Trying To Publish My Smut: Part III

Recently, I submitted a story to erotic fiction publishing website Ellora’s Cave under the name Kurt Sharpley. I’m sure to hear from them any day now. (This is not the first time I’ve done this. To see where this whole dumb hobby got started, go HERE and HERE)

*********************

Dear Ellora—

First, allow me to say that I am a big fan of your website. I’ve read many of your titles, including ‘Spellbound Desire’, ‘The Nightwind’s Woman’, and my personal favorite, ‘Pliable Inhibitions’. As you say on your ‘About Me’ page, your cave truly is “A home for lovers of erotic romance”. That’s me!

My name is Kurt Sharpley, and I am an aspiring writer. While I have authored many books on a variety of subjects (none published), my true penchant is for the world of literary erotica. To date, I have written over 10,218 erotic stories (none published). These tales are guaranteed to inflame the crotches of people all over the world, and in your website, I think they’ve finally found a home.

On your ‘Write For Us’ page, it says that you’re always looking for new talent, and that it doesn’t matter if I have an agent or not. While I actually do have one—my real estate agent, Donette– she seems to think that this is not her area of expertise. She’s also kind of mad at me because it’s been twelve years, and I still haven’t bought a house. But I don’t care– these decisions take time!

And so I come to you unrepresented, but with the certainty that once you read my work, you will be happy to publish it. Below is a sample of my latest story, titled ‘Hamster Bath’, a bawdy tale of passion in the tub. Strap yourself down, because this thing is steamy!

One Naughty Rodent In A Tiny Tub

One Naughty Rodent In A Tiny Tub

‘Hamster Bath, Chapter 1: The Wettening’

Hamburger the Hamster was a dirty boy.

He’d worked up a hot sweat on the exercise wheel, the metal rungs whizzing by like frightened birds beneath the pads of his little pink feet. Hamburger had never run so hard, yet he couldn’t stop; he imagined himself as a wild stallion on the open prairie, galloping through the tall grass, daring cowboys and Indians alike: Break me if you can.

Finally, Hamburger’s itty-bitty legs gave out, and he flopped out of reverie and onto the floor of his pen, his silky brown fur matted with froth. He staggered to the far corner of the cage and lapped up a cool dewdrop of water from the stiff, hard nozzle of his sippy bottle. When he was fully satisfied, he collapsed into a pile of wood chips.

By the time Hamburger realized what he had done, it was too late.

The thin shavings clung to his sweaty body like soft kisses; he was covered from head to toe in moist hamster bedding, and try as he might, he could not wipe himself clean.

Hamburger was a dirty, dirty boy.

Suddenly, Hamburger’s owner, Chris Rodriguez, strode into the room wearing blue parachute pants, red running shoes, and an orangey-yellow Banana Republic sweater. He had just finished a backbreaking shift at The Old Spaghetti Factory, and was ready for the sweet relief of slumber.

“I’m home, Hamburger,” said Chris Rodriguez. “And boy are my arms sore.”

From making spaghetti, he thought to himself. Chris Rodriguez never spoke about spaghetti out loud to Hamburger, mostly because Spaghetti was also the name of Chris Rodriguez’s first hamster, and he didn’t want to make Hamburger jealous. Spaghetti, Hot Dog, Pizza, Chicken Soup… these were all hamsters that Hamburger didn’t need to know about. It would complicate things.

“Think I’ll hit the hay,” said Chris Rodriguez, as he yanked off his sweater, exposing the button-up shirt he was wearing underneath. “Tomorrow’s another d…”

Just then, he looked into the cage.

“Oh, Hamburger!” exclaimed Chris Rodriguez. “You’re filthy! I guess sleep will have to wait.” He gave Hamburger a wink. “You need a bath.”

Hamburger tried to escape, but there was nowhere to go. The cage was too small; Chris Rodriguez’s hands, too large. In the end, all Hamburger could do was shudder in the darkness of Chris Rodriguez’s cupped palms. They’d been through all of this before.

When they reached the bathroom, Chris Rodriguez plopped Hamburger into a luxurious porcelain bowl, then on a dry towel, laid out all his hamster-cleaning tools: a tiny bottle of Garnier Früctis Body Boost shampoo; a teeny-tiny bottle of fortifying conditioner; and an itty-bitty tin of Sephora honey-scented foaming bubble cream.

Chris Rodriguez then delicately poured some warm water over Hamburger’s head. Hamburger tried to clamber out of the bowl, but it was hopeless. The porcelain was too slick. Any time Hamburger got close to escape, he’d just slide back down into the wetness.

Chris Rodriguez reached down and gripped his hamster gently but firmly, and pressed an itsy-bitsy all-natural loofa sponge to the base of Hamburger’s teensy- weensy nose.

“A-scrubba-dubba,” said Chris Rodriguez.

Hamburger tried to wiggle free.

“A-scrubba-dubba, a-scrubba-dubba-dubba,” said Chris Rodriguez.

Hamburger wiggled.

“A-scrubba,” said Chris Rodriguez. “A dubba-dubba.”

Hamburger wiggled some more.

“A-scrubba-dubba-dubba-dubba,” said Chris Rodriguez.

Hamburger wiggled and wiggled.

END OF CHAPTER 1

So what do you think? Pretty sexy, right? I’ve only written up to page 1783 (800 chapters of around two pages each), but when I’m done, I’ll send you the full manuscript. And if you like what you’ve seen, I’d also be happy to courier over some of my completed works, such as ‘Farmer’s Beard’, ‘My Favorite Jelly’, and ‘Catfished for Reel’ (about a Louisiana fisherman looking for love online who gets catfished by an actual catfish). Let me know!

I look forward to working with you, Ellora! Let’s make America throb with passion!

Yours in all things erotic and sexy,

Kurt Sharpley

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Catfished For Reel: A Man, A Computer, And A Master Baiter

 

*UPDATE*: Go HERE to see how Ellora’s Cave responded!

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About Josh Flaum

Occasionally, I will buy a shirt with horizontal stripes and have immediate regrets.

3 responses to “Trying To Publish My Smut: Part III”

  1. Ian McCain says :

    Josh-

    This had me in tears from laughing. Kurt Sharpley is the modern day Robert Hamburger of animal-human platonic-semi-erotica. Bravo!

    I do hope he finds that niche publishing house… Even if it ends up being a vanity publisher…

    Ian

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