October 08, 2013

Source: Shutterstock

Talk about “carbon dating”!

I guess I’ve been asleep under a rock, but “dinosaur porn” is supposedly, as the young people today like to say, a thing.

Last week, some desperate Web writer, likely digging for click bait on a slow news day, unearthed a once-obscure subgenre of self-published lady porn over at Amazon.com. These “books””€”glorified short stories in Kindle-friendly format”€”have titles such as Taken By T-Rex and Running from the Raptor, as well as superfluous “covers” depicting 21st-century bikini models crudely cut-and-pasted into dinosaur dioramas.

The plots, such as they are (along with most of the verbs, adverbs, and adjectives) will be familiar to anyone who’s dipped into some Barbara Cartland or The Pearl. The only difference is that the heroine is ravished not by some beastly man, but by a beast, period”€”one of the prehistoric variety.

“€œI guess I’ve been asleep under a rock, but “€˜dinosaur porn”€™ is supposedly, as the young people today like to say, a thing.”€

Behold a representative excerpt:

A reptilian tongue, stiff and hot, dashed out to lick at the tender, naked flesh so suddenly exposed. Azog gasped at the touch, then gradually relaxed as her body warmed to the intoxicating sensation of the beast’s flesh against her own.

She wasn’t sure if her sudden arousal was because of her earlier thwarted climax in the cool stream, or if she was just desperate for one last pleasant sensation before being torn limb from limb by the great, scaly beast. Either way, Azog relished the rasp of its tongue, hot and rough, on her sensitive skin.

The Huffington Post and Jezebel are pretty eager to trumpet “monster sex” as the latest shocking trend”€”50 Shades of Green?”€”but I’m unconvinced of the mass appeal of “monster sex.”

Not that it’s a novel idea. The Japanese (who else?) dreamed up “tentacle porn” almost two hundred years ago, but that genre hasn’t exactly spawned a class of mainstream magazines and movies with titles like Octopi My Pussy.

If the average woman really fantasized about getting it on with a blob of living calamari, The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife starring Sharon Stone or Jennifer Aniston (or, even better, Nastassja Kinski) would’ve hit megaplexes long ago.

“Monster sex” briefly rears its ugly head every decade or so, never leaving more than the faintest footprint behind. The Creature From the Black Lagoon couldn’t even seal the deal, poor sucker. (Look, I’m a raging hetero, but have you seen Julie Adams in that white maillot?) Decades later, though, Roger Corman’s (actually pretty reptilian) Humanoids of the Deep pulled it off, as it were.


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