It’s a big deal to create a logo for a business, you need to TELEGRAPH your meaning to a variety of viewers. I wanted a non-sexualized female wearing sensible high heels featuring something sassy around the ankles, her hair blown back by what she was reading, with a sense of movement. I asked for the xxx detail on the hem to give warning of adult-themes hidden in plain sight… then put more xxx’s on the collar “for fashion” and to add light at the neck. Do all that AND it had to work when miniaturized.
This fresh embodiment of KathleenKBooks.com coincided with the re-launch of the website from its home-grown roots to a sleeker look and feel courtesy of WordPress.com and its user-friendly toolbox.
I am working with the logo artist Maxximus on a Post about the evolution of the logo design. He created a writer-reader engaged in a book. I may have had the idea but he knew, for instance, to bend her arm up to her chest (clutching her heart?) which gives her balance. I admire his craft and praise his sensitivity to the underlying tone. The message is clear that people carry books and books carry people.
And what will you find at KathleenKBooks.com? Here’s a sample from Dark Prince, Heed Thy Queen. Coming. Soon.
My female friends’ men were occasionally caught breaking “relationship rules,” the guys would mooch or stray or overstep. Toy Boy Malfunction. Stud Dud. Whenever we found ourselves talking about things like this I would be grateful for Nathan. I knew he wasn’t costing me any money, straying didn’t apply within our special context and similarly within our sensuous universe he was omni-potent thus unable to overstep. He didn’t tell me what to do in any other area of my life so I didn’t feel over-dominated. He bossed me in bed where it turns out I like to be told what to do.
I didn’t offer to describe to my friends the nights when Nathan would shave me and bathe me and stake me out on the bed and turn up the heat and smear me with my own body’s juices then let me simmer while he looked through Polaroid pictures of our sex life. He never kept the pictures around long. I thought he was romantically discreet but now I know he was probably thinking search warrants.
((Speaking of inventive, Nathan once bought me a bridal outfit and supplied a groom-in-tux to paw me on the alleged wedding bed. Before the faux-spouse could bust my fantasy-restored hymen, Nathan stepped forward and ordered the chartered husband to leave the honeymoon suite. Nathan told me that such a delectable bride deserved to be taken by the best man.))
I let it be known to my pals that I was being cared for in the boudoir but declined details. They figured my partner was either encumbered, famous, or both. He was a mystery man to them which kept the girl-talk light. I don’t deny I got vicarious experience from hearing of their real-world boyfriends and husbands. It was nice to have my own living+working territory, uncluttered by a spousal-type relationship [even if it also so happened I’d surrendered my soul to a little demon]. There’s nothing better than a fuck buddy who can really fuck.
I savored my alone time; I blended my memories and my fantasies. I tried on clothes and ironed my sheets and developed a new jack-off technique with a chubby vibrator rumbling along the seam and a buzzy button stimulator under the hood. In those moments alone, when I was agitated by desire, there was freedom, I felt potential welling up. I was on the high dive, poised for a flamboyant back-flip but surprised myself with an inward pike. I could change trajectories that fast.
Nathan calls me and says, “I sent you a package in care of the lock shop on 19th. I want you to pick up the package at 7:30 Friday evening. Make sure to inspect the contents at the counter. If you see me around there, don’t recognize me.”
Not sure what I’d be walking into, I wore black thigh-high stockings, a top-of-the-knee skirt with a kick pleat, a cashmere sweater. No slip. No bra. No panties. The heels I wore were a bit too high to be casual so I had to watch my step. Nathan was not (visible) at the shop when I arrived but a suspicious number of virile men were hanging around profoundly absorbed in the keys-and-locks on display. I played it simple because the men were pretending very hard not to watch me through their slitted eyes. I wanted them to stay back and they did. The promised package was easy to open, I pulled a string that slit a thin strip of tape to open the rectangular flaps. Inside I found pictures of three men, and a note.
“Pick out one of these three. Call him Lucky. Please invite him to join us in the back room. I’m done waiting.”
Nathan told me to write him a summary of what happened to me in the back of the lock shop but I refused. I said I wanted to dictate it and have somebody transcribe it, like a stenographer in court… a witness to my tale. He arranged for a guy with one of those steno machines to record my statement and put it to paper.
“This is Thursday, April 8th, and I am making a voluntary statement about my activities on one certain Friday evening. I felt slutty and adventurous when I dressed that night; do you know what it’s like to plan to have multiple men checking me out simultaneously? I felt their eyes on me, rolling up over my breasts and piercing my privacy. They might never have been at a pussy raffle before this one, it was a turn-on just to participate. ‘An honor to be nominated’ and all that.
“The three pictures given to me had to have been chosen at random, there was no theme. An out-of-shape laborer with great hair, a sharp lawyer/banker/hitman/? and a unidentifiable sort of hipster-survivalist Mr. Mom. I kept my eyes on the pictures so I’d pick on that basis alone, I wanted no extra cues from the actual men standing somewhere within speaking distance. I went for the banker, he had smart eyes.
“Walking up to him, I could feel the men behind me deflate just a bit; they could let down their bellies and unsquare their shoulders: they escaped winning. The banker knew to take my arm and escort me to the back without speaking. We had to preserve a veneer of sociability even as we both were throbbingly aware that we were going to indulge in some naughty temptation. Without fear, because there were boundaries protecting us all.
“The idea this stranger could touch me – touch me! I felt my sex stirring, a flutter between my legs, a tightness in the nipples… was this a dream for him, too? Did he realize I judged him worthy because he offered? He had nothing to prove to me. I wanted your attention, not his; I was going to absorb him because you’d see me do it, you were my focus, he was my instrument.
“I played him for you, do you think it was an accident that I had to bend over and slowly peel down my stockings, do you suppose I really forgot to wear panties? I know you expected my sweater to come off sooner… I didn’t give in to your situational expectations. You wanted me to get you two hounds howling, and for that particular purpose my nudity wouldn’t do. I felt the cool air on my ass and knew your man hands would be hot, all four of them. I hid the beauties from you, yes, but not from him. I didn’t want you to see the conqueror tattoo I had pressed to my breastbone until later.
“For the record, I hereby attest I did kneel in front of the man I didn’t know and unzipped his pants with my teeth. It may have been a surprise to him but you certainly know the gesture, don’t you? The submission of kneeling, the gleam of teeth at the crotch. I should have guessed a banker would wear boxers, under his tailored-to-be-loose suit. He was rightfully proud of his body, that health club membership paid off. He had a toned feeling to him, muscles available if needed, with the smooth hands of a modern man. I was surprised at his thin cock, it didn’t seem “big” even though it was dense as rock. It was easy to eat in that position, as I demonstrated to you both. He was getting weak in the knees, his foundation was rocking. Too much of a good thing, dizzy with it.
“He needed a break so I backed up against you, bare-assed against your jeans. I felt the button fly press tight with the surge of your cock and balls, you filled the pocket in your crotch with a rising desire. I would ride your knee eventually, but I felt like a constrictor snake waiting for your exhale before I wrapped myself around your heart, to seize you when you were empty then prevent your filling again. Your hands moved up under my sweater and palmed my chest, your thumbs caressed my crowns. What could I have done to be sweeter? My box was brimming with good will towards men.
“So ends this voluntary statement.”
#IndieAuthor #erotica #readforfun