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.
The Unicorn
11. Oops, I got pregnant! In addition to the very common Monachee stories (#2 below), the Male Pregnancy theme is explored in a few contexts. In The Butt Baby, a normal guy gets pregnant from his old high school fuck buddy. In The Expectant Member, through an entirely plausible series of events, a man conceives a baby in his penis, while simultaneously impregnating a Female to Male (FTM) boyfriend. In The Longshoremen, a Kindle Vella story, Ralph is a two-spirit (hermaphrodite) man. Presenting as male, he has both sets of genitalia, and gets pregnant not once but twice, despite having been told he couldn’t conceive.
10. Size, any size, is extremely important in any Peter Schutes novel. Big, small, huge, minuscule, monstrous – nearly every size is extreme. The extreme differences in size are equally fascinating as the men whose manhoods match up. A few characters suffer from penile bigorexia – they’re very big, but not big enough.
9. Fish Out of Water is the theme of many of Peter’s stories. A delicate boy joins the Greek Army in Hercules and Lippos. A cherubic youth rides the rails with vagabonds in Hobo Honey. An innocent young man lands in a rural sheriff’s jail in The Anaconda Copper. In all these stories, the theme is propped up by a masculine protector intervening for the boys’ well-being.
8. Peter always chose macho settings for his novels. The butcher the better. Cops, Sheriffs, Soldiers, Lumberjacks, Bodybuilders, Construction Workers…he created a veritable Village People of hypermasculine characters.
7. Public sex is the secret sauce in many Peter Schutes stories. Miles High sees a porn star with a huge cock fucking tiny Jeff in the airplane bathroom. Peter Schutes’ own story is rife with public venues. His scenes in The Autobiography of Peter Schutes, set in the basement of Filene’s Department Store, rival anything Jean Genet produced.
6. Many Peter Schutes books explore gay venues before Stonewall. Whether it’s the seedy waterfront bars of Fortaleza in The Able Seaman, a bath house in Peru in Confessions of a Rodeo Clown, or the speakeasies of New Orleans in Panama Heat, Peter describes a strange mixture of repression and freedom. The bars and baths are often illegal, but once inside, all rules are cast aside in favor of bold, unabashed sex.
5. A half dozen Peter Schutes novels involve a well hung man meeting and/or falling in love with a man in possession of a gigantic monster cock. In Hercules and Lippos, Hercules is well hung; Lippos’s cock drags on the ground. Buck is too big for most, Stack is too big for everyone.
4. Travel and escape figure large in Peter’s novels. Young men set sail or fly to distant lands, whether it’s a Mexican Priest heading to the Vatican in Cloistered, a high school graduate enlisting in the Merchant Marines in The Able Seaman, or an entitled heir traveling to work on the Panama Canal in Panama Heat. In every way, the travel leaves the men changed forever.
3. A common variant in Peter’s novels is the horse hung loner who finds another monster-hung man. Together, they make sweet love. This is a sub-theme in the Big, Bigger, Biggest series on Amazon. Hobo Honey is a classic example of this.
2. Peter wrote an awful lot of Male Pregnancy (MPREG) story lines. The majority involve the Monachee, hill people in Appalachia who possess gigantic penises and the ability to conceive anally. They tend to keep it in the family, so incest zig-zags across the theme as well. These include Daddy’s Boy aka Appalachian Bred, and the Vella story The Orchardman.
1. The king of all Peter Schutes story lines: the naive, puerile young man with a tiny penis meets a brooding older man with a penis so huge, it defies logic. Despite all odds, the little guy learns to take the big guy. Of course this leads to love. These books are classified on Amazon as The Big and The Small of It.
Peter’s books have always sold in a slow, irregular trickle. Part of the reason is that Amazon doesn’t let erotica authors advertise on their platform. There are other ways to advertise; however, until recently, we hadn’t tried anything other than this blog and the occasional tweet.
Male pregnancy erotica written from the protagonist’s colon
A week ago, we asked a casual question of a fellow erotica author that led to a big change in our approach. Successful gay erotica author Jean Valjean recommended animated gifs and a jukebox tool that allows us to create a few dozen salacious tweets that trickle out in random order four times a day. We’re up to 150 backlogged tweets and will likely stop at 500.
Creating 150 unique tweets from Peter’s books (mostly) was eye-opening. We never stopped to check our editing jobs on the books. WOW. It’s hard to market a bunch of books that still need a polish or two. Being forced to say something arousing in 280 characters or less makes for extremely concise edits. Adverbs and adjectives are the first to go. Names get replaced with “he”. Entire descriptive sentences vanish, leaving the raw act of sex exposed.
With this new mindset, PS publishing vows to edit every book again. Right now, the books are in a genre that we probably invented called “Anatomical Smut.” If you’ve read Peter’s works, you know that he spends an inordinate amount of time describing how massive size impacts the innards of the bottom and the life of the top. When a male character gets pregnant, the book is essentially written from inside the colon. We’re going to keep looking through his hoard of manuscripts to see if some were rewritten as gay romance, which didn’t even exist as a genre until the 1970’s.
So look for some revisions to Peter’s novels in the weeks and months to come.
If you’re interested in the steamy Twitter ad campaign, which is much more polished than the books, check out Peter’s Twitter
UPDATE: There are over 1,500 tweets stacked up in the jukebox now, and dozens more added each week. Be sure to check out the Twitter feed. It’s a smorgasbord of big fat dicks.
We’re on the eve of publishing a 25,000 word erotic romance called “Deceived, Cursed, and Blessed”. Set in the 1930s in Chicago and Hollywood, the novel follows the story of Max Anderson, a man who makes a deal with a demon to have the biggest dick in town. Like most bargains with diabolical wish-granters, the result is disastrous.
Max and his lover have to find a way out of the diabolical pact: a Rumpelstiltskin clause.
If you’re a fan of brodbingnagian appendages, romance, and turns of the screw, this is the novella to read. ‘Deceived, Cursed, and Blessed’ will be available in paperback and e-book on Amazon, Smashwords, and at your favorite e-book retailers in January 2022.
Link to paperback pre-sale will appear here when available
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?
Here’s my concern – Peter’s stories are all centered around the phallus, whether huge or tiny (and rarely anything in between). American society has such a phobia of the penis. Hollywood can easily show a nude woman, front and back, but they get an X-rating if they show an erect penis. If the penis is soft, it’s still NC-17, as if this magnificent organ were far more shameful than war and murder.
So my fear, of course, is that I have to leave the penis in there, or the whole story falls apart. So much of the plot is driven by the loneliness or shame that men feel when their privates don’t conform to the norm. Can I successfully write Big Dick Romance, or will I have to leave Peter’s works in their current gut-pounding gay pulp genre? Should I write as a woman? It’s not that I need to make a lot of money; I just want to feel like I have a true readership who is excited for my next romance.
…the way he squeezed the banana was more than suggestive…
On summer break from college back East, I came to stay with my Grandmother in Fresno, CA. Fresno is the largest city between Los Angeles and San Francisco. It sits in the middle of the Central Valley, where it bakes like the raisins and prunes it is famous for producing. Fresno was trying to be a big city, but it was a farming town at heart, so all the trappings of a proper city were there, but there was no one to use them. The Rumpus Room, the one gay bar in town, seldom had more than twenty lonely men who all knew each other. It wasn’t officially gay, but all the clientele were bisexual or gay men. Women didn’t go there.
Grandma drove a massive Town & Country station wagon. At night, she let me use it to “go do your college stuff” which was her way of saying “cruise for chicks”. I cruised for dicks. Having a rather small penis myself, I fantasized about playing with a big one. My boyfriend in college was average; we broke up in the Spring. I was too afraid of seeing someone I might know at the Rumpus Room, so I just drove endless streets in the swollen suburb to no avail. Who was going to get it on with a guy in a station wagon? I knew about parks and rest areas, but I preferred to know my date before we fucked.
That was why I was so surprised when a trip to the grocery store turned into the raunchiest, sexiest encounter of my life.
It was July. The vinyl on Grandma’s seat was so hot, it would give second degree burns, so I sat on a terry cloth towel. It was still so hot my legs turned red, but my skin stayed attached to my body, so it was an improvement over the alternative. Fresno’s didn’t have fancy grocery stores like Zabar’s. The closest they had was the Lucky Supermarket. It was a chain from somewhere east of California, but it specialized in local meat and produce, which was the best thing about Fresno. Farmers and cowboys were scary, but they made some damn good food.
On this fateful day, Grandma shopped on the butcher aisle and sent me with a short list to get fruits and vegetables for the week. It was near the melons I saw him: a cowboy with thick legs, a round butt (complete with Copenhagen snuff in the back pocket), and shoulders nearly twice as wide as his waist. From behind, he looked well-built. He picked up a cantaloupe and thumped it before putting it in his shopping cart. He froze. Turning his head, he caught me staring at him. His face was framed by a square jaw, big ears and a ten gallon hat with jet black hair poking out from under the brim.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
I blushed and hurried down to the onions and potatoes. The last thing I needed was for another cowboy to beat the shit out of me. I’d had enough of that in high school. I cursed when I realized I had forgotten tomatoes, avocados and bananas; the cowboy was right there in the aisle where all three met. He was inspecting the fruit. Again he turned his head in my direction, but this time he winked. He grabbed an avocado and gave it a gentle squeeze before putting it in his hand basket. He pressed a finger on a tomato. The skin gave but didn’t stay depressed. He put the ripe beefsteak tomato in the basket. Then he picked up a bunch of bananas. He held them close to his generous nose and inhaled deeply. To my horror, he gave the biggest banana a squeeze test.
“You’re not supposed to squeeze bananas, you’ll bruise them.”
The cowboy turned to face me. “I know.” I was mesmerized by his dark green eyes. The way he squeezed the banana was more than suggestive. He lowered it to crotch level, where something much larger than any banana was stuffed down his Wranglers. He used the banana to outline the enormity of his endowment.
“You like what you see?” He flexed it make it stand out even further. “You got me hard, son, and you’re going to help me with it. I can’t walk around like this.”
“Wh-what did you want me to do?”
He tilted his head towards a nearby door to the stockroom. “You walk right in front of me, nice and easy.” I covered him from the front, and the hand basket covered him from the side. I had no idea what was about to happen to me. There was more than a 50 percent chance I was in for a serious fag bashing. I was wrong.
The employee restroom was a private stinky toilet with a filthy wash basin. The cowboy hustled me in there and locked the door behind us. He raised his hand, causing me to flinch involuntarily.
The big bear of a man chuckled. “I ain’t gonna hit you, but I may hurt you. I think you’ll like it.” He unbuckled his belt unzipped, and let his Wranglers drop. They didn’t go far, just enough to reveal the root of his massive cock, which was big around as a Coke can. Now, I get turned on by huge cocks, but I had never been fucked by one that summer.
“Pull them down, son.” I dropped to my knees and freed the rest of his cock, which hit me with a strong uppercut to the jaw.
“Holy fucking shit!”
He frowned. “Watch your mouth.”
I lowered my gaze. “Yes, Sir.”
Calling the cowboy “Sir” made me feel something new and different. I submitted to his superior masculinity. I was his bitch, and I liked it. So did he. He grabbed the ten inch log of cock and slapped me with it hard before shoving the tip in my mouth.
“Open up.”
I didn’t think it was possible to take more but he held my lower jaw and stretched it. The head slipped past my teeth and pressed on my tonsils. I gagged, but he held it there, letting me gag and spit up over and over until the reflex stopped.
“Good boy.” In one swift motion, he forced his fat cock down my throat. My airway was blocked. He held it there for a while, until I saw stars. Just when I was sure I would suffocate, he pulled back just enough to give me a quick gasp of air, and then he was back in my throat, fucking my face. His big meaty hands held my ears to keep me from pulling away. I was his bitch and I had to take it the way he wanted.
I glanced at the bathroom mirror. The sight of his huge cock going in and out of my mouth gave me an instant boner. Not that he could tell. Like I said, I’m small. Just when I was getting used to his cock in my throat, he pulled me to my feet by my ears.
“It’s good an wet now. Take ‘em off.”
I obediently removed my jeans. He ripped a hole in my underwear. He had no interest in seeing my tiny cock. I stroked it through my underwear between my thumb and forefinger until he slapped my hand.
“You’ll come when I say you can come.”
“Yes, sir.” The words were barely audible after the brutal pounding my throat had taken.
I swooned when I felt his tongue circling my hole. He spit on the hole and used his fat finger to work it in. His finger felt bigger than my ex-boyfriend’s dick! He worked it in, then another, eventually he had three fat fingers inside me.
“Unh!” The pain in my anus was canceled by the pleasure in my prostate. A wet spot appeared on my briefs where the pre-cum was leaking out.
My cowboy pinched my nipples with his free hand. This made the juice dribble out faster. Suddenly, the fingers were gone.
He said, “This is gonna hurt, sorry.” He wasn’t lying. He had to clamp his huge hand down over my mouth to keep me from screaming. He pushed his cock partway into my ass, so that the thickest part of the head was in my anus, stretching both sphincters further than I ever thought possible. The pain caused my vision to go bright white, then I passed out.
When I came to, he was fucking me hard and deep. Whatever pain had been there before had quieted down. This new pain was much more tolerable. I felt him slipping around a corner in my gut I never knew existed. Each time that he turned the corner, a raw wave of pleasure sent shockwaves through my body.
“You daddy’s little pussy? Daddy’s little pussy boy, huh? You like it when I fuck your little pussy?”
“Yes, sir.” I couldn’t deny it. I love being his hole to use.
Apparently he had been holding back. Our last interchange put him in high gear. He pulled to the point that his head stretched my sphincter to its limit, then plunged in past the junction and deep into my colon. He did it over and over again until my legs started to give way. He just picked me up and turned me to face him. He pushed me against the wall and fucked even harder. He smashed his mustache into my clean shaven lips and buried his tongue in my mouth. He looked down, saw the big wet stain on my shorts, and smiled.
“Did I make your little clit all wet?”
I nodded my head. That was probably what put him over the edge. His violent thrusts were stretching me in ways I never thought possible. I could see the huge head press a large lump into my belly. I put my hands over the spot and squeezed each time his head popped up.
“Oh yeah!” The cowboy threw his head back so hard his hat fell off, revealing a bushy head of black hair that made his green eyes smolder. As he drew closer to climax, I cupped his bull balls, feeling them churn as they prepared to empty inside me.
“Take it, boy!” His cock thrashed inside me as it emptied warm, slippery cum into my belly. He held still, his crotch pressed hard against my buttocks, as deep as he could go. He kissed me passionately as more and more sperm emptied inside me.
“You can come now, son.”
“I already did.” It was true. My teeny weeny peeny had synced up with his giant bull cock. I didn’t care. It felt so good being filled with his cum, I hadn’t even noticed my own orgasm. His was far more important in every way.
He lifted me off his cock, which had softened enough to get me off it. It smacked his lower thigh and spattered the dregs of his cum on the dirty bathroom floor.
“Good boy.” He stuffed his cock back in his jeans and carefully zipped them. I thought how easy it must be for his dick to get caught in the zipper!
He said, “I want to see my cum leave your ass. Stand over the toilet.”
I did as I was told. He took a finger and easily entered my loose hole, opening the inner sphincter to allow the white man juice to pass. I was shocked by how much came out. As soon as I thought I was done, another spoonful would come flying out. The toilet water was white, with great ropes of the stuff floating about in eddies.
“That’s it, boy. Let it all go.” He stroked my cheek with his hand, but didn’t kiss me. He walked out of the toilet and slammed the door behind him. I had found the best fuck of my life, and he was walking out on me!
My underwear was torn in back, and sopping wet in front. I took me a minute to get them off and toss them in the waste bin. I wanted to cry. But then my eye landed on something unexpected: a banana. On the banana was written “Cody. 777-8714”. The rest of the summer, I “did my college stuff” in Cody’s barn, where he showed me every variety of pleasure two men can have together.
To this day, I can’t shop Lucky’s without getting hard.
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.
Peter Schutes 