On Erotica

Erotica, be it the high-class, Barnes and Noble anthology sort, or the low-class, teenage geocities vampire sort, always seems to follow one rule: when the story mentions or describes the sexual organs of the male or female characters, it may only call them by the same name once.

I’m not sure why this is, but it is at worst distracting, and at best, entertaining as hell. In just about any story, the male character will first feel his quivering love spear come to life, and soon release his throbbing blood sword, and then later plant his man root, and finally, feel his porridge bazooka give its final spasm. Each ridiculous moniker for his manhood will appear but once, which is usually once too many. That’s just the way it is.

The silliness of the euphemisms aside, I wonder why the same word or description can’t ever be used twice. Why this rule? And why does seemingly everyone follow it? Was there some J.R.R. Tolkien of dirty stories who started the trend, and now it’s just as accepted and expected as the enigmatic wizard, the gruff dwarf, the homosexual elf, and the reluctant hero?

Why must they start off calling a character’s penis his “one-eyed ankle-spanker”, then subsequently refer to it as his “gleaming custard chucker”, his “rigid rump wrangler”, his “thick-ribbed spackle hammer”, and his “trembling twat torpedo.” Is it just the challenge of coming up with new names for it?

Also, why haven’t other genres embraced this law as well? Take cop fiction. Plenty of books about cops, detectives, private eyes, and they all have guns. And what do the authors call them? Guns. On every page. “Pistol” or “revolver” might make an occasional appearance, but that’s about it. Which is a damn shame, really.

Bud “Boomer” Blake drew his six-chambered pistola of death and peered down the dark hallway. He knew the suspect was an arms dealer who always carried a lead-flinging hand cannon, if not two. He quickly cocked his rock hard bullet-spitter and took a few steps toward the door. It sounded like the perp wasn’t at home alone. Would his buddies also be packing lethal lead-launching fist-warmers? This could turn into a serious cap-snapping Iron-L fight. He might want to go in with two pellet-pushing packs of power, instead of just one, so pulled his backup slug-slinging slice of shimmering silver steel from its deep, warm, hot, dripping wet holster of love.

Whoops! Cross-pollinated there. But you get the point.

This was written by a friend of mine that I played Shimlar with like 7 years ago almost. I can’t remember his name, but I referred to him as Neet-o. So it’s not plagiarism, it just makes me laugh.


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