Trying To Publish My Smut: Part V

Occasionally, I’ll get bored and write fake erotica and send it to publishers. This entry is one of those. ATTN: Links may be (read: are) NSFW.

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Dear Ms. Naughty–

It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Kurt Sharpley, and I was born to write erotica. I have been authoring smutty filth for several years now, and I believe I am finally ready to make the big time. That is why I am coming to you.

Your brand of steamy, explicit material is second-to-none. The ‘About’ section of your website, BrightDesire.com, says it all: “smart porn” that is “re-visioned, feminist, artistic and positive”, and that moves “beyond the old clichés, boundaries and negativity of standard, old-style pornography.” This is exactly what I write. I could not have said it better myself.

I would be honored if your website would be the first to publish my materials. It would definitely be the first step in my eventual goal of quitting Hot Dog On A Stick once and for all. It’s not a bad job, mind you; but my boss, Deborah, has been unfairly inflexible with the schedule. Like it’s my fault I’m still weak from the gastric bypass surgery.

Anyway, given your penchant for sexy stories with “interesting scenarios and fascinating characters” please enjoy this tale of lust under the big top. I hope it makes you shiver and jitter.

————————————-

THE THREE RINGS OF PASSION

By Kurt Sharpley

Put Three Rings On It

Put Three Rings On It

 

Blumbo G. Pancakes was the sexiest clown at the circus. His plump red nose glistered in the blare of the spotlight. Dazzling orange hair poured out in waves from underneath his yellow-and-green propeller beanie. His round belly pulsed against thick purple suspenders. And then there were his feet: huge, powerful flaps of meat and bone that pushed the limits of his shiny blue lace-up high-tops.

Blumbo’s mere presence would leave people thunderstruck; to see him in action was even more thrilling. He’d playfully plunge a silky gloved finger into his throbbing bag of balloons, and with a wink, he’d pull out the biggest one he could find. After giving it a stretch or two for ease of inflation, he’d press the opening against his full, buttery lips, and blow— slowly at first, then forcefully, his heaving exhalations filling its rubbery hollows to the point of bursting.

Blumbo would then twist his engorged balloons into a wondrous variety of provocative shapes: piggies; horsies; duckies; teddy bears holding flowers; lovebirds kissing inside of a heart; fish; swords; octopuses; wiener dogs; pussy cats; giraffes; monkeys playing guitar; monkeys playing saxophone; monkeys playing flute; monkeys playing golf; monkeys riding bicycles; and swans– each one a sensual masterwork, crafted with the strong, skilled hands of a virtuoso.

One thing’s for sure—Blumbo G. Pancakes was very experienced.

Late one night, Blumbo toddled back to his trailer after a hard, sweaty day of ballooning. He swung the door wide, and crisp air suddenly nipped at the red-and-white makeup that was trickling down his face in warm drips.

His air conditioner was on!

This was odd, because Blumbo was usually very circumspect when it came to energy consumption. He’d installed high-performance windows certified by the National Fenestration Rating Council; he’d replaced all his incandescent light bulbs with energy-efficient compact fluorescents; and he always made sure to turn everything off before he left. Even when he was home, he’d only plug in his appliances when he needed to use them.

The steady drone of the air conditioner made him feel stupid and careless. But how could he be careless if he cared so much? Perhaps he was just having an off day…

“I thought you’d never get here,” said a voice in the darkness. “I’ve been waiting for you.

There was someone there!

Blumbo flipped the light switch by the door, and to his surprise, there was a woman perched in his clown bed. This was Lolita DeVille, the circus’ premiere aerial foot-juggler. People would come from all over to see her dangle from the tent roof by her hair as she juggled all sorts of items with her nimble feet: bean bags; bowling pins; flaming swords; regular swords; pillows; motorcycle tires; chainsaws; regular saws; torches; hot coals; eggs; hamburgers; Roman helmets; tomatoes; dry ice; emperor scorpions; and balls.

Her sequined leotard glimmered in the dim, energy-saving fluorescent lighting.

“What are you doing here, Lolita?” asked Blumbo G. Pancakes.

“I need you,” she said, and delicately glossed her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. “I need you so bad.”

“Why?” gulped Blumbo, beginning to sweat again, despite the refreshing conditioned air.

Lolita hopped off the bed and gave Blumbo a scorching glance. “I want you to teach me how to twist balloons into poodle shapes,” she said.

“What you really need to learn are a few helpful tips for conserving electricity,” said Blumbo. “By running the air conditioner all day, you’re using up valuable natural resources that have a limited supply. If we don’t get things under control, we’re going to end up having to import reserves from Canada. Plus, most of our power plants burn fossil fuels, which release copious amounts of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. You’re creating unnecessary pollution, not to mention the added costs for me. It’s expensive.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lolita. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“No you weren’t,” said Blumbo, sitting down on a chair near the fridge. “But that’s behind us now.”

“I’m glad,” said Lolita. She shimmied over to Blumbo and squatted in his lap. “I really like you, Blumbo. I couldn’t stand it if I thought you were angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” said Blumbo. “Just disappointed. Now tell me… why do you want to learn how to tie poodle balloons?

“So I can juggle them in my act,” she said.

“Good idea,” said Blumbo. “Juggling lightweight objects is deceptively difficult. If you can pull it off, audiences will be amazed.”

“I know,” said Lolita, giving Blumbo a sultry look. “With your help, I’ll be famous.”

“Then give me some room,” said Blumbo.

Lolita stood up and Blumbo reached into his balloon bag. He yanked out a balloon, and blew into it until it was long and firm. Then:

SQEAK! Blumbo made a leg.

“Ooh,” said Lolita.

SQUEAK! Blumbo made another leg.

“Ooh, yes,” gasped Lolita.

SQUEAK! SQUEAK! Blumbo twisted two more legs.

“Yes!” screamed Lolita. “Just like that!”

SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! Blumbo tied the nose, ears, and tail.

“Yes, Blumbo, yes!” shrieked Lolita.

Proudly, Blumbo G. Pancakes presented Lolita with the finished product. “And that’s how you make a poodle,” said Blumbo, looking extremely satisfied.

Lolita gave Blumbo a high-five, and the flower on his lapel squirted water everywhere.

“Oh, Blumbo,” said Lolita. “I’m all wet.”

“I’m sorry, Lolita,” said Blumbo. “It was an accident.”

THE END

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There you have it, Ms. Naughty! Blazing hotness delivered right to your door. If you like this one, I have written thousands of others (12,487!), including larger pieces titled “Dog Milk”, “Under the Church”, and “Yukon Do It” (about a pair of sexy Inuits who get “cozy” on a bed of pemmican). Let me know if you’re interested!

Publish me, Ms. Naughty, and we will steam up the globe. I thank you in advance for your consideration.

Your supremely erotic friend,

Kurt Sharpley

These Inuits are "into it".

These Inuits are “into it”.

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About Josh Flaum

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

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