This weekend, I found a book at the second-hand bookstore they always have underneath the bridge on the South Bank, right outside the BFI. It’s a treasure-trove of old pictures and weird stuff, and this book in particular is (I think) the best £2 I’ve ever spent. It is (wait for it…) an EROTIC CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN-ADVENTURE STORY.
Obviously I bought it straight away because “erotic” and “choose-your-own-adventure” are two phrases which should DEFINITELY be used in tandem AS OFTEN as possible, if not ALWAYS.
Sadly it turns out that the CYOA element to the book doesn’t really work; all the choices are completely lacking in context (“Choose Door 2 or Door 5”) and the narrative structure is hopeless. Also there’s only actually one ending you can get. WTF, book?! I wanted to choose my OWN adventure! You have misrepresented yourself to me.
The book also misrepresents itself in that it is the least erotic thing I have ever read. And I have read* Peter Mandelson/George Osborne slash fanfiction, so I know what I am talking about.
I looked on the copyright website and it reckons that if I’m quoting something for purposes of criticism then it falls under Fair Use policy, so here we go… a close reading of Chapter 1.
It was a vast sandy beach, whipped by a warm ocean wind full of iodine.
OK, so this is already a terrible beginning. What I want from an opening line in an erotic fiction, to set the scene and make me feel all sexy or whatever, is definitely NOT a mention of IODINE.
I could hear the waves but the sea remained out of sight, closed off by a barrier of dunes. I took off my shoes and started walking towards it.
The sand beneath the soles of my feet was cool and prickly in parts because of the vegetation. But it was a delicious sensation to feel it wed itself to my muscles so perfectly, and accompany them with each of my movements, from my toes to my heels.
When I reached the crest
I saw the immense ocean stretch out in front of me, its grey waves wrinkled with white beneath a sky overburdened with heavy clouds. The sound of the sea was deafening. I walked straight towards it, facing into the wind.
I wandered along the edge of the waves for a while, following their ebb and flow on the beach, playing with them by getting my feet wet and even raising my dress and getting splashed with foam right up to my thighs.
Oof. Things are getting sexy now. I think this is supposed to represent some sort of sensual landscape of woman? And also the foam is probably jizz.
From their wet fringe I collected small pebbles, put them in my mouth and sucked them until they lost their salty taste.
This is subtle. I wonder these salty pebbles could represent? Could it be… COJONES?
NB I had always thought this was spelt “cahonies” as I have never written it before re: why would you. But apparently it is Spanish or something.
I kept a few, as well as some shells whose shape, gloss and colour I found pleasing.
The ebbing tide uncovered a broad band of wet sand. I knelt down facing the sea, opened my hand and deposited the small hoard I had gathered. Then I started building a castle.
I worked on it for a long time. I fashioned outer walls, towers, a keep, the ramparts, turrets and battlements. I dug a deep moat around it and let it fill up with the sea water that had soaked into the sand.
THE CASTLE… OF MYSELF.
Then with my nails and fingertips I started making slits and other openings in the wall.
I guess we will just have to get used the subtlety of prose employed here.
When I had hollowed out the main gate I was amazed to see the sand continue to crumble away behind the little excavation I had just made, as if a large sand fly were carrying on with my work. And I was absolutely astonished to see a tiny little man emerge from this same door, naked as a worm.
Right. This is where things start getting properly weird and the first time (but by no means the last) that this book caused me to double-take. She BUILDS A CASTLE…and inside it there is a TINY LITTLE MAN…NAKED AS A WORM.
Naked as a worm.
At this point of reading my brain started going “Oh god oh god oh god, is she going to have sex with the tiny little man, that would be completely fucked up WHAT THE HELL”. Perhaps your brain is currently gabbling the same question at you. Spoilers: the answer to this question is YES.
If the idea of Big-on-Small fucking is upsetting to you then I suggest you read no further.
I must have looked like some sort of female genie to him, a supernatural giant who had emerged from some bottle washed up by the sea. I lay down flat to be nearer his level and to observe him better. When he saw my – for him – gigantic eyes fixed on him, he crossed his hands over his miniature sex. Then, despite the difference in size, he started to strut around and look me over in a macho little way, as if he expected me to be impressed and find him attractive.
In my head the tiny little man is basically a naked Sir Cadogen. Is this supposed to be getting us in the mood? I just have no idea. ALSO WHY IS THERE A TINY LITTLE MAN ANYWAY.
I laid my hand out flat in front of him, above the moat, inviting him to climb on board. Which he did, having gallantly bowed to kiss my finger.
His little feet pleasantly tickled my palm. He grabbed hold of my thumb and, very gently so as not to unbalance him, I sat up in the sand. Then I raised my hand with its precious contents to the level of my face. He was as cute as anything. Well-built and virile, with well-defined little muscles, his dinky little sex and his pretty, tough-guy face, fine and distinctive, ringed with greased-back hair as dark as his eyes, with their enticing, velvety, albeit slightly idiotic look.
This is definitely what I want in a lover. Enticing, velvety, albeit slightly idiotic eyes. HOT.
“So, doll,” he said, expanding his chest to the full, “Wotcher think? Ever seen a body as fine…as manly as this?”
No one says “wotcher”. NO ONE. And this is as it should be.
That’s when I noticed that his mini-cocklet was standing up proudly under my nose. I prevented myself from bursting out laughing, so as not to annoy him and not to drop him. I modestly lowered my eyelids and looked shocked.
My mama used to say, life is like a box of cocklets. You never know which one you’re gonna get.
“Don’t be shy,” he said in what he thought was a reassuring tone. “Come on, take your dress off…Don’t be afraid…”
I put him down on the sand, on the other side of the moat, in case he got it into his head to run away. For I had no intention of letting such an amusing marvel escape.
SEXY SEXY ENTRAPMENT. I mean, who isn’t turned on by coercion?!
Without taking my eyes off him, I got undressed in the manner of a clumsy virgin, but with the skill of a stripper,
WHAT. I can’t even imagine this. How does one get undressed in the manner of a clumsy virgin, BUT with the skill of a stripper? I mean, obviously you could be a virgin and a stripper at the same time, that is a thing that could happen. But “clumsy” and “skilled” are sort of diametrically opposed.
Other things that are diametrically opposed: this book, and arousal.
in order to make him foam at the mouth even more at my – for him – colossal charms. Then I lay on my back, closed my hand around him (in his entirety he was no bigger than the penis of an ordinary man) and placed him on my stomach.
He is the size of a penis. I wonder where THIS is going.
On all fours he started crawling round this womanly landscape, crazy with lustful desires. At first he climbed up to my left breast and placed himself against it, arms and legs wide trying to embrace it. Opening his mouth wide he managed to get my boob into his mouth and he started sucking it.
NOT. PHYSICALLY. POSSIBLE. When my boyfriend was reading this chapter (we like to get ourselves in the mood), he opened his mouth as wide as possible to demonstrate that he would not be able to fit the breast of an enormous lady into it. I am not sure how this actually demonstrated this, but, it was definitely a thing that happened.
At the same time I saw his little bottom undulating against my flesh and I felt his little hard rod rubbing against my breast. Finally a large drop of sticky, warm liquid shot out against my skin.
I almost forgot the size of my partner. Wasn’t the fact that he was a man the most important thing?
No, enormous lady protagonist apparently supposed to represent Everywoman; no it isn’t. The most important thing here is that you are getting it on with a tiny tiny man on a beach. Everywoman is not so sure about your life-choices, frankly.
I was now quite wet between my legs. Thankfully he then had the good idea of venturing down there, to what was probably a real Ali Baba’s cave for him, and doing the honours.
He hung onto my hair as he descended between my spread-eagled thighs. Then he started wiggling between my lips and right into my sheath. He touched me and titillated me absolutely everywhere,
Again. NOT. PHYSICALLY. POSSIBLE. Unless they were there all day, I suppose.
and his tiny limbs lent such precision to his caresses that he kept me in a state of acute pleasure.
Ok, are you ready? This is the worst bit. Hold onto your twats, people:
When he had brought me to the edge of ecstasy, he penetrated me with his whole body. Then I came, arching back in the sand and shouting out against the noise of the sea.
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO OH GOD NO MY EYES MY BRAIN THIS IS THE WORST THING I HAVE EVER READ.
Also if he did this he would almost definitely die. And then he would get stuck up there like an old tampon, and she would probably eventually die too of TSS. In fact I think I will make this my replacement head-canon. It makes as much sense as anything else.
The little man climbed back up my belly where he lay down, dripping wet. We slept together, under the wind.
Awwww. I love a happy ending.
I hope you enjoyed this critical analysis. I have an English degree.