Groundbreaking for Outhouses

October 23, 2006
Author: Very Metal
Textual sex so hot you'd think you were back in the gulags.

I'm ashamed I've been holding out on everyone, but Metal originally sent this to me in March 2004. With Ecchi Attack on the outs at that point, it never got posted. Considering that we're back now and the article is wonderful, here's a brand new three year old article! ~The Editor


I'm as unhappy as the Haitian Cabinet Minister For The Undead right now. I see a world in tears and I want to hug it better, but I'm not spending seven years training to be a doctor, tempting though it would be to adorn my practice with notices specifying “minor bouncy billowing breast injuries only today, please!” and subsequently delivering lethal doses of morphine to all those who defy my will by not furnishing me with a near-constant supply of handsome, glossy, tactile young bosoms. So I asked za Foreign Office what someone with my experience could do to help and, apparently, several thousand furious, weaponised, Francophone blacks wouldn't take kindly to a white guy turning up with a handful of leaflets and shouting “Here you are, Comrades! All the Love Hina enema pornography you've been fighting and dying for!” They forget by this time I would have managed to scare the ungrateful racist bakas off with something dazzling like my genuine pressed-metal katana or “man's red fire” long enough for me to climb back into my “^_^”-shaped catgirlmaran and escape back to Japan, the country I should have been born in but can no longer choose to visit because I cut up my passport protesting about the WTO or Iraq or something.

However, this latest slice of gutter pie will not be fortified by gelatinous pockets of all your favourite Love Hina characters “spewing (their) liquified waste into the air and all over the ground”; a deeply penetrating, stomach-distendingly satisfying irony though that would be. No, I felt I should have some standards. If you let yourself slip at moments like this then you will have hesitated in the face of a menace when you should have given leadership; next thing you know this is Beyblade Attack and we're all vicariously fucking one another as we huddle up and greedily finger overpriced battery-operated plastic sphincters. That is something history will not forgive, and I've asked. It's a pity it should immediately come to this, since even that one story, though not displaying a shred of literary talent, obviously has a piece of the author's heart lovingly bezel-set within it. “Dark Blaze” manages to observe the minutiae of a tiny cartoon girl forcing a hose pipe into an unwilling subject's anus (“fluttering... anal ring”, “brown fountain”) with the same tender, rapt attention of a bereaved parent recounting their dead child's first steps. There's mileage there, certainly, but no, I remain not that kind of terminator.

Besides, the Azumanga Daioh fics are starting to come though. Yes, it's ominous rising bassline time once again. The call comes crawling through the trans-Pacific cable like plaque out of a swollen artery and the (quite literally) huge American fanbase wheezes into action. Every dim subterranean minaret resounds with the call for the faithful to bury the earth in as much hurtful regurgitated garbage as they can produce without working up a modest sweat. And, by the way, we're pretty sure it's morally neutral to have furtive, glancing-over-the-shoulder basement sex with a consenting nekoconeko plush by the light of a guttering naked hundred watt lightbulb, so why not try that while you're at it? Assuming you can find time in your busy schedule of hurting the (imaginary) people you know and love.

In celebration, let's kneel right down and use colourful straws to sup tenderly from the scum-covered cesspool in which we'll soon be frolicking. It's an Azumanga fanfic. It's erotic. It's from the Shoujo-Ai archive. Yay.

Frustrated teacher Minamo can't sleep a wink for all the batteries of volcanic nocturnal orgasms her subconscious mind delivers every time she closes her eyes. For those who are new to the game this is because she's not enthusiastically fucking someone of a similar sex to her; specifically her old friend Yukari. It's been this way for a “LONG TIME”, hence the title. Then, just as you're getting ready to really enjoy this one; easing yourself into your favourite armchair, brushing the scant remains of your Domino's king size - as in a mattress - pizza off your damp crotch, checking the restraining grommets on your “Sex Offender 3000 Electronic Curfew Tag” and finding they haven't magically worked themselves loose: fucking! What da? They were half finished before you even sat down, you fool. You pay twelve thousand dollars to buy a girl's virginity over the internet and the sex is over inside a minute! Complete rip off, I want my half of the money back, AND she had a rat in her pussy, I should sue!

One perhaps shouldn't be surprised when a lemon neglects more traditional elements of storytelling (character, plot, at least a fingernail's purchase on reality) in favour of creamy, gooey sex. It's a little disingenuous to call foul: like complaining that bayonets will have someone's eye out if you're not careful or that Trent Reznor(-kun) seems “a bit moody.” Unfortunately the finer points of this philosophy have passed our erstwhile author by: Boti's third way is simple - just neglect everything. We're not talking being ramrodded through the pre-sex checklist for the sake of drinking in great, deep draughts of the sweaty, jiggling action when it arrives; this is more a case of being ramrodded through the story proper so the author can go home early and further test his already brittle bedsheets. It invites the question: if you're not being compelled to produce cartoon fuck stories then why commit such a pitiful effort to actually writing them? Despite my A Level in economics (grade C) I don't see the economy. If you don't enjoy the process of creating them, here's a wild idea: don't. Please don't. Ever. Halten Sie.



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