Welcome back! I know it’s been a minute since you’ve heard from me properly. Summer time is a busy time around here, and not the fun kind of “busy.” Things are finally quieting down a bit, and it’s time to play catch-up on Substack. One thing I’ve gotten behind on in particular is the Summer Smash challenge. I promised additional updates in the initial announcement, and I haven’t gotten to them until now.

First, I promised I would push back the due date, and I’ve been saying August 1st. I want you to have at least two weeks of proper reminders, though. Therefore, the new due date will be August 5th. Violet Valentine’s entry is already up, and that means it’s going to have an unusual amount of time to percolate before the other entries are up, but I think it’ll be happier with company.

Second, I promised competition and prizes! Some of Substack’s wonderful authors have volunteered prize support (read: a free month of paid subscription to their Substack and/or an ebook), and the way to win them will be through reader polls. Each prize will have a voting category assigned to it, like so:

• Ultimate BDSMism (prize supporter: ): No sleep! No food! Just BDSMism! This entry is the ultimate BDSM story (out of the entries in this challenge), and therefore, what are you gonna do? Get on your knees, and hold out your tongue.

• The Math (prize supporter: ): They say all stories are created equal, but you look at this entry, and you can see that statement is not true. This entry is a genetic freak, and it has a 141 (and 2/3) chance of winning on the market.

• The Underwear Taker (prize supporter: ): I think you should know that once this entry makes your fingertips enter Hell’s gates, there’s no turnin’ back, and now, as the last one slides through, your day of reckoning is at hand.

• The People’s Kneecap (prize supporter: ): It doesn’t matter what this prize’s description is! The People’s Kneecap means whatever the people want it to mean, jabroni.

It’s possible there will be more volunteers for prize support before the due date, so keep an eye out for new categories!

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It’s time once again for a writing challenge for the Smutstack community! Summer is upon us, and I want to welcome it with a Summer Smash.

“Summer Smash” is an allusion both to smashing and to wrestling, and that’s also the theme of the challenge: I’m looking for stories that merge sex with competition somehow, stories that turn sex into a sport or a prize. It’s a theme I’ve explored in Arcane Vice, which has sex as the stakes in a card game and has an interlude about getting tentacled until you can beat the tentacle monster in a sparring match with swords, but there are lots of other ways you can go with it, too. You could argue that sex always involves competition, and kinks like cuckolding would technically qualify, but I’m looking for competition in the form of a game or sport. I want to do the writeup post like it’s the sexual Olympics. The Sex Games, if you will.

Entries should be erotic fiction, in prose or poetry. They should be available to read for free; it’s okay with me if you un-free them after the writeup has been out for a week or so, but I at least have to be able to read it without having to pay in order to do the writeup. Tone, kinks, etc. are up to you, but bear in mind I plan to do the pro-wrestling announcer voice in my writeup, and that’s going to be awkward if your story deals with super-sensitive topics.

The submission deadline is the 11th of July. As I implied in the last challenge, I am bad at remembering deadlines, and it helps if the day happens to be memorable for other reasons. What day in July could be more memorable than the one 7/11 is named after? (Some people are going to be scratching their heads because 7/11 is obviously named after the seventh of November, but the chain is from the USA, and they probably read the dates the other way round.)

Also, stay tuned for future updates, because entries will also be eligible for a contest with Smutstack prizes. Details to come.

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My OTP is Woodrow Wilson and Zelda Fitzgerald.

I wrote a fanfic of real life where they get married and search for ancient artifacts in the lost city of Roanoke, Virginia, until her drinking tears them apart, and he goes super-saiyan for no apparent reason. He has a fling with Babe Ruth (’cause he’s totes dreamy and why not), and she finds out and has a fling with a heart attack.

To bring her back, he needs the white Materia that Marcus Garvey keeps hidden in a typewriter called the Super Dekabuster W. But since Woodrow Wilson isn’t the president anymore (surprise! it’s set during the Hoover administration), he can’t just MAKE Marcus Garvey give him the Super Dekabuster W. So he has to beat him at a monster trading card game called Smoot-Hawley Tariff, which was invented by space gremlins who taught it to the original tsars of ancient Japan. It’s said that their star-spanning civilization viewed the game as having incredible gravity, and the outcomes of tournaments decided the fate of nations, which is why it’s so easy for beginners to learn and so geared toward pitching merch.

Wilson wins because the calcitonin of the cards courses through his veins. Garvey gives him the Super Dekabuster W but warns him to use it with utmost care, lest it take from him the one thing he truly cares about. Well, he thinks, at least that means Zelda will be safe.

He finds the hidden catch that opens to reveal the white Materia, radiating a warm light and a soft, calming hum. He goes and finds her body, which nobody has bothered to move, for whatever reason, and a single tear runs down his cheek as he leans down to give her a tender kiss on the cheek. “I saved you the waltz,” he whispers, taking the Materia from his coat pocket. He takes her cold hand in his and wraps her fingers around it, and he lowers his head and waits.

Nothing happens, obviously. The white Materia is just a big marble, and Marcus Garvey lied, and it sucks to be Woodrow Wilson. Ahahaha. The end.

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Intro

I challenged you to write space gremlin erotica by Pi Day (because it’s easier to keep track of deadlines when I set them on days I’m already guaranteed to see posts about), and you delivered! Is that a breeding pun? Sometimes!

The parameters were basically to set it in space (as in physically beyond Earth), try new things / give yourself permission to be unhinged, and be writing some kind of erotica. The prompt was intentionally very open-ended. With my own writing, my experience has been that the more I feel free to express myself, the more readers end up connecting with it. Some stories are still duds, but hey, that’s how you learn and grow. Besides being a fun community event and giving everyone a chance to introduce themselves to new readers, my hope for this challenge was to encourage people to shake up their writing, break out of ruts, realize latent talents, and so on. Science-fiction writers aren’t usually meaningful contributors to technical R&D, but we can try to do our part for literary R&D, and there’s nothing I love more in literature than the primordial chaos of a decentralized space program making its first moonshots.

My love for tentacles and knots is already well-known around these parts, and people who are familiar with my work are probably familiar with my original sci-fi universe to some degree, but I told participants in the challenge they were free to use whatever settings and kinks they wanted to; soliciting fanfiction was not the point. Some people did use kinks or other elements that are near and dear to my heart, but that could just be because those things are objectively hot. I mean, let’s be so honest—who wouldn’t want to at least give tentacles a whirl if some hunky Qelfet or Vladimir came along? Tentacles can get in there and just wriggle around, and they’ve got all those tiny suckers, and they might even be self-lubricating, and…

Anyway, the works people submitted were even more varied than I’d imagined. There were six entries, which is about six more than I’d dared to hope for, and they include prose and poetry, micro- and short fiction, celebrations of excess and poignant meditations. I’ve arranged them in alphabetical order by the author’s first name, because I’m totally out of control. Without further ado, let’s get to the erotica!

“Lauren’s Gift to Amber”

Amber Estwick

I can say without a doubt this is the third- or maybe even second-strangest erotic story someone’s written in which I’m a character! I’m overselling that point; I’m really just the catalyst for the main character to have her photo cum-tributed by aliens with apple candy semen. “Lauren’s Gift to Amber” is a microfic about a very merry un-birthday present that… well, you’re looking at the pic, right? Would you believe me if I told you she goes on a sex vacation to space? Of course you would. There are a thousand words in that picture, and “sex vacation to space” are four of them. The challenge wasn’t a contest, but if it were, and if the point were to make me want to put an alien’s cock in my mouth any more than I already do, “Lauren’s Gift to Amber” would be the winner.

I think this might be my first time seeing the phrase “granny panties” in erotica; I’ve already had people ask if I’m planning any future challenges, and I’m half tempted to see what else people can do with these things. Let’s be honest: if half the fantasies on this website came true, granny panties are what we’d be taking off. Or am I revealing the embarrassing secret that I’m the only one who doesn’t go grocery shopping in sexy lingerie? Either way, Amber has the courage to imply what we’re all thinking: “I want to get double-teamed by space aliens who have better things to worry about than what my laundry-day panties look like.” All of us are thinking that. Trust me. I checked. I think there’s a real artistry to the honesty of Amber’s erotica; yes, it’s erotic humor, but a joke hits home because of the submerged honesty in it, doesn’t it? Half the fun of erotic humor is that mundane and sometimes absurd reality is in some ways sexier than the fantasy of perfect, poised, smoldering seduction.

How to support the author: Amber isn’t currently monetizing her work here, but you could pledge a membership if you like what you see! I think Amber is one of the few people on Substack who does all this entirely for the fun of it; she might be happier if you sat for an interview or sent her Ginger Nuts.

“I Log Everything”

Dove Harper

If this challenge had been a contest, and if the contest had been about producing literary sci-fi in particular, “I Log Everything” would be the winner. Romantic erotica is tragically undervalued, and here we have a romantic erotica short that basically does everything you hope for hard sci-fi to do. Based on my expert scientific knowledge as a fan of space and space fiction, the only thing that looks handwavey to me here is hypersleep, and other than that, it reads like the future that inevitably waits for us in the early years of space habitation (not that handwaves are bad or impermissible; I’m just saying the technical accuracy is cool where it does exist and makes the whole thing feel more plausible). The story also incorporates a machine narrator in a way that ends up feeling necessary. I can tell you from experience that trying to do all that without vitiating the human element is a difficult juggling act, and one of the things Dove kills in “I Log Everything” is that act.

What fascinates me about the tragedy in this story is it’s both specific to a technological and social regime and universal to the human condition. When we love, it’s always in the face of death; it’s just not usually presented to us with this sort of terrifying immediacy. What’s not inevitable is having to do it in orbit, on the equivalent of a submarine that would be destroyed if it ever tried to surface and let you into the nice, safe atmosphere, and could very well be destroyed even if it does everything right and thus leave you at the mercy of an utterly uninhabitable void, wink wink, nudge nudge. This is why I usually write far-future spaceflight: current-day and near-future spaceflight are horrifying, and Dove really captures that here. I still feel a profound sense of loss and fear when I think about it. Oh, and it was also sexy!

How to support the author: You can find her work on Amazon; if you’re signed up for Kindle Unlimited, you already have access to all of it, and writers do receive a small royalty payment when their works are read through KU. Dove does not monetize her Substack, but she does have pledges turned on. Whether that’s because she’s considering monetizing her Substack or because it’s on by default and she hasn’t turned it off yet is a mystery only someone who asked her could unravel.

“To Uranus and Back with My Stepdad”

Lanterninorbit

What a title! It sounds hornier than it really is, but it does head in that general direction. This one also deals with fear and loss, although there is no on-screen loss this time around (which is probably a mercy if you just finished Dove’s story). It also has a Judge Judy quote, which is something I never knew erotica had been missing until I saw it. The story is about the narrator, whose mother has just passed away, going on a trip to Uranus with his stepfather. I mean the planet Uranus; get your mind out of the gutter! But then put it back in, because unresolved sexual tension is the order of the day. Space travel, particularly in the present day and near future, is a great way of enforcing close quarters and limited privacy. Every gram counts on these ships, and they don’t go up with enough precious fuel to be dragging around luxuries like a privacy screen between your eyes and your stepdad’s bangin’ bod. You’re just going to have to look away. You can look away, right?

You want to come home without hot fantasies about your stepdad? That costs extra, broke boy! Yes, quite unlike the more-or-less utopian dream of far-future space I usually inhabit, the exploitative nature of spaceflight in our time rears its head once again, as do the dangers. It’s not as disastrous as the events of the last story were, but the fear feels just as legitimate, and, as in the last story, the fear becomes a motive for people to reconsider their feelings for one another. Again, it’s an interesting way to delve into the specific consequences of real-life spaceflight in the foreseeable future while still telling a story about aspects of the human condition that are, at least so far, timeless. In the author’s notes, Lantern mentions his “gremlin” (his step outside his comfort zone) is the incest kink (or step-incest, I guess, although it’s clear their emotional relationship is very much father-son) and that that’s a common kink he’s never written before. I think the story sells it; I was ready to believe it was part of his regular beat. It is a pretty common kink, isn’t it? Hey, on a related side note, if someone with current database access reads this, would you please pull these articles? You can send them to Midnight Metanet University, care of Lauren V. Hadley, armchair data scientist.

How to support the author: Lantern’s Substack (linked in the byline) offers paid subscriptions from $6/month. In fact, I effectively talked him into it by mentioning I was poking into people’s Substacks to find out how their readers could support them. Lantern (I am just presuming that’s a reasonable thing to call him for short; sorry if it isn’t) is a real writer, too, and there’s nothing wrong with getting paid for the time and effort it takes you to write, ‘cause it can take as much as any other thinky job, though working with Stripe is a headache I don’t envy.

“We Were Many Once”

Moonlit

This one is the only poem, and I had to check whether I’d technically allowed poems, which I had, and even if I hadn’t, I should have, so who cares? I promised the hive queen I would never say no to tentacles, and I’m a good kitty, meow meow purr. This poem would have won by default if the challenge had been a poetry contest, and it would have won by its merits if the challenge had been an erotic internality contest. It’s what we who are fun at parties call “blank verse,” meaning the form of the poem is whatever the tentacles demand at the moment, and oh, do the tentacles demand. The speaker meets what seems to be a collective of reproductive organs, or a creature bristling with them, and the results are exactly what you think and hope for. Of course, the line begins to blur, the speaker being drawn into the “we” as more tentacles begin to accumulate. The language gestures toward breeding, but it can also be read as more tentacles being attracted by the hot sex that’s going on. Both readings make perfect sense and map to things I have paid attention to on various occasions in preference to the things that were actually going on around me. These are the thoughts that kept HP Lovecraft up at night, writing letters that went something like, “hahaha, no, August, I don’t write obsessively about breeding with strange creatures because I’m into it; it’s a horror story about the consequences of modern cosmopolitanism!”

It’s cheating if I compare this poem to the other erotic poetry I’ve read, because the other erotic poetry I’ve read is “Song of Solomon,” and “Song of Solomon” didn’t have tentacles, although both poems felt like they were bringing me closer to some kind of communion with a higher power. Breaking form, in a poem, is a great way to show urgency, emotional spikes, and other sorts of jaggedness. Blank verse is a pile of broken form, and that’s used to the hilt here. There’s no way I could have picked a snippet that shows you the poem’s full range without making the pull quote enormous, but I can give you an idea if I say it drifts between these chanting, mantra-like bits (e.g., the second stanza, four lines beginning with “we learned”), sharp bursts of action, and more languid and reflective sections like the pull quote. Prose has to satisfy certain contracts with the reader in terms of how things are conveyed; poetry’s contract is that form is totally subservient to affect, and the affect of “We Were Many Once” is exactly how I’d imagine getting fucked every way at the same time would be. Commenting on poetry is a little difficult because when it works, it just works, in this sort of mystical way. It rings true as a stream of consciousness about the sublime joy of the tentacle.

How to support the author: Moonlit’s Substack (linked in the byline) offers paid subscriptions from $8/month. That is a touch pricier than the others here, but it’s also your only option in poetry, and scarcity is an unfortunate part of our reality. Don’t worry; I’m very confident that, in five thousand years, the cost of living will be zero, so if you still haven’t read his archive in five thousand years, you’ve got that to look forward to.

“Cat Burglars: Purr-Fect Submission”

Pamela O

I love a good heist story, and Pamela’s written a good heist story, which of course has a sexy twist. I can’t really say much more without basically giving the twist away, so proceed directly to the story if you want to be surprised, but my bet is most of you will find the reveal to be less “a spoiler” and more “enticing.” I’m saving some detail for below the pull quote, just to make sure everyone worried about spoilers has clicked through or scrolled to the next story, but for now, I’d like to mention how much I enjoy the worldbuilding here, and how naturally and casually we’re introduced to things like bio-gas, the sentient hologram, and the burglary laser. The burglary laser. This is not a drill. (It’s a laser.) Apparently, the story was originally going to be called “Apartment Mice,” but that’s an Italian idiom that turned out not to make sense in English, so the burgling mammal was changed so that English speakers would get the pun. “Apartment Mice” would be a great title for a furry slice-of-life comic. You can just see the dorky protagonist mouse being awkward around the cute mouse woman down the hall, can’t you? You already know they’re going to breed one hundred times, one hundred episodes from now.

I’ll assume anyone worried about spoilers has scrolled on now. If you’ve been to a porn video site recently, you probably know there are videos about shoplifters getting fucked by loss prevention. We’re in similar territory here, and that probably tells you a lot about what sort of progression and kinks to expect. According to writer Quill Elowen, “Cat Burglars” has “force fields stripping them bare, cocks pulsing helpless in midair, [and] Gustav’s denied meows breaking into explosive release,” and I couldn’t put it better myself. Or anything, ever. Like my favorite sci-fi stories, the whole thing feels almost inevitable once you understand the parameters of the world. Of course a machine intelligence is its own anti-theft device, and of course the mechanism is making you beg to be allowed to orgasm. It’ll probably come as a bit of a surprise when you have to eat your partners’ semen (I’m gonna pretend to be really embarrassed about that “come” pun, even though I wrote all this on purpose and could have edited it out), but are you really bothered? I doubt it. I’m certainly not. Of all the stories submitted to the challenge, this one felt the closest to my own style, to the extent that I initially read things as sly references to my work that turned out to be coincidental. Nonetheless, if this challenge had been a Willy-Wonka-style contest to find my replacement as the writer of Midnight Metanet, Pamela would have won.

How to support the author: Pamela’s Substack (linked in the byline) offers paid subscriptions from $6/month, and you can also find one of her stories on Amazon; I can personally vouch for that story, since my own story about sexy card games wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t enjoyed it. (Actually, you can find a few more of her stories that she hasn’t brought up here, but I researched this section by being a nosy bitch; they’re in Italian, though, which I cannot read. If you can, maybe they’re really good!)

“Zero Gravity Gangbang 2: Update 8.01”

Violet Valentine

I’d like to make a joke about ending with a gangbang rather than a whimper, but I’d have to shuffle the stories around so that Midnight came after Pamela, to leave blank verse fresh in your mind when I made the T.S. Eliot joke, and also, there isn’t a gangbang; it’s the name of a VR game within the story. This story is a microfic, which means my comments will be almost as long as the story itself, and in the space it has, it gives us a solid understanding of what this Zero Gravity Gangbang franchise is all about: think VR Chat, except it just got a new upgrade that makes it significantly more interesting. It’s a bit like a Black Mirror episode, but it explores something I can’t remember seeing done personally: sufficiently-advanced VR, through speculative technologies such as direct neural interfacing, might enable us to experience sensations through VR that aren’t available to us in physical reality, even with super-advanced technology. This enables scenarios in sci-fi erotica that otherwise would have been limited to fantasy erotica. I’m talking about having sex with a psychic.

It is a good piece to end on, accidentally, because it sums up the spirit of the challenge most directly, and if the challenge were a contest to distill the telos of the contest itself into a story, this one would be the winner. Realism and verisimilitude are very fun and have their place, but they’re not always the sexiest thing, and even when the sex fantasy is realistic, it’s still an act of fantasizing. Sometimes the hottest thing is to let go and embrace whatever weirdness your unconscious is pulling you toward, without stopping to second-guess why. Other people might judge, but really, isn’t it the willingness to risk judgment that makes erotica worthwhile? As the reader, you want to say, “wow, I can’t believe someone came out and admitted to having this fantasy. I feel seen, and also wet.” If I ever get around to making merch that you can’t wear anywhere, you can expect the “seen and wet” t-shirt right after the “amoral cum pirate” t-shirt and before “boof Ozempic.” Anyway, it’s good to embrace weirdness full-on sometimes, and “Zero-Gravity Gangbang 2” is just as good a way to do that as its title suggests, and if you’re feeling let down by the lack of a gangbang, you can always read all six entries really quickly, and it will feel sort of like someone is getting gangbanged. Failing that, Violet’s author’s notes suggest she might write an actual gangbang later, so stay tuned!

How to support the author: Violet’s Substack (linked in the byline) offers paid subscriptions from $8/month. While a few of her posts have alluded to a preexisting career on Kindle, she seems to have made a deliberate choice not to connect that career to her Substack, which proves she is an Illuminati reptile from outer space out to hijack our bodily fluids; as such, I recommend you subscribe to her twice.

Outro

I didn’t write my own entry because space gremlin erotica is what I usually write, and the most out-there thing I could do is write stories that aren’t horny, which I already do in other places. I’d hoped to have some space gremlin erotica to post anyway, but it’s been a busy week for various reasons, most of which aren’t related to writing, although this roundup post did turn into a whole big shebang. Don’t worry, though; it’s not a permanent thing, and I expect to make my regular Saturday post this week. In the meantime, I’ve got pretty cool news on the smut front! See, the more money I make doing this, the more time that frees up for me to do it in, and one of the things I’ve been busy with is setting up my accounts on Patreon and Smashwords. I’m especially excited about Smashwords because I think it’s going to give me a lot more freedom to sell the kind of erotica I write than Amazon does (and thanks to Violet for making me wise to this), although I do still plan to publish through Amazon on the side.

This recipe reminds me of simpler times

I started out as an erotica writer publishing just to Substack, but I’ve been getting more active on FurAffinity lately. I look at myself next to the people on my Substack feed, and I look like I just showed up at the book club in sweatpants and a beat-up Inuyasha tee and going on about Dean Winchester’s breedable ass to anyone who will listen. On FurAffinity, I’m somebody’s lost grandma writing sci-fi so spicy, it reads like it got banned by Queen Victoria.

I wind up feeling just a little out of place everywhere, but I suppose that can be useful for a writer; it means there’s a reason for someone to read your work as opposed to someone else’s. That’s not the same as being completely out of place, mind; I actually still remember the first story I read on Substack. It was Lunar Proteins by . I thought, my goodness gracious. I’m not the only one here!

And I’m really not as not-like-the-other-girls here as I felt at first. I’m not the only one doing sci-fi, or unusual kinks, or the words they keep in the expensive thesaurus on the top shelf behind the security case with a little blurb on the cover about how long they aged it in a sherry barrel in a rustic little cottage in the Highlands and how it hits your palate with notes of vanilla and nutmeg. I’m just the only one trying to write the lost 1990s post-scarcity monsterfucker novel. I am my extremely specific tastes, which is both good and bad for me, because I know from experience that finding things that scratch that itch is difficult.

had a challenge, recently, to write a story based on a certain old photo, and I wrote “A Reasonable Snackrifice” in response. I like that story more than most readers did, I think; it was my first time doing romantic erotica, and romance isn’t as flashy as the stuff where you get to jam a bunch of heat words in the title, but I think it tends to push the story toward character study, which is pretty helpful when you’re trying to sustain a longer piece. Stepping out of your comfort zone sometimes is good. Showing your work to people who aren’t already in the habit of seeing it is also good; it’s no secret we’re in the business of being read.

Ingredients and preparation

With “why” out of the way, let’s move on to “what.” I want to make my own challenge. I’m not going to ask you to read my colossus of a setting bible or comb everything I’ve published here for hints about how things work; you can use your own setting. I’m looking for space gremlin erotica. That’s three elements, and I’ll define them now, because words are slippery things, and you Substack people are all the sort of writer who could probably cite this article in at least one documentation style without having to have a machine format it for you.

• Space: At least one scene takes place somewhere beyond Earth’s atmosphere. It could be in a spaceship, or a space station, or astronauts on a space walk. It could be on another planet. It could be on the back of a giant turtle that eats sea oats growing from the rings of Saturn. As long as it’s beyond our world physically, and the rationale involves outer space, spaceflight, the manipulation of spacetime, or otherwise clearly signals “space” in some way, it’s a space story as far as the challenge is concerned.

• Gremlin: Step out of your comfort zone. “Space” and “erotica” don’t count here; step out of your comfort zone in some other area. Try a kink you’ve never written. Have the narrator inhabit a character you normally wouldn’t. Change up your style. Get weird with it. Learn something new about what you can write. If your followers don’t like it, you can tell ‘em Lauren said this one doesn’t count. They’ll understand.

• Erotica: Erotica’s my field and my primary community here, and the point here is to have a little community event for Substack erotica. I’m not going to mandate how smutty your stories have to be, but they need to have some kind of erotic element I can highlight in a pull quote later.

The challenge runs from now to March 14, because three weeks is a reasonable amount of time, and it should be pretty easy to remember the nerdy thing is due on March 14, if you spend a lot of time around nerds. Tag me in a note if you want to enter your story, and I’ll make a roundup post at the end with every participating story as long as it seems to be in the spirit of the challenge. I will be looking to highlight your stories as being spacey, gremliney, and/or erotic, so whatever you give me to work with there, that’s what you can expect for the blurb.

Someone’s gonna make me regret that junk about Saturn’s sea oats. I don’t know how, but I can already feel it.