HONEY B., SEXUAL CONSULTANT — BOOK II by indie author-publisher Kathleen K.

HONEY B., SEXUAL CONSULTANT – the continuation of a truer-than-true tale of commercial satisfaction by Kathleen K.

While the ARCHING OVER graphic poetry book moves through production (see earlier posts), I am beginning the final read-through of Book II of the HONEY B. collection of sexotic books for the rowdier reader due out in Late Fall 2013.  Here’s the gist of the review of Honey B., The Suite Life

An educational, arousing read about a woman who could be paid to do almost anything… and like it.

…a competent, novelized version of hard-core erotica.

by Kirkus Reviews  Oct. 2012

Honey’s style as a call-girl is not particularly nice, that’s not what she’s paid to be.  She is challenging, charming, and hard to con.  She sees the “suite life” period as field work.  She intends to understand what makes people do what they do (and don’t).  The first book establishes her street cred.  As the review indicates, we’ve got lively language and explicit acts to consider as she learns to make wishes come true.

As a sexual consultant, she has quit fucking around for a living.  Using a form of transactional analysis, Honey sets out to offer suggestions to people who seek her advice.  The “I’m OK, You’re OK” model wouldn’t work because the people came to her when they were Not OK.  On the other hand, the Parent-Child-Adult framework was a bit snug.  She trimmed the concept of “transaction” to the “choices” people made:  choices to please, to reject, to reward their own ideas.  The primary relationship was between the outspoken sexualist and the volunteer consultee.  She said she’d tell them the truth and she did.  She wasn’t too worried about them listening, that was one of many choices they could talk about if they ever chose to meet again.

SAMPLE – Honey B., Sexual Consultant

Having sized up the timid man across from me I was even more impressed that he’d come to see me.  Walter was about to lose his marriage and it propelled him to a desperate measure like seeing a sex advisor.  Under­neath the bickering about finances, family, and the world at large, there was a sexual vacuum.  It was the broken unspoken promise between him and his wife: he was supposed to be her lover and she his.  They weren’t even friends anymore.  There were no children because their sex was rare and poorly performed.  Their two sets of parents and a half dozen siblings took various positions on “their problem” but none was privy to the actual factual basis of the animosity.  This man and his beloved did not connect on any physical level.  Walter figured they were about to explode apart which gave him the burst of resolve to invite Inge to a consultation with me.  For old time’s sake.

Inge was cold, not just to Walter; she froze me out.  She wore an ice mantle.  Looking beyond that I saw only frustration.  Whatever was missing was vital to her, the lack of it wiped her out.  Her being at our appoint­ment had more to do with her sense of fairness than any hope the marriage could be revived.  She sat right up when Walter proposed they discuss the sex situation with me as a mediator.  Inge was speechless, so Walter started first and proceeded to describe the dismal state of affairs.  Inge was surprised to hear he had even noticed the lack of sex, being that he was, in her newly expressed opinion, utterly passionless.  Walter winced but listened as Inge described him as sexually passive (he thought he had been being polite), physically weak (gentle?), and impossible to satisfy (he was waiting for her…).

By the time she litanied her disappointments, Walter’s blood was up.  She thought he didn’t want her when sometimes he felt like cradling her to his chest like a rag doll?  WANT her??  He imagined throwing her onto the couch and tugging her dress up to her forehead.  They had a great big beautiful fight in my office, they rose out of their chairs and came face to face.  I didn’t have to say a word until the fireworks were over and they were sitting side by side on the couch.  They were not sure what to do next.  (As planned, that fight did break the marriage but, to their surprise, they prevailed together outside its former confines.)

I told Inge to stand with her back against the wall and I instructed Walter to walk slowly towards her until he was against her and to push forward one more step until they were tight to the wall; he was to stand against her as they kissed.  They stumbled out, dazed, a few minutes later.  Case closed.


Inge called later to thank me and to ask if I might talk to her sister.  This proved to be how I was to meet many of my consultees, through the others.

I needed personal references; advertising was out for obvious reasons.  I wanted people who were ripe.  I did not troll for trouble.  It came to me.


Hannah had decided she must be a lesbian because she hated sexual intercourse.  This admission was blurted out from a sense of economy since Hannah had only one hour’s fee filched from her grocery money.  I told her to relax, we’d call it a “session” and not watch the clock.  Her husband had been her only high school sweetheart.  She was a virgin when they married but he was not.  He explained to her that he’d done it with some hookers while he was in the service.  From Hannah’s description he took this to be sufficient for his sexual basic training.  Fifteen years later he adhered to the same technique.  It was boring, too quick and ultimately a discomfort for Hannah.  He ejaculated because it was his duty to do so, he could hardly have enjoyed the raspy ride in her reluctant vagina.  They had two children and she had no desire to destroy her family.  She wanted me to somehow teach her how to cope with the disastrous trick her marriage turned out to be.

Hannah’s husband would not be coming in to see me, nor would he see anyone else.  The few times she’d broached the subject of their love life he’d asked her, “What do you know about it?  Those kids are living proof of something, aren’t they, Madame Sex Expert?  Maybe it isn’t supposed to be a joy ride, did you ever think of that?  It’s not like that romance crap you read.  It’s a tired bricklayer and his tired wife.”  From his attitude, she figured maybe all heterosex was bland and business­like.  Did that mean her romantic ideas were truly self-indulgent fantasies, inexperienced silliness?  I showed her a twelve-minute movie of a husband and wife demonstrating four positions for intercourse, man on top, woman on top, side by side, and man standing behind.  Hannah leaned forward in her chair, hardly blinking; when it was over she remained perched forward, but her eyes were closed.

She had a good cry, moved by seeing two very ordinary humans make beautiful love.  Later, we also viewed a lesbian love scene but all she identified with was the tenderness.

Our combined conclusion was that it did not seem likely her husband would change.  But at least Hannah now knew her adult heart was not misleading her, there could be satisfaction between a man and a woman, between two women (thus, by extension, two men)…  She would be loyal to her husband as had been the plan all along.  The difference was that she could finally mourn her loss of sexual opportunity even as she celebrated her gain in insight.  Besides, who knew?  Maybe… someday… after all, now she knew, sexual love did exist!


I was absolutely no help to Phil.  Phil was a homely gnomish man.  He wanted to know if I’d make an exception and ball him in my office because, you see, the only thing he had to talk about was the fact he wasn’t getting any so if he got some from me there’d be nothing to talk about so we could use the hour to fuck, see?  Problem solved.  I allowed as it was seductive logic but it lacked foundation being as how there’d be none of that by me with him.  He was practiced at rejection.  Phil then nonchalantly proceeded to explain to me that “gals” just didn’t have their heads on straight.  Didn’t they under­stand about give and take?  How many times had he bought dinner for some “gal” and got the brush off (after dessert, naturally)… when he helped some “gal” move her furniture shouldn’t he get to romp on it with her at the new place?

It was my suggestion that he quit working the barter market and pay to play.  No way!  He wasn’t about to be suckered into that world.  I had to admire that in him, he knew that he wouldn’t be a winner in the sex trade.  Sadly, there was little in the way of advice I could offer.  As is often the case, Phil didn’t really have a problem.  He was living within the boundaries he felt comfortable with.  He was just blowing steam, seeing if this erotic consultation stuff was an avenue to acceptable sex.  It not being so, he did not return.  I’m sure he’s tried singles bars and adult education classes and joining a health club with the same result.


I have twin recliner swivel rocking chairs that I ordered at some expense from a Michigan company.  There are lock levers for all the sections so that once you work the chair into a good position you can relax.  The chair can be expected to maintain itself.  You can release all, or some, of the levers to tilt and/or twirl.  When I sit in mine, I most often remain upright but ease the leg rest out to avoid appearing stiff.  The client can sit in one of these chairs while I sit at the desk and they will not feel abandoned because of the way the furniture is arranged.  Alternatively, they can sit on the couch, or at the small table and chairs near the window.  Every place touches every other place in the room, but each is also a separate place.  If we share the table the rest of the room fades away, if we rotate the big chairs to face the view screen we lock in and focus straight ahead.  I paid extra for a window overlooking the water, at times people had to put a lot of space between themselves and their ideas.  They would seem to be talking through the glass, their backs to the room (to me).  It was an act of release, to set the words free from the tip of the tongue.

I heard many a confession in that room.


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