The Tortoise and the Hairy Balls: Satirical Erotic Fanfiction Based On Stephen King’s IT
From the ShipwreckSF and ShipwreckNYCC Archives, October 2018
Hi friends! As mentioned earlier, I’m sharing and promoting my ShipwreckSF stories on Substack while I query agents. For those of you unfamiliar with ShipwreckSF, it was a monthly satirical erotic literary fanfiction competition that took place at the Booksmith in San Francisco. I loved writing for the show and miss it very much.
Today is my birthday, and I wanted to celebrate by sharing my favorite Shipwreck story with you all: IT-themed erotic fanfiction. What better way to celebrate my birth than by birthing new nightmares? This is also my last Shipwreck story I’ll be sharing on here and wanted my last chaotic fanfic to be a memorable and fun one for y’all. Anyway, the following story was originally written for the October 2017 show (read aloud by Baruch Porras-Hernandez), and later revised for the 2018 New York ComiCon show, where it was read aloud by Randy Havens of Stranger Things fame- and won first place!
Oh, and in case any readers were wondering- Shipwreck writers would be assigned a character, any character, from the book chosen for that month’s show. Sometimes, the producers would assign abstract characters to writers. For this show, I got to write about the turtle, who shows up for all of THREE FUCKING PAGES in this godforsaken 1000+ page book. Did you know there was a turtle character in IT? I didn’t, even after reading it through the first time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing and revising it.
The sex, which would not end for another 28 years — if it ever did end — began, so far as I know or can tell, with The Turtle and Pennywise 69’ing after snorting a shitload of cocaine.
Their heads bobbed, tilted, dived bravely onto each other’s massive monster dicks, and continued to suck and lick as Turtle and Pennywise stared deeply into each other’s balls. Turtle’s balls smelled like swamp ass and Bailey’s Irish Cream. Pennywise’s balls smelled like circus peanuts and regret; his pubes stuck to Turtle’s chin like bright red candy floss. Turtle squeezed the clown’s bike horn-turned-butt plug, which sprang out with the force and joy of endless clowns tumbling out of a car. The clown howled “AWOOGA” in harmony with the bike-horn-butt-plug as Turtle quickly repositioned himself to go to fucking town on his dumb clown ass.
“Say it,” Turtle grunted. “Say you’re my little bitch.”
“I’m your little bitch!” Pennywise cried out in ecstasy, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
Turtle and Pennywise, eternal frenemys-slash-fuckbois, initially discovered cocaine during an accidental stumble through the Macroverse, into Earth, where they fell into a decade humans called the 1980s. Upon their first snort, Turtle and Pennywise locked eyes, and immediately started sucking faces like slimy octopus tentacles. No one had ever seen such a horrifying hook-up: Pennywise caressing Turtle’s super hard shell, Turtle clawing at Pennywise’s pom-poms. They had always been at odds throughout the macroverse- similar skills and talents, seeking to achieve very different goals — but with the cocaine, they were on the same page.
As they finished for the third time that evening in a tastefully decorated condominium, Pennywise rolled around in his own mess of clown cum (it tastes like funfetti!) and dollar bills, watching Turtle methodically clean his glasses. The reptile crawled back to the table, readying more lines of coke to strategically place on his ridiculously large and ugly turtle penis. Turtle smiled as he heard Pennywise straighten his posture and his curlycue cock, and somersault over to him.
“May I please have some, Daddy?” Pennywise panted, clown hands grabbing at Turtle’s scaly knees. “Please. I’ve been good.”
Turtle smiled as he ran a claw through the clown’s bright red curly hair. “I don’t know, sugar. Can you handle another ride?” Pennywise started to whimper like all the children he dismembered. “Remember what happened last time when you had this much.”
“Oh, please, Daddy! It won’t happen again!” the clown cried out. “I swear, I just want a little bit more. I want to feel like a King again.”
Turtle raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment, then shrugged. He measured out two comically long lines of cocaine, on the table and on his anaconda schlong — an anaschlonga, if you will. “Okay, here you go. But only because I like making you float,” Turtle said with a wink and a shudder as Pennywise smashed his nostrils onto the cocaine-covered turtle member, snorting up like a violent vacuum cleaner. Pennywise took the powder flawlessly, licking back up and down Turtle’s shaft to get every last bit, watching his shell twitch in delight. Turtle groaned again before turning to take his line with a rolled-up hundred dollar bill.
Like hard-ons in spandex, their eyes bulged out, taking in the details of the super luxe condo: awards scattered across bookshelves, stacks of contracts and cash on the floor, bottles of booze and bricks of cocaine littered across the kitchen table. Outside of the condo, there was darkness and sadness and mortals scrambling toward them like their lives depended on it. Here, safe in their condo, floating on their highs, the clown and the turtle could be themselves. Here, they were kings, immortal, gods among men.
Pennywise clambered aboard Turtle and together they lumbered across the beautiful open-space condo, taking in their kingdom. The bonerific clown gently slid off Turtle’s shell and, with some effort, flipped the big-ass turtle onto the bed. Pennywise grabbed a jar of turtle wax and began stroking the gigantic green turtle pecker, making his reptile friend even harder than his shell.
“Talk to me, Daddy,” Pennywise crooned as they played footsie, but with their penises instead of feet- peensies, if you will. “Tell me what a bad boy I’ve been.” He leaned down and purred, “Tell me how terrifying I am.”
Turtle slid forward a few inches and his massive turtle dong curved up and around, right into Pennywise’s storm drain. Pennywise let out a high pitch squeal, like a leaky balloon, as Turtle rocked back and forth on his shell, his turtle penis in charge once more. “You’re a nightmare, baby,” Turtle growled up at the clown. “You’re a total monster.” Pennywise threw his head back in pleasure, riding that weenie like a winner until suddenly he froze.
“I… I see them,” the clown whispered, eyes darting across the room. “They’re haunting me.”
Turtle sighed and reached for Pennywise. This happened every time the clown got carried away with blow. “Get it together, man,” Turtle said, lighting up a cigarette with the casualness of an 80s asshole boyfriend. “Nobody’s here.”
Pennywise peered down at Turtle through his fingers. “I swear they were here,” he hissed as he curled up into a ball. He pulled at his hair and whimpered as Turtle gently stroked his back.
“Shhhh, shhhhh, there, there,” Turtle gently murmured. “Let’s turn that frown upside down.” Pennywise perked up and enthusiastically got into position for Turtle to mount him again. Turtle lurched forward into that bouncy clown ass, and Pennywise briefly lost himself in pleasure, pre-cum dripping out of his balloon animal. Turtle gripped his claws around Pennywise’s cocaine-dusted torso and thrust harder, finding his rhythm once again, only for Pennywise to start yelping.
“I still see them!” the clown screamed as he thrust his fists against the bedposts. “I SEE DEADLIGHTS! Oh, heaven help me-” Pennywise’s screams quickly turned to sobs as Turtle attempted spooning him for comfort, but it was no use.
Their highs started fading away. Pennywise whimpered as reality set in, feeling his power draining. The two creatures woke up to their current state: Stephen King in full clown makeup, curled up naked in bed, clutching his clown suit and a typewriter; and Aaron Sorkin, creator of The West Wing and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, painted green from head to toe, crawling on the floor with a kiddie pool strapped to his back.
“Oh Stephen,” Aaron murmured as he crawled back to his weeping friend. “You sweet summer child. You know these things always come to an end.” Aaron looked deeply into Stephen’s eyes, brushing away a single manly tear. Stephen grabbed Aaron’s hand and kissed it.
“Thank you for taking these journeys with me,” Stephen whispered. “You’re the only one who understands me, who accepts me as a monster and a man.”
Aaron smiled and nuzzled into Stephen’s neck, breathing deeply into his wrinkles. “Thank you for letting me be the turtle to your clown,” he sighed. “Whether you’re near or far, you’ll always be my little monster.” Stephen giggled, and the two overblown, mediocre, straight white male writers kissed as the sun rose.
Thanks for taking the time to read my silly story, friends, and for supporting me through my ShipwreckSF posting spree. If you like what you read, please support my writing in whatever manner suits you best: share this post with friends, buy me a Ko-fi or leave a generous tip (after all, it is my birthday). Not sure what I’ll be sharing next, but it will likely be unhinged and bizarre and silly.