There is no tag on StoriesOnline for Absurdist Erotica. Nor for Surrealist Erotica. Nor for “What if a symphony ejaculated into your soul and left you sticky on stage.” So when I posted Symphony No. 69 in Erotic Minor, I had to improvise.
Technically, it’s Fiction. Fantasy. Humor. Paranormal. Much Sex.
But those labels don’t quite prepare you for a story where a violinist is literally ravished by a piece of music—where timpani groan, notes seduce, and trousers suffer. This is not a romance. It’s not stroke. It’s… something else.
Absurdist Erotica, if I’m being honest, is where my brain goes when I let it off the leash. It’s what happens when you take lust seriously and not seriously at the same time. It’s where metaphor runs wild, orgasms break physics, and a piccolo can faint from overstimulation.
There was a time in my youth—when I split my affection between bass, french horn, piano, and cello—when I seriously considered a career in music. I played recitals. I learned the rules. I tried to play them beautifully. And maybe that’s why it gives me such wicked pleasure now to bend those rules over a music stand and spank them with a bow.
In this story, Julian—a refined virtuoso—finds himself overtaken by Maestro Vivaldi’s magnum opus: Symphony No. 69 in Erotic Minor. And by overtaken, I mean mentally, emotionally, musically, and yes, very wetly.
It’s indecent. It’s ridiculous. It’s shamelessly over the top.
And it is some of the most fun I’ve had writing all year.
If you’re new to my work, start here with a towel and a sense of humor. If you’re a returning reader, well… you already know I never met a metaphor I couldn’t corrupt.
If I’d stuck with music, maybe I’d be first chair somewhere respectable.
But honestly?
I think I prefer making the oboes blush.
—Eric