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The Hannelack Fanny, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Rump
Funny erotic short story (contains adult content):
One weekend a few months after my glorious ass-awakening, John and I went on a road trip. I’d leaned over sideways and lifted my skirt up over my hips so that he could rest his hand on my ass while he was driving. Sunshine was streaming through the open sunroof and my butt felt warm in spite of its near-nakedness. How I relished that sensation now!
Suddenly a truck horn sounded.
“Hey!” I heard a man yell. “Hey, wide load!”
A year before, I would have been mortified. Not anymore.
I turned to look. A semi was travelling beside us. The man in the passenger seat was staring at my bared ass. The driver was leaning over, trying to get a look.
“Like what you see, boys?” I yelled back, jerking my body in my seat to set my rump to rippling.
“WOOOO-EEEE! Shake that ass, mama!”
In that moment, something possessed me. It was as if the beast that had so long been bolted to my bottom had finally broken free of its cage. It wanted out. All the way out.
I unhooked my seatbelt and jumped up on my seat. With effort I wriggled my way through the open sunroof, ass and all. And then I wiggled out of my panties, lifted up my skirt, and showed myself to the world. Every last wobbling inch of me.
“Look at my ass!” I yelled, slapping it hard with my palm. “Look at my ass!”
I was bouncing, jumping up and down in place, and my ass, behemoth that it was, was bouncing, too, the fat landing on the warm roof of the car and then retreating back up to my waist in happy rhythm while I pointed and laughed.
“Look at my ass!”
* * *
A young woman’s life is changed forever when she discovers what everyone around her has known all along: that a renowned family characteristic has re-emerged in a most unfortunate location – her own backside. Follow her journey from embarrassment to acceptance to unbridled joy as she learns to appreciate the wonders of going through life with the Hannelack fanny.
One weekend a few months after my glorious ass-awakening, John and I went on a road trip. I’d leaned over sideways and lifted my skirt up over my hips so that he could rest his hand on my ass while he was driving. Sunshine was streaming through the open sunroof and my butt felt warm in spite of its near-nakedness. How I relished that sensation now!
Suddenly a truck horn sounded.
“Hey!” I heard a man yell. “Hey, wide load!”
A year before, I would have been mortified. Not anymore.
I turned to look. A semi was travelling beside us. The man in the passenger seat was staring at my bared ass. The driver was leaning over, trying to get a look.
“Like what you see, boys?” I yelled back, jerking my body in my seat to set my rump to rippling.
“WOOOO-EEEE! Shake that ass, mama!”
In that moment, something possessed me. It was as if the beast that had so long been bolted to my bottom had finally broken free of its cage. It wanted out. All the way out.
I unhooked my seatbelt and jumped up on my seat. With effort I wriggled my way through the open sunroof, ass and all. And then I wiggled out of my panties, lifted up my skirt, and showed myself to the world. Every last wobbling inch of me.
“Look at my ass!” I yelled, slapping it hard with my palm. “Look at my ass!”
I was bouncing, jumping up and down in place, and my ass, behemoth that it was, was bouncing, too, the fat landing on the warm roof of the car and then retreating back up to my waist in happy rhythm while I pointed and laughed.
“Look at my ass!”
* * *
A young woman’s life is changed forever when she discovers what everyone around her has known all along: that a renowned family characteristic has re-emerged in a most unfortunate location – her own backside. Follow her journey from embarrassment to acceptance to unbridled joy as she learns to appreciate the wonders of going through life with the Hannelack fanny.
27 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2015
31 people are currently reading
51 people want to read
About the author
Lori Schafer
65 books135 followersWhen I was in the seventh grade, my English teacher assigned us a creative writing project for Halloween. We were to compose short stories, which we would then read aloud before the class, coupled with a competition of sorts in which the students would vote on who had written the best one.
Now in my pre-teen years, I was not what you would term the most popular kid in school. Perhaps it was those horrible "Student-of-the-Month" photos of me hanging in the main hallway, which they somehow always managed to take right after gym when my hair was flying every which way, or perhaps it was the oxford shirts and corduroy trousers in which my mother dressed me because I refused to participate in ridiculous wastes of time like school-clothes shopping. It certainly didn't help that in addition to being smart and studious, I was also very, very shy, which led many to believe that I was stuck-up. I suppose if you're naturally adept at making conversation, it's difficult to understand that other kids might not be.
You can therefore easily picture the scene in the classroom that day: the anxious adolescent girl slouched in her seat, sweat drenching the armpits of her button-up shirt as she watched the clock, fervently hoping that time would run out before her turn came. You can imagine my nervousness when, five minutes before the bell, my teacher called me to the front of the class, the last reader to go; my terror as I stumbled up to her desk clutching the half-sheets of paper on which I'd scrawled my assignment. As usual, I had pushed the limits on the suggested length - my story was at least twice as long as anyone else's - and the only saving grace of this enforced public humiliation, I thought, was that I would undoubtedly run out of time to finish it before the lunch bell rang.
Tucking my loose hair back behind my ears and focusing my eyes firmly on my papers, I began to read. It turned out that reading wasn't so bad; unlike giving an oral report, you didn't actually have to look at any of the other students. And it was a decent story, I reflected as I flipped through the pages, concentrating hard on not losing my place. At least my classmates were sitting silently, which made them easier to ignore.
At last I reached the climax of my tale, which was where it turned gruesome. The main character had gotten trapped in a fire, and I remember describing, in disgusting detail, the sizzle of the hairs frying on his arms as the hot flames neared. I remember describing the flames devouring his flesh, great flaps of it falling from his skeleton as his skin seared away. And I remember the silence of the classroom; I remember it breaking, the moans and groans that swelled all around me as I depicted my main character's excruciating demise, only to be interrupted by the harsh clanging of the bell.
No one stirred; no one rose; no one left. I glanced at my teacher, who nodded. The other students sat rapt while I finished my story, and they applauded when I was done. There was no question that I had won the contest.
I was pleased that my story had gone over well, of course, but it wasn't until the following week, when other kids were still coming up to talk to me about it, that I understood that I had somehow made an impression that went beyond my gruesome, graphic horror story. It was as if I had revealed that somewhere beneath that classic nerdy exterior was a real honest-to-goodness person, a kid who thought about things like destruction and death, and flames eating flesh, and how best to describe such horrific events.
I never wrote horror again - I suppose it just wasn't my thing - and I've never made much of Halloween, either. I've never liked the pressure of having to pick out a costume and then explain why I chose it; I've never even understood the appeal of dressing up and playing pretend. I have other ways of exploring my darker sides. Nowadays you won't find me in a starched, striped shirt, or in old-fashioned slacks, b
Now in my pre-teen years, I was not what you would term the most popular kid in school. Perhaps it was those horrible "Student-of-the-Month" photos of me hanging in the main hallway, which they somehow always managed to take right after gym when my hair was flying every which way, or perhaps it was the oxford shirts and corduroy trousers in which my mother dressed me because I refused to participate in ridiculous wastes of time like school-clothes shopping. It certainly didn't help that in addition to being smart and studious, I was also very, very shy, which led many to believe that I was stuck-up. I suppose if you're naturally adept at making conversation, it's difficult to understand that other kids might not be.
You can therefore easily picture the scene in the classroom that day: the anxious adolescent girl slouched in her seat, sweat drenching the armpits of her button-up shirt as she watched the clock, fervently hoping that time would run out before her turn came. You can imagine my nervousness when, five minutes before the bell, my teacher called me to the front of the class, the last reader to go; my terror as I stumbled up to her desk clutching the half-sheets of paper on which I'd scrawled my assignment. As usual, I had pushed the limits on the suggested length - my story was at least twice as long as anyone else's - and the only saving grace of this enforced public humiliation, I thought, was that I would undoubtedly run out of time to finish it before the lunch bell rang.
Tucking my loose hair back behind my ears and focusing my eyes firmly on my papers, I began to read. It turned out that reading wasn't so bad; unlike giving an oral report, you didn't actually have to look at any of the other students. And it was a decent story, I reflected as I flipped through the pages, concentrating hard on not losing my place. At least my classmates were sitting silently, which made them easier to ignore.
At last I reached the climax of my tale, which was where it turned gruesome. The main character had gotten trapped in a fire, and I remember describing, in disgusting detail, the sizzle of the hairs frying on his arms as the hot flames neared. I remember describing the flames devouring his flesh, great flaps of it falling from his skeleton as his skin seared away. And I remember the silence of the classroom; I remember it breaking, the moans and groans that swelled all around me as I depicted my main character's excruciating demise, only to be interrupted by the harsh clanging of the bell.
No one stirred; no one rose; no one left. I glanced at my teacher, who nodded. The other students sat rapt while I finished my story, and they applauded when I was done. There was no question that I had won the contest.
I was pleased that my story had gone over well, of course, but it wasn't until the following week, when other kids were still coming up to talk to me about it, that I understood that I had somehow made an impression that went beyond my gruesome, graphic horror story. It was as if I had revealed that somewhere beneath that classic nerdy exterior was a real honest-to-goodness person, a kid who thought about things like destruction and death, and flames eating flesh, and how best to describe such horrific events.
I never wrote horror again - I suppose it just wasn't my thing - and I've never made much of Halloween, either. I've never liked the pressure of having to pick out a costume and then explain why I chose it; I've never even understood the appeal of dressing up and playing pretend. I have other ways of exploring my darker sides. Nowadays you won't find me in a starched, striped shirt, or in old-fashioned slacks, b
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
October 9, 2025
This short story reads to me like the centrepiece to an irreverent and filthy standup routine. It’s an enemies-to-lovers romance between the protagonist and her butt.
I got this eBook as a free download from the ‘zon. It is worth every penny and then some.
cw: anal humour
I got this eBook as a free download from the ‘zon. It is worth every penny and then some.
cw: anal humour
February 9, 2015
What’s a girl to do when she comes face to face with the fact that DNA has been overly generous with her family (right around the midsection)... and she has to deal with a backside of Kardashian proportions?
Well, for the heroine in Lori Schafer’s new story, The Hannelack Fanny, there are three stages, 1 - denial (bulky sweats and tent dresses), 2 - acceptance (sorrowfully) and finally, 3 – rejoicing (brought on by a boyfriend who really appreciates her gifts.) It’s this latter stage that gives the story its kick and suggests that self-acceptance and open expression are the keys to real happiness.
The story is not for everyone of course, if direct and very funny dialogue about sexuality makes you nervous, or if you still want to hang on to all those old taboos about non-missionary positions, then better read something else. But, if you want a breezy discourse on the adventures of a girl who let’s her body express itself with amazing and gratifying results, then read The Hannelack Fanny. You’ll laugh your ass off.
Well, for the heroine in Lori Schafer’s new story, The Hannelack Fanny, there are three stages, 1 - denial (bulky sweats and tent dresses), 2 - acceptance (sorrowfully) and finally, 3 – rejoicing (brought on by a boyfriend who really appreciates her gifts.) It’s this latter stage that gives the story its kick and suggests that self-acceptance and open expression are the keys to real happiness.
The story is not for everyone of course, if direct and very funny dialogue about sexuality makes you nervous, or if you still want to hang on to all those old taboos about non-missionary positions, then better read something else. But, if you want a breezy discourse on the adventures of a girl who let’s her body express itself with amazing and gratifying results, then read The Hannelack Fanny. You’ll laugh your ass off.
January 2, 2018
This wasn't at all what i was expecting. It was cute, funny and entertaining. It wasn't a serious and graphic romp. It had great self satisfying humor that kept me invested and enthralled. It was a good quick giggle. I liked it.
March 23, 2015
"The Hannelack Fanny: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Rump" is a fun read.
Janet has a big fanny. It's genetic. All the women of the Hannelack family have one. And she is so embarrassed by it. Everything else about Janet is perfectly shaped, but she has a lot of junk in the trunk. She has learned how to hide it: long skirts, big backpacks, staying near walls, and never letting her boyfriends see her naked with the lights on.
But everything changed the night John woke up when she slipped out to use the bathroom. He sees her big fanny in all its naked glory, and he loves it.
Janet learns just how wonderful having a Hannelack fanny can be.
Hannelack Fanny is a fun and hot read. Lori has a fun writing style. The story flows and her description of Janet's fanny is evocative. When Janet learns about the fun she can have with her ass, the sex is sultry and hot. If you like a well-written and exciting erotica, than Hannelack Fanny is for you!
I was given a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
Janet has a big fanny. It's genetic. All the women of the Hannelack family have one. And she is so embarrassed by it. Everything else about Janet is perfectly shaped, but she has a lot of junk in the trunk. She has learned how to hide it: long skirts, big backpacks, staying near walls, and never letting her boyfriends see her naked with the lights on.
But everything changed the night John woke up when she slipped out to use the bathroom. He sees her big fanny in all its naked glory, and he loves it.
Janet learns just how wonderful having a Hannelack fanny can be.
Hannelack Fanny is a fun and hot read. Lori has a fun writing style. The story flows and her description of Janet's fanny is evocative. When Janet learns about the fun she can have with her ass, the sex is sultry and hot. If you like a well-written and exciting erotica, than Hannelack Fanny is for you!
I was given a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
May 13, 2015
Humor and erotica isn’t a combo I can remember ever seeing together (although I’m sure that’s me, not you). This is fun (the erotica part), funny (humor, obviously), and if you have a puritan side that refuses to be repressed, a part of you that won’t allow you to just have a good laugh, you might find The Hannelback Fanny has a serious life lesson or two as well.
**Originally written for "Books and Pals" book blog. May have received a free review copy. **
**Originally written for "Books and Pals" book blog. May have received a free review copy. **
March 22, 2015
This is a humorous erotic short story about a girl named Janet and how she learned to love her large rump. I found it surprisingly enjoyable.
February 5, 2020
Not terrible, not terribly good though
I should have noticed the author's name and remembered my previous experience with her work.
Lori Schafer writes for women....she writes stories and characters that will ONLY really appeal to women. Her "erotica" would barely raise a censor's brow for a daytime drama, and this story is no different.
Almost lukewarm on the heat scale, and frankly silly.
I cannot recommend this one.
I should have noticed the author's name and remembered my previous experience with her work.
Lori Schafer writes for women....she writes stories and characters that will ONLY really appeal to women. Her "erotica" would barely raise a censor's brow for a daytime drama, and this story is no different.
Almost lukewarm on the heat scale, and frankly silly.
I cannot recommend this one.
February 20, 2024
Short, but sweet
How scantdalous! A book about the size of a woman's rear end. How she goes from dreading it to loving it in all it's glory. This was a great short story and I enjoyed it immensely.
*I received a copy of this book for free. The review is my own, honest and unsolicited.
How scantdalous! A book about the size of a woman's rear end. How she goes from dreading it to loving it in all it's glory. This was a great short story and I enjoyed it immensely.
*I received a copy of this book for free. The review is my own, honest and unsolicited.
February 2, 2020
Not what I was expecting
I loved this book. I thought it would be more of a self esteem type issue but for all that fuse over a rump.
I loved this book. I thought it would be more of a self esteem type issue but for all that fuse over a rump.
June 2, 2024
Good read
This book held my attention from the beginning to the end I’m looking forward to reading more from this author
This book held my attention from the beginning to the end I’m looking forward to reading more from this author
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews