The Best of Social Distancing Erotic Literature, Reviewed
The two great scourges of quarantine are boredom and horniness. In this context, the first writer to claim the title Covid-69 is our Edmund Hillary. But for every person penning "Jane's roommate was attractive and she thought it would be nice to have quarantine sex with him," there's someone trying to corner the market with "Quarantine had made it difficult for Titania Rosemary and her three huge bazongas to seduce her hot were-brother, but not impossible." I can sympathize with the challenge of standing out, having recently released a novel. And while it's not erotica, you can't enjoy a nice new horror-comedy before you've masturbated. So let's get that out of the way with...
Quarantined with Father-in-Law: A Forbidden Father-in-Law Pregnancy Fantasy
"It was day three of the quarantine of the Coronavirus pandemic," wordsmith Ava L. Lovelace informs us, and our heroine, Reese, is sick of her loutish husband. All he's done is play video games, and ... wait, it's only been three days? Lady, quarantine is not the cause of your failed marriage. Reese storms out, responding to her useless husband's responsible declaration of concern for public health with "Fuck the government," and drives to the family cabin.
There she runs into her father-in-law, Oliver, who was driven out of his home by a nagging shrew of a wife who kept wanting to watch the news. Fellas, don't you hate it when chicks stay informed on current events? They're always yapping about how developments abroad will impact federal interest rate adjustments! Upon discovering that Reese is also at the cabin, Oliver secretly masturbates with her underwear before he even says hello. Hey, if there's one thing I know about women, it's that they love it when men three decades their senior get surreptitiously "possessed" by the scent of their laundry... "hemper"? Dammit, Lovelace, you're ruining the immersion! How am I supposed to enjoy the image of an old man cranking one out when I'm distracted by typos?
Over the coming days, pun unfortunately intended, Reese and Oliver settle into a routine of making dinner, watching Netflix, drinking wine, complaining about their spouses, and falling in love. Now, I think you see what forbidden fantasy is unfolding here: these people broke quarantine and are selfishly enjoying the benefits! I know we'd all love to be out there seducing our in-laws, but people could get hurt. Reese "[feeling] the extent of his ball sack" as Oliver impregnates her with the child she's long yearned for is all well and good, but what other fluids are they exchanging? And what about all the people they encountered while buying the supplies meant to last them months?
While I'm sure it would have been difficult for Oliver to resist a woman who is "hot and sexy as hell," the two attributes that make up a complete package, there's nothing sexy about irresponsibility. And not to judge their personal lives but, once the thrill of the romance wears off, Reese is going to have a hell of a time raising a child whose adult half-brother was once married to his mom. Oliver and Reese's careers aren't mentioned, but I hope they're making enough to afford a good therapist. This is why you should just stay home and read a nice new book.
Trapped in His Tentacles: Quarantined with a Monster
Now this is what I'm talking about. When Lily's boyfriend scoffs at the governor's quarantine order and continues to host parties, even after Lily tells him that her asthma makes COVID extra dangerous to her, she doesn't hesitate to dump that asshole. She also rejects the option of a comfortable stay with her mother because of mom's pre-existing condition, instead deciding to isolate in the spare room of her boss, Harold. See, this is a protagonist I can get behind.
Harold's a good guy who lets Lily vent her fears about COVID and helps her deal with abusive phone calls from her ex. As both a bar owner and a landlord, Harold takes the health and finance concerns of his employees and tenants seriously, and he has a "hot dad bod" to boot. He's even a great conversationalist and cook and so, despite their age difference, it's nice to see these two sweet, responsible people fall in love.
And sure, upon experiencing arousal Harold may sprout countless tentacles like a Dagon-esque creature from beneath the waves -- making him almost as terrifying as the monster in my new book -- but he's gentle when he uses his [redacted for the sake of good taste] to [redacted] Lily's [redacted]. He makes sure to establish consent before he [redacted] with his [redacted] into her [redacted] and [redacted], and later, when he repeatedly [redacted] and [redacted] Lily's [redacted], he ensures she's also enjoying [redacted] by [redacted] her, and so she intends to continue enjoying [redacted] for the duration of quarantine. This is easily the best story about someone getting [redacted] and [redacted] with [redacted] that I've ever read, and I've read over [redacted].
Gang pandemic: Taken by soldiers in the quarantine zone
A common erotica trope, as readers of the work I publish as Constantine von Fellatio know, is to reimagine well-known events in a sexier alternate universe. But this is a subtle art. People may love Naked Ancient Olympians Bone Down, but no one's going to get off to The Kennedy Assassination, But With A Different Kind of Penetration.
With that in mind, Jilly Bangs' (real name Jillian Bangington) attempt to reimagine COVID-19 as GA-19, a virus that turns people sex-crazed, is novel, but I don't think anyone is in the mood to fantasise about a sex outbreak. We're sexless and worried about our grandparents dying, so a world where our grandparents are hale and getting mad laid doesn't make for compelling escapism.
I really can't emphasize enough how disappointing Gang pandemic: Taken by soldiers in the quarantine zone was. Our heroine is supposedly worried about getting infected, but by page two she's shaking an old friend's hand because she forgot about social distancing. It's like the writer just wanted to infect her with the sex compulsion disease without even bothering to establish credible circumstances. Speaking of poor writing, this story reads like it was written by someone who has never had sex or consulted a dictionary. I know it's a cliche that men are easily aroused, but lines like "'I need sex boys, I need all those cocks,'" "My body was buffeted in a storm of man," "annihilate my dirt-box," and "Well here it comes... aaaaaaaah!" are less erotic than a manual on self-castration.
Worst of all, it was only nine pages long. I paid four bucks for this crap! I'm only charging three dollars for the Kindle edition of my full-length novel, and unlike Ms. Bangs I'm pretty sure I spelled most of the words right. Bangs had the audacity to publish two other GA-19 stories of similar length, and they were just as underwhelming. I'm certainly not going to let her fool me a fourth time.
Quarantine: A Paranormal Reverse Harem
When Jo Champlain drifts into a small town bar conveniently occupied by three attractive young men who all have a thing for middle-aged women, they have no idea that she's harboring two secrets. The first is that she wants to get laid. The second is that she's on the run from the "psycho" who killed her husband and turned her into a were-cougar, and when the moon turns full her desire for intercourse and wordplay only grows more insatiable.
One thing, of course, leads to another, and the three guys soon reveal their huge, throbbing ... hey, wait a minute. Our lovers get quarantined because of an anthrax outbreak! I'm onto your games, bestselling author Dakota Rebel! You just hastily added a Tiger King reference to an old book to make Quarantine look contemporary! Shame on you. You're sullying the hard work of innocent writers like R.B. Greenfield, whose Amazons of Bluebelle Valley XVI. Giantess Quarantine is getting an organic COVID search result boost. Greenfield added a quarantine angle to his saga of men forced to service 14-foot-tall women years ago, and you think you can just waltz in here and gussy up your were-cougar orgy?
Well, think again. As an ethical journalist, I'm only looking to report on contemporary quarantine-themed were-cougar erotica. And if none exists, then I'll just have to write it myself. I certainly have the time now that I've finished my new novel. And my authentically isolating were-cougar will be able to handle four young studs! How about that, Dakota?
QUARANTINE IN THE GULF CUNTRY: COVID-19 compliant sex? Hell No!
Most erotica is mercenary work, but sometimes it provides a glimpse into the psyche of its writer. Brittanee Lovelorne is the kind of author who really knows how to bare it all. In her recent Pulitzer-nominee, nurse and "confessed incurable sex addict" Mia hasn't had sex since quarantine began, but is flying back to the UAE where she works and fetishizes rich Emiratis, whose "yummy clean shiny tips of penises deserve their own Hall of Fame." This trip will be hard for Mia because "Dildos and sex toys are not allowed in the Gulf cuntry. And for your information, there are no typos here." Thank God we have that information.
Despite Mia apparently being Dubai's most popular nighttime attraction, she's currently interested in perverting Todd, the innocent young missionary sitting with her in aisle, ugh, 69. Thanks to COVID his Airbnb hosts have cancelled his stay, so Mia volunteers to, ahem, put him up for the two weeks they need to isolate upon arrival. This, obviously, is all a prelude to erotically charged moments like Mia musing "She had a Paul Walker look alike in her apartment and she was intent on making full use of him. But Paul Walker was dead. Fuck! Does that mean they would die?"
Convincing Todd to get drunk and practice missionary work takes about five seconds, after which we're treated to a parade of electrifying sentences like "Todd, hungry for her, partook of his recently acquired taste for pitted Madjool pitted dates dipped slowly in her pussy, each date a lone pilgrim staked on Todd's finger, circling the circumference of Mia's cervix, around and around, like a pilgrim circling Mecca." Go ahead and take a cold shower while I pay reparations to the nearest mosque for sharing that.
After a few more pages of "Mia's body was a banquet spread of desserts and he was a boy with a sweet tooth who had dipped his hand in the honey jar without any grownups to snatch it away from him," a perfectly logical analogy based on the jars of honey that banquets often offer, Todd is evacuated by the American government and Mia prepares to induct another local into her Hall of Fame. Knowing they'll never meet again, Todd reaffirms his faith in God but thanks Mia for the memories that he and, unfortunately, I, will always have.
When our heroes weren't having marathon sex sessions, Mia was giving Todd tourism tips based on the keen insight of someone who Googled "What to see in the UAE?" and that couldn't be acted on because of the whole COVID thing. I don't want to read too much into a work of fiction, but Ms. Lovelorne's only other story is explicitly set in North Carolina and is about banging a marriage counselor, so it's possible there's a Charlotte woman in an unhappy marriage who dreams of being a desired Dubai socialite despite her only knowledge of the Middle East coming from repeated viewings of Sex and the City 2, Aladdin, and footage of drone strikes on weddings.
Related: Covid-19 Is Exposing Xenophobia
Seduced By A Toon: when lockdown food delivery turns into a sexual treat
One of the keys to writing is being unique without being inaccessible, like when I wrote a book set in a haunted amusement park that mixes comedy with a frank look at mental health issues. When it comes to COVID erotica, writers have to stand out from dozens of stories in the style of "Oh no, the lockdown has trapped a sexy repairman in my house!" The writer of Milked By Her Housemates knew exactly what they were doing when they established that the quarantine caused their heroine's household to run out of coffee creamer. But if you take this approach too far, suddenly you become the person saying "Well, quarantine sure sucked, but at least it gave us the chance to fuck more balloon animals, right?" while everyone else backs away.
That brings us to Seduced By A Toon, where quarantine is frustrating Lukus. All he can do is listen to his roommate have sex and ruminate on the weird spelling of his name, although he at least gets a little privacy when his roommate goes to his girlfriend's place. Yes, traveling to and from multiple apartment buildings would appear to violate the whole spirit of quarantine, but self-isolation is handled a little differently in this alternate universe where sexy cartoon girls are real.
Their presence is never explained although, to be fair, I haven't read My First Toon Encounter: An Erotic Sci-Fi Journey, which may establish more details of the Toons Who Fuck Universe. We're informed that, because cartoon people are immune to the virus, they make for excellent healthcare workers, although sadly we don't get any descriptions of Burger King and the New York Islanders saluting our frontline anime heroes. If only the White House had had the foresight to implement a "The Deviant Art characters Donald Jr. jerks off to are real and they're great doctors" strategy.
Anyway, a cartoon delivery woman brings our protagonist food and, in the moment that requires the largest suspension of disbelief, she's incredibly thirsty for this sad young man who lives in filth and relies on Jessica Rabbit's Grubhub because he can't cook. No woman has ever said "The glimpses of your squalid apartment I've gleaned from bringing you fettuccine alfredo and Mountain Dew Baja Blast every night have given me an irresistible craving for your body." From there it's pretty much just "Her toon tits are incredible" this and "our mixed sex juices" that ad nauseam, and while under other circumstances I would apologise for sharing those excerpts, I'm really doing you a favor by killing your libido for the duration of these lonely times.
Say what you will about erotica featuring cartoon women explicitly described as having proportions that are physically impossible for real women, because I'm certainly thinking it. But hey, our scribe saw lockdown as an opportunity to slap a plot point into a story and spread his fetish, and he took his shot. You just don't want to know where it landed.