Chuck Tangle Pounded In The Butt By A Knockoff Book That Glorifies A Deadly Tragedy And Doesn’t Prove Love Is Real Then Accepting This As A Sad Side Effect Of Making Wider Positive Impact As An Author - (Classic Tingler Revisited)

every so often internet remembers that erotica about sentient covid and chuck is tagged in joking way, so again: making hero out of covid as joke does not prove love. not fun or funny trot about something that hurt so many. 

chuck wrote these free tinglers instead, and if you are up for it and enjoy these tinglers it is always good time to donate to ST JUDES CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL or GLOBAL GIVING or other charities listed on link

sorry to harsh anyones trot but there are still some who do not understand my work and think 'oh i could do that i will write MEME EROTICA about this big news topic'. it is fine bud, you can create what you want, but that is enormous and cynical misunderstanding of chucks work. 

natural disasters that hurt real buckaroos, pandemics, acts of violence may be NEWS WORTHY and get you dang clicks but they are not heroes.

ANYWAY i know all you patreon buds know this already. chuck posted all this on social media today and then SUDDENLY REMEMBERED i wrote a whole tingler about my feelings on this. then thought 'dang PERFECT time to post this for the patreon buds as a classic tingler revisited.

please enjoy CHUCK TANGLE POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY A KNOCKOFF BOOK THAT GLORIFIES A DEADLY TRAGEDY AND DOESN’T PROVE LOVE IS REAL THEN ACCEPTING THIS AS A SAD SIDE EFFECT OF MAKING WIDER POSITIVE IMPACT AS AN AUTHOR

After Billings, Montana is devastated by a deadly cloudquake, author Chuck Tangle attempts to help by creating the most uplifting and joyful erotica short ever written. To accomplish this, Chuck builds a laboratory, sewing together the most caring, kind and meta aware parts of his favorite books and electrifying the result during a lightning storm. Chuck leaves the pages blank so this new sentient book, named Tingler, can go out into the world and write a story more loving than Chuck himself ever could.

But when Chuck runs into Tingler at a coffee shop two weeks later, he’s horrified by the results. The sentient book has become a monster, with a disgustingly careless title that makes light of the devastating cloudquake. Now Chuck and Tingler must learn to understand one another, and as the author and his creation prove love, the title begins to transform into something positive.

Could a hardcore butt pounding be the final chapter of this journey toward love?

This erotic tale is 4,600 words of sizzling human on gay book action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, cream pies, facials and sentient meta tingler love.

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CHUCK TANGLE POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY A KNOCKOFF BOOK THAT GLORIFIES A DEADLY TRAGEDY AND DOESN’T PROVE LOVE IS REAL THEN ACCEPTING THIS AS A SAD SIDE EFFECT OF MAKING WIDER POSITIVE IMPACT AS AN AUTHOR

By Chuck Tingle

I’m known as a writer, but at this point I’d like to think I’m more than that. Over the course of my career, I’ve taken on a number of different projects, whether it’s designing an interactive website or hosting a podcast. I suppose I’m just interested in dragging positive ideas to the warm light of reality, whatever process that might entail.

To be honest, it’s amazing that I’ve found myself in the position to carry out these missions. The name Chuck Tangle started gaining attention when I started publishing my short erotic stories online, tales I thought were lustful and exciting but my readers seemed to find thrilling in other ways. Apparently, my sexual preferences were unique enough that they’d give your average reader a good chuckle, but I didn’t mind. After all, laugher is an expression of joy, just like a good pound, so my message was hitting its mark regardless of the path it took to get there.

I live in Billings, Montana, which is a wonderful little city full of folks who are always willing to offer a helping hand. It’s a place that’s built on kindness and decency, for the most part, which is another reason why the cloudquakes were so deeply devastating.

Nobody could’ve seen them coming, and Montana isn’t typically seen as a hotbed of seismic aerial activity. Because of this, the destruction these big sky disasters caused was catastrophic. The newer buildings managed to stay standing while clouds tumbled down onto them, but older structures crumbled and the city was left in ruins. Good, hard working buckaroos lost their jobs, and many of them lost their lives.

It was dramatic and emotional for everyone, the kind of event you’d read about in a book or hear commentary on from all sizes, even sometimes in jest, but never want to see personified as a hero in a romance novel. At least, not if you happened to have a family member who was killed in this tragic disaster.

It was in the aftermath of this event that I had my big idea, the mission to make a real change in the world. Up until this point, all of my books had been your standard issue tales about sex with a t-rex or a dashing unicorn librarian, but none of them had a mind of their own. I’d written plenty of erotica about sentient books coming to life, but I’d never actually created a living book in the real world.

Imagine what a sentient book could do to help Montana in the aftermath of something like this. While I was just a single author with a finite amount of creativity and love, this story would have a life of its own, going out and seeing what needs to be done and then adapting to the task at hand. I’d leave the book blank and give it the ability to write itself, and if blessed with a solid moral compass it just mighttransform into the greatest story ever told.

The book would gradually fill itself with experience, going around to the crumbling buildings and talking with people who needed help the most. It would go well beyond anything I could ever hope to write.

“How’s it going up there?” comes an unexpected voice from the bottom of the stairs. I’m immediately pulled back into reality from this trip down memory lane.

“Good!” I cry out, pulling up the sheet a bit to cover the sewn together book that lies splayed out on my table.

“You wanna come down for dinner?” my adult son, Jom Tangle offers. “Rowie made spaghetti!”

Spaghetti is, by far, my favorite food, but right now I’m much too focused on the task at hand. Besides, the lightning storm that rages outside will only last so long, and if I wanna run this experiment once and for all I need to be ready to act when the moment arrives.

“Uh, no thanks!” I call down from my attic laboratory. “I’m not hungry!”

There’s a moment of silence between us. The only sounds now are the howl of the wind and the constant roll of menacing thunder from above, but moments later I hear my son making his way up the stairs. He opens the door to my laboratory and peers in.

“Dad, what’s going on?” he questions, deeply concerned. “You’ve literally never skipped spaghetti dinner.”

“Just working on my experiment,” I reply.

Jom slowly glances around the room, his eyes drifting across the burners and beakers. Colorful liquids bubble and churn while an enormous spiraling machine extends upward from my laboratory table.

“That the sentient book?” Jom questions, nodding toward the table and the mysterious form hidden under a sheet.

I nod.

“Can I take a look?” he continues.

I have to admit, I’m a little worried what he’s going to think. Right now this book is not exactly easy on the eyes. Eventually, once my sentient tome has written himself and been given a life of his own, he’ll be something to celebrate, but right now…

“Chuck?” my son continues, pulling me back again.

I let out a long sigh. “Okay, fine.”

Jom walks over and I pull down the sheet a bit, exposing the large book. The hardcover volume is stitched together from various classics that I’ve already written, Space Raptor Butt Invasion in one corner and I’m Gay For My Living Billionaire Jet Plane in the other. All in all, he’s an amalgamation of ten or so of my favorite books, all selected to represent a full understanding of The Tingleverse and it values. Of course, his pages are blank, but I can only hope these good literary examples lead to something spectacular when unleashed upon the world, a story that’s much more than the sum of its parts.

I glance over at my son, expecting an expression of disgust at this morbid, lifeless creation, then pleased to find he’s smiling and nodding in approval. “Looks good,” he offers. “Really interesting.”

“Wait,” I stammer. “You mean… you get it? You understand what I’m trying to do?”

“You’re proving love is real,” Jom replies. “Isn’t it obvious?”

His words set me at ease. Some might think constructing this kind of monster would be a terrible idea, but I’m glad to see my raw intent is translating in its intended way. Others might not get it, but the people who really matter understand this mission and that’s all I need to hear.

“When are you lighting him up?” my son continues.

“Well, I was just about to try,” I explain. “The storm is raging, all I need to do is put up the antenna and see if we get a bolt of lightning.”

Jom winces as I say this, clearly not thrilled by my attempt to call down a massive burst of electricity toward our home, but he remains supportive.

“Give it a shot,” he offers, mustering up as much encouragement as he can.

I nod, then walk over and press a button on the attic wall. There’s a loud metallic clang and a hum as the spiraling metal device lifts up into the ceiling, pushing through a small hole and extending out from the roof of the house. Higher and higher it goes until, eventually, it clangs again at the peak.

We don’t have to wait long.

Suddenly, there’s a deafening bang that causes both my son and I to jump. The lights of the attic flicker wildly as the device itself sparks with caustic energy. The voltage flowing through it must be unbelievably powerful, causing the hair on my head to stand up straight just from being within ten feet of the thing.

Most of the energy, however, is directed downward into the book on the table, sizzling and arcing. The stitched up volume sheet begins to stir under his sheet. Moments later, the book sits up, letting out a long, aching groan.

“He’s alive!” I shout. “The sentient representation of my artistic catalog is alive!”

Jom and I begin to jump around excitedly, astonished this plan has actually worked. When we finish celebrating, I press the button again and retract the device, bringing its crackling electricity to an end as my hair lowers to it’s usual state. I carefully walk over to the sentient book, slowly pulling off the sheet and smiling warmly when our eyes meet.

“Hi!” I offer. “I’m Chuck Tangle.”

“I know,” he replies. “The name is Tingler.”

“Oh, whoa,” I counter, a little taken off guard. “You’re more self-aware than I expected.”

“Of course I am,” he continues. “I have the mentality of a hyper intelligent thirty-five year old with meta awareness, which is important because we’re going to pound soon and as a sentient object I need to have agency and an understanding of the reality around me. Otherwise that would be immoral.”

“What?” I blurt, not quite sure where to start with this loaded sentence.

Jom chimes in suddenly. “Uh… I’m gonna go downstairs and join my wife for dinner now. You guys have fun.” He waves awkwardly and heads downstairs.

“You see, it was important for you to add the wife line because then readers remember he’s an adult,” the sentient book before me continues. “If not, this conversation might be inappropriate.”

“I… have no idea what you’re talking about,” I stammer. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just helping you understand that writing this kind of story takes a lot of care and discipline,” Tingler explains. “Sure, it can be wild and funny and irreverent, and let’s face it, somepeople are probably gonna get offended by something, but it’s all about finding the balance between that reality and what’s responsible. There’s no one size fits all solution. Mostly, it’s about your intent and it’s about remembering to prove love.”

I’m still trying to parse through all this information, but Tingler’s meta awareness is something I keep drifting toward.

“So you’re aware that you’re a book of mine?” I question. “You understand that?”

“Apparently better than you do,” Tingler continues. “In fact, I know that I’m a very personal and important book. While some tinglers are written to capture a moment in time, or simply to entertain, others are built as a way to exercise your deepest emotions. Those ones are particularly special.”

Tingler turns around and points to his lower left binding, a portion that is stitched together awkwardly. “A good example is this book, Not Pounded By The Physical Manifestation Of Someone Else's Doubt In My Place On The Autism Spectrum Because Denying Someone's Personal Journey And Identity Like That Is Incredibly Rude So No Thanks. It’s similar in many ways to this book,” the sentient volume continues.

“You keep talking about this book,” I question. “Do you mean yourself?”

“No, I’m Tingler,” he explains, shaking his head. “What we’re existing in is a tingler.”

It suddenly occurs to me that all of this nonsense is simply a product of Tingler’s lack of experience. He’s confused and disoriented, somehow convinced that he’s nothing more than a character in one of my short pieces of erotic fiction. What he needs is to get out and write his story, to fill his pages with a tale that will help the people of Billings love and joy and laughter after this devastating cloudquake.

As though reading my mind, the sewn together book hops off of his seat at the edge of the laboratory table. “I should probably get going, I need to keep the plot moving,” he states. “At this rate we’ll be clocking in around forty-six hundred words, which is pretty long for a tingler. You’ve got a lot to say though, so I suppose it makes sense.”

“Are you gonna go learn about the cloudquake?” I question, excited to see that my living book is setting out on his mission of love.

Tingler nods proudly. “By the way, it’s really smart to have this book be about a natural disaster that doesn’t actually exist.”

“I mean, it does,” I reply, slightly offended. “The cloudquake was devastating.”

“Okay, yeah,” Tingler continues, straighten up a bit. “I’m on my way to help!”

I clap my hands together in excitement, smiling wide as I offer a final pep talk. “You can take it all in and write something beautiful and uplifting, you can bring joy to the people who are hurting!”

“We’ll see what happens when these pages get filled,” Tingler offers, finally exiting my laboratory and making his way downstairs. “See you around!” he calls back over his shoulder before slipping out into the storm through the front door.

I’m sad to see Tingler go, but I also realize this is all part of the process. I created him to be shared with the world, and to eventually integrate himself as a positive part of it. The whole reason I left his pages blank was so that he could be filled with love in a way that I’d never think of.

I can’t wait to see what happens when he returns.

I don’t see Tingler for a few weeks, so long that I start to forget about that fateful night and the fact that my creation is still out there wandering Billings. He has almost disappeared from my mind completely when I finally catch a glimpse of his familiar, rectangular outline, the stitched together story standing in line at my favorite coffee shop as he chats with some friends.

I’m just here enjoying a tall glass of chocolate milk, but I immediately stand up to stroll over to check in on my old friend. I tap him on the shoulder excitedly.

“Hey Tingler!” I offer. “It’s so good to see you!”

The living book turns around to face me with a wide smile, but when my gaze drifts down at the cover he’s created for himself I literally step back in shock.

“Fucking The Cloudquake That Killed A Bunch Of People, Ha Ha, Isn’t That Funny?” I read aloud.

Tingler smiles. “You like it?” he questions.

I’m utterly dumbstruck, my eyes transfixed on his cover. I feel as though I’m going to have a panic attack right here in the middle of the coffeeshop. Tingler was specifically built to make the world a better place, to bring a little joy to those effected by the disaster, and now look at him.

“How did this… how did this happen?” I stammer.

“What happen?” Tingler questions.

It suddenly hits me this is a longer conversation than I was expecting. “Can we sit down for a moment?” I question.

The living book nods and then says goodbye to his friends, following me over to my table and sitting down across from me with an ice cold chocolate milk of his own.

“It’s good to see you,” he offers, acting as though absolutely nothing is wrong.

I’m trying to act natural and maintain eye contact with Tingler, but no matter what I do my eyes keep slipping down to his rather extreme title. Finally, I decide to be direct.

“The theme of fucking a natural disaster isn’t really want I expected from you,” I offer. “I figured you’d have some kind of uplifting commentary that could help put a smile on the face of people who are hurting right now.”

“This puts a smile on some faces,” Tingler offers. “I mean, some people are horrified, but it’s very cathartic for others. This is how some people find joy in the darkness.”

Fuck. He’s got me.

“Okay, but don’t you think there’s some kind of middle ground?” I finally continue. “Like, you can’t please everyone, I get that, and some people are always gonna be offended. Hell, there’s plenty of folks who think queer sex is offensive in general. But, isn’t the basic premise behind this particular story a little… Careless? Mean?”

Tingler narrows his eyes, confused. “Why? We’re just having a good time.”

“Controversial topics are one thing, but people actually die in natural disasters. There are gonna be folks who read that title and the first thing they think of is their mom or dad or brother or sister who died in the cloudquake. And sure, I believe in free speech so write whatever the hell you want, but also… just because you can write something inconsiderate and hurtful, doesn’t mean that you should.”

Tingler seems deeply effected by my words, listening intently and nodding along. I can tell he’s starting to realize the points I’m making aren’t just the hysterics of some achingly uncool old guy. Finally, he leans in close, lowering his voice a bit.

“Listen, I know what you’re saying,” Tingler finally offers. “You’re right, but… there are no jobs right now. Half the businesses have shut down after a cloud dropped on them. I needed to make some money and, let’s be real, a controversial title sells.”

“So do titles that prove love,” I reply. “Sincerity sells, even if your version of sincerity seems crazy or silly to others. You’ll feel much better about it, too.”

The second I say this, I notice something strange about the book’s title. The words have shifted ever so slightly, rearranging themselves in a brand new pattern. I read it aloud for a second time, noting the change. “Fucking The Cloudquake That Killed A Bunch Of People,” I recite. The second half of the sentence, which was originally quite a bit meaner, has been left off.

“Looks like you’ve made your point,” Tingler observers with a grin. “All it takes is a little love and communication to get things back on track. I didn’t really understand what you were saying at first but, after this conversation, it makes sense. I know there’s a lot of nuance here, but I’m glad we’re talking through this.”

I nod happily. Now that his horrible title is getting slightly less disgusting, I’m beginning to see that Tingler is much more attractive than I first though. The more he understands the joy and positivity that current events erotica can bring, the more his smile begins to shine and his gaze begins to linger on mine.

“We can do more than just talk about it,” Tingler finally coos. “You could always show me.”

Without letting me answer, the living book stands up and makes his way out of the coffee shop. I follow behind, chasing after Tingle and calling out his name as he heads into the nearby park. We swiftly make our way into the trees, away from the public eye.

For a moment I lose track of him, but suddenly the handsome living book is standing directly before me. I gasp.

“Hey,” he offers. “This is the part where we fuck.”

I still can’t help staring at his title. “Does it make this book problematic if the love interest is a problematic book inside of it?”

“I don’t think so,” Tingler replies, “your intent is to prove love, and that’s the most important part, but there’s also a pretty good test you can give yourself.”

“What’s that?” I question.

“Just ask: do I think the majority of people who read this are going to smile and feel lifted up, or frown and feel pushed down?” Tingler offers.

I know the answer immediately.

The tension between us suddenly breaks, erupting in a fit of passion. We rush together and kiss deeply on the mouth, our bodies intertwined in a fit of erotic excitement. The living book begins to strip away my clothing, tearing the fabric with strong, deliberate movements.

Soon enough, my clothes are scattered about this little clearing in various piles, my body fully exposed to the warm afternoon air. I begin to explore Tingler’s flat, hardcover body in turn, starting with his ripped, muscular chest and then working my way down to his chiseled abs. I tease him here for a moment as the living book’s cock starts to swell, jutting out from his form like a fleshy rocket.

“You want me to stroke that fat dick of yours?” I coo in the living book’s ear.

“Yes,” he groans, nodding along.

I wait just a moment longer, allowing the tension to build even more and then finally releasing it as I wrap my fingers tight around Tingler’s enormous cock. He lets out a long satisfied groan as I stroke him off, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes tight. I start slowly at first and then gradually gain speed, sensing the rhythm of his body as the living book pushes back against me with his hips.

Faster and faster I pump my tight fist until, finally, I decide to take things to the next level. Without warning I suddenly drop to my knees before Tingler. I gaze up at him, kissing the head of his cock playfully and then opening wide to take his incredible girth within.

“Oh fuck,” the living book groans, clearly enjoying this erotic escalation.

I pick up right where I left off with him, keeping the same pace as before but using my lips instead of my fingers. I pump my head up and down across his shaft with wild enthusiasm, reaching up with one hand and cradling his hanging balls as I go. As before, I start to escalate my speed, until eventually I’m hammering my face down onto his rock hard dick with everything I’ve got.

Eventually, this pace is simply too much to maintain, and I pull away with a desperate gasp. I’m utterly consumed with arousal for this living book now, giving myself over to him completely.

With that in mind, I open my mouth wide yet again. I take the living book’s cock down once more, only this time I refuse to pull back. Instead of bobbing my head across Tingler’s length, I just swallow him deeper and deeper into my gullet, somehow managing to relax my gag reflex and accept him all the way into my absolute depths. The next thing I know my face is pressed up hard against the living book’s abs, maintaining this position in a stunning deep throat.

Tingler reaches down and places his hands on the back of my head, holding me in this position. I stay here for as long as I possibly can, only pulling away when I start to run out of air.

“Fuck that cock tastes good,” I gush, a long strand of saliva dangling between my lips and the head of his massive shaft. “I need more. I need you in my asshole.”

With that, I turn around on the grass and fall to my hands and knees, popping my bare ass out toward Tingler and wiggling my rump from side to side. I reach back and give one cheek a playful slap, then spread myself open a bit so he can get a good look at my puckered butthole. “Get in there,” I coo, biting my lip coyly.

The living book doesn’t need to be told twice, climbing down into position behind me and aligning his enormous cock with the rim of my puckered back door. He doesn’t thrust right in, however, hovering here and teasing me with the prospect of what’s to come.

“Please,” I beg. “I need to living book cock up my tight, ethically concerned author ass.”

“Beg for it,” Tingler counters.

“I need that dick,” I continue. “With nuance and moral awareness that causes more joy than it does harm!”

Finally, the living book has mercy, sliding deep inside of me with one firm, powerful swoop.

I let out a startled gasp as I’m fully impaled across Tingler’s giant rod, not entirely prepared for his substantial girth. Taking him down my throat was one thing, but now that the living book is deep within my asshole I’m realizing I might’ve bitten of more than I can chew. I’m stretched to my absolute limits and swimming in deep discomfort.

Fortunately, Tingler immediately gets a sense of what’s going on. A patient lover, the living book refuses to move, simply holding tight and allowing my body to adjust to his substantial size.

Gradually, I start to relax, and as the discomfort slips away the two of us begin to slowly move together. Soon enough, these sensations within me are replaced by a powerful, aching warmth that starts to the pit of my stomach and works its way out down my arms and legs, filling me up.

Soon enough, Tingler and I have fallen into a confident pace, our bodies slamming against one another in a steady rhythm.

“Just like that, just like that,” I begin to stammer, the words falling out of my mouth over and over again in a blissful mantra. With every round of this phrase my voice grows louder and louder, until eventually I’m screaming out at the told of my lungs, utterly lost in the moment. “Just like that! Fuck me just like that!”

The living book heeds my words, not letting up as he continues to plow into my ass with frantic enthusiasm. I reach down between my legs and grab ahold of my hanging cock, beating myself off in time with the pounds up my backside.

Soon enough, these two distinct sources of pleasure are swirling together in a vicious erotic cocktail, creating something that is much more powerful than the sum of its parts. The sensations deep within my ass only add to this beautiful stimulation, and soon enough I can feel the first hints of an impending orgasm bubbling up inside me.

“Harder!” I snarl, glancing back over my shoulder at Tingler. “Fuck me harder!”

The living book does as he’s told, escalating his speed and strength as I brace myself against the floor below. He’s giving it to me with everything he’s got, and the results are all that I’d hoped for. The impending climax is buzzing across my frame, flooding my nerve endings with a desperate tension as I prepare for lift off.

Seconds later, the orgasm hit me hard. I shut my eyes tight as the glorious carnal explosion rips through my frame, a frantic scream erupting from my throat as a hot payload of jizz ejects hard from the head of my cock. My spunk splatters out across the ground below me, painting glorious patterns of pearly white.

I feel as though I’m floating above my body, the sensations within simply too much to comprehend all at once. It feels like this state of bliss will last forever, but eventually I’m thrown back down into my physical form.

Tingler appears to be on a similar timeline. The second that I’m finished, the living book pulls out of me and spins me around. He stands above me with confidence, frantically beating off his dick while I lick my lips enthusiastically.

“Do it!” I command. “Cum all over my face!”

It only takes a few strokes before Tingler is erupting hard, blasting his seed across my wide open mouth while I struggle to catch as much as possible. I do my best, and the threads of spunk that I miss only end up painting my cheeks and jaw. I hungrily lick them off moments later, and once I’ve gathered enough of Tingler’s load I swallow enthusiastically.

“That was great,” I gush.

Gazing up at the sentient book, I can now see that his titled has altered even more. It now reads, Kissing The Cloudquake. It’s not great, to be honest, and for all the same reasons as before.

But, you know what? I did the best I could. Maybe if I keep putting love out there my friend Kissing The Cloudquake will continue to evolve, growing slightly more caring and thoughtful as the days pass by. Maybe proving love isn’t about making the world kind and compassionate all at once, but trying your best every day to push it in the right direction.