The World Needs a Reverse Tentacle Rape Erotic Romance

Recently on social media, I teased some folks with my (now longstanding) idea for a reverse tentacle rape erotic romance. On a whim I checked my frags file to find that I had NOT recorded it anywhere. So I’m logging it here this morning and going back to Episode Four.

Just to be clear, I have actually read a few romances — even a gay erotic novel — in the early 2000s, but I can’t say I’m a fan. Nothing against it. I just prefer my porn to be visual.

I also know a little about the market. Romance and related genres are the largest category in print. They account for roughly half of all dollars spent on books, although accounting for it that way makes a fetish out of medium. The male analog is really porn, and when you realize that, it’s not surprising at all that romance/erotica is so huge.

Interestingly, number 2 is religious/inspirational, so after you get yourself off, then you think about God and how sorry you are. Or something.

Romance/erotica is also a very mature category and so fiercely competitive. Many of the big name imprints feature authors whose name is a brand and who are actually an entire team of people cranking out book after book, often recycling nearly identical plots and characters.

I’m not knocking it. 95% of all porn is: quick foreplay, oral one way, oral the other, fucking up top, fucking down below, money shot. We keep watching.

And it’s actually a good business model in fiction, as Patterson and King well know. Once you find something that works, all you have to do is tweak your characters (maybe give them a new name or swap genders), put the book in a different setting (maybe the bayou instead of the rural northeast), and *BOOM*. Another million bucks. Because ya’ll eat that shit up.

But I digress.

The point is, I have respect for anyone who competes in that space. The margins are slim and most of the women writing in those teams don’t make enough in a year to fully support themselves from their fiction. One article I read suggested many have part time jobs, or are full time moms, and use the income to supplement whatever their partner brings to the household.

As was brought up in the other thread, there is a bias towards female authors in romance just as there is a bias towards men in some of the smaller genres, so it would behoove me to write under a pen name. It also makes sense to distinguish this project from my other works. Hence I was thinking Scarlett Flowers — with my tongue only half in my cheek — but I’m open to suggestions.

In hentai, as most people on the internet know, there is a thing called tentacle rape where a multi-limbed creature, often an alien or demon, is armed with a gaggle of phallic-shaped appendages with which it secures (in bondage-like fashion) and “seduces” one or more women, often penetrating them orally, vaginally, and/or anally all at the same time. Magically, these tentacles shoot a glittery kind of mana, which the women can’t seem to get enough of.

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art by Bastien LeCouffe

This is not, as most people think, an invention of geeky 20th century chauvinists. It goes back a loooong way in Japanese culture. (So it’s an invention of pre-modern chauvinists, I guess.) Hokusai even did a woodcut of a woman making love to an octopus, where all these major elements are present, in 1814, and it wasn’t new even then.

It’s not hard, for me at least, to see why this is popular, especially in Japan. Sea creatures figure prominently in Japanese myths, and there is hardly anything quite as alien as an octopus. A fish at least has a recognizable body plan, with a backbone and flippers and all that. But an octopus is wholly different, alien, inhuman. It speaks to our bestial nature, and in Japan, also to the deeply cultivated sense of shame and tabu.

Then of course there are the multiple appendages, which can be co-opted by the fantasy and turned into phalluses, allowing the bearer to please multiple women at the same time, which is an egregiously (but not exclusively) male fantasy. And before you start to wag your Victorian finger, recognize that women produce one egg a month (in the textbook case, which no woman is) whereas men produce 300 million sperm in every single ejaculate. I would argue there’s something deeply biological going on.

Most of you know this already, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with perverse fantasies. We are animals, not computers, and I believe — following Jung — that indulging them is what allows us to remain rational, cogent, moral, civilized people the rest of the time. By shining a spotlight on the little imp inside our lizard brain, we always know where it is. It’s only when we repress it, when we pretend it isn’t there, that it is free to wreak havoc on our lives.

I read an undergraduate textbook on Media Psychology last year, and one of the lessons for me was that, after 40 years of research, there is still no strong evidence that perverse fantasies *cause* crime. There are many reasons why people commit such crimes. Sometimes they’re just insane. But the evidence suggests that having dark fantasies doesn’t lead to crime any more than playing violent video games (or RPGs) leads to violence. Psychological studies show that even children understand that when Roadrunner whacks Wile E. Coyote in the face with a frying pan, or drops a safe on his head, that’s not something you do in the real world. That is, they understand what your average finger-wagger does not: normal human brains easily distinguish between fantasy and reality, and having perverse fantasies does not make a brain perverse.

But again, I digress.

I’ve long wanted to replicate the male-centered tentacle rape fantasy for women — 90-some percent of the erotic fiction market is female after all — and I think prose can do that in ways visual art like hentai cannot. Prose does a better job with psychological states, with ambivalence, with uncertainty.

So the idea is that an alien life form from another dimension has crossed over into our world and is simply carrying out its biological imperative to grow and reproduce, but in the process threatens to eradicate mankind (a la The Thing).

This creature is parasitic, and like the xenomorph and the common ocean hydra, it has a two-stage life cycle. In the first, it infects the male organ, driving the bearer to insatiable lust so as to impregnate as many females as possible. Think incubus.

The second stage begins as a larval form, growing in the womb and, as it grows, extruding its tentacles from the vagina. But it needs to feed. And being a kind of archaic design, it does not utilize carbohydrates and lipids like we do. It lives off (and is primarily made of) nucleic acids, the latter only abundant now in genetic material.

(Evidence from biology suggests the original life forms were replicating strands of nucleic acids, and that some of these strands served metabolic functions as enzymes do today, which is why nucleic acids code for proteins — the one took over function from the other.)

In short, in the growth stage, THE BEAST CRAVES SPERM! And through the secretion of mimicking hormones, drives women to insatiable acts of lust — think succubus — often involving multiple men, where the tentacles appear from her vagina to restrain her victims and, with their lubricated, vaginal-esque suckers, coax out the monster’s “food.”

During this process, the female host is orgasming, one on top of the other, constantly. What’s more, she would feel what the symbiote feels: the men’s muscles, the stroking of many hard members, the simultaneous penetration of multiple vaginal-esque tentacle “caps” both big and small, the feeling of power, the constant orgasm, the sense of satiation at the conclusion.

I envision the protagonist being infected by her ex, becoming aware of the “invasion”, and trying to find a way to stop it and remove the thing inside her — without taking a weed whacker to her womb — before it pupates. And I imagine how hard it would be to lop off tentacles coming from your own vagina whilst locked in successive orgasm. (Have you seen those videos where women find it hard even to read a book while orgamsing? Now try fighting an alien!)

There will have to be a love interest of course, a striking man who was once himself infected and who is bewitched by our protagonist’s courage in the face of the invasion and her own infection. But that’s really as far as I’ve gotten with it.

Of course, all of this is completely ridiculous, but then that’s why fantasies are fun.

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art by Chiara Bautista

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