Filed under: Writing Craft, Alien Anatomy 101, Things That Make My Mother Pray 

We need to talk about tentacles.

Not in a "I've been watching too much hentai" way (no judgment if that's your thing). I'm talking about the tragic tentacle shortage in modern romance literature. It's 2025, we've got billionaires colonizing Mars, and yet most romance heroes still come equipped with the standard two arms, two legs, one disappointingly human penis setup.

Boring.

The Case for Conventional Deficiency

Look, I've read my share of billionaire romance. Scottish Highlanders? Been there. Navy SEALs? Done that. Motorcycle club bad boys? *Yawns* Check, check, check.

You know what all these alphas have in common? Limited appendages.

Two hands mean your hero can either:

• Cup her face tenderly OR grab her ass
• Pin her wrists OR explore her body
• Hold her close OR stimulate multiple erogenous zones

But never all at once. It's basic math, and frankly, it's tragic.

Enter the Tentacle (Cue 90s educational video voice)

Imagine a lover with six, eight, or twelve fully articulated appendages. Each capable of:

• Independent movement
• Varying textures only limited by imagination here(smooth, rigid for our pleasure, SUCTION CUPS! )
• Different sizes for different... purposes
• Simultaneous action on multiple fronts
• Did I mention suction cups?

This isn't just about sex (though let's be honest, it's significantly about sex). It's about breaking free from the constraints of human anatomy and asking the important questions:

Why settle for two arms wrapped around you when you could have eight?

The Emotional Tentacle Advantage

Here's where it gets really good. Tentacles aren't just about the physical - they're about connection:

• The Comfort Scene: Your heroine is crying. Traditional hero? He can hold her OR stroke her hair OR wipe her tears. Tentacled hero? All three, simultaneously, while also making her tea with the appendage you've named/numbered Sechs because it's his 7th tentacle and the German for 7 sounds suspiciously like sex.
• The Jealousy Scene: Someone flirts with your heroine at the space bar. Human hero makes a possessive arm-around-waist move. Tentacled hero can claim every inch of her - waist, shoulders, thigh, hand - making it crystal clear who she belongs to without saying a word.
• The Rescue Scene: Building's on fire! Human hero carries her out bridal style. Tentacled hero? Carries her, her cat, her laptop with the only copy of her next novel, AND fights off the rival alien suitor. Efficiency!

Addressing the Concerns

But Tiffany, isn't this just weird?

Weirder than vampires who've been seventeen for centuries creeping on high school girls? Weirder than women falling for men who turn into wolves once a month and shed on the furniture? Weirder than Scottish time travel where somehow everyone has perfect teeth?

We've already thrown biological realism out the window. Might as well get some extra appendages out of the deal.

The Science of Satisfaction

From a purely practical standpoint, tentacles solve the eternal romance novel problem: how to have your hero simultaneously be gentle and dominant, everywhere and focused, overwhelming yet tender.

Human anatomy forces us to write in sequences: "First he did this, THEN he did that, THEN he moved here..."

Tentacle anatomy allows for true multitasking: "WHILE his primary tentacles held her against the wall, his secondary appendages explored her curves AS his sensory tendrils mapped every shiver of pleasure..."

Poetry.

It's About Choice

Here's what it really comes down to: variety. Romance readers deserve options beyond "tall, dark, and the standard number of limbs." We've got reverse harem, why not non-standard anatomy? We've got omegaverse, why not a cephalaverse?

A Call to (All 8) Arms

Fellow romance writers, I challenge you: Add more tentacles. Give your readers heroes who can:

• Braid hair WHILE making breakfast WHILE providing a full-body massage
• Hit every erogenous zone simultaneously
• Express emotions through limb movements unknown to human body language
• Provide the kind of full-body hugs that make weighted blankets obsolete

The Romans had a saying: 'Carpe Diem' or 'seize the day'.

I say: 'Carpe Tentaculum' or 'seize the tentacle'.

Or better yet; let it seize you.