Seeking the Next 50 Shades: Fan Fic Ripe for the Erotic Trilogy Treatment

08/06/2012 12:33 PM |

If you don’t know—and if you don’t, I wish you would show me the rock you’ve been hiding under because I would like to join you—massive blockbuster Fifty Shades of Grey began life as Twilight fan fiction. While Viking, E.L. James’s American publisher, rubs its hands together and cackles with glee at the million bucks a week the book is making, no doubt other publishers are combing fanfiction.net looking for the next big erotic hit. Please allow me to make some suggestions.

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1. “High School Sweet Hearts”, by Heart of the Wind 007. Bible fanfic posing the important question: what were Mary and Joseph like in high school? And how did they fall in love? Before she got knocked up by an angel and stuff?

An excerpt: Mary took a look at herself in the small mirror. She sighed, not knowing what to do with her hair on the first day of school. She didn’t want to look like she was trying to hard. Saying a small prayer to the Lord, she ran a finger through her long, curly, light brown hair. After getting dressed and brushing her teeth she begin reading her Torah until her parents called her downstairs.

“Mary! Time for breakfast.” Her mother calls.

“Coming mother!” Mary calls. Heading downstairs and giving both her mother and father a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m off to work. I got a new job as a carpenter. Goodbye you guys.” He says, grabbing a bit of breakfast and heading out the door.

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2. A Separate Piece, by rhythm-within. Finny and Gene slash fic, OBVIOUSLY. This guy does what John Knowles didn’t have to balls to.

An Excerpt: “I missed you, Gene,” he admitted, now not able to look at me. I was nearly shaking with nervous energy and I felt that energy propel my stiffly uncooperative legs forward, towards Finny.

“I missed you, too,” I whispered, one of my shaking hands reaching down to his face much in the same way I had done when Finny was in the infirmary last session, but rather than grabbing my arm he reached up and placed a hand on my shoulder. At first, his hand was soft and unassuming, resting on my shoulder like that but it quickly turned into what felt like a claw, dragging my upper body towards his. I nearly fell but my hands slipped to either side of Phineas’ lap to support myself while both of his hands found themselves on either side of my face. We were about eye level with each other and all Phineas really had to do was pull my face a few more inches forward until our noses were touching. Boldly, more boldly than he already was being, he tilted his own face so our noses wouldn’t bump and his lips could reach mine. Just the chaste contact was enough for a moan to escape my mouth and his inexperienced tongue to sneak its way between my open lips. At first, all I could really do was move my lips in the only way I knew how—awkwardly and sloppily—but then it occurred to me: the lips that were pressing against mine and slobbering all over my lips were the same lips I’d been dreaming about wrapping around my cock for over a month. Reality smashed down on me hard and I moved away. He looked up at me, a look of dejection behind his eyes.

“It’s time for bed.” I explained, moving to find some sheets for his bed.

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3. Paper Flower, by gingerbread dress. A darkly erotic tale based on the kids’ book series Goosebumps, starring Slappy, the dummy that comes to life. Yes, you should absolutely feel bad about reading this.

An Excerpt: “Slappy!” I whispered, tears glinting in my ravaged eyes. He looked proudly and blackly down upon Mr. Grammel’s ruptured body and then at me, the engorged greenness of his cruel gaze softening as he observed me, I held my arms out for him and he joined me again upon the blanket, where we had been so sadistically disturbed from our blue sleep. Blood trickled against my heel and I drew my foot away from the contaminated scarlet pool, shutting Slappy into my body like a pearl and listening to the hollow lull of sleepy, immaculate rain.

“Carrie, you shall be my bride,” a voice hissed in the fluffy blue darkness, coming from the white nest of my arms. Slappy desired my hand in marriage, the wind lifted my reply like a petal from that gloomy attic, and we slept.

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  • Village Voice

4. Johnny Come Lately, by the word crafter. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn fanfic. I think word crafter really has something here, if he or she could make it thousands of pages long and also add a dungeon.

An Excerpt: Arm wrapped round my waist, Johnny proceeded to dance a merry jig. I giggled, trying to copy his graceful movements. Although my skills were comparable to a drunk grandmother, Johnny lifted me up into the air and spun me gaily around; my lack of charisma in dancing hardly mattered to him; hardly mattered to Johnny, the greatest man in the world, the best beau in all of Brooklyn, and the handsomest too. Every girl, even one hooked up with a boy of her own, knew that and acknowledged it with possessive pride—he was a Williamsburg boy.

“Where do we go today, Johnny?” I whispered into his ear.

“Tonight I’ll take you dancing,” he responded quietly.

I giggled and grabbed his other hand. We walked, intertwined, staring blissfully at each other and at the sidewalk ahead, unsure of our destination yet willing to go wherever our feet carried us.

Go ahead and roll all you want.
  • Go ahead and roll all you want.

5. Secret Sin, by Belfast Docks. Sexy As I Lay Dying fanfic. Yes. Faulkner.

An Excerpt: She wrenches, trying to escape, her voice pitched and shaky. “You let me go right this second! Let me go!”

“No! It’s high-time someone taught you a goddamn lesson,” he growls, and he pulls her to him, trapping her against his body, closing an arm around her waist while holding her wrist to keep her from hitting him. It all sends a thrill through him, in a dark way, because she’s frightened and he’s glad of it. Little bitch needs to be frightened. Maybe she’ll leave him the hell alone, then. He doesn’t need her; he doesn’t need anybody.

He kisses her before she can protest further. It isn’t a gentle kiss — shit, it’s not exactly a real kiss. It’s rough and hot and he’s gripping the back of her head while she struggles and pushes at him, the furious, high-pitched sounds in her throat egging him on to scare her even more. Making the blood curl low in his stomach. Their lips mash together in a tight line, for she’s not kissing back, and he could care less. When he finally releases her, he actually pushes her away from him and she stumbles into the doorframe, breathing hard and eyes glittering angrily. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand in a motion of defiance, grabs the basket, and leaves in a whirlwind.

He hopes he got the point across. That it felt damned good is just a bonus.