Stephen King is known for his unsettling horror stories and for writing about one novel a year, which, if our math is correct, means he's done about 2022 so far. What he's NOT known for is for his highly erotic sex scenes. While we doubt there are a whole lot of people who buy Stephen King books expecting to be aroused, anyone who did would end up being subjected to bizarre, crotch-drying scenes like ... 

"Dedication" - A Hotel Maid Gets Bewitched Into Eating A Famous Author's "Spunk" From His Bed

"Dedication" is a short Stephen King story about a Black hotel maid tasked with cleaning the room of a famous writer in the 1950s and eventually having a kid who becomes a famous writer too. Well, that sounds like a pretty straightforward premise right there; what's so "Stephen King" about it? For starters, there's a witch involved:

Maybe for every thousand -- or ten thousand -- or million -- women who claim to be witchy, there’s one who really is. If so, Mama Delorme is that woman.

Viking

And then that witch hypnotizes the hotel maid into cleaning "soiled" bed sheets with her mouth.

Let's back up: the maid goes to see the witch, Mama Delorme, because she found a little recipient with white powder in her drunken husband's coat pocket and wanted to know what it was. The witch tells her that it's (*gasp*) drugs and also informs her that she's three weeks pregnant and should seek out her kid's "natural father." The maid somehow takes this to mean an author currently staying at her hotel, who's definitely not the unborn child's biological dad (the drunkard is) because they've never had sex. He barely even knows she exists, and it's made clear that he doesn't care much for Black people anyway, but the witch says he's the magical baby daddy.

How? Well, the next time the maid is cleaning up the author's room, she finds a big ol' mess of mostly-dried "spunk" in his bed, which is not an unusual sight in her line of work. What is unusual (we assume) is that, despite being repulsed by the writer's racism and not finding him the slightest bit attractive, she's overcome by a need to scrape off and consume said spunk. She describes it as:

"Next thing I know, this ... this feeling came over me." She paused, thinking. "This compulsion came over me. It was like wanting chop suey at three in the afternoon, or ice cream and pickles at two in the morning ..."

Viking

Great, now we can never enjoy ice cream and pickles at two in the morning ever again. Damn you, Stephen King. 

Once the maid gets home, she repeatedly vomits, thinking about the fact that she just ate straight out of some guy's dirty bedsheets, which would be gross enough even if they'd been completely un-jizzed. The next day, she goes to clean the writer's bed again, dreading what she might do if she finds more dried-up man-yogurt, but then she sees it and ...

"I seen it and waited to see if I was going to feel anything about it. I didn't. It was just the leftovers of a man with a letter and no mailbox to put it in, like you and I have seen a hundred times before. And that old woman was no more a bruja woman than I was. I might be pregnant or I might not be, but if I was, it was Johnny's child. He was the only man I'd ever lain with, and I could eat this man's spunk until it came out of my ears and it wouldn't change a thing. "It was a cloudy day, but at the second I thought that, the sun came out like God had put his final amen on the subject. I don't recall ever feeling so relieved. I stood there thanking God everything was all right, and while I did it I scraped all of his stuff off the sheet I could get and ate it."

Viking

Yes, she automatically starts eating the spunk again and continues doing so for several days, convinced that the witch is behind her unsanitary new compulsion. This continues until the writer leaves the hotel, and despite spending several pages describing how grossed out she was by the whole ordeal, the maid admits that "part of me was almost disappointed." Maybe she even went and smelled some other guests' farts off their dirty laundry, but no, it just wasn't the same. 

The maid eventually gives birth to a kid who looks nothing like the writer, but deep down, she knows that he's the "natural father." This is confirmed years later when he becomes a successful author whose work (and even his handwriting) bears an uncanny resemblance to that of some long-dead racist he never met. Is Stephen King saying that all instances of literary plagiarism are caused by semen-eating curses or only some? Try telling that to your professor if you get caught cheating on a paper.

Dark Tower III: The Waste Lands - An Incubus Gets WAY More Than He Bargained For

 

The Dark Tower movie was panned for taking bits and pieces from various novels in the long-running series as if trying to condense 4,250 pages into 95 minutes would leave anyone happy. The only consolation is that those bits didn't include the part where one of the main characters keeps a rape-demon distracted by giving it a rough taste of its own medicine. 

In The Waste Lands, the third book in the series, the characters are magically drawing an ally from another world, but they're worried that an invisible sex demon will interrupt them with an attack. A sexual attack. By the way, the ally in question is an 11-year-old boy, so that concern is doubly disturbing. In order to defend the group, one character summons one of her multiple personalities (an angry 1960s Black woman named Detta) who lets the demon in, then screws him so roughly that this unthinkable entity from another plane of existence is like, "Man, I didn't sign up for this, I'm outta here."

“Come on,” she panted. “You ain’t gonna rape me. You ain’t. You want t’eff me? I eff you. I give you a fuckin like you ain’t nevah had! Eff you to death!” She felt the engorgement within her tremble; felt the demon try, at least momentarily, to draw back and regroup. “Unh-unh, honey,” she croaked. She squeezed her thighs inward, pinning it. “De fun jus’ startin’.” She began to flex her butt, humping at the invisible presence.

Grant

The Exorcist would have been very different if Father Karras knew you can twerk demons into oblivion.

Of course, Detta doesn't let her magical rapist go and keeps raping him while calling this "sobbing, frightened, vicious thing" mean names like "honkey demon." Nothing that happens in this scene is more offensive than Stephen King's "Black woman" dialogue in general, though.

Let me go! a voice cried out in her mind. But at the same time she could feel the owner of the voice responding in spite of itself. “No way, sugar. You wanted it… now you goan get it.” She thrust upward, holding on, concentrating fiercely on the freezing cold inside her. “I’m goan melt that icicle, sugar, and when it’s gone, what you goan do then?”

Grant

“Come on, sugah!” Susannah cried from behind him. “You weakenin on me! Wassa matta? I thought you was some kind of hot-crap studboy!”

Grant

Are we sure this isn't an X-Men fanfic and that's Rogue speaking? 

The plan works, but as a result, Detta/Susannah becomes pregnant with a half-demon were-spider child. At least she didn't have to give birth to it herself because the fetus was "faxed" into the body of a sexual vampire, so it's the sexual vampire who delivers the baby and is subsequently devoured by it. Those are a lot of plot twists there, but the most surprising one is that everything we just described was written after King had kicked his cocaine habit.

Bag Of Bones - A Famous Author Gets A Handjob From A Long-Dead Blues Singer

 

Bag of Bones is narrated by a man named Mike Noonan, who happens to be a best-selling novelist from Maine (as in "home of best-selling novelist Stephen King" Maine). At one point, he has what he calls "the world's most creative wet-dream -- a triptych in which I had screwed two women and gotten a hand job from a third, all at the same time." The three women are his dead wife (who turns into a corpse mid-screwing, but he keeps soldiering on) ...

Her moon-silvered eyes stared up at me, through me, and I saw that one pupil was larger than the other. That was how her eyes had looked on the TV monitor when I had identified her in the Derry County Morgue. She was dead. My wife was dead and I was effing her corpse. Nor could even that realization stop me.

Scribner

... his 20-year-old new love interest, and, performing the handwork, Sara Tidwell, a long-dead Black blues singer. Why, yes, she does call him "sugar," how did you know?

“Do you want to know who he was, sugar? That nasty man?” “Just do me, you bitch!” I screamed. She laughed again -- that harsh laughter that was almost like a cough -- and squeezed me where the squeezing was best. “You hold still, now,” she said. “You hold still, pretty boy, ’less you want me to take fright and yank this thing of yours right out by the ...” I lost the rest as the whole world exploded in an orgasm so deep and strong that I thought it would simply tear me apart. I snapped my head back like a man being hung and ejaculated looking up at the stars.

Scribner

Okay, we're starting to sense a theme here. Which is especially notable because the three Black women we've mentioned so far are approximately 60% of all Black women Stephen King has ever written. At least we know there aren't any WTF sex scenes involving King's most famous Black female character, 108-year-old Mother Abagail from The Stand ...

The Stand -- Mother Abigail Gets Assaulted By A Crowd (Also: Sex Corn)

 

Oh, wait, scratch that. You wouldn't know it from the TV versions or the non-expanded edition of the book, but Mother Abagail also has a regrettable sex scene. In a nightmare, she relives the moment when she played the Christian song "Rock of Ages" on guitar in front of a white crowd in 1902, only this time her demonic nemesis Randall Flag is there. His mere presence causes the white folks to get extremely racist and also extremely handsy with her.

Mamma! she screamed again, and then rough hands were hauling her from the stage, they were under her dress, pawing her, tweaking her, pinching her bottom. Her hand was pulled sharply by someone, yanking her arm in her socket. It was put against something hard and hot.  Ben Conveigh's voice in her ear: How do you like MY rock of ages, you n-word slut?

Doubleday

Luckily, Abagail quickly transitions into another dream about corn, and surely there can't be anything sexual about tha--

(and she had thought many times that this was the plant closest to all life, the corn, and its smell was the smell of life itself, the start of life, oh she had married and buried three husbands, David Trotts, Henry Hardesty, and Nate Brooks, and she had had three men in bed, had welcomed them as a woman must welcome a man, by giving way before him, and there had always been the yearning pleasure, the thought Oh my God how I love to be sexy with my man and how I love him to be sexy with me when he gets me what he gets me what he shoots in me and sometimes at the instant of her climax she would think of the corn, the bland corn with its roots planted not deep but wide, she would think of flesh and then the corn, when it was all over and her husband lay beside her the sex smell would be in the room, the smell of the spunk the man had shot into her, the smell of the juices she made to smooth his way, and it was a smell like husked corn, mild and sweet, a goodish smell).

Doubleday

Uh, okay, we stand corrected. No pun intended. 

Perhaps just to prove that not all of his weird sex scenes have to include old-timey Black women, King also included a moment in The Stand where one character called "The Kid" (not a literal kid) sodomizes another known as "The Trashcan Man" with his gun, planning to pull the trigger and kill him when he orgasms. “He” as in the gunman ... although the victim gets pretty close to it, too.  

His whines became little gasps of pain as the barrel of the .45 worked its way into him, rotating, gouging, tearing. And could it be that this was exciting him? It was. Eventually his excitement became apparent to The Kid. “Like it, dontcha?” The Kid panted. “I knew you would, you bag of pus. You like having it up your butt, dontcha? Say yes, pusbag. Say yes or right to hell you go.” “Yes,” Trashcan Man whimpered. “Want me to do it to you?” He didn’t. Excited or not, he didn’t. But he knew better than to say so. “Yes.” “I wouldn’t touch your dong if it was diamonds. Do it yaself. Why you think God gave you two hands?”

Doubleday

Fortunately for Trashcan Man, his "partner" is the sort of person who falls asleep immediately after seeing himself off, so he never gets to the "shooting him" part because he's snoring within seconds. And dreaming of corn, presumably. Sexy, sexy corn.

Follow Maxwell Yezpitelok's heroic effort to read and comment on every '90s Superman comic at Superman86to99.tumblr.com. 

Top image: Grant, Doubleday 

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