Written by Sabrine
Art by Katy Somerville
Whorticulture is a Cream Scene Carnival Column: A rotating menagerie of qualified sex-ed advice, erotica, and everyone’s favorite: musings.
In this debut column—in the debut issue of Cream Scene Carnival!—I present an innovative format: sex-ed advice interspersed with erotica. You’ll happen across some not-so-boring info and advice before getting to the sexy interludes!
Questions from readers are accepted via email.
Whorticulture.by.sabrine@gmail.com
This column and its educator are trans-inclusive, LGBTQIA+ inclusive, sex-positive, evidence-based, and rabidly committed to de-stigmatizing sex/ual/lity for all. Some answers may seem heteronormative, and I will try to avoid that, but sometimes I cannot due to certain language technicalities. When discussing reproductive sex, I use terms like “female” and “male” to delineate biological sex characteristics. Trans, intersex, and nonbinary people are all valid and welcome at the sex/ual/ity table.
Sabrine
Captain Hastings was troubled. His naval commission satisfied him thoroughly at work, but he longed for that same fulfillment in his romantic pursuits. His physical differences, however, made him repugnant to human women. Captain Hastings was a distant relative of Cthulhu, and like many descendants of demigods and humans, his features represented both sides of his varied gene pool. The Captain had a strong, tall, human-like body, while his kind, bright eyes and the upper half of his face were human. His nose, mouth, and chin were covered in tentacles that, despite his full control over them, repulsed the fishwives, barmaids, and whores in port. He wished they wouldn’t make their distaste so obvious. Often, he fantasized about women or half-creatures like himself that would either not mind his otherworldly features or even grow to love them. He certainly knew he could please a woman much better than his fellow sailors could. In all their bragging, they never even mentioned getting their women off. The bisexual and closeted sailors on board certainly appreciated his tentacles when they secretly met below decks, but he longed for a relationship he could flaunt publicly, like the happy couples who couldn’t hide their compatibility and contentment.
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Dear Sabine: What are your favorite methods of birth control?
During my first five years of teaching sex-ed, I was able to learn a lot about the mechanisms and pitfalls of hormonal birth control. Side effects can include: mood disruption (especially with the pill, patch, ring, and any estrogen-based method, particularly when it requires taking a week off to have a false “period”), pheromone changes, negative changes in level or frequency of desire, blood clots from any method using estrogen, acne, and more!
I’m a huge fan of non-hormonal methods of birth control for women and/or people capable of becoming pregnant. This comes from my own experiences with long-term use of the progesterone-only birth control shot, Depo-Provera. I was on this shot for four years, and I used it in tandem with condoms with my partner. At the time, it was the only long-term method available to young, never-been-pregnant women and trans men. This was due to archaic rules still being taught in medical colleges about who could and could not access contraceptive methods. Methods off-limits to young women included: sterilization, the diaphragm, the IUD (only the copper IUD; Paragard was available then), the cervical cap (FemCap), and some doctors wouldn’t even prescribe non-pill methods to young women unless they had a significant family history of breast cancer.
Who knows how many young women were turned off birth control (or became pregnant!) because they only had access to the pills with the worst side effects from the late 1960s to the mid 2000s!
With non-hormonal methods, there is zero risk of mood disruption, hormone change, pheromone change, or being attracted to people you otherwise wouldn’t be unless you were on a hormonal method.
IUDs with hormones are localized to just the uterus and are said to have fewer side effects, but the copper IUD (Paragard) lasts the longest—at eight to twelve years—so I’m a proponent of that, as it can be difficult for some people to access regular care. My second favorite, the FemCap (or cervical cap), is very popular in Europe and has ZERO reports of pregnancy there! The FemCap is used in conjunction with spermicidal gel and uses suction to prevent sperm from reaching the uterus. After a brief hiatus for a redesign, FemCap is now available in the US, with a new handle and features that improve efficacy. Admittedly, FemCap does require a little forethought, as it must be inserted a few hours before intercourse and left in for up to eight hours after sperm is introduced into the vagina. But it is sterilizable and reusable! Go forth and don’t reproduce with this knowledge!
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Captain Hastings was horny. Not just typically horny, but the kind of horny where he felt he could burn a building down with his desire if he didn’t find some new way to grant himself release. He was bored with his current sailor beaus, and he didn’t want to entertain the idea of getting sucked off by another ugly mermaid. Even the beautiful mermaids had slimy skin, so it was best to play with them in shallow tide pools, and who had the time with this level of full-tilt insanity happening in his brain and balls? He wanted what we all want: a freak in the sheets who didn’t mind that he couldn’t hide his freakish features from the world. He’d be perfectly happy to find a human (or demigod) wife who’d sail alongside with him, but how could that be? He’d have to put more effort, when not at sea, into meeting the right women. Maybe even pretend to like church or something. He did enjoy the hymns. Captain Hastings decided to temper his fiery horns with one of his favorite sailors; boredom had to be damned until they reached the shore in a day. Bartleby was a bookish sailor who had joined the navy out of duty but would have been better suited to teaching philosophy or English somewhere. He had long, wavy, brown hair that he kept tied back, an exquisite ass, and an enthusiasm not often found in closeted men. The Captain gave his orders and went to find his man. Bartleby was below deck, shirking his work to read Plato or Bertrand Russell. This made it easier for the Captain to make sex a power play. “Bartleby! You’re supposed to be swabbing the deck, and here I find you, reading!” He stood directly in front of the man, so that no one could see his smirk or how he placed his hand on his belt. Bartleby smiled, thinking “This old routine? Of course I keep shirking, when he rewards me for it…” The Captain moved his hand, cupping his tight bulge. “Bartleby, we must discuss this in my quarters. I will not have it!” Bartleby hopped to, walking in front of the Captain, knowing he'd want to see his muscular hind to sweeten the encounter. As soon as they got to the Captain’s quarters, Bartleby locked the door, kissing him as passionately and quietly as he could, and shoved his Captain down on his knees. The captain unbuckled his prize slowly and deliciously, an erect, purple-headed thickness begging to be devoured. He couldn’t wait, taking all of Bartleby into his mouth. His tentacles found Bartleby’s shaved scrotum and sucked, while others encircled and supported the entire sack, and more tickled his perineum. Bartleby came down the Captain’s throat almost immediately, because a man can only take so much. He had to return the favor, however, so after collecting his wits about him, he pulled the Captain up off his knees, thanked him with a long, deep kiss, and pushed him toward the bed while turning him around. “Take down your britches, Captain,” he murmured. The Captain obliged, loving to be ordered around behind closed doors. The Captain and all of the bisexual and closeted sailors kept very clean habits below the waist so as to increase their participation in adventures at sea. Thusly, feeling confident, the Captain presented his clean, slightly bluish-green asshole to Bartleby. He could feel his scrotum tighten when Bartleby’s pink little mouth made contact, and his hands held the Captain’s hips to his face. After a few frenzied minutes of attention, Bartleby began to play with his own nipples once he realized the Captain was jacking himself off. “Captain, surely you’d like me to take care of that? Given that I’ve been such a layabout at sea?” Captain Hastings, growling in a sex-mad whisper, ordered his swabbie to take his cock down his throat. Bartleby turned around, slipped up between Hastings' thighs, and laid his back flat against the bedframe. He’d need support; after all, he was about to fuck a demigod. The Captain stood back, bent down, and kissed Bartleby long and slowly, all the while placing a hand on his erection and Bartleby’s on his own. Hastings stood up, tapped his cock thrice against his partner’s mouth, and then slid it in. He’d love to do so much more with the young man, but the crew would start to ask questions. He distracted himself from this problem with Bartleby’s mouth, thrusting slowly at first and then quickening the pace. The swabbie had excellent technique, running his tongue over the head of his Captain's cock and fingering his wet asshole. It was when Bartleby slid a finger into his Captain that he came, shuddering deeply into the swabbie’s throat. “I’m coming back here tonight for more. Be ready,” said Bartleby. “Yes, sir,” said Hastings, sex-drunk and satisfied. He thought what a shame it was that men couldn’t marry, but what if the secrecy and danger made it hotter? He’d have to utilize his demigod time-traveler powers soon to see if that were true. He hoped that in the future, men could love each other without consequence. In this time period, however, he still wanted a wife, albeit a freaky one, if he could find her.
About the Author
Sabrine, the author’s nom de guerre, is a trained and certified sex educator. When she isn’t teaching, writing sex-ed curricula, or singing the praises of non-hormonal birth control, she can be found traipsing around the Midwest looking for furniture to refinish, garden supplies, and dog food.
About the Artist
Katy Somerville was beamed into existence on a Monday night in the mid-eighties by stars, glitter, and a glorious Italian woman from a long line of very strong women. In the present timeline, she likes to drink coffee, pat any animal that will engage with her, make collages, and spend time laughing and finding moments of joy wherever she can with her partner and her goofy, lanky dog.
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