Dinosaur Erotica Gone Wrong
A tale of boldness, romance, and bodily fluids
What’s the difference between women and dinosaurs? I could get a dinosaur to fuck me. With humans, there’s a whole psychosocial component to mating that I don’t master at all. But for dinosaurs, it’s just mechanics — insert A in B. Anyone can do that. Well, no, I’m not being fully honest here. I was trying to make a point. For dinos, the act itself is quite simple, but the process that precedes it is where the game is played. The choice of a partner, the ritual, the dance, and, more often than not since we live in a multi-male ecosystem, the confrontation with the rivals.
What follows is the tedious and shameful account of my last Thursday.
The choice of a partner
Cynthia fed the Edmontosaurus. She had passion, and passion’s a universal turn-on. It makes you instantly likable and interesting. I, on the other hand, was passionless, therefore boring. She’d do a funny little dance with the massive leaves spread with berry jelly. The public adored it, but the impatient dinos would protest. That’s what I loved about her, other than her captivating red hair and a smile that would make me kick a puppy in the face out of pure outburst of irrationality and excess of energy. The kind of woman who’d make a colonoscopy feel fun and light-hearted.
But every rose has its orbiting parasite. His name was Dany. I had, a couple of times, watched in horror as he flirted with Cynthia. In my head, at night, I still heard her laugh at his jokes. Dany was a lifeguard at the trilobites’ pool, large arthropods the kids loved and the moms recoiled from. I had to scrub their shells because the water-clearing product stuck to them.
I did a lot of things around the park — brush the animals’ foul-smelling teeth, wash them, clean the paddocks. But, of course, I was known as the guy who jerked them off. I liked to think my parents were proud of me when I told those stories at family gatherings, sitting next to my cousin, a renowned cardiologist. As those tasks became routine, the realization that this was my life now cemented itself in my brain. Existential questioning ensued, not to say regrets. But that’s what I did, and I did it well while it lasted. Until the incident.
When I got to the trilobites’ pool, I was greeted with a hello from Dany. So I had to reply. I went with a grunt, trying to maintain dominant eye contact, but the sun made me squint and tears filled my eyes.
“I had modeling last night, so I didn’t get my eight hours of sleep,” Dany said. “I could surely use some coffee, but I don’t like what it does to my bowels. I won’t even mention the risk of yellow teeth.”
I wanted to reply something like, “Oh, mommy’s little boy didn’t get enough nap time,” poking fun at healthy behavior such as sleeping, but I couldn’t think of a witty enough response since I’d only had three hours of sleep. How come people like him don’t squint in the sun? They don’t sweat, or if they do, it’s sexy. They don’t have facial tics or pimples. Don’t they have to deal with life like anyone else? Wanna hear my own theory of evolution? We’re all part of this betting game the gods play. Not only do the better ones have all the good qualities and none of the flaws, but the gods make it so life favors them more. Luck and opportunities throw themselves at them. Because why waste opportunities on a losing horse? And the gap only widens.
I was deep into that thought process when a splash in the water reminded me I had a job to do. I scrubbed the algae and residues from the sides and bottom of the pool. The tenacious stains made my wrist send electrical impulses to my brain saying, “Why don’t you quit your job?” A couple was holding hands by the pool and I quickly looked away. Also, some kid cut his finger on the shell, and the mother dropped a truckload of shit on me like I designed the fucking things.
The ritual
I wrote Cynthia a poem. I’m too embarrassed to recite it now, but it was built around one common interest I knew we had — dinosaurs — and it went like this, paraphrasing roughly here: You’re like a fossil, hidden gem, I dig a little bit of you every day and the more I find the more I like, discover how amazing you are, and I gotta be patient because it’ll be worth it in the end because I’ll get to really know you in full. Something like that, but with a couple of rhymes thrown in. All cute, but inaccurate, since I didn’t do any digging at all. I didn’t get to discover a little more every day since, on a productive day, all I said to her was hey. So it was more like I kept shoveling the same little spot day after day, never getting deeper.
She was on her break, eating a tuna sandwich in shame since she wanted to give up meat completely but wasn’t quite ready to give up fish, which would reduce her dietary options too drastically. She sat on a short rock wall that went around the playground. Crumbs rockslided out of her mouth as she chewed, which would have been gross hadn’t it been the prettiest being in the whole world eating it.
In my head, it went like this: Hi, smile, I got something for you, inducing curiosity in her mind, no big deal just thought I’d give it to you see what you think, she reads it as I casually look around, barely caring, because once again no big deal, I can feel her smile burn into the back of my neck, I turn around, oh you’re still there, it’s beautiful she says, it’s alright I say, oh by the way, on an unrelated note, are you doing something tonight? And it all tumbles into a big ball of love and passion, leading to a relatively long-term relationship in which we both grow as human beings and fulfill each other’s needs.
But as I walked by, I just babbled a “Hi” with a head nod too abrupt, more like I was trying to get rid of a bird on my head rather than a salute. She brought her hand to her mouth and mumbled “Hi”. A piece of mayonnaised tuna fell on her shirt. She looked at me like she blamed me. I threw the poem at the nearest garbage can, missed, picked it up, and threw it again.
Coward. Loser. Failure.
I headed to the restaurant.
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind me, “do you work here?”
I turned to see some middle-aged woman dragging a kid by the hand.
“Yeah.”
“Where’s the triceratops’ exhibition?”
“Just follow the panels.”
I got to the counter and ordered two of the biggest beer cans on the menu.
“Aren’t you working?” the bartender said.
“I’m also paying, so what’s the problem?”
I went to the bathroom, downed one of the massive cans, and, for discretion, poured the other one in my green plastic water bottle with the park’s logo on it. I dug in my pocket for gum. Yes, I was one of those who think chewing mint gum hides the smell of alcohol.
The confrontation with the rival
The buzz of the booze came quickly. A relief.
Back at the bar, I found Dany on the stool next to the one I was aiming for. He smiled at me.
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” I said.
“What’s up with you?” he said. “Are you sick? Do you need — ”
“Fuck you with your better-man shit.”
“You should do something about your attitude,” he said, and he left, which made me feel very alpha.
He did have a point though. Not the attitude thing, that was ridiculous, but the doing something part. I couldn’t give up now. I just hadn’t tried hard enough. The universe rewards the persistent. Most of my attempts had been imaginary. The male had to perform for the female to gain her interest.
What did I have to work with? I didn’t have flashy and colorful feathers, my voice was a universal turn-off, I couldn’t whistle, and I was balding early. So I couldn’t seduce her with my genes. No hobbies to talk about. No accomplishments to brag. I had to go big or I didn’t stand a chance. A grand gesture to impress her. Aiming too small had always been my problem. Go bigger. Bolder.
After fifteen minutes and half the second beer, ideas started to pop up. I thought about making a kid fall into the velociraptors’ paddock and then save it. But no — too dark. Too many ways that could go wrong. Also, I couldn’t think of a subtle way to throw the kid down there.
It had to be ballsy and cute. What was I good at? What did I do best? What was my purpose here?
The dinosaurs had their share of fertility problems. That’s where I came in. Masturbate the males to stimulate sperm production. For the harvest of the male and the artificial insemination of the female, they had to be under heavy sedation. For safety.
But I was a romantic. I’d make them breed. Full intercourse. Scales on scales contact. Go all the way. A powerful display of courage and romance. A grand spectacle that would melt Cynthia’s heart and crotch. A performance.
I considered the stegosauruses, but there wouldn’t be enough spectators. Herbivores get boring after ten minutes. And those had that chastity belt of large, cartilaginous spines on their back, making the mating trickier. Life gets in the way.
Think bigger. Bolder.
Think T-Rex.
The dance
Big Daddy was a twenty-seven-year-old Tyrannosaur weighing 14 300 pounds. The senior of the park. They didn’t live long in captivity — don’t blame it on me, I just worked there. Back in the days, mister Daddy bit off his mother’s paw. Also sent an employee in a coma by knocking her over the railing.
The other T-Rex, the female, was Mathilda. I’d be the cupid to those giant, terrifying lizards.
Now, who in their right mind would do that? Who said I was in my right mind? Was it desire, despair, boredom, loneliness? Booze? No, although all that played a part in the decision-making process.
Simply put, I was unwell. I had given up on brushing my teeth just like I’d given up on figuring out which sock went with which. The only times I got touched was when someone bumped into me on the sidewalk and kept walking without apologizing because apparently I was invisible. Defeats like that accumulate, and then you turn into what someone highly unoriginal would call depressed. A chicken wouldn’t live like that. Sad, mediocre, uneventful life. Pathetic.
But that nothing to lose aspect is a good fear inhibitor. Or so I thought. That little ingredient that makes you say Fuck it, lubricating the poor-decision-making process. That lubricant, paired with the motivating pursuit of love and fluid exchange, was enough to make me say Do it. I just had to hope my motor skills would agree with the decision when the time came to act.
I went to my boss, signed the register for the key, and tried to think of a lie. I couldn’t find one, so the truth it was.
“I need access to the T-Rex paddock for reproductive maintenance,” I said. “No sedation, and not only for a semen collect, but to instigate full intercourse.”
She looked up from whatever paper she was reading and adjusted her octagonal glasses. There was a silence that I felt obligated to fill by clearing my throat.
“If you’re having a mental breakdown,” she said, “you’re supposed to give us a two-week notice.”
“I thought it would be a good show for the public. Also, the artificial fecundation hasn’t been really successful for this species.”
“Fair point. I’ll bring it up with the board. We need to make the preparations, sign waivers, the whole bureaucratic tap dancing. Come see me next week. Don’t have a wet dream over this, it probably won’t get approved. You look to your right: regulations. You look to your left: procedures. That’s why we can’t put on a real show. If it were up to me, we’d have them fight. Anyway, thank you for showing initiative. This may or may not lead to a slight raise in the future.”
“It has to be done today.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Can I just do routine cleaning, then? There’s been quite an accumulation of fecal matter. I overheard complaints from visitors about the smell. They say it distracts them from having a good time.”
“Fine. Put the suit on and sign the registers. Wait for security before you get in. I’ll call them in thirty minutes, alright? Why you gotta try to prove yourself a worthy employee while everyone’s on dinner break?”
I nodded and left.
We couldn’t sedate the dinos just to clean or do maintenance work — animal rights and all that — so I wouldn’t have to bypass that procedure. But someone had to distract them, security had to be there with tranquilizers, a medic had to be close. Just in case…
But I had to do this alone. I needed 100% of the credits.
I jogged to the storage room to get the love stick — a long piece of wood wrapped in cotton that looked like a one-headed Q-Tip. The soft, furry head was dipped in a concentrated pheromone solution that also acted as a lubricant. An amateur would assume that you’d masturbate the male’s penis to get it aroused or get the semen, but a real connoisseur would know you gotta stimulate the prostate from behind. More effective and safer — you never wanted to be in front of a carnivore’s mouth. It was mostly done with lubricated gloves and determined fists, but with animals that tall you needed the stick. Usually, they were immobilized with a strap system and heavily sedated, but if I wanted them to make sweet love, they’d need the freedom to move.
I got the suit from the half-asleep clerk, who barely checked if I had signed the thing. “Small?” he mumbled.
“Really?” I said. “Medium.”
I downed a couple more beers before I got down to the paddock entrance. A necessity. I estimated my chances of success at 1.3% But that’s what bold means, right?
Just like an elephant. Not the greatest predator that ever lived. Only an animal, like all of us.
And the T-Rexes had just been fed, so technically they wouldn’t be hungry. Technically. I’d like to think I’d planned it that way, that it wasn’t just impulsivity dipped in good timing.
I put on the suit. It didn’t make you invisible, far from that. Nor did it cover up your smell completely — you were still a tasty piece of meat, but a less appetizing one. All you had to do was move slowly and silently. The suit was made of a thick, brownish-greenish-greyish fabric that was supposed to keep your scent inside and more or less camouflage you since dinosaurs’ vision was all about contrast.
As the evening settled in, the light dimmed, as if on purpose, for ambiance. Up in the stands, the visitors were leaning over the handrail, out of reach from the jaws. The bleachers safely designed so they could satisfy their prehistoric voyeurism.
I took the first step into the paddock.
Doubt settled in too.
Let go of the outcome, let go of fear, let go of the past and future, let go of life. Keep your back straight, your shoulders back. Trick your mind into thinking you’re not about to shit yourself.
The second step. Then the next one.
Friction from the suit made me feel like a big bag of chips being endlessly ripped open. Each step I took in the branches and leaves was a crunchy biscuit bitten into a megaphone.
I felt handicapped. The tight suit hindered my flexibility. The helmet covered my ears, narrowed my vision. Forgot to clean the visor before I put it on and a stain the size of a brachiosaurus nagged my eyes. I wanted to hear every breath the dinos made, see every bug crawling around. Have my nostrils free from the smell of confined sweat drowning me in my suit. Feel it if a change in pressure occurred. I needed extra senses for this.
Like walking into the ocean. When water turns colder, darker, you can’t see the bottom. You get a strange feeling that’s not quite fear yet. Worries that didn’t cross your mind a couple of meters back now poke your brain, and with each step you get further away from the others, further from warmth and safety and control and stability. A voice in your head tells you welcome back into the food chain.
The foliage was so thick I couldn’t see the two T-Rexes. Their paws pounded as they shifted around.
Something snuffled to my right. A massive lizard head through the trees, much closer than I’d expected anything to be, and I jumped back. The dinosaur didn’t bother. I was only an insect on the ground. A slight burn on my arm took my eyes off the animal. I had scratched myself on a branch and blood leaked out from the tear in the suit. The sweet scent of bloody meat would get around the paddock.
Glimpses of movement and shuffling leaves drew my stare like a magnet.
Not too late to go back. Not too late to go back.
I took off the helmet. Rather have my full vision. Not like it would have offered much protection against the greatest bite force ever known.
The male bent over the artificial lake, drank with big ruthless gulps. Around the water, the strip of land was devoid of trees, which meant no cover.
Gasps from the crowd. So distant, so safe up there. They didn’t expect to see someone in the paddock.
Focus.
I approached carefully until I reached Big Daddy’s rear legs. The smell of dried shit from the dino’s ass and the pheromones (which basically smelled like piss) from the love stick combined in my nose.
I raised the stick, soft end up, caressed between his legs. Up, down, not too close to the hole. Not yet. No reaction. Good. If he’d been annoyed, I’d be dead.
The T-Rex tensed as I picked up the pace and teased the anus with a more daring stroke. His massive paws shuffled in the mud. I had to step back and resume.
Michelangelo had nothing on me. My masterpiece was in progress. Living theater. Feast your eyes, you peasants. My focus became divine. Nothing existed but the task at hand. When the target of your courtship has jaws the size of a car, you take preliminaries very seriously. You don’t rush.
I glanced around for the female. Out of sight.
Down the inner thigh. Up on the other side. The lubricant glimmered on the pale scales. The strain in my arms grew.
The dino stayed still. His breath got heavier. Wind blew in my hair as the tail swung over my head.
I brought the stick back and inserted it into the anus. The T-Rex let out a small roar, and I froze.
He wadded down the slope, into the lake. The stick slid out. I followed. My socks turned from white to green. The suit soaked itself dark. My boots sank in the mud, and I would have tripped if it hadn’t been for the stick.
Water up to my knees, I held the love stick above my head and put it back in Big Daddy’s ass. Back and forth, back and forth.
Then it came out. Majesty’s rod, magnificent. A gigantic, prehistoric eel slipping out of its slumber chamber. The crowd went, “Wooaaa!”
The arousal bubbled, and like a gift from God, with perfect timing, the female came out of the bush to dip into the lake. Just a little more stimulation and they might get it on. The booze and adrenaline cocktail in my veins made me cocky. Dizzy with eagerness, I stabbed at the prostate. A little too deep, a little too strong.
A mudslide of watery shit poured out. Down went the stick. Outrage from the crowd. Most of them were filming. Half laughing, half horrified. I refused to let this discourage me. I couldn’t see Cynthia, but I knew she was there. She had to be.
I wiped the shit from my face, but my sleeve was covered in it too, so cleaning turned to smearing.
A roar snapped me out of my stupor. Smoother, sexier. The mating call.
It came again, and the female responded with shorter calls with small intervals in between. They approached each other.
I had done it. Ignited the fire.
The male rubbed his body on hers, and she bent over, exposing her throat to show receptiveness and lifting her tail. Even I got aroused.
In water, weight was less of an obstacle, and the magic could occur freely. But there was still one concern. Sometimes the male had trouble finding his way in, and he might ejaculate prematurely before penetration. Who wanted that? Sometimes, you just have to guide the dick in.
For a moment, I kept my distance. Maybe the dinos would figure it out themselves. I looked at the spectators. They were bowed over the railings, mouths hanging, swallowing the spectacle with their eyes. Cynthia — she was there! — peered down with her beautiful green eyes. I winked at her, which of course she didn’t see. They were all looking at the dinosaurs, not at me. I was the puppet master in the shadows. And the show had to go on.
I snuck up to the dinos, water now up to my nipples, and tried to bring the penis closer to the hole without getting trampled to death amidst the excitement.
Then it happened. The massive lizard head turned. The jaws filled with ten-inch teeth snapped on my arm. I was thrown in the air like a rag doll, flesh and muscle torn, bones broke, and I dropped with a splash and more bones cracking.
I lay on the side of the lake, shaking, my feet in water and body in mud. Blood poured from the hole where my arm had been. I had to crawl away before the T-Rex finished the job, but my remaining limbs had given up. I was only a dizzy head, a spectator in my own death. My failure.
I looked up. Eyes looked down. People were blurry. The fading sky above them was pink, the color of love. The clouds were ham passed through a grinder.
The heads turned. I lifted mine to see what they were looking at. The male mounted the female from behind, one leg over, biting her back to hold position, to compensate for his tiny useless arms. He found the hole. Growls mixed with cheers from the audience.
It had worked. The spark had turned into a blaze. Maybe the taste of my blood gave the male some pep. The horny T-Rex got rid of the annoying element — me — to make place for distraction-free humping. I was like the poodle you walk around the block to attract girls, only to kick off the bed when you’re getting laid, as I’m licking your toes hoping for recognition, a thank you, for making the encounter possible.
I let the cheers and applause enter me. It was all my doing.
The noise from the crowd must have disturbed the female. She jerked forward. The dick popped out. They had ruined her mood.
The male, annoyed, walked away from her. Toward me. The enormous paws got closer as he reached the shore. The ground sent tremors in my back with each step.
I closed my eyes, expecting to be crushed.
The T-Rex, too close to climax, let out an eardrum-smashing roar. The sperm waterfalled out of his penis, crashed on me as the male plodded by.
I think I could hear the crowd clapping despite the ringing in my ear. I think I smiled, or maybe I grimaced from the pain. Lying there, covered in mud and blood and shit and cum, I had found myself. If you find yourself repulsed by this, feel free to jump off a bridge. Don’t ruin my moment of glory.
I wiped the jizz off my eyes and scanned the stands for the love of my life. An aroused Cynthia rubbed her leg on the railing. So turned on, that she made out with Dany next to her.
I let my head drop back in the mud, turned it away from the bleachers. The red river out of my arm kept feeding the lake. The color of rotten love. Of gangrene around the heart.
A burning tickle on my stump. Ants had come to feed.
Black spots flitted in front of my eyes. Flies around a carcass.
Everything got darker. Colder. Fuzzier. I had no intention of doing anything about it.
Hands grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. What the hell? A security guard or the medic. I weakly went for a punch, but it ended up more like a knuckle caress.
“Don’t,” I tried to say. Only gurgles came out.
Then nothing. Pure nothing.
The divorce
I woke up at the hospital in a bed of shame. I was visited by PTSD flashbacks of my dumb stunt and phantom limb delirium, but what tormented me the most was the image of Cynthia, the greatest person on Earth, making out with Dany, a douche. That hurt more than the T-Rex’s bite. I would need another grand gesture to get back into her likings. But how bigger could I go? And how could I compete with a guy with two arms? Tanned, on top of that.
Sometimes the female would eat the fallen rival.
My eyes watered.
At some point, a head with octagonal glasses hovered above my face. My ear was still ringing from the roar, but I think she said something about not being able to sue them since it was due to my recklessness.
Recklessness. I was reckless. How cool is that? How bold.
I had entered the paddock with two T-Rexes and stuck a stick up the male’s ass. Made them mate up to climax, at least one of them.
And to think I did all that, took all that risk, paid the price, for a woman I barely knew. If she’d liked me, I could have got her with hello. What a waste of potential. And now that I think of it, she had a serious lack of tits, and her voice was kind of annoying, and she often came across as preachy and judgmental with her fucking vegan propaganda. Not to mention she couldn’t eat a tuna sandwich properly to save her life.
Fuck that cunt.
Why had I been so negative? I’d accomplished something great. I had seduced myself, how about that? That’s more important than the opinions of all the redheaded girls in the world. If someone’s worth losing a limb over, it’s yourself. I was fucking awesome. I went from worm to God. That’s evolution, motherfucker. That’s evolution.
