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Which Teenybop Star Has the Filthiest Fan Fiction?

Comparing the pervert fanatics of One Direction, Carly Rae Jepsen and Justin Bieber.

If, like me, you're the kind of person that only reads books by dead American guys and ex-footballers, you're probably a bit confused by all this Fifty Shades Of Grey stuff. For the uninformed (or just illiterate) amongst you, lemme explain. It's a book with lots of shagging in it. And in terms of content, that's pretty much all you need to know.

The interesting thing about the book is where it came from: the murky world of "fan fiction" (or "slash fiction"), where besotted fans indulge their fantasies by writing eulogies to the famous genitals they'll never meet IRL. The epic tome actually started life as fanfic for the Twilight community, who quickly and in ever-increasing numbers adopted it as a favourite masturbation aid. Some bastard/ genius at a publishing company decided to expand it and change the names, and hey presto, it's sold more copies in a few months than Philip Roth has in 150 years.


I decided to put my Booker Prize judge hat on and see if the fanfic world is harbouring any other potential EL James's (the British woman who wrote Fifty Shades Of Grey). Surely if I got 15 percent of the proceeds from a book that combined either Justin Bieber, One Direction or Carly Rae Jepsen with Fifty Shades Of Grey, I'd make a fortune and finally gain enough literary power to publish my long-in-the-making autobiography. But amongst which set of fans would I find this golden egg-laying goose? It was time to dip my toe into the grotty swamp of erotic teenybop slash fiction.


The biggest One Direction fanfic site is a frighteningly comprehensive library of material. It's got more genre sections than some northern branches of Waterstones and more budding writers than an East London job centre.

For the real dirt, I ignored the intriguing genre pieces and decided to head to the "Slash" section, which dealt mainly in whimsical homo-erotic fantasies involving the baby-faced 1D guys. After creating an account as "HarryDislocatedStyles" (a reference for all you second-rate rap-rock heads out there) my eyes were instantly drawn to a story called "180 Days at Boot Camp", which had been flagged as having a lot of "sexual content". I was through the looking glass.

Sadly, the story turned out to be a little more Grange Hill than Delta of Venus, but what it lacked in smut, it made up for with hard-hitting drug issues, the climax of the novella occurring when Harry Styles' mum finds a pound of cocaine stashed beneath her son's bed (no wonder all those radio presenter chicks in their thirties love him).


StrawberryPanda's effort "17 Days" was probably the dirtiest of the bunch I saw, bravely delving into the world of bondage and BDSM, though at certain points it was hard not to smell a troll. Passages like: “'No, please Niall. Please,' Louis whimpered, as I lifted his balls up and looped the rope once around them and the cock," seemed too mean; teenyboppers look up to their idols, they aren't quite at that stage in life where they want their sexual partners to be whimpering wrecks.

Also, could anyone seriously write: "The humid aching from my groin was killing me; I was surprised Harry hadn’t noticed my bulge in my crimson chinos," without a smirk? God, I hope not.

Filth Factor: Plenty of naughtiness going on, but most of the genuine ones were a little bit more whimsical than filthy. Touches lingered rather than penetrated, lips brushed rather than bit. At first, One Direction seemed to be the sensitive choice of the slash fiction writer, and what pure filth there is seems to have come from dubious and possibly insincere sources. It's hard to get a gauge on their fanbase, they seem to be both Barbara Cartland and Bret Easton Ellis in equal measure.


Because he's Canadian and there's only one of him, there isn't much space for any slash writing with Justin (unless some feverish pubescent has had the capacity to imagine him cloning himself and then fucking his own avatar, like some kind of Cronenberg narcissus). Most of the stories depict him as a staunch breeder, so there's not much in the way of homo-eroticism here, either. But there's still plenty of weirdness, albeit in a slightly self-serving manner.


Whereas there was an element of creativity and humour in the One Direction pieces, the Bieber versions tend to be written in the first person and thus come off as delusional stalker fantasies rather than lustful teenage whimsy. Quite frankly, an extract like: "There's fifteen reasons why Justin Bieber loves Dannelle Livia Walker. Without a doubt, there's more than fifteen," sounds like something from a court transcript rather than a fan page.

His fanbase seems more interested in expressing itself visually rather than through literature, and whilst there are snippets of prose, the main creativity seems to be channelled into photoshopped "me and Justin on the beach" pics and stock photographs of loved-up couples with cod-philosophical quotes laid over them in italics. I don't know where these quotes come from, but I wouldn't bet against The Notebook.

It's not all lame and discouraging though, there are a few bits of genuine nastiness here too, one writer worryingly named "IBiebersStalker" is on some real Lil' Kim/ Camille Paglia man-hating hype, warning us that the rap game Aaron Carter is in fact a "douchebag/ manwhore; he is a heartless prick, who just wand yourcheery." Kinda sick, definitely [sic].

Selena Gomez, consider yourself warned, Biebz just wand yourcheery.

Filth Factor: Clean as a whistle, the Beliebers don't really want to sully their divine idol with shallow mortal desires like sex. The rhetoric makes me think that all his fans have "promise rings" and tell their gay friends that they love them, but they're going to hell. Thus cementing the widely held theory that J-Bieb could well be some kind of Jim Jones-esque cult leader.



Apart from the slightly too perfect calculated genius of "Call Me Maybe", the sinister thing about Carly Rae is that she's not a teenybopper. In fact, she just turned 26, which makes her seem like one of those creepy, mid-twenties data input types who go to see Justin Bieber at the O2, rather than being a contemporary of his. There's something not quite right about someone who's old enough to have seen At The Drive-In the first time round

But, she's clean cut, she makes great pop music and is big in the internet game, so she's very much a 2012 teenybopper artiste. She's probably too new to the pop stratosphere and too female to really get the lovelorn weirdos' juices flowing, but some young writer has decided to mash "Call Me Maybe" into the world of Winx Club (nope, me neither, it's an Italian cartoon, apparently). The result is a disorientating, abstract love story written from the POV of a girl named Stella which includes references to the song.

Or maybe it doesn't? I'm looking over it again and I don't have a fucking clue what it is, TBH. I feel like a dad that someone is trying to explain the differences between emo and screamo to. Much like Carly Rae Jepsen herself, I'm too old for this shit:

"His name is Brandon" I said.

"What is he looked like" Roxy asked.

"He has brown hair with a long fringe, he's so handsome, he wears a white short sleeve coat with a greed vest on it and white pants, oh and he also wears white sneakers" I said.


"So how did you guys met" Bloom asked.

"Sure" I said.

Clearly Stella was too blinded by Brandon's dazzling all-white outfit to provide adequate answers to very basic questions.

Filth Factor: As of today, the internet remains uninterested in Carly Rae Jepsen's sex life.


Leave it to the Europeans for the real filth, the 1D boys win hands down. Whether this translates into their real-world experiences, I don't know, but it must be pretty hard to lead a normal romantic life when people are writing erotic fiction about you and an NYPD officer.

Still, none of it's really that shocking. Now Juicy J fan fiction on the other hand, well, that's something I'd really like to see.

Follow Clive on Twitter: @thugclive