

Female Mixed Martials Arts champion submits to male fighter on Pay Per view.

The list goes on, and the story ideas get more bizarre, and the people submitting them are quite serious in describing the fantasies they need to imagine. They often include the most obscure details, without which the suggested story would apparently not have its intended effect.

So, I thought we could do a jocular version of this thread, a send-up of literotica in which we take on the role of those desperate weirdos, because I know that no one here, certainly not me, would ever seriously descend to that level. :devil:

[Tyrion Cheddar]

I just want to point out that 226 people have now viewed this post and while I'm disappointed that no one wanted to play, the thing that amazes me most is that there are 226 active members on the site. I actually thought we were down to about a dozen people, seriously.

[YesNo]

I remember looking at Literotica about a decade ago. I wanted a place for the moronic limericks I was writing at the time and which were understandably inappropriate for better places like Eratosphere or a site that tried to define words using limericks (I can't remember what it was called). Ultimately I stopped writing those limericks although the "Lymerick" thread keeps tempting me back.

The problem with doing anything too erotic here is that many young people read these forums.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

I remember looking at Literotica about a decade ago. I wanted a place for the moronic limericks I was writing at the time and which were understandably inappropriate for better places like Eratosphere or a site that tried to define words using limericks (I can't remember what it was called). Ultimately I stopped writing those limericks although the "Lymerick" thread keeps tempting me back.

The problem with doing anything too erotic here is that many young people read these forums.

OK, although that surprises me greatly, as my impression was that there were virtually no young people here. It often feels like mostly older people, and at times that has actually made me fee uncomfortable; so if there are young'ns here, I'm glad to hear it. As to my idea being too erotic, the point of it was to do a send-up of erotica, a bit of satire, so nothing of an overtly adult or graphic nature was intended, but if, as it seems, no one's into it, that's OK. I'll move on to my next great idea, which, you can rest assured, will be a stunner. You just wait. :-0

[YesNo]

Most of us do seem to be reaching the age of senility, but we might still be able to do some satire of erotica. That is sort of how I look at some of the limericks that appear in the Lymerick thread. They are too idiotic to be erotic.

Although it should be a profitable genre, I don't find supposedly erotic writing to be all that erotic. Romance novels, for instance, have never interested me. I have books of lewd limericks such as the one by Ronald Stanza, but after reading a dozen or so of them even that worthy collection gets tiring. It is not that I am above all that. If he added illustrations, my interest might remain.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

Most of us do seem to be reaching the age of senility, but we might still be able to do some satire of erotica. That is sort of how I look at some of the limericks that appear in the Lymerick thread. They are too idiotic to be erotic.

Although it should be a profitable genre, I don't find supposedly erotic writing to be all that erotic. Romance novels, for instance, have never interested me. I have books of lewd limericks such as the one by Ronald Stanza, but after reading a dozen or so of them even that worthy collection gets tiring. It is not that I am above all that. If he added illustrations, my interest might remain.


Your reference to this guy Ronald Stanza and his books of limericks made me laugh out loud, because I remembered Monty Python's sketch about a famous novelist called Nevil Shunt (a take-off on Nevil Shute, I assume), whose singular obsession was trains and railway timetables. I remember the shot of Terry Jones sitting at a little table with a typewriter, furiously typing out his next novel, with model trains around him and making choo-choo noises. ;-)

But you see that actually is what those people on Literotica.com do--they each have some peculiar obsession like railway timetables and apparently can only achieve the desired state of excitement if an erotic fantasy is set against the backdrop of said obsession. By the way, I am in agreement with you about nearly all erotic fiction, boring is the word. Anyway, the Python sketch mentioned one of Nevil Shunt's works as being titled something like It All Happened on the 11:13 between Bolton and Trafford. I can just see a denizen of Literotica beseeching his peers for more railway related erotica. ;-)

[YesNo]

If one is writing erotic romance Literotica is a good place to go for inspiration. However, I soon realized it was not the best place to put those limericks.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

I'm posting to see if anyone would be interested in reading a Chef Boyardee-themed erotic fantasy. I'm considering writing it. This would feature elements of Dom/sub, with sub-themes of trust/betrayal and probably a hint of incest, with Beefaroni and Beef Ravioli (in Tomato and Meat Sauce) playing the main characters, and a possible "Han Solo" style last minute appearance by Spaghetti & Meatballs.

[YesNo]

Will it have any geese in it? Don't worry. I'd read it even without the geese.

[Danik 2016]

I don´t think I will miss the opportunity to have a good laugh.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

Alright, so, to state the ball rolling, as it were...Beefaroni had been noticing the plumpness of Ravioli for some time now. He knew she was stuffed with beef, just as he knew there was no use denying any longer the way her plumpness affected him. Just because they were siblings didn't mean her allure was diminished--just the opposite. Her curves and waiting fullness called to him as he lay awake at night, stewing in his own simmering tomato sauce.

[YesNo]

Nice beginning! It can't hurt to get the reader thinking about the right amount of plumpness.

[Danik 2016]

I suspect though this is meant to be another next sentence game ;). Exit geese, enter noodles, meatbals and company

[Pompey Bum]

Ding dong the bell calls
Spaghetti and meatballs
For you and for me
From Chef Boyardee


Was that dirty enough?

[Tyrion Cheddar]

<sigh> Nice, Pompey. Way to toss ice water on the whole thing. Poor old Beefaroni was all excited and raring to go, and you go singing 1960s TV commercials. Reset...

When we last saw our hero, he was on the verge of bubbling over to thoughts of his sister's plumpness. As he lay simmering, thoughts of her soft dumplings taunted him, until he exploded in a spray of zesty tomato sauce. Little did he know, however, that in the next room, Ravioli was having her own heated thoughts...

(Now, someone pick it up from there, and Pompey Bum, if you sing the Prince Spaghetti jingle, I'm gonna have to get violent.)

[Pompey Bum]

<sigh> Nice, Pompey. Way to toss ice water on the whole thing. Poor old Beefaroni was all excited and raring to go, and you go singing 1960s TV commercials. Reset...

Well, I respectfully disagree. Ding dong is an extremely risqué term and that's not even mentioning meatballs. But okay, if you think you can handle the pure:

Beefaroni's full of meat,
Beefaroni's really neat,
Beefaroni's fun to eat,
Hooray for Chef Boyardee!"

[YesNo]

I can imagine that was the very song going through Ravioli's mind in the next room.

Unfortunately, when Beefaroni loudly exploded his zesty tomato sauce all over the room, Ravioli was in the middle of singing it and that ticked her off--big time. How often had their mother told Beefy to stop using those internet sites? She couldn't remember, but now it was her turn to try to beat some sense into him.

Unfortunately, as she marched out of her room and banged open Beefy's door she forgot to put on her pesto sauce. Admittedly she used only a skimpy amount. Her father used to complain that it didn't cover up enough. Her mother used to complain that it didn't cover up anything at all. She knew everyone else loved it, but, as I said, she forgot to put it on.

Framed in the doorway of Beefy's room she screamed stuff like "What do you think you are doing?" and "I'm telling Mom!". But all that Beefy could focus on were those upper ravioli curves bobbing this way and that and those even plumper lower curves swishing left and right, and for the record Beefy did try to control himself, but Ravioli found herself at the very moment she was making her most compelling argument covered in a picante tomato sauce.

[Pompey Bum]

The End

After that a new show came on. It was a romantic comedy or maybe a bedroom farce, but it had nothing to do with incest (something that has given humanity only fast horses and the occasional Greek God).

"Zut alors!" puffed Chef Boyardee as he hauled his huge belly into a snug Parisian cafe. Why do I have to look like the stereotype of a French chef when I was born in Piacenza, Italy, and have lived in New York since I was 16? And the hat! How can I meet girls with this big, stupid hat? And don't get me started on these chubby cheeks!"

As he muttered Frenchly, the chef's gaze fell upon Mademoiselle Raviolli, who was patting down her little black skirt, tossing an unnecessary scarf over her shoulder, and adjusting her trite beret. "Ooh-la-la!" he purred, allowing himself the luxury of picturing her completely different DNA profile. "Vive la difference!" he breathed through his ridiculous mustache. Mais--can I find enough Italian in myself?"

Seizing his courage, he lumbered towards her table while ornate metal chairs toppled before his immense girth. Leaning his fat face down to her, he placed his thumb and forefinger together and drawled: "Mama Mia, atsa spicy meata bawl!"

Ravi, who had been wondering why she had an Indian sitarist's name, recoiled wide eyed at the corpulent chef's advances--her confusion disolving into disgust and horror. Just then Monsieur Spaghetti-Os appeared at the lady's side. "Ees zees fellow bossering you, ma cherie?" he intoned with Franco-American charm.

"Oh, I could eat you with a spoon!" she panted as they slinked away together.

"I guess I should have forgotten all about socially constructed racial identities and just been myself," the tub of lard concluded sadly. "And maybe I could lose some weight, too. Mais non! That would be a pedantic ending."

And the moral of the story is: INCEST IS WRONG. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, TC. YOU, TOO, YESNO.

[YesNo]

Lunch happened to Beefy and Ravioli.

You ate them?

Yes.

How could you?

There are more cans on the shelf.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

TC is momentarily laid out flat, under the cafe table, a Long Island iced tea balanced on his forehead; but he will be back soon with...Mama Ziti's Revenge!

[Tyrion Cheddar]

Mama Ziti was known in the neighborhood. Boy was she known. The husbands' gazes lingered on her portions as she rolled down the sidewalk. The adolescent boys called her a PILF. The wives resented her bitterly. But unbeknownst to everyone, Mama Ziti found it hard these days to keep her thoughts from the beefy boy under her own roof, whose increasingly zesty gazes had met her own on more than one occasion. She knew it would all end in cheese, but at that moment she was ready to throw caution to the four winds, such was her longing.

[YesNo]

Once the wives realized Mama Ziti's interests focused on a single victim and he was not one of their husbands, these worthy women offered her encouragement and openly sought her advice on how to get their portions puffing out like hers in the right directions.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

The night came at last. Warm, humid, with a breeze blowing the lace curtains in languid patterns. Mama Ziti walked with slow deliberation and a heaving, well, not bosom, 'cause she didn't have one, but whatever the ziti equivalent of a bosom is, down the hall. She turned in Beefaroni's open bedroom door. Saw him sleeping, almost naked, on the bed, silver moonlight illuminating his beautiful, well, not skin, exactly, let's say pasta veneer. She only hesitated one moment, then went to him. She reached, she touched, his head turned still mostly asleep...
When it was over and they lay entwined in the microwave safe bowl, the platter beneath them no longer turning, their cheese all run together in its softened state, Mama gently caressed her boy's, well, not head, knowing that it was good, and right and proper.

THE END

[Danik 2016]

Useful link, specially for non natives ;):
http://www.foodsubs.com/PastaTubes.html

[YesNo]

I didn't know there were so many different kinds of pasta tubes. And then there are the flat pastas or rather "pasta ribbons": http://www.foodsubs.com/PastaRibbons.html

[Tyrion Cheddar]

Right, lads. Time for a fresh start. The following I am cutting and pasting from Literotica.com, though I have bleeped out the naughty words. This is someone's actual proposal for an erotic story:

'During the time of British rule in Colonial America British soldiers were allowed to impose upon any household to seek shelter and food by means of the Quartering Act. Two young soldiers who have been drinking at the local tavern find their way to a farmer's estate. Thomas Dawes reluctantly lets in the two boorish young men. As curiosity calls for Thomas introduces his family to the soldiers. His wife Jane, his two sons Nate and Ben, and his comely daughter Kate. After dinner everyone retires to their rooms. The soldiers are put up in the spare bedroom. About an hour after everyone has settled into their beds, Kate sneaks off down the hall and into the soldiers' room. She seduces them and proceeds to [colorful metaphors deleted].'

Right, so I propose we pick up on this guy's suggestion, only add a couple of twists. For a start, the farmer's name is Barry Manilow, and his daughter Kate, known in the village as Bury Me in a Y-Shaped Coffin Kate, has a dread fear of lark's vomit. Lay on, you rogues. Who wants to start.

[prendrelemick]

This is terrible! I can't think of a single thing. Where did the years go?

[Danik 2016]

This is becoming a course in erotic writing in X steps.
Step 1:Invitation (Which nobody accepted)
Step 2: Relaxing thread: What do you do in the morning?
Step 3: exercising phantasies describing the erotic adventures of pasta and meatballs.
Step 4: The present one.

[YesNo]

The next morning Kate told her mother what she did when her father and brothers were not around. Her father did not like the idea of having to quarter anyone in his home and his sons, being upstart rebels, were looking for ways for those two soldiers to experience the effects of some innocent accident. If they had known what those soldiers did to Kate and what Kate's mother was hoping they would do to her that evening, things might have gotten worse a lot faster than they did.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

This was mainly, of course, out of jealously. People in the village had long whispered that Barry Manilow was gay. For a start, it was well known he hadn't once crept into his daughter's sleeping quarters. Not once--and she had a pair like two prize-winning watermelons. It was further rumored that the two sons preferred each other's company to that of their mother or their sister, which was doubly odd, especially in a county known for its two-headed offspring. Thus it was that both Barry Manilow and his sons gnashed their teeth with resentment that the two handsome young redcoats took not even a little interest in them, lavishing all their attentions on the fair Kate.

[YesNo]

In the morning the women folk fed breakfast to the men folk, including those two devilishly handsome redcoat soldier folk all dressed in red, giving each of the soldiers an extra heaping pile of beans along with scrambled eggs and the best tea brought in specially from Boston figuring they'll need all the energy they can get after last night.

The tallest, most exquisitely handsome of the two with the nicest butt looked at Kate as she melted before him in anticipation of the sound of his manly voice, "Got any coffee?"

[Tyrion Cheddar]

(NB: "Got any coffee?" was the universally recognized Colonial euphemism for "Last one upstairs, knickers down's a monkey's uncle, you little minx." Often employed to set the mood for foreplay (see Cotton Mathers' Mathers' Guide to Candle Making, Deer Skinning and Foreplay), the Redcoat here is clearly employing the term in a particularly playful manner, intended to elicit giggles and disrobing.)

Noting the above, the three men, sighing, resigned themselves to buggerlessness, and set off to cool themselves off with manual labor. And a few sheep.

[YesNo]

The thought occurred to the colonel who quartered his men at the Manilow estate that perhaps they were being too well-quartered. His men would come back on the field so tired they could not fight the pesky rebels that came out of every nook and cranny you could imagine and yet after about a week's time those very men would be in line for who should be quartered there next. There was no colonial home more popular and he became suspicious. He heard of those mysterious Manilow women, "Miss Kate" and "Madame Jane", but he never saw them since they were in the habit of sleeping only during the day and unfortunately for the colonel it was during that same daylight that he was busy with those pesky rebels.

[Tyrion Cheddar]

After reading the above paragraph three times, Miss Kate, freshly arisen, still had no idea what it meant, yawned, and headed for the outhouse. Later, she knew, she'd skinny dip with cousin Mabel, and have Sapphic experiences forbidden by both the Old and New Testaments--which kind of made it fun. Besides, Mabel's older brothers, Kate's cousins Dick and Peter, paid a half penny each to watch. Possibly, she thought, those Redcoat boys would do the same, and then she'd have enough to run away, get free of her mother at last, and join the--no, wait, the circus hadn't been invented yet, not in the New World. Well, maybe a traveling revue, a troupe of dancers, jugglers and acrobats, with whom she could see the world and spread syphilis.