Tag Archives: erotica

The Erotic Engine – What Drove Me Today

The Erotic Engine: How pornography has powered mass communication, from Gutenberg to Google

by Patchen Barss

The title says it all.  Two hundred ninety-two pages of well-written history, linking Stanhope peepers to VHS amateur porn, carnal antiquities to mobile sex apps.  He tracks the facts of money, mood and media, charting public acceptance and demand.  He’s mindful of socio-tech movements and accurately lands on the pulse of our underground sexual delivery systems.  Good storyteller, lots of first-person observations from thoughtful experts.


COMMENTARY by indie-publisher of sexotic books for rowdier readers – Kathleen K.

How do I find books like this?  Like this:  be at the library when the doors click open on Saturday morning and beeline to the new books.  A mixture of fiction, fantasy, nonfiction books are lined up for inspection.  I grab six, semi-sort of randomly, it’s much about the cover and the title, a quick flip to the summary.  Yes or no.  Then I move to the Staff Picks which is another collector-distributor point for odd-lot selections.  These are proffered by staff readers as topical enthusiasts so you might see romance and fishing guides and soul music.  Today, The Erotic Engine.

The book was published in 2010; I would add my own note about publish-on-demand options in media now.  Through a vendor like CreateSpace.com, an author like me can produce book masters at a reasonable price and offer them for sale on the biggest marketplace ever:  Amazon.com.  For about $850, you, too, could publish a 250-page book that would become available to anybody at any time they demanded it.  (Co-creators, $425; 4-some $212.50).  I stockpiled ten sets of masters (print and Kindle).  Besides being fun, it is an investment in future inventory.  Best of all, it supplies me with the many personal copies I distribute to fans and sell, in spurts (!), online.  Available for review: KathleenKBooks.com

I am insinuating myself into the conversation about erotica, counterculture literacy, and gender dynamics.  I’m on the look-out for rowdier readers.  Sassy, intelligent, witty, explicit erotica is not for everybody.  If it just so happens you, yourself, have a curious disposition then please connect here.

The newest book, ARCHING OVER Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry is romantic and erotic, uncluttered and direct, fertile with images.  The voice in these poems is speaking to you, overtly… you are being called out, slither hither.  “You at the vertex, with me in the vortex.”  It is a four-stage journey:  distinctly voiced, annotating moments when “modifiers lose meaning, it gobbles it, there are no other words.”

Amorous, yearning, exultant.  Frisky.

SAMPLE — All Rights Reserved

no youngster ever fucked like that

… it took ten years of bad sex

and disappointment

to stoke the fires

to blast past mistakes and earn learning

the mature and thorough sex

of one who has hungered

* * * * *

dog-style and howling

that’s how we do it

so you can really see

and i can really feel it

you bark commands:  move!  don’t!  move!

and i wag my tail

* * * * *

my back seems balanced

on the tip of your prick

the twin-curved ass

a surrounding

your hands bridge me

hauling my hips back

so we clang

* * * * *

thick stick

lush tush

bit tit

come some

* * * * *

i fuck myself

with a pliable substitute

it’s a matter of balance

not hard enough to hurt

not fast enough to burn

but almost, almost

* * * * *

a glow

so hot it boils marrow

eyes steamed blind

and ears melted

i’m shrieking

but my mouth is sealed shut

stunning sex


* * * * *

your cock is putty

in my hands

i like it

soft and pliable

lo, the stages

from palmful

to mouthful


filling full

* * * * *

our eyes are closed

but what are we seeing?

to you, am i a pair of fluted lips,

swollen, slick and seeking?

like you, to me, are a probe

with a heated tip

searing your name inside

* * * * * *

i find myself


all over the bed

toes over the edge

fingers dug into the pillows

my legs so far apart

i feel my trunk unlatch

* * * * *

my pleasure drips from your chin

when you look up at me

but the crown of your head

is all i see

when your face is what i feel

* * * * *

thick bodied

wide smiled

hot cocked


* * * * *

you loom

then weave

… the fabric of love

made between us

* * * * *

nipples like littlest dicks

full to bursting, up, out, insistent

LôôK LôôK

Info/Buy Links for Kathleen K. Books

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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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Erotic Sexotic Romantic Poetry by Kathleen K.

EROTIC POETRY by Kathleen K.. underground writer and indie publisher of Bedside Readers for the Adult Mind

Announcing the publication of ARCHING OVER – Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry

Available End of Summer 2013

At the end of the day, snuggled in your bed, reach for something different to read… thoughtful, evocative, fertile with feelings.  This collection of poetry is sexotic and brash, yet tender and yearning.  Poetry like this strips away the exposition to focus on the sublime precision of fantasy and memory.  There is no distance between the reader and the writer, we’re the watchers and the watched.  We’re drawn together by the thrum of heated hearts heaving.  Not suitable for some, appreciated by others.  For the rowdier reader.


i don’t give a dime for your reputation

as i have no intention of enhancing it

you can tuck away your social position

bury your money

hide the finery

come to me naked

only then does your desire show

this one isn’t for them

it is for us

and it is for us alone


the first thing you removed

was my necklace

the beads were hot to the touch

and when cupped in the palm

of your hand radiated

they were scented



suddenly you wanted to eat


i don’t know whether to believe you or not

when you say you think of me

you claim it makes your cock rise

as you remember


and things we’ve done

do you think i’m going to hush you up

when you tell me that even as we speak

part of you hardens

as part of you softens?

don’t i know it?

part of you lingers within me still

i may be a fool to listen

but of all the words you could pick

you seem to know which ones will ring in my ear



i purr beneath your hand

stretch out, lay belly up

scootch a little this way

scootch a little that way

quit moving altogether

am rigid, silent

alone at the end of the road

hoping you’ll bring me home


it is electrifying

to trace the outline of your body

with my eyeballs

had i thought of it before

i’d have understood the clothes you wear:

the loose pleated pants for those strapping thighs

and high tight cheeks:

open necked shirts for the expansion of your chest

and those big square shoulders:

underneath it all a jock strap

because nothing so precious

should be without protection


i fondle my breasts for you

lick my finger, rub my nipples awake

let you look, look at my bare breasts

let them spill down my chest as I stand

let them ride high as i walk toward you

let them hypnotize you with their heavy sway

i know that you like


i press the vibrator

against the bone, along the crack

past the first hole, not quite to the second

and hold it there, tight there

until i come with a shudder and a gasp

your eyes glitter, your hand plunges

i feel hot, i feel open, i feel everything


i wonder what you see when you pull me apart

a mirror can’t tell me

you have sounds but not words

you look long & deep

before you immerge

you look so closely i feel your eyes on me



Of all the marbles in the box

you are the one I feel like rolling

in the palm of my hand.

I want to feel you.

The smooth wholeness

balancing at the point of being you,

set in motion

by me being me.

I’ve never loved me as others have.

How could I possibly dare

to warn you… they say I should say:

I have extreme feelings for you.

We’ve agreed to a sexual friendship

unlike any we’ve had before.

I promptly leave town

(on a pre-scheduled trip)

and unhinge my heart

to allow the circumstances

of love evolving.

No need to hurry, it is in every way

a matter of relishing.

—–    ˜™    –—

Pounding salt/water energy

carving the earth

etching my heart.

Life coursing to and from the sea.

People on journeys leave their homes behind

but carry their thoughts with them.

Inside me a flicker

of future


But, first, the past:

A long-held love reaching its best conclusion –

a heart reconstructed from promise to fruition

by grafting pieces of mine to the strong empty chambers

he presented me way back when.

Our love powers his leaving me.

—–    ˜™    –—

“Go.  Go – before I don’t let you

leave as easily as this.”

“Go.  Go – I can’t bear it.”

That decision made

a hundred times a hundred times

he didn’t take me.

How often, how many, how deep,

the times he crawled on me?

How can it be

those feverish vows


… gone?

No.  They’re going, like he’s going.

not away – just deep deep inside

to give us the wait of experience.

—–    ˜™    –—

I was wrong, sorry even then.

But, oh, so sorry now.

I could have been kinder

tried harder

expressed all my feelings.

Taking for granted, as granted.

The grant now revoked.

A new treaty.

All those pent-up kisses


—–    ˜™    –—

And to him, I say:  you fucking fuck,

terminating | cauterizing

what should have been

as nakedly ended

as started.

You deny the only fact

there ever was –

it was always ours

to make and break.

It was always ours

to shatter.

—–    ˜™    –—

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Sex Science Enriches Vintage Boomer Porn by Kathleen K.

The woman who explained the female orgasm

By Thomas Maier, Special to CNN

updated 4:05 PM EDT, Fri July 26, 2013

(CNN) — Virginia Johnson once told me something surprising about her famous partnership with Dr. William Masters, which helped revolutionize America’s understanding of human sexuality.

Despite Masters and Johnson’s worldwide fame, “We were absolutely the two most secretive people on the face of the Earth,” she said. “There’s simply no one who knew us well. People have a lot of speculation, but they don’t know.”

On Thursday, as I read the obituaries about Johnson’s death at age 88, I was reminded of Virginia’s words. There’s a sense of marvel about her life story and how she managed to affect the lives and happiness of so many people, especially independent-minded women like herself who wanted to make their own decisions about sex outside the dictates of men.

Time would underline Johnson’s impact even more. Despite their guarded language, the first book documented the power of female sexuality, showing that women were capable of multiple orgasms — a veritable fireworks display — compared to most men’s single firecracker.

Their clinical evidence became part of the spark for America’s so-called sexual revolution of the 1960s and 1970s, reflected in everything from key feminist writings to Hugh Hefner’s Playboy magazine. Even the rosy women’s magazines, filled with recipes and homey bromides, began writing about sex, using the same clinical phrases that Masters and Johnson made acceptable in polite society.

Link to original article.


COMMENTARY by indie author-publisher of sexotic-erotic books Kathleen K.

Vintage boomer porn is a direct descendant of this liberation of sexual mechanics; we were able to articulate in specific language how men and women operate.  It was critical that a woman be part of this educational movement, Virginia Johnson incorporated a feminine sensibility back when it was even more so a man’s world.

What a fascinating playground for my novice novelist ideas to inhabit, roiling in the background as I moved through adolescence, bursting out just as I crested high school and hit college.  Women stood forward, spoke up, and unloosed the bosom!  Shifting the culture forward, female power was quantified to them, by them and for them.  This re-conception of sex as measurable made it all the more describable.  We ratcheted forward one complete revolution to make it ordinary for a single female of my age and station to have her own apartment, her own opinions, and her own income.  Like all golden ages, it would pass.  What remained was the presumption of participation for more people.

In that freer world I could form the dream of self-publishing and through the decades trust that I would retain my liberation.  It wasn’t a fluke of social unrest but an honest-to-goodness shift in emphasis enriching the culture beyond measure.  Boomer chicks aren’t airheads; they farmed communes and reshaped governments.  They got daddies in to the delivery room.  They integrated themselves into health care and finance at leadership levels (they’d always been there as front-line labor).

In this vibrant social whirl, women could move with grace and purpose, having a whole bunch of fun.  That put sexual congress on a new footing as people could seek mates of contrasting strength.  As a backdrop, beneath the surface, each of my books presents the storyteller with choices that define the outcome.  I’m all about the finitude.

Example sentences using the word finitude:

It is part of our finitude , but it should not be taken as the key marker of our humanity.

Finitude and limits give us something against which to define our existence.

To live in the consciousness of finitude and dependence means to look for help.

They mark the discovery of finitude in the experience of desire.


Coming.  Soon.  Dark Prince, Heed Thy Queen offers us a modern female narrator who can sum up her new relationship in this four-word volley:

“Spread ‘em.”

“Spread me.”


Watching Nathan mount a female fascinated me.  I didn’t waste time being jealous; I could do that later.  I wanted to see him do what I had felt him do.  I would not recommend this to the fainthearted; I was staggered by the feelings as I witnessed him giving his prick away to someone else.  I curdled inside when he reached around to her front, she was endowed with cherry-topped perfection, anybody could see she pleased him and also that he was pleasing her by the way he handled her generous body.

Nathan was a powerful fucker; he took the time to adequately prepare his partner so that she yielded her deepest acceptance.  When Nathan rolled that other woman onto her belly and lifted her by her hips so he could plug into her, I wanted to knock her out from under him and slide in.  How dare he do it my way with her?  I saw his dusky cock glisten with her happiness and it was a lesson to be learned.  Sex was bigger than just the two of us, no matter how primarily we were attached.  His body could work with her body; he had not lost his response to other women even as he committed more intimate acts with me.  He insisted we confine our sexual escapades to carefully orchestrated scenes like his balling some guy’s wife while the wife’s guy and I watched.  Her husband and I weren’t going to fuck this particular time; we were busy watching at the moment.


I’m not defending Nathan, I’m explaining him.  I consorted with this dog and thought he was a man (making me his bitch?).  The sad part is that Nathan was a man in many ways, in basic ways.  95% genetically similar.  5% canine/lupine.  (It’s less than 1% difference from human to chimp.)  I was used to men as house pets but then along came this hound.  I was feeling sexually adversarial at that point in my life; I was tired of being nice.  Acting sweet didn’t get me over the rainbow.  I needed a commanding male|mate against whom I could struggle.  The last thing in the world I wondered about was his bank book (since I wasn’t showing mine).  I was far too busy sifting impressions of a most searing affair.

I didn’t want somebody to love.  It was more selfish than that, I wanted somebody to enjoy my body with me.  Screw me joyfully, with wit and daring.  Seduce me, not entrap me.  I wanted to feel the maleness of a man, dagger unsheathed for drawing blood to the pelvis… fluids rush, nerves tingle, the move is on.

Nathan might choose to be erotic spectator, director, participant, reviewer.  He reserved the right for each of us to adopt roles in our love life.  He was not to be considered a dick; his was not always central to our pleasure (nor was my box).  He commandeered my whole body.  He needed me for himself.  He needed me for his friends.  I got off on pleasing him, and his friends.  I had dropped my guard, all the gates were down, I accepted my lover, Nathan, as a man.  He could have been a frontiersman, an astronaut, a fisherman.  External objects didn’t signify to me, it was a time of voluptuous indulgence, outrageous comfort, skintimacy.

My involvement was pure; I had no thought of paining anybody.  I didn’t mind a secret love life because how could I have explained these sexotic games to people I worked with, or to people at my health club?  My family said I was looking fit.  It was true I’d rather have sex than eat, I’d walk bra-less in short shorts for two miles with Nathan six paces back watching people watch me walk.  He’d hump me standing behind a park bench in a secluded copse then we’d walk home hand in hand, acting innocent but looking smudged.

KathleenK.xxx for the rowdier reader

KathleenKBooks.com for complete catalog

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“Legalize pot” is wrong slogan; it should be “Regulate pot”

Survey: 40% of adults in favor of marijuana legalization with tough laws

This year’s survey comes after two states, Colorado and Washington, legalized recreational use of marijuana in last November’s elections.

“The reality is that marijuana is now legalized for recreational use in the states of Colorado and Washington and it’s clear that society’s views on marijuana are evolving dramatically,” Steve Pasierb, president and CEO of The Partnership at Drugfree.org, said in a statement. “The data bring to life the fact that parents — including the large number who favor legalization— have serious expectations that legal marijuana will be regulated and restricted to protect kids and teens. Those expectations far exceed how legal marijuana is being implemented.”

Link to original article from CBS News

COMMENTARY by indie publisher of pro-pot literature KATHLEEN K.

The Legalize Marijuana slogan got it wrong.  If only we’d said Regulate Marijuana.  The idea you could ban it is long past; it’s a commodity in the free marketplace.  A matter of taste and persuasion, we seek to exercise our specific rights as free citizens.  Regulation implies standardization and compartmentalization and all those good –ations we’ve put on alcohol and sleeping pills and cold medicine.  Get real and incorporate pot right where it belongs:  in the locked shelves with tobacco, at the special stores with distilled spirits,.  Even stoners “get it”… this isn’t ollie ollie oxen free.  Lots of things have to change.  Banking.  Property rights.  Crime prevention.  Public service costs like the lottery contributes to caution problem gamblers.

I don’t want underage users getting high, drinking alcohol, having guns (or driving in my neighborhood), but once they successfully complete those baby-years then all of the naughty things become choices for them like they are for us.

Still, it is landmark that so many voters understand the goal is not the promotion of pot but simply its re-codification from scourge on humanity to wacky tobacky (sticky icky icky).  This ain’t no hippie rebellion anymore; it’s a compromise like all grown-up enterprises must be.

To celebrate the lifestyle of the high and the happy, Stoner with a boner and Stoner’s Bone of Contention are witty and vivid reflections on reefer and romance.  He’s promoting stoner literacy and sexual thoughtfulness one rowdy reader at a time.

SAMPLE of Stoner’s Bone of Contention by Kathleen K.


Tripper hallucinates intruder and calls cops.  Awkward.


“Can people see in the kitchen?”

“I can see you.  You can see me.  Yes. People can see in the kitchen.”

“I mean, see into the kitchen.”

“Oh.  Maybe.  It never mattered before.  You know… what was there to see?”

“Well, it matters now.”

“I can close the blinds.”

“I didn’t ask for that… I just wondered, could somebody see us?”

“Would that be OK?”

“Would it be OK with you?”

“I don’t mind if somebody sees what I’m doing to you.”

“I don’t mind being seen having you do it.”

“Do it like this?”



Forget the pretty words when the time comes to unleash your passion, use the ageless vocabulary of pleas and urging.  It isn’t what you say but how you say it:  do you sound hungry, do you sound focused, do you sound eager and keen?

I like sass, tart and startling.

En garde!  Begin the fucking fencing.

Are you mine?  Can I have you?  Do I do you first?  What happens to that stuff if I pinch this stuff?  Have you met my little friend?


“I saw Davey with that girl…”

“What girl?”

“The girl… the girl with the hair.”

“Most girls have hair.”

“OK, fine, I won’t tell you.

“Re-lax.  So Davey’s with that girl, where?”

“Buddy’s Bar.  Sitting at a table just the two of them.  I drifted over there, you know, casual.”

“Is she as pretty as she looks on the billboard?”

“Close-up perfect.  So, like, they invite me to sit down and we’re talking, you know, yackety-yak and Davey’s buying us all shots, so I’m getting bold, you know how I do?  Teasing, we’re all laugh­ing and making jokes.  The conversation goes sideways sexy and I hear myself ask her if she’s interested in bondage.  And she says, get this, she says, real serious-like:  ‘I am very interested.  But he won’t let me tie him up.’”

“Come on!  What did he say to that?”

“Nothing.  Nothing at all.”

“Well, really.  What could he say?”


 Kathleen K. Books Site Map

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Ineffable Elements and Potentiators – words arranged by Kathleen K.

I am waiting for the second print-proof master of Stoner’s Bone of Contention to arrive, this could be IT.  Book #9 will be available online within weeks.  This is a potcentric sexotic fictional memoir about getting high then diving into that baffling abyss between men and women.

What’s at the heart of this book?  It celebrates sexual thoughtfulness with deft vignettes of Stoner’s philosophy in action.  Free-wheeling and oddly thoughtful, tender at times, cussedly candid at others.

SAMPLEI took a hop, skip and a jump through the book to isolate these particular musings of our narrator

I had no idea she was seeking a sexual consultant.  I had gone to enough of these sorts of grocer conventions to be careful around women on the road.  There was a wild, after-school feeling with so many out-of-towners in attendance.  It would be that freedom that led to my intimacy with Kalia, but only after we had both evaluated the suitability of the other.  There’s a moment when a woman makes her choice, insofar as she decides if it’s impossible to consider a physical tryst.  When that switch is off, it’s off.  It isn’t quite so definitive when it’s on, it being more of a dimmer switch than a single flip-to-the-on position.  A woman’s signal set includes pressure readings and ineffable elements, I’ve learned to watch and wait for as long as it takes for her to decide.  Arguing is fruitless, whining is unattractive; begging shouldn’t work.  Here is where the women have all the power.  Simple as that, write it down.  Her highest compliment is to accept a man within her, to take him up into her center, to grant him the privilege of uniting with her.  No matter how devalued commercial sex becomes, how tawdry and wasteful so much of our sex has devolved into, there is no doubting the primal urge between true lovers to blend.


The weirdest things conjure sex.

“I’m going to smoke some pole.”

I can’t remember when I first heard it; however, when you do hear it, you get the idea even if it doesn’t make sense objectively.  It’s a sharp description of a vital function reduced to verb + noun.

So many ways to say fellatio, clinical or coarse words conjure the same image, face at the groin.

Smoke it, suck it, lick it, all the words are begging to put the mouth to the penis, to bend to or kneel for then open wide and make it disappear.  Consume it.  Blow it away.  Finish it.  Empty it.  Take it all in, absorb what it is then ingest what it contains.  Surrender to conquer, spill it out as a show of acceptance even if it is, ultimately, an act of expulsion.  The threat of a missile is right before you launch it, after that there’s a countdown to its one and only detonation.  There may be other missiles, other launches, but this one is up, up and away.  Done for, once it’s started.


I think the fact that guys see getting tit as a mere way station on route to their one true goal means that they are missing a chance to experience a potentiator.  A potentiator enhances the perform­ance of another thing.  By exciting a woman with knowledgeable handling of her breasts you are heightening the vaginal reaction.  Don’t blast past the intimate hors d’oeuvre, a light bite whets the appetite.  Create fertile ground for the sexual feelings to root and grow by appreciating the amusing and arousing sample.  Women know they will get a reaction, some reaction, a definite reaction, to their breasts and it will most likely be delivered through the nipples, telegraphing the nether receptors to come awake and await further signals.

I leap from the sight of nipples to the facts of sex, to positions and angles and scooping up heat.  I run the endless loop of what the rest of me is doing as I pay homage to her succulence.  I have so many parts to offer, my hands and limbs, my torso, my chassis, all fired up from my little engine that could, my valiant libido pulling me up and up and up.  My mind races ahead even as I force my body to slow down and participate fully.  I hold the faith that if I invest my attention in her pleasure from the start then I am much more likely to share it in the end.  I can get myself off but I can’t fuck myself.


KathleenK.xxxSite Map

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Why Women Are More Likely to Be Bisexual

By Tia Ghose, Staff Writer

updated 6/28/2013 6:48:25 PM ET2013-06-28T22:48:25

Women may be more “hetero-flexible,” or be primarily attracted to men with some same sex attraction, because same-sex behavior allowed women to raise their children with other women, a new study has proposed.

The hypothesis, published this April in the journal Evolutionary Psychology, suggests that more fluid female sexuality may have evolved because it benefited women’s offspring. Some women who were raped or fathered children with absentee or deceased dads formed sexual relationships with other women, which may have made it easier to raise children together, according to the theory.

“Being born with the ability to [be attracted to men and women] may have been beneficial to ancestral women,” said study co-author Barry X. Kuhle, a psychologist at the University of Scranton in Pennsylvania. [ 5 Myths About Polyamory Debunked ]

Not everyone agrees with Kuhle’s hypothesis, pointing to the lack of evidence to support it and suggesting perhaps women’s more fluid sexual boundaries may just be a byproduct of some other evolutionary change. There may be no evolutionary reason for the hetero-flexibility, they say.


COMMENTARY by indie publisher and erotic novelist KATHLEEN K.

Science can assess the purported significance of women’s bisexuality but there is a truth beyond proof in our history.  I wrote about it fifteen years ago as a given.

Coming.  Soon.   ARCHING OVER Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry (July 2013) featuring the following poem:

The sisterhood

not known outside itself

no matter how probingly sought

by the brothers

who face their own fraternal world.

It is the tantalizing promise

to be without wariness

that frees the sisters when away from the misters.

Every man represents

a potential conception

and that, sisters, and brothers,

should freak a right-minded female

into responsible choices

of life-defining impact.

The coupling of women

bears no natural risk

and carries the tradition of succor

that we see in female mammals,

to ease each others births and deaths

and tend the wounds in-between,

to protect others from the world’s hurts

in the common hope of easing our own.

ARCHING OVER encompasses four poetry booklets written between 1984 and 1999… vintage small press alternative literature from back when everything was done on paper.  Publishing was analog, it took time.  Today, in this digital landscape, I will write this today and publish it globally today.

Things don’t percolate, we don’t burnish them anymore.  This evocative poetry has been preened with care, the words arranged with precision.  The essence of poetry is mood play (for me) and I do that by, just for instance, describing sex dog-style with the man barking commands.

The texture is an important element provided by me, but the context is all yours.

I think about putting my hands in your pockets

then forcing down your pants

because I could

because you’d let me.

It’s attitude with gratitude.  Females are flexible, are fluid; women celebrate life and beauty.  Of course we can see the grace and power in each other much more easily than those king-of-the-mountain thinkers who never stop defending their own clout from the spectres of other men.

Kathleen K Books / Kathleen K.xxx

Forcing down your pants. Because I could. Because you’d let me.

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Libertine Literature – the call of the wild to the rowdy

A 17th-Century Sex Manual That’s Legitimately Raunchy

By Rebecca Onion

Posted Wednesday, June 26, 2013, at 8:40 AM

This sex manual, translated from the original French and published in England in 1680, is racy, lewd, and hilarious. Appendix Journal’s Benjamin Breen recently posted about the document after digging it out of Google Books, which offers a fully digitized copy. (Full title: The School of Venus, or the Ladies Delight, Reduced into Rules of Practice.)

In his introduction to an anthology of 18th-century “libertine literature,” literary scholar Bradford K. Mudge points out that written pornography was not uncommon in England in the 17th and 18th centuries. Novels, travelogues, philosophy, and even botanical treatises contained extended erotic passages. In many cases, books with sexual content were published with different title pages or covers to fool authorities who might not approve.

COMMENTARY by indie publisher KATHLEEN K.

Please follow the link to see the frontispiece of this centuries-old libertine literature.  The women aren’t pretty although generally fit, there isn’t a (whole) man in the picture, but the dick-centric message is clear these hundreds of years later.

Nothing is new, folks.  Calm down.  Contemplate.  Take a moment and consider your sexual framework.

My search for the rowdier reader is going well.  I ask those who don’t think of themselves that way to pass my name on to the readingest reader they know.  Within that subset lurk my fellow verbaholics.

I am laying claim to authorship of a sexotic collection of books, I sidestep the erotic designation because I have given up on guessing what turns people on.  Of course, I use erotica as a keyword shortcut, but as you go deeper into my collection you see a world of orgasmic opportunity not often enough celebrated.  Just think about this… or those in there… or that on fire.  Think about it.  It’s pretty basic:  I set up a saucy vignette buffet and you take as little or as much as you have an appetite for, for now.

We’ve contorted our desires into bizarre socially-approved configurations; we emphasize science and law at the expense of craft and choice.  My goal is to evoke thoughts of sex, yes, but is it “sex” as defined by a weed-smoking lover man or by a dutiful housewife being mounted twice-weekly by her husband as scheduled?  Honey B. is a fictitious whore with a distinctive vocabulary and engaging style; Jamie is a spoken-porn simulator with a clear conscience.  It’s all about the permutations of a single theme in libertine literature.

Kathleen K. Books – Info/Buy Links

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Honey B. — A musing on celibate vs. dormant

Honey B. is a sexual consultant; her emerging collection of testimony captures a voluptuous life of erotic exploration that started in the suites and propelled her into the minds of her rowdier readers.  This truer-than-true tale of commercial satisfaction promises to fertilize your imagination.  She’s a pro (since retired) so this is not all sweetness and light.  The language is tart, the sex-inventiveness is enticing to the curious and invigorating to the veterans.  It’s a novelized version of hard-core erotica.

Lots of folks feel like their bulb has gone out, the filament is broken… they just don’t light up any more.  So they stop flipping their switch.  Celibates still celebrate.  They take the luscious with the plain, they feel their feelings, they observe others, and they are involved in the physical world if not entwined with a physical person.

Dormancy and depression can link up but which starts what matters less than how to re-engage one to cure the other.  If asked, I recommend sleeping more, eating less, bathing after showering or vice versa, dancing alone, walking with a friend.  This is a delicate cure and the last element you add is passion for their own power.  Men were impatient with this indirect approach to their sexual discomfort and I sometimes employ a surrogate so they can stick their dick somewhere while I take over their mind.  The first act of seduction is convincing yourself to make a move.

Dormancy as defense, during crisis, for certain phases, is not a problem.  It’s an adaptation.

When you notice you are dormant it means you are waking up.

Introduce yourself to Honey B.  to enjoy her sassy look at the sexual marketplace.


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Stoner is the guy you want to show up at your party.


Stoner is a good egg; you hope he shows up at your party.  He isn’t flashy but he does do that trick with the hot knives and hash.  He’s the kind of guy you wish your sister-in-law could meet because (a) it would give her something to do besides hang around your house and (b) that chick needs a tune-up and Stoner has the air of an ace mechanic.  You’ve watched him working the women so you know he’s a straight shooter; he’s attentive without being a dog about it.  There’s no backlash on his hookups, there’s not even clear information on when-where-how these things have happened, if they have… [I choose to believe].  He’s got charm, yeah, sure, but it is not some superficial slick that skids you past the details.  He’s through-and-through true.

He shows up with some of the most dazzling dope in town, head-banging shit that defies the limits of what you thought high could be.  Even the steady tokers are careful around his stash.  Respect.  It’s like that country song where some bad-ass party band will never smoke weed with Willie again.  Stoner is our Willie Nelson, not so old but with that same ethereal solidity.  He’s a rock-hard hippie, and glad to be.  He’s hitting on grass grown closer to heaven.  Superior pot and lots of it.  Sweet Mary Jane!  Our own pot is seductive, Stoner’s pot fucks. you. up.

Stoner is releasing a new book.  Count me in.  The first one saved my marriage.

He convinced me to smoke less pot.  I got his book from a friend who was giving them out as Christmas stocking stuffers to her weedie buds.  You’d think his loving descriptions of marijuana would stimulate toking but it refined my use.  I had been wasting a lot of my stash getting buzzed then doing nothing.  Too much blazed gaming for sure.  I turned toking into a sacrament.  I learned to PLAN my highs, more rare and much more productive.  The wasted hours were redeployed into fitness and yard work — my wife loved that!

This got me thinking about Stoner’s ease with women.  What I got out of the book was the thoughtfulness.  I admit I picked up some technical details too.  I read the sexy pages out loud while my wife relaxed in the bath then we’d try to implement those exact notions.  We started to percolate again, we learned how to maintain a simmer and when to reach a boil.  The crazy ups and downs of our mismatched newlywed rhythms settled into a livable life together.

The first book didn’t change my life, I did that.  The book hit me just when I was thinking maybe I ought to change my life.  That long story of his convinced me I could.

Stoner with a boner (It’s a Long Story).  Seriously funny.  Smokin’ hot.  Potcentric sexotic fictional memoir.

Stoner’s Bone of Contention (The Weightless Join) is due for publication in July 2013.

KathleenK.xxx for the rowdier reader.

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