The Butt Baby

By Peter Schutes

The best part of gay sex is never worrying you'll get someone pregnant...at least until now. Meet Chuck, just a regular married guy. who discovers he is pregnant. He becomes a media sensation, but loses the love of friends and family.

When a drunken orgy at the home of Chuck's high school buddy turns wild, he re-discovers the joys of sex with men. Well, with one man in particular, Nick the Dick. In a perverse mishap, Chuck ends up with a fetus in his rectum. It's alive, and affects every thing he does. He loses his wife and daughter, spirals out of control, but finally finds refuge in the arms of the one man who told him he could never love him. Chuck's contributions to science pale in comparison to the incredible sex that awaits him after his pregnancy is over. Peter Schutes wrote this bawdy sexual novella in the last year of his life, 1981. Humor and cynicism dominate an otherwise pornographic tale.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Schutes
• Release date: Jun 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463279489

Peter Schutes

Peter Schutes Publishing promotes "unheard voices" from all walks of life. In addition to the hypermasculine pulp-style erotica of Peter and his associates, the press seeks out authors with stories that need to be told. Erotic fiction pushes boundaries, as does transgressive fiction about LGBTQ+ issues and neurodivergence, the hallmarks of Peter Schutes Publishing.Peter Schutes is the nom de plume of a prolific and acclaimed novelist. As Peter Schutes, he is the author of Slaves of Rome, Dark as a Dungeon, The Gospel of Priapus, and Panama Heat. He writes in the style of vintage pulp authors from the 1960s and 1970s. He lives in Los Angeles.

Book preview

The Butt Baby

A short story by Peter Schutes

Copyright 2018 PS Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Discover novels by Peter Schutes

Bunkhouse Buddies

Dark as a Dungeon

A Man, A Plan, A Canal, Panama!

The Anaconda Copper

Confessions of a Rodeo Clown

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Publisher’s Note

This work of short erotic fiction was written in 1980 or 1981, not long before his death. The story is preposterous, but has some basis in scientific fact. It is possible for an ectopic pregnancy to form in the rectum of a female. It happened exactly once, and the baby did not survive. This story, a highly agressive form of sexual gay activism takes place on the eve of the AIDS crisis. In many of his stories, we catch a glimpse of his own insecurities surrounding his overly large endowment. Nikolas, the overly hung character depicted in the story, is far removed from the characters we normally associate with Peter. We believe he didn’t have a part in this story. It was pure fantasy. This story, almost a novella belongs on a shelf next to Philip Roth’s sexual fantasy fiction. It is not quite pornography, at least not when compared to Peter’s other stories.

THE BUTT BABY

I rarely drink, smoke weed, take pills, or have extramarital gay sex. Eight months ago, at a dinner party, I did all four. My wife Clarissa had a really bad migraine, and begged off at the eleventh hour. The party was at the home of my high school best friend Nikolas. He wasn’t Greek, his parents were just really bad spellers. Nikolas grew up in Van Nuys like I did. Unlike me, he didn’t go to college. He got a job as Producer’s Assistant on a television pilot that failed to get picked up. Because of his nearly sociopathic charm and dashing good looks, he was promoted to producer on a sitcom that followed the lives of seven mermaid models. He ended up marrying Sirena, the tallest mermaid, and they bought a beautiful house in a crappy neighborhood near USC. Nikolas (he will not let you call him Nick) continued his upward spiral. His house quadrupled in value. A network put him in charge of Movies of the Week, which turned out to be the wave of the future. Within a year, he was poached twice by other studios, each time doubling his already bloated salary. Throughout his climb to success, he never forgot the little people like Chuck, his high school buddy from Van Nuys. That’s how I wound up at a dinner party in the Hollywood Hills in an early 1930s Spanish style estate, rumored to have once belonged to