I’m not sure which perplexed my children more: the fact that I’ve written some My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fanfiction, or the fact that some sections of it skirt the boundary between PG-13 and R. As a rule, kids are appalled by anything remotely sexual connected to the parental units, and this had the potential to become Exhibit A:
When, at a family gathering, I was gleefully ushered into the study and asked if I’d mind reading some draft pages of a novel he’d been writing, I had no idea of the horror awaiting me. To the contrary, I was genuinely excited. It was only a few days later, as I was perusing the pages, that I discovered he had written full-blown dad-erotica.
Please tell me that’s not an established genre.
Belinda Blinked, a racy novel about the sexual exploits of pots and pans sales director Belinda Blumenthal, is a departure for my dad. A millennial before his time, he’s donned many guises and worn many hats, from salesman to builder, teacher to geologist. But this was his first outing as a writer, and as such he was forced to go down the self-publishing route. I mean, who would ever publish such dreck? Making it available on iTunes and Kindle for a couple of quid seemed innocuous enough. The risk of anyone I knew reading it was slim to zero, especially given the creative pen name he’d adopted: Rocky Flintstone.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that no one should be subjected to the sexual fantasies of their 60-year-old father.
Then again, the book did contain redeeming social value:
Not Steinbeck genius, but my goodness it’s better than E.L. James. For one thing, there’s never a dull moment. For all the points Dad misses on his mission to arouse, Belinda Blinked makes up for in downright hilarity. It’s that naive kind of funny, that magical brand of humour that can only be born from a complete lack of awareness. The sex is random and misguided, with choice quotes including “her breasts hung like pomegranates” and “he grabbed her cervix.” If my three sisters and I didn’t exist, I’d genuinely question whether my dad had ever had sex.
Just to prove I’m not quoting these things to make my own stuff look better, here we have Twilight Sparkle complaining about her coltfriend to Rarity:
Twilight shook her head. “Maybe I did read too many of those silly stories.”
“Then answer me this: What do those fictional stallions have that Brush doesn’t?”
“It’s not what they have,” said Twilight. “It’s what they do, and when they do it. They take the initiative. They nod in your direction, they say Now, and you can’t help but follow.”
“And he doesn’t do that?”
Twilight sighed. “I’ll be working late on something, and I’ll be bored out of my mind, and he’ll come up behind me. But he won’t really approach. And if I turn around, he’ll look away and then leave the room. Just once I’d like him to tell me to put down that bucking book and come to bed already.”
Rarity’s face lit up. “Oh, you do have the proper instincts after all!”
“Of course you do. You shouldn’t have to do all the work. If he wants you, he should have to put some effort into getting you.”
Twilight frowned. “Last night, I thought he was really going to. He climbed up to the observatory. He never climbs up to the observatory. We talked, he was very sweet, and then suddenly he was gone.”
“Did you give him any indication that you were in the mood?”
“Dammit, I was in heat!” Twilight yelled. “How much indication does he need?”
“Oh, my,” said Rarity. “Then again, you are his first pony. He may not have learned all the subtle signals of estrus.”
“Believe me,” Twilight snickered, “they’re not all that subtle. Mine aren’t, anyway.”
Maybe I need to read Belinda Blinked. For reference, of course.
(Via Bayou Renaissance Man.)