PS Publishing released two rare Peter Schutes novels as serials on Kindle Vella. They’re much less expensive than buying a novel, and both stories are fantastic tales of giant cocks and pregnant men.
In The Orchardman, Peter weaves a post-plague tale of infertility, captivity, and male pregnancy. It’s one of the first science fiction novels Peter attempted. Shepard Hendrix, a fertile Monachee capable only of bearing male heirs from another man, is captured and enslaved in a prison hospital where the US Government hopes to resolve the infertility program through forced pregnancy. He escapes the hospital only to find himself in the hand of a new warden, whose private castle serves as a different kind of prison. Can Shepard ever find freedom and reunite with his family?
In The Longshoremen, Peter begins his seedy story in Stockton’s skid row among the longshoremen who work on Rough and Ready island. Alec Shore, an enormously endowed dock worker, falls hard for Ralph EagleClaw, a two-spirit hermaphrodite. Love begets tragedy, then renewal when Ralph returns home to bear Alec’s child alone.
You’d be doing yourself a favor to read these two. If you like big dicks, impossible male pregnancy, and romance, these erotic serials will float your boat.
From Peter’s Notes: Ever since I first heard of ectopic pregnancy in which the embryo attaches outside the womb, my imagination soared. It shows that it’s scientifically possible (if not plausible) for a man to be impregnated. I spent much of my time devoted to writing the Monachee fantasy series Daddy’s Boy [editor’s note, Amazon made us change the titles to Appalachian Bred]. I wrote dozens of stray stories, including a Monachee tale of pregnancy in a post-plague sterile America. I also wrote a humorous book called The Butt Babyand a serious story about a Native American hermaphrodite. There are dozens more, but those three stand out.
From PS Publishing: We found TheOrchardman (post-plague science fiction) and The Longshoremen(hermaphrodite birth) in a cabinet in Peter’s tool shed. He really was good at hiding the stuff that he thought might be too much. All of his work was too much, and we love it! PS Publishing has released these two stories on the new Kindle Vella platform. If you like rough man on man impregnation, these two will satisfy. It’s not the delicate mpreg – this is Bara. Rough sex between rough and tough men.
You should check out Peter’s latest publications: 2 serial stories on Kindle Vella.
The Orchardman is a dystopian tale of male pregnancy (mpreg) and childbirth. It takes place in a setting very much like Children of Men or The Handmaid’s Tale, where infertility causes society to collapse. If you’ve read the Daddy’s Boy/Appalachian Bred series, you know about the Monachee, a clan of hill folk whose men can conceive and bear a child. The Orchardman follows Shep Boone, a Monachee from the Virginia hills. When he is kidnapped (along with all of his kind), he is imprisoned in a hospital whose sole aim is to produce offspring for the wealthy helmsmen. This bizarre work of fiction was found among Peter’s personal files, kept under his bed.
The Longshoremen is a different kind of mpreg story. Ralph is a two-spirit, born with both genders. He chooses to live as a man, but he longs to be with another man. When he meets Alec Shore, an enormously gifted longshoreman, they fall in love. Ralph discovers he is pregnant. He struggles to navigate the uncharted waters of male pregnancy on his own.
Jeffrey clutched his ticket in sweaty palms. He didn’t like flying. Whenever he had a choice, he took a train, or a bus. This was a transcontinental flight on a DC-10 from Los Angeles to New York. He could choose between three days of solid discomfort or six hours of terror…each way. But the meeting was tomorrow, so he really had no choice.
Jeffrey ducked into the restroom for a quick pee before the boarding began. He groaned when he saw the urinal, a single trough. He hated other men looking at his depressingly tiny penis. He scanned the stalls to see if a private toilet was available; all full. His short pause caused a gentleman to bump into him.
“Ey, are you going or not”?
Jeffrey turned to face his antagonist, and almost wet himself on the spot. It was Ashe D’Estende, the straight porn star. The star saw the flash of recognition in Jeffrey’s eyes and grinned.
Jeffrey turned red. He stepped forward to the trough and removed his tiny wiener. Ashe appeared beside him. He saw the tiny manhood and whistled.
“That sucks, man.”
Jeffrey couldn’t believe this blockhead. He also couldn’t stop staring as the oaf peeled his skin tight polyester pants from his thighs in order to extract his legendary dong. It flopped like a dead snake out of his trousers. It was so long, the head crash landed in the river of urine below. Ashe cursed and lifted the monster out of the trough.
“That sucks, man.”
Ashe chuckled as the stream of urine trickling from his urethra became a rushing rapids. Jeffrey was so piss shy, he started to put it away.
“Where you going? Let’s cross swords.”
Ashe had an easy comfort with his body; it was contagious. Jeff relaxed and let the stream of urine flow from his little penis. Ashe swatted his stream of urine so it collided with Jeffrey’s. Jeffrey swatted back, causing droplets to splatter the wall above the trough.
“Nice! You win.”
“I win? That’s a first.”
Jeffrey’s self-loathing colored his speech.
The loudspeaker announced the boarding of flight 1480 from Los Angeles to New York.
Both men put away their respective manhoods and left the restroom.
Jeffrey was not a virgin, but he had a hard time connecting with men. His small penis shame was a constant drum in his ears while he talked to guys. They sensed his fear and avoided him. It landed him on an analyst’s couch for years.
Jeffrey gained most of his sexual gratification in erotic cinemas like the Pussycat on Western Avenue. He would sit on an empty row and masturbate to adult movies. It was not sex, but it was easier than dealing with potential humiliation in the bedroom.
Jeffrey’s surrogate sex life was the reason he recognized Ashe D’Estende. He was a French Canadian who came to Los Angeles seeking stardom, and his dick made him famous. It was far and away the biggest hard cock Jeffrey had ever seen. Soft, it was enormous. Rumors surrounding his legendary member were whispered in soft tones at the theaters. Several stars refused to work with him because he preferred anal. The women didn’t have the guts to take the legend.
Thinking about Ashe took his mind off the upcoming flight. The gate agent took his ticket and sent him down the long covered walkway to the jumbo jet. Jeffrey liked the covered walkway. The last time he had flown, he was forced to walk on a noisy tarmac as planes roared down the runway nearby. This quiet, climate-controlled hallway was a great improvement. When he stepped into the plane, he was astonished by its size. How could such a massive object ever get airborne? He had requested an aisle seat, hoping it would keep him from seeing the plane leave the ground. When he found his seat, it was occupied. By Ashe.
“Uh, I think this is my seat.”
Ashe grinned. He took his ticket stub out and compared.
“Nope. Lucky, you got the window.”
“Damn. Do you want to switch”?
Ashe undid the seatbelt and adjusted his huge soft cock so he wouldn’t sit on it when sliding across. It snaked its way down his trouser leg towards his knee. While scooting, Ashe held the monstrosity with both hands to keep it from slipping under his thigh.
Jeffrey watched in envy and fascination. His mouth hung open. He felt faint. Seeing Ashe pissing was not even as interesting as watching him struggle with simple movement.
“Fucking huge, right”? Ashe grabbed a portion of his long meat and shook it for Jeffrey’s benefit.
“Y-yes, sir.” Jeffrey didn’t know why he said that. Ashe made him want to submit.
Ashe’s eyes sparkled. “Sir? Quel surprise.” The Québécois revealed his origins with his accent.
Jeffrey sat beside him. He leaned forward to put his knapsack under the seat, and caught Ashe staring at his ass.
Ashe sucked air through his teeth. “Bel cul, mon frere.”
A rush of erotic pleasure surged through him. The biggest cock in porn was complimenting his ass.
The stewardess was demonstrating the seatbelt and the flotation device. Jeffrey looked at the placard studiously, prepared for the inevitable crash landing over water. Ashe watched as thin beads of sweat rolled down Jeffrey’s face and splashed on the card.
“Eh, mon ami, are you frightened”?
“I will help you. You must be distracted.”
As the plane backed out of the gate, Ashe put his big meaty hand down the back of Jeffrey’s pants and fingered his asshole. He leaned in and whispered, “Once we are in the sky, I will take you to heaven.”
The plane gathered speed on the runway. Jeffrey cried out as Ashe put one, then two fingers in his ass. The plane lifted off; Ashe slipped a third huge finger into Jeffrey’s hole.
Ashe stretched and fingered him until the no smoking sign turned off. By the time the stewardess walked past, Ashe was sniffing his fingers and smiling at his astonished seat mate.
“No smoking sign is off. Meet me in the back.” He pulled a joint out of his shirt pocket and winked. He climbed over Jeffrey, making sure to rub his crotch in the man’s face.
Jeffrey couldn’t process everything that was happening to him. He was airborne flying over some shitty suburb and the hottest man in porn was waiting to get stoned with him. And he was too turned on to be scared.
Jeffrey undid his buckle and walked through the smoke cloud at the back of the plane until he reached the restrooms. All the stewardesses were busy preparing food at the front of the plane. Ashe stood just inside a restroom, beckoning him. He stepped in and Ashe locked them in.
Ashe fired up the joint and passed it to Jeffrey.
Jeffrey coughed and laughed as they finished the joint together. Ashe flushed the toilet to change the air in the tiny room. He smiled at Jeffrey.
“You have a beautiful tiny penis.”
“No, no mon ami, it is a compliment.”
“In what world is that a compliment”?
“I like to fuck handsome men but only if they have itty bitty penises.”
“I would have thought you preferred big guys, like the ones you work with.”
“I am not a narcissist. My huge cock is beautiful, eh, but it needs not see its reflection, yes”?
His French Canadian accent was unattractive but sexy nonetheless.
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me show you.” Ashe planted his lips on Jeffrey’s and filled his mouth with thick tongue. The passion, fueled by weed and high altitude, drove the men wild. Jeffrey tore at the pearl snaps of Ashe’s cowboy shirt. Ashe removed the young man’s trousers in one swift motion. He unzipped and extracted his rapidly growing member from his double-knit trousers. He applied airline lotion liberally to his cock and Jeffrey’s asshole. The three fingers found their way in. Ashe had been fucking ass on camera for five years. He was an expert. Jeffrey moaned as his rectum loosened under the digital assault. He had never been with a masculine man. His dates were usually very feminine, and always disappointed in Jeffrey’s little unit. Ashe used his free hand to wiggle Jeffrey’s scrotum and penis like it was a pussy. He felt like a woman; it was a huge relief. He didn’t want to be a man with Ashe; he wanted to be a lady under his command. He knew he was about to be anally massacred, but he welcomed it.
The tiny restroom could not accommodate Ashe’s manhood. He had to point it skyward to allow it to grow to its full length. Jeffrey felt the head slither up his back as it grew to its full length. He gasped when Ashe lifted him aloft as if he were a piece of carry on luggage.
The lotion-slick head found its way easily into the finger-stretched hole. Ashe was tapered; his cock grew thicker towards the base. Jeffrey could handle the first few inches, but the last few were going to be murder. Ashe knew his body well, having stretched hundreds of asses on film. He nibbled on Jeffrey’s earlobe to distract him from the blinding pain to come.
Jeffrey was confused. Ashe is supposedly straight, yet he wanted to fuck Jeffrey because he has a teeny weenie peenie. He wanted to spend more time analyzing the strange psychology, but his ass was screaming. Ashe was halfway in, and he was already at the end of the rectum. But then Ashe did something magic. He turned a corner and continued up Jeffrey’s poop chute. It was blissful and intensely painful in equal measure. He whimpered.
“Sh-shh-shhh. Mon ami, you will soon feel only pleasure.” Ashe caressed Jeffrey’s small genitals. He rubbed the little head until clear juice dribbled from the tip. Ashe licked the nectar from his fingers. “Ohh, man, you taste sweeter than pussy.”
Jeffrey could not hear the compliment. His anus was a flood of searing hot pain. Ashe was now two-thirds of the way into Jeffrey. His massive cock was moving deeper into the sigmoid colon.
Ashe was big around as a summer sausage near the tip, but he was thick as a wine bottle at the base. As he continued to lower Jeffrey onto his meat, the young man’s rectum stretched beyond the limits of his imagination. Ashe was careful to lift Jeffrey up at intervals, to give his tight hole a chance to relax and recover. Then he would lower him further than before. All the while, Ashe peppered him with kisses and whispered encouragement in his ear.
“Yes, you are doing it. You feel so good on my cock. You are a beautiful man.”
Jeffrey winced and groaned. “You’re going to split me in two.”
“Relax, I am an expert. There will be no blood. Only deep satisfaction.”
Jeffrey grew faint as the full realization of his conquest washed over him. Ashe had fully made a woman out of him. The gentle stroking on his genitals felt like he had grown a pussy and Ashe was fingering him. Three-fourths of the way in, Ashe was forcing juice from Jeffrey’s prostate.
The porn star cupped his meaty paw and caught the clear ejaculate. He sampled it, then held it to Jeffrey’s mouth. He slurped his own pre-cum. It was delicious.
Ashe used the momentary distraction as a cover for his final thrust. He was balls deep in his seat mate.
Jeffrey’s feet were back on the ground. He stood yoked ass-to-hip with the huge dick wedged fully inside his anal canal. He was invaded, conquered by this heterosexual porn star. He was a woman, with a drippy clit.
“Are you ready for it”?
Jeffrey nodded, unsure what ‘it’ might be.
Ashe pulled back as far as he could and rammed his meat hard into Jeffrey’s ass. He quickly withdrew as far as the tiny cabin allowed, and pounded again, faster. In seconds, he was fucking like a jackrabbit.
“Oh fuck! Oh god!”
Ashe smiled, “It’s good, n’est-ce pas”?
“Oh Jesus. Oh Lord. It’s…unhhh.” Jeffrey lost his faculties of speech. He could only respond in moans, groans and squeals of pleasure.
Ashe rutted his prey, dominating him, emptying and filling him with his huge porn star dick. He loved nothing more than making a woman out of a man. He wanted this man ever since he saw his small perfect cock at the urinal. He was straight on camera, but men with little dicks were his weakness.
Despite the confines of the cramped cabin, Ashe lifted Jeffrey and rotated him, so his ass was on the counter, facing his anal invader. Jeffrey wrapped his legs around his intruder’s waist. Ashe put Jeffrey’s little cock in his mouth. He sucked and swallowed the pussy juice that oozed out with each violent thrust.
Jeffrey discovered Ashe’s short circuit; he twisted his nipples.
“No, you will make me cum.”
Jeffrey let his hands explore the round globes that formed Ashe’s dimpled buttocks. They were lightly furry. Each thrust caused them to tighten. He put a finger between them, feeling the squeeze. He let the finger wander down to the puckered hole.
Ashe grabbed his wrist.
“The last thing that went in there was cut off. I am the man, you are my woman.”
Jeffrey nodded. Ashe kissed him to ease the tension. “You may rub my butt, that feels good.”
Jeffrey concentrated on Ashe’s butt cheeks and powerful hamstrings whose strength drove his massive member so hard into him. The unbearable pain had completely vanished. Each violent thrust of Ashe’s elephantine dick brought only intense orgasmic trembling. Jeffrey’s legs were shaking involuntarily. Ashe kissed his inner thighs and held his knees to calm him. Jeffrey saw stars. Pleasure washed over him in wave after wave. He had never felt this before. What was it?
“I made your ass have orgasms, eh”? Ashe wore a triumphant smile. “I can make it happen again and again.”
He was right. Over the next five minutes, Jeffrey was reduced to a trembling heap of flesh. He melted into a warm buttery sea of anal orgasms. Ashe didn’t stop. He lived to see that look of unrestrained ecstasy on his sex partner’s face. Women were so easy. Only a few men could have multiple anal orgasms; Ashe had found one. He pounded and pounded until Jeffrey slipped into a trance. He lost control of his bladder, and piss poured out. Luckily, it ran into the sink.
“I fucked the piss out of you.”
Jeffrey’s head lolled. He looked like a junkie after a fix. The giant member in his anus was going to make him faint. The room turned red, and he blacked out. When he came to, Ashe was still fucking him deep and hard. He never wanted anything like he wanted this man’s dick in him, but it was going to make him pass out again. In a gesture of self-preservation, he pinched Ashe’s nipples.
“Are you ready for my cum, woman”?
Jeffrey nodded, focusing intensely on the porn star’s leathery nipples.
“I am ready for yours, too.” Ashe covered Jeffrey’s tiny cock with his mouth and licked it like a clitoris. Jeffrey felt sperm building in his balls. The closer he got to cumming, the harder he twisted Ashe’s nipples.
“Oh, fuck! You are making me cum! Ow!” Ashe bucked and thrusted, grinding his hips into Jeffrey’s tight butt.
Ashe was first. Deep in the sigmoid colon, he let fly his first little spurt. Jeffrey felt it, and it sent him over the edge. He ejaculated his first squirt into the porn star’s mouth. Ashe’s second spurt was a flood. It felt like a sperm enema deep inside Jeffrey’s bowels. Jeffrey, like Ashe, was a strong second shot. He was small, but he carried a huge load of cum. He squirted so much so hard, sperm came out of Ashe’s nose.
Ashe pulled back in astonishment just in time to catch a big wad of sperm in his eye. He opened his mouth and caught the successive squirts as best he could. Sperm got on his shirt, pants, and in his hair. Jeffrey was a lawn sprinkler.
Buried to the balls, Ashe kept shooting load after load up the small-dicked man’s colon and anus. His legs buckled. He was half blinded by Jeffrey’s sperm. He looked like a glazed donut. Jeffrey stopped twisting his nipples. He leaned in and licked his own sperm off of Ashe’s face.
Ashe grew soft. Peristalsis, so violently repressed by the gigantic anal assault, returned with a vengeance. Jeffrey ejected the porn star’s huge flaccid member, releasing a torrent of baby batter in its wake. Ashe’s gargantuan flaccid cock smacked hard onto the toilet lid on its way down. The rivulet of sperm puddled in Ashe’s hand. He offered it to Jeffrey, who obediently lapped up the potent dick juice.
The two men breathed hard, looking into one another’s eyes. Ashe took command, kissing Jeffrey as he lifted him off the counter. They cleaned one another with rough brown paper towels and warm airplane water.
“Wait a couple minutes.”
Ashe opened the door, adjusted his crotch for maximum exposure, and walked past two stewardesses, winking. They both stared at his massive crotch; they didn’t notice Jeffrey locking the bathroom behind him.
A few minutes later, Jeffrey limped back to his seat. Ashe gave him that winning smile and patted the spot beside him.
“Did I cure your fear of flying, mon ami”?
“That’s putting it lightly.”
He grimaced as he sat next to the best fuck of his life. Ashe offered him a cigarette.
“You will not walk normal for a few days. But it will feel good. You will remember me with every step.”
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.
In Ancient Greece, the most desirable men had very small endowments. Just being “above average” was a deal-breaker. Picture massive Hercules with his grotesquely prodigious member, and you can imagine his loneliness. Enter Lippos, the “tripod”, whose length and girth exceed Hercules’s, and the fireworks begin. They fall quickly in love, each providing his mate both with generous accommodation and intense, deep penetration. Add the adventures of sea travel and power politics, you get this muscle epic worthy of Cecil B. De Mille.
The kindle is on pre-sale now for 1.99. After it goes live, the price will revert to 4.99
Besides being an imaginary 20th Century author, I also write literary fiction under my real name. It can be a real time suck.
So you have two novels to look forward to: “Cloistered” set in the Vatican, and “Hercules and the Tripod of Thessaly”, set in ancient times. I wrote them in the evenings before bed, and had a pretty hard time falling asleep without a little…ahem…help. I have yet to publish either, but expect them soon. It will be an enormous weight off my shoulders.
The Catholic Church was no sacred cow for Peter. In his soon-to-be-published vintage smut book, Peter attacks the very foundations of the Vatican. In A Mass for the Massive, Vicente Picogrande is a priest with an elephantine cock. Under the auspices of being given special training, the horse hung padre is singled out and sent to be a sex slave in the basement of St. Peter’s in Rome. He is not permitted to leave his room except to service the insatiable lust of the cardinals. While Vicente enjoys the pleasures of the flesh, he prefers his freedom, and thus plans his escape.
Written before Vatican II, this scathing attack on the hypocrisy of religion is not merely a filthy one-handed novel; it is a cry for justice. Throughout the ordeal, Vicente and his hugely accommodating friend Franz never lose faith in the true Christian church. They take on the Cardinals, who have made a pact with a demon, and are triumphant.
We found the book in a box that contained the King James Bible, the Book of the Dead, and the Lesser Key of Solomon. Peter was not a religious person, but he was interested in belief structures. In an essay he published in After Dark magazine, he stated that he was not religious, but he did believe in the fundamental teachings of Christ. He wrote “The Catholic Church has become everything that Jesus stood against. It uplifts the wealthy, stomps on the poor, and condemns the very sins its priests commit.”
The book could have gone much deeper into theology and other serious themes, but it was, after all, a dirty book, not an academic textbook. Peter’s disdain for hypocrisy was all too clear in this gay hardcore erotica classic.
The book is in the hands of our intern, Paul, who is transcribing and editing the material for punctuation and other minor issues. We expect it to be ready to titillate by mid-June 2020.
We released the Autobiography on Kindle as a pre-order, the book becomes available April 23, 2020. Get your copy before they sell out (kidding) – but seriously, ordering in advance is like Christmas in April. As we write this, we are cooped up in the house. If we hadn’t spent hours preparing the novel for publication, we would surely put in our order today. As it is, we know the book, and therefore Peter, like the palm of our hand. And if you like paperbacks, this steamy life story is available in paperback, but only in the US of A. Please note – the review process is still underway, so don’t be freaked out if you can’t find it for sale. If you are a Smashwords user, you can find the Autobiography here
Peter Schutes was long reputed to have written a tell-all tale of his life. There were fragments we knew about the author up until now that have blossomed into giant heaps of knowledge. Yes, he had an ENORMOUS penis. Far bigger than anything any of us imagined. If he were alive today, he would be a card-carrying member of the LPSG. His endowment ruled his life in so many ways. Because of his superhuman stature, he was a busy prostitute in 1930’s Hollywood. Apart from the historical fiction and fantasy erotica about male pregnancy, many of his novels and short stories we found and published draw directly from his life story. He was in Panama during the building of the canal. He worked at a rodeo. He worked in the coal mines of Harlan County, Kentucky and the copper mine in Anaconda, Montana. He was a ranch hand and a merchant marine. Now we just need to find his novels about prison, Hollywood hustlers, Mexican priests…you get the picture.
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.
Free was never an option, because the printed word was still that: printed. Blogs appeared in the 1990s. Kindle appeared out of nowhere and revolutionized the publishing world. Now any hack who could type was a published author. How does one gather eyeballs in a world where pornographic films are all free?
One solution has been to give away free books, like “Bunkhouse Buddies”. Yes, you get eyeballs. The likelihood that one of those eyeballs will pay for other books is slim to none. Free book readers never pay.
Another solution that gathers a few eyeballs is to write in a niche erotic sub genre. Peter was a pioneer of MPREG. His “Daddy’s Boy” series, since it was written so long ago, is an outlier. He has no characters identified as “Omegas” nor is there any pegging nor tentacles nor werewolves. It’s just good old fashioned daddy-impregnates-son MPREG. One of those books is free, and the rest of the series sold well, despite a single bad review. They don’t make porn like they used to.
Our impassioned plea, gentle reader, is to do three things:
The disadvantage to making a book available for free is that you get people who aren’t really interested in the subject matter. The reviewer gave what could have been a glowing review, were it not for the single star out of a possible five. He didn’t like the subject matter and didn’t get Peter’s esthetic.
The grumpy troll writes: “This was just plain ol’ men with their horsedicks doing the nasty with every man within the family, significant others of family members, and “in-laws” . While also pooping out inbred babies and lactating.
There wasn’t a lot of plot or storyline other than very disturbing and descriptive anal (including inner pussy) sex with the aforementioned horsedicks, all in the name of love of course. ”
I don’t know about you, but that makes me ask, “So what is your complaint?” Those are the hallmarks of Peter’s pendulous prose. Sex with a big dick isn’t easy. Carrying a butt baby to term is pretty hellish.
There was most definitely a plot and storyline. But the reader missed it.
So, if you read the recently banned-from-Amazon Omnibus edition of “Daddy’s Boy, Male Pregnancy” on Smashwords, and you enjoy it, consider leaving a good review. That goes for all his books, too. Peter died in 1981 so he’s not coming back to rewrite these books to please a squeamish reader!
Daddy’s Boy Series Bundled on Smashwords – First Ten Copies Are Free!
F. Scott Fitzgerald, JD Salinger, James Joyce, Vladimir Nabokov, Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, William S. Burroughs, George Orwell and now, Peter Schutes. What do they all have in common?
Yes they are all authors of outstanding fiction, but did you also know that every one of them has written prose that was banned from libraries, states, or even entire nations? Peter Schutes just had four novels banned from Amazon in 6 Markets. They contain no kiddy porn, no non-consensual sex, nor do they contain instructions for building a bomb. No, these books are “considered indecent” and “not in line with Amazon’s policies.”
We wrote Amazon a month before putting Daddy’s Boy, Peter’s historic Incestuous Male Pregnancy Series together as a single paperback (and Kindle) to ask for clear guidelines. The basic answer was “you will know when you have crossed a line, because your books will be blocked.”
So we published the perfectly legal smut with Amazon, and they blocked us. Furthermore, they said that any attempts to have the block removed would result in the entire author’s catalog being blocked for sale permanently.
Because consumers willingly allowed Amazon to slowly take over our lives in an Orwellian nightmare of Big Brother proportions, they are now the de facto church. They set the moral tone for 80% of all books published in the United States. They determine what is obscene and what is not. Don’t be fooled, they are bastards. We wrote to them to ask what unpublished “guideline” the books had violated, and they replied “The book is outside of our guidelines. It is not up to community standards. Any further inquiry will result in a complete removal of Peter Schutes’s content.”
Maybe the world doesn’t need another pseudo-historical MPREG incest romance, but we’d like to think it deserves the option to say, “I’m not buying that.”
On a lighter note, Smashwords (and all their downstream booksellers like Apple and Barnes & Noble) have published the books with the caveat that they are “Taboo Porn.” This is fair. Incest is taboo. Men getting pregnant by their own fathers is taboo. But it’s also extremely exciting. In honor of the four-book ban, PS Publishing will be putting together a compilation of the first four stories in the Daddy’s Boy Male Pregnancy series, set in the 1950’s through and 1960’s. This is the compilation we tried to publish first with Amazon.
In the Daddy’s Boy series, the “Omniverse” of current modern MPREG is replaced by what we now call the “Appalachiaverse.” Pregnant hillbilly men are hot as f*ck. Did we just censor ourselves? In addition, the first 10 copies are free. The books tend to fly off the electronic shelves, so act now.
We unearthed a filthy fetish pile and of course we had to publish it. Daddy’s Boy, Male Pregnancy is the series name. It comes in two batches – the Appalachian 1960 era and the New York 1977-79 era. We have published the four books comprising the Appalachian quartet. The first one, Daddy’s Boy Is All Knocked Up, was free. There are only seven free copies of the eBook left, so we are releasing a secret code good only for readers of this site. That code will never expire. Use coupon code NK78P at checkout.
Next we will release the three follow up books. Then come two omnibus editions. It’s a busy month at PS Publishing!
(of a story or statement) of doubtful authenticity, although widely circulated as being true.
“an apocryphal story about a former president”
synonyms: fictitious, made-up, untrue, fabricated, false, spurious
In the late 1970’s, rumors spread that Peter wrote an autobiography and later burned it along with most of his original texts. By digging through what has proven to be a Templeton-esque hoard of paper and office supplies, we have found and resurrected nearly a dozen texts from the master of pornographic prose. This morning, a miracle took place: we found the autobiography. Here is his autobiographical doodle on the cover:
We’re not fond of spoilers here at PS Publishing, so we’ll keep most of it under our hat. In truth, I’m not through reading the entire work. It seems that Peter found that special kind of man-on-man love quite a while before heading off to war in France. He frequented a tea room as a senior in high school. He fell in love at Harvard. Okay, this all smacks of spoilers, so we’re going to leave you with one last tidbit.
We’ll leave it to your imagination what Peter might have used these for:
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.
We struck gold, however, in his Van Nuys garage. There is a mounted wall shelf with a hinged door, like a wide, short cupboard. It hung open, empty except for exhaust dust from nearby motorways. Long dismissed, it caught our eye during our mad scramble for more materials. The back of the cabinet was painted cardboard. It dislodged easily, revealing a hidden treasure.
There was a typewritten note that said, “Javi, if you are reading this, it means you do love me after all. I knew it all along.”
We are still sorting through the small cache of materials, but we can’t contain our excitement. We found the apocryphal autobiography, which we will need to publish as soon as we are able. Peter annotated everything for the mysterious Javi.
The photo below explains the move from the West Side to the Valley, and it clarifies, without doubts, the truth behind his enormous endowment. It is easy to see why he was so insistent on calling it a handicap. He was remarkably fit at 66 years old when the photo was taken. Unanswered is the question as to who took the photograph. The rest speaks for itself.
We will unveil more artifacts as the weeks and months go by. Many tie in to the upcoming releases “I Was a Slave In a Roman Laundromat” and “Seamen,” both due to be released in 2018 or early 2019.
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.
Regulations prevent us from paying our intern in cash, so Daryn will be receiving a 50-dollar gift card to Chili’s, his favorite place to take his girlfriend on date night.
Two Peter Schutes classics came out in paperback and eBook formats in the past month. The Butt Baby is a comical tale of a man who gets pregnant through a mishap with his high school buddy Nick the Dick. It was written in 1980, after Stonewall, but before the AIDS crisis. An earlier masterpiece, Confessions of a Rodeo Clown , tells the story of Brightie Matthews, rodeo clown, and his huge lover Cody the Bull Rider…who shares a lot in common with the bulls he rides. His dangerously large appendage delights and damages the innocent clown.
“Muscle Beach” is one of several works of short erotic fiction written by Peter in the 1970s that had been lost to time. PS Publishers stumbled across it in a filing cabinet reserved for taxes. The language and expressions in “Muscle Beach” come directly from the thriving gay community in Los Angeles at the time. Although the story is not dated, it is likely written several years earlier than 1976, when the Big Donut Drive-In Became Randy’s Donuts. This story is set in the burgeoning bodybuilder community that became the center of a movement.
The story deals with many themes that appear in his novels. The matching of a well-endowed everyman with a perfectly sculpted, under-endowed muscleman appears in the earlier novel “Dark as a Dungeon.” Like his contemporary, Tom of Finland, Peter preferred an exaggerated reality. The difference is in the attitude towards size great and small. Extreme size becomes a burden rather than a blessing. Peter suffered from the same problems of over-endowment as the hero of this story, Taryn Rearden.
“Miles High” was another story found among the files of unpublished works of Peter Schutes. The original title, “Eight Miles High,” was at risk of copyright infringement, so we took the liberty of changing it to something we believe Peter would have agreed to, given the situation. Peter left a handwritten note stapled to the manuscript. It read, “Like my Panama novel, this story is told primarily from the point of view of a man with a very small appendage. I often fantasized what it would be like to be small like Jeffrey. I have known very few men with small endowments. They are just as rare as the horse hung. Just like I felt with my unwieldy monster, they have all said that they saw their tiny penis as a curse for years. It wasn’t until they discovered that with many men, opposites attract. By embracing their femininity, rather than yearning for masculinity, they became a coveted sexual partner. I have a much harder time finding someone to top me than do they. ”
“KwikLube 5000” is set in the mid 1970’s on Van Nuys Boulevard in the San Fernando Valley of Los Angeles. At that time, Van Nuys was the “cruising” street of choice for young drivers. Cruising was outlawed by the quasi-fascist LAPD, who saw fit to curtail freedoms if they were inconvenient, for along with the cruising came fights, accidents, and crime. Jack “Snake” Elgin is a businessman who sought to capitalize on the explosion in car culture in his hometown. This story tells a tale of a man battling inner demons and outer extremities. His employees help bring him out of his own personal hell into a new kind of heaven.
Of this Story, Peter wrote: “KwikLube 5000 was my first attempt at portraying the San Fernando Valley, the capital of pornography and bleach blond hair. The Valley is an enigmatic place. There is no “there” there, as Gertrude Stein would say. It’s just an endless expanse of ugly signs and drive-thru businesses. Nobody leaves his or her car, which is why KwikLube 5000 was such a success. The driver could stay in the car and read the Los Angeles Times while mechanics fiddled with the car one story down. Despite my disparaging words, the Valley is actually dear to my heart. The bathhouses there have the most handsome men, who are much more receptive to an old, well-hung fart like me.”
This work of short erotic fiction is another that was found in the tax filing cabinet of Peter Schutes. It features the re-appearance by Shamus Little, the short body builder with a big rear and a tiny endowment. He built his body for one purpose, and he never fails to amaze. Dirty Cop was most likely written in 1977 or 1978. Around this time, there were a number of “buddy cop” stories in movies and television. Peter’s handwritten margin notes mention the inspiration for the characters Ash Hunter and Rocco Pounder came from an Italian polizziotto called “Live Like a Cop, Die Like a Man.” Tasked with doing “whatever it takes” to bring down a drug ring in Venice, California, the two cops discover just how close they have become. Ash and Rocco reveal hidden secrets about their friendship and their anatomy.
“Enjambment” is one of the last stories written by Peter before his death in 1981 at the age of 85 years old. It is set in his adopted city, Los Angeles, in the present, which was 1980. The language and expressions are modern. The story deals with modern themes, like sexual hypnosis, exercise and fitness, and the cult of body worship that became synonymous with the 1980’s in the wake of Olivia Newton John’s “Physical.” It is a testament to his skill as a writer that he captured this moment in time so precisely.
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.
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.
The autonomy and power are perks of the job. Most sheriffs will not abuse this privilege, but there are temptations. Autonomy allows the sheriff to budget his time as he sees fit. He makes his own schedule. Far more dangerous is the power he has over the lives of his citizens. Strong morals must prevail over temptation, be it greed, envy, lust or any other sin. This story concerns a sheriff who struggles to balance his personal sense of right and wrong with his primal urges. His morals are his own, but you must judge if they are virtuous or sinful.
This afterword by Peter Schutes was a rare glimpse into the phallic psychology that drove his fantasies. We can only assume after reading it that the man was enormously endowed, and suffered great loneliness because of it. Like the sheriff, his manhood was a legend that preceded him, so that he often became defined by it, rather than by his character, which was just as extraordinary. We glimpse the bitterness that resulted.
Drugs don’t appear in every novel, but they certainly take center stage in this one. Amyl Nitrate and Quaaludes were not illegal in the early 1960s, although both required a prescription. Some of Peter’s books glorify modern drug use and condemn alcohol, which was a common attitude in his early years as an author. He mentions Alcoholics Anonymous. To know what he did about that program may mean he spent time in those rooms. It isn’t explicitly stated, for that would be a violation of one of the traditions.
This Afterword contains spoilers, so be warned:
The modern world despises differences. Most people seek comfort in sameness. Some people cannot seek sameness for any number of reasons. Perhaps they lost an arm in combat. Or maybe, like Cleve, they are two-spirit. Sheriff Dowd was different in several ways. He could not hide his huge appendage any more than a sailor could hide a missing arm. He was teased and ridiculed, yet no one felt sorry for him, for their jeers were covering over a deep insecurity. His cock dwarfed all others. All men felt small around Stack.
Stack was doubly burdened, for his early experiences with women created a complex. After Preston Twomey’s initiation, he started a double life. This was a work of fiction, for every man he encountered wanted to have sex with him, even after seeing his grotesque penis. In truth, such a deformity frightens men. It draws them in with curiosity and fantasy, but once they realize the pain they would endure, it is all too much, and they leave. This is the curse of the extremely endowed.
Each encounter depicted is a possible situation where the Sheriff might have a chance in the real world. A young man with Amyl and quaaludes or an ex-army man who served many soldiers in the line of duty – both are potential mates. There are men who have spent years inserting large objects in their anus – they, too can handle a man like Whelan Dowd. Luckily, Stack was able to switch roles. This made it easy to find pleasure with a more rigid man like Guido Facchino.
The most preposterous fiction comes with the character of Lars Johnsson. He was teased in Sweden before he got to Anaconda, so he knew to hide his huge shame from others by avoiding showers and other public nudity. He is exactly like Sheriff Dowd, willing to be man or woman, and equally endowed. This is a match made in Hollywood. In life, the men who bear the curse of abnormal size are seldom so lucky.
A Man, A Plan, A Canal, Panama! is a fictional tale set in the very real Culebra Cut, an engineering project along the Panama Canal. It required carving a river through the Continental Divide. The men who went were divided by Gold and Silver, the two-class system based on race and ethnicity. Peter remembered this inequality from his childhood when his father brought his family to the Culebra Cut to live in one of the Gold Villages where married white Americans could keep their family together. The Gold Bachelor colonies and all Silver housing were male-only environments. Having seen these bachelor quarters firsthand as a young boy, he filed them away in his imagination for later fictionalization in this book. Peter spoke often of the “inner chamber” or the “second room.” Even in this early work, the narrative focuses intensely on this second sphincter between the rectum and the sigmoid colon. Apocryphal accounts of Peter’s sexual escapades confirmed that his enormous endowment was a frequent visitor to men’s “inner rooms.” He is reputed to have once said, “If you can’t get there, you should take a passive role and let the big boys take you there instead.” Ironically, he also lamented how his oversized manhood scared away many potential love interests.The author wrote A Man, A Plan, A Canal, Panama! in the summer of 1957. Penis size was an obsession for Peter. Enduring pain for another’s pleasure is the overarching theme of this work, whereby the act of giving oneself to another is the goal, not the orgasms, which are mere side effects. Peter himself had a reputation for being extraordinarily well endowed. In this story, the narrative focuses on Quentin Fournier, a man with a less than average endowment. Friends remarked that Peter lost many potential love interests because of his large penis. Dale Clark, who appears later in the story, is likely an exaggerated self-portrait of the author. Sadly, no one like Quentin corresponds in Peter’s life. The perfect anatomically compatible couple living out their years together in San Francisco at the end of the story was pure fiction. Peter never found a lasting love.
Dark as a Dungeon was written by the author in the mid-1960s. Themes of drugs, phallic worship and sado-masochism were common in all his works, but Dark As A Dungeon was one of his strongest examples of phallic extremes and torture. Peter himself had a reputation for being extraordinarily well endowed. We believe that Shorty McCool, the first person narrator with the impossibly large penis, is an extension of Peter’s psyche. Shorty’s extraordinary tastes and dangerous desires, as well as his ultimate desire for a loving mate may well reflect the desires of the author himself.
Dark As A Dungeon was one of Peter Schute’s few attempts at telling a story in the first person in lieu of an omniscient narrator. He described the challenge of telling Shorty’s story in his own words. “…the paucity of vocabulary of an 8th grade-educated Kentucky coal miner proved too difficult to overcome. I created an epilogue that gave Shorty a belated college medical education so he could ‘use big words’ and ‘describe what went where.’ I then went back and rewrote the entire story with a richer vocabulary and very little Southern jargon.” Peter later said in an interview in After Dark magazine that he felt most comfortable using dialogue to give his characters voices reflecting their background and intelligence level, while allowing the narrator to give information in an intelligent, neutral voice. Peter was a master of grammar and form. The reader should pay close attention to the shift in narrative voice that occurs in Chapter Two the moment Shorty snorts the powdered diet pills. The past tense becomes the present progressive tense for the duration of the chapter.