“How wet will the new @Patriots season leave you?” Lacey Noonan asked Twitter earlier this month.
The results were overwhelmingly in favor of “Superstorm Gronky,” a reference to New England Patriots tight end Rob Gronkowski who now, thanks to Noonan and her passion for “wordplay and foreplay,” is also a new Fabio of sorts.
Noonan is the author of A Gronking to Remember, an erotic fan fiction novella that went viral in 2015 and enjoyed a brief stint as one of the bestselling erotic novels in Amazon’s Kindle Store. Amanda Hess called it “postmodern.” Gilbert Gottfried read an excerpt of it on TMZ Sports. Travis Scott read aloud from it on SportsNation. And Gronk himself even adapted it into a Funny or Die video with model Charlotte McKinney.
In the novella, the female protagonist yearns to fuck Gronk, which, of course, is forbidden — not because she’s married, but because she’s married to a Jets fan. Her forbidden love, though, cannot be stopped. As such, at the story’s climax (get it?), Gronk spikes a football “between her butt-cheeks.”
A Gronking to Remember is a hybrid story, in which Noonan injects Gronk’s fuckability into a fresh take on the Nicholas Sparks novel and the Mandy Moore movie A Walk to Remember, in which Moore plays a terminally ill high school student wooed by the town bad boy and preaches a lot of 1 Corinthians 13:4 (“Love is patient, love is kind…”).
In one interview, Noonan called this mashup a “Reese’s Pieces idea.” “You take two very disparate things like peanut butter and chocolate and jam them together and then voila, this new magical combination is born unto the world!” Noonan told Boston.com in an article entitled, “I Control the Boners.”
It turns out, however, that those boners were less controlled by Noonan and more the byproduct of Greg McKenna, the guy who actually wrote A Gronking to Remember under the pseudonym Lacey Noonan.
His name was only revealed when the couple who appeared on the second A Gronking to Remember cover — the original one the Patriots contested since it featured Gronk in official team garb — demanded their photo be removed from the novella. (I doubt you want to read Amazon’s full memorandum about all of this, but if you do, here it is.)
According to press he’s done as Noonan, McKenna is a computer programmer who’s lived in three New England states. But unlike the protagonist his books, he has a husband who loves the Patriots as much as he does.
McKenna didn’t answer my interview requests regarding what happened to the lawsuit or if he’s planning any new Gronk–inspired erotica — our aim was to do a short where-are-they-now profile of him — but he did write back when I asked him to recall his favorite moment from both the first Gronk book and its sequel, A Gronking to Remember 2: Chad Goes Deep in the Neutral Zone. “I would have to reread the two books because it’s been so long, but the ‘Gronkachusetts Turnpike’ sentence comes to mind,” he responded.
So as not to leave you totally high and dry — after all, the Patriots new season is only supposed to bring wetness (at least per Noonan/McKenna) — here is “Gronkachusetts Turnpike” in all its Gronk glory:
And then before I knew it… It was Sunday again! Game day. Hell yes. This was going to be a doozy. I had done tons of research — or rather, research had been inserted into me by accident as a byproduct of surfing the web for Gronkalicious pussy-stroking material.
There was no reason for me to go skulking around upstairs that day because it was a Divisional game: NE at NYJ. New England Patriots at the New York Jets. Both Chad and Dan would have their pineapple-chipotle salsa and eat it too. Then, like the lame ghosts of lackadaisical loafers too lazy to shuffle off to the next world, the men came, coaxing their tired spirits spiritlessly across the spirit bog to our doorstep: The Gregs, The Craigs, The Mikes, The Steves, The Todds, The Chads. The doorbell rang. In they came, and took root throughout the den once again. Dip jars were unlocked, the trapped air in bags of chips was freed, the skulls of beer bottles were given Indian rugburns till their liquids frothed and debouched. My pussy was wet all day, begging to be fingered.
Fucking fuck I was turned on. Turned on and tuned up since 6 AM when I sat up bolt upright in bed next to a snoozing Husband Dan, stretching my eight fingers and two thumbs for some serious hitchhiking up and down the Gronkachusetts Turnpike.