I’ve written four stories about Shamus, and this is a fifth – but it’s the first, chronologically – a prequel if you will. It’s called “Little Shamus” It’s told in first person, a little different from the other Shamus stories like “Muscle Beach” or “Dirty Cop.”

Here’s an excerpt from the novella:

One day, I was doing squats, and I seen Coach Hurley standing in the doorway watching me. He was looking at my legs, I figured. But he wasn’t.

He said, “Shamus, after this, come see me in my office.”

I thought I was in trouble, but when he smiled, I felt something funny going on in my gut.

“Hey Coach, what’s up?”

I tried writing an “Age Play” novella called Flight Plan. The premise was a young adult (18) looked much younger, and attracted a fellow who likes them young. It crossed an invisible line that triggers a knee-jerk reaction. I wrote about this in my previous blog post, but now I have the chops to prove it. My 16th book is banned, despite the fact that I ticked the Age-Play box before I published it. This was on a platform that allows quite a bit more leeway than that monster with a South American name and very North American puritan values.

It doesn’t matter that I spent hours creating these books, designing covers, plotting, and planning. It all goes up in a puff of smoke if that trigger is pulled.

In most societies, a group of people, scapegoats, are universally deemed non-persons. I don’t mean a group of people that get clumped into low status, like people without houses or people who have come to a country illegally. Most of us consider them whole people who face a lot of discrimination and isolation. They are still people. In Nazi Germany, there were non-people: Jewish People, Homosexuals, Romani, and Jehovah’s Witnesses, to name a few. Their non-personhood made their imprisonment and near-extermination possible.

Our society often treats criminals like non-people, although they still hold the possibility of redemption. However, there is a sub-group of criminals who are universally despised, dismissed, and treated as irredeemable pieces of filth. In the United States, a child molester is the most non-person in our midst. Terrorists, murderers, and even adult rapists are less reviled and, therefore, ‘redeemable.’ Only if you were treated as a god amongst men, like Michael Jackson, could you be exempt from losing your personhood altogether. You’ll never be a full member of society again, though.

I have several fragments - micro-stories that could become a full-fledged novel if there is interest.

The following fragments focus on male pregnancy. Peter's male pregnancy is different from the modern style. He focused on anatomy and real possibilities for male birth. He did not have any aliens or tentacles. He wrote about tenderness but also conflict - against society, between partners, and internal doubts.

With my ChatGPT prompt, "Tell me a story about a lumberjack with a very large penis," I got a content violation warning, but I also got a story. A surprisingly scary-good fairy tale with a moral worthy of a Peter Schutes novel. Other than adding a title, I have made no changes. I'm thinking I may need to look for a new job. Oh wait, I don't think it can write about mind-blowing gay sex. Or can it? I also prompted Wombo Dream to make a woodcut of "Two figures: A winged fairy pointing magic wand at the leg of a very muscular, shirtless lumberjack" I asked for the lumberjack to be hiding a softball in his underwear, but that just didn't work.

The 20th century author with a colossally warped and perverted penile perspective has taken up an entirely 21st century pursuit: Podcasting. Penises on Parade. Pricks for Kicks. Plop down your meat and pick up the podcast that will make your ears sting.

Peter has written tens of thousands of pages of raw smutty literature. Within those pages are some recurring themes and scenarios. Here, are the 11 most common Peter Schutes tropes.

We chose 11 in honor of the unicorn of dick size - 11 inches.

This is a fragment of a note from Peter written close to the end of his life. He waxes philosophical on the meaning of penis size in the context of human interactions.

In the realm of male psychology, the mind has an infinite capacity to criticize its owner. I’m too fat. I’m too skinny. I’m not muscular enough. I can’t grow a beard, etc. Women may have a similar affliction, but I can only write from the male perspective.

We found a deeply personal poem written by Peter, bemoaning the burden of being huge. If you thought you could unveil his psychology through his stories, this poem will be like opening his calvarium and staring directly at his brain.

I don’t have the patience to read a gay erotic romance, so I’m not sure how far Peter’s anatomically outrageous smut lies from such a genre. If I take out a lot of explicit description and replace it with euphemisms, will these otherwise romantic HEA stories be something of interest to a wider reading populace?

People just assume Hercules is a top. He does too, at least until he meets his superior. Lippos may not be a muscled demigod, but he has Hercules beat in the manhood department. And Hercules discovers, to his delight, that his powers prevent him from feeling pain. He's the perfect muscle bottom. And Lippos is only too happy to accommodate Hercules's insatiable hunger for pleasure. Never judge a book by its cover. There's an ancient greek saying "the thicker the beard, the lighter the heels." It is often the most masculine men who crave to play the feminine role in a relationship. Hercules was no exception.

We here at PS publishers are scratching our heads. Peter has given away over 750 free copies of his classic "Bunkhouse Buddies" and yet so far not one person was brave enough to leave a review.

Perhaps all 750 are following the maxim "If you don't have anything nice to say, it's best to say nothing at all." Maybe Smashwords doesn't make it easy to leave a review. Perhaps we need to put more and better links in the book to make reviewing easier. The marketing landscape for smut has changed drastically in the past two decades.

Were this still the 20th century we would have 500 copies of the book printed up on the cheapest paper imaginable. Those cheap "pulp" novels would be marketed to dirty bookstores, who might reluctantly agree to take ten copies on consignment. Or once the demand for Peter's books was established, we could sell them wholesale to the bookstore.

The significance of this bookstrap escaped us at first.  Daryn the intern, whose young imaginative mind is capable of great leaps, explained that the straps were for holding Peter's manhood against his thigh.

"You said he fought in World War I. Do you think he could have made it without something to keep it in place?  He would have fallen behind."

Daryn, we are grateful for your rules of deduction.  Reading his autobiography should shed further light on Peter's "handicap" and his methods of dealing with it.

Our intern's recent find gave our office the idea to scrape through old drawers in every room of the house. We also checked under rugs, lifted heavy appliances, and sent Roomba under every sofa. We came up empty. Peter's purge had been thorough. He destroyed every photo, shredded every journal, and basically robbed the world of his persona. In 1980, it would have been hard for him to imagine his work would be celebrated. It is a tragedy.

Peter moved to the San Fernando Valley in 1962. Close friends said he wanted a swimming pool and Santa Monica was too chilly. His tiny office in Santa Monica Canyon held the bulk of his paperwork, which turned out to be nothing but utility bills, blank packing slips and random matchbooks and other ephemera. He destroyed all personal correspondence. It was only through rumors and secondary sources that we learned as much as we did.

The period between 1940 when Peter left Hollywood and 1944, when he returned and became a permanent fixture in Tinseltown are clouded with mystery. Daryn, our brilliant intern from Cal State Dominguez Hills, just found a missing puzzle piece...a rare photo of Peter with his notes on the reverse.

This important photo was lodged in the railing of an old filing cabinet from Peter's office. It sheds light on an important year in his life. It explains how he knew enough about mining to write Dark as a Dungeon. It shows a cheerful Peter on the left with a man named Jim Ivey, who apparently used to give Peter hand jobs, if we can interpret "caresses" in such a bawdy manner. The bulge in Peter's trousers is too ambiguous to confirm the legend. Still, all he got was caresses, so it gives weight to rumors he was problematically enormous. It also casts a light on his still fragile mental state. To a fan of Peter's fiction, this is priceless. It will take a place of honor in the archives at PS publishing.

The Anaconda Copper explores the moral quandaries of Sheriff Whelan Dowd, also known as 'Stack.’ The town folks call him ‘Stack’ in honor of the Anaconda Stack, the tallest masonry smokestack in the world, which looms over the town like a massive phallus.  He was gifted and cursed with an appendage so large, it caused real damage with women.

Of The Anaconda Copper, Peter wrote:

The life of a small town sheriff is difficult for different reasons than that of a big city cop. In small townships, the sheriff often becomes the factotum. He may moonlight as a mechanic or run a general store. His budget comes from county taxes, which fall short. He may need to repair the brakes on his cruiser and replace missing letters in the office typewriter. He doesn't do it for the love of money; he must love the law and the people of the town he has sworn to protect.