Tag Archives: Kathleen K.

StonerwithaBoner.com = world wide weed – HEMPFEST

kathleenkbooks, potcentric, stonerIt was Hempfest in Seattle again over the weekend and after all these years the battle rages on; I’ve echoed back on this topic previously so feel free to link along:

HempFest 25th Anniversary of a Protestival in Seattle; Welcome, weedies.

Hempfest 2014. We’d win the weed war.

Keep your eye on the prize, get marijuana off the DEA Schedule 1 of most dangerous drugs and dry this spat up at the Federal Level.  It is from there AG Jeff Sessions reaches his racist, regressive ideology into the heart of marijuana regulatory authority.  It should be a local issue, better known as States’ Rights, not national because like alcohol, tobacco & gambling that are issues of the people, within a specified locality, it is up to those people to decide how they run their locality.  If Jeff Sessions needs something more to do, promote cocaine, PCP and methamphetamine up from Schedule II in exchange and chase those folks around.

The benefits of pot outweigh the risks by a long measure per the majority, it is time to admit that it is a basic plant with known properties that can be cultivated for commerce.  Abstainers are no problem, just like teetotalers and non-smokers, we all have to get along.  The “tolerant localities” would hopefully interconnect so even if regulated weed isn’t available [yet] in your town there is some place near enough to get to if needed for peace and tranquility.  Chill, people.  It’s vice management:  if you want to do something then what do you do?  Pot, pills, powder – which has proven it can be managed?  Opiate and heroin overdoses are on the rise all over, there is no longer a small village to patrol, we are in bigger segments and more isolated as individuals so our FOCUS matters.  Simple rules for pot:  not for kids, no driving, no public consumption.  So, take stock of your options and please support yourself, then you might indulge yourself.

Pot is being sold in your town, trust me… but where do the profits go?

Stoner with a boner and Stoner’s Bone of Contention are potcentric fictional memoirs of a mild man with a wild side considered memorable sexual escapades.
Affordable in print and Kindle.




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HempFest – 25th Anniversary of a Protestival in Seattle – Welcome, weedies.

kathleen_k_stoner_with_a_bonerRead this:  https://www.amazon.com/Protestival-Seattle-Hempfest-Year-Retrospective/dp/B005JTK6QU

The medical liberation of marijuana truly matters but please don’t downplay the silly blaze prized for its own grace.

Consider the slow and steady grind to pot legalization, the States are rolling up pot with the liquor and tobacco in spite of the FDA’s wrong-headed categorization of weed as dangerous.  Instead of listing it as herbal and worth study; they implement this idea with our money to frustrate our legitimate inquiry.  We all “know” weed works somehow with the brain and mostly the effects are positive.  The fact is the more we know then the better we dose: some pot strains take the floaty-head stuff out and leave the pain relief, others go for sustaining waves of synapse jazz.

Marijuana enables some to lower dosages of more powerful pain meds, it can enhance an expansive hopeful attitude to buoy the spirit in times of illness, even if only by a strong social association with peace, love, and rock and roll.

In the spirit of HempFest weekend, when minds roam free, here’s something to think about since the Pot War is over.  Love∞sex, anyone?





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Sexotic – Erotic Kathleen K. Books – The First Five Years

I set out in 2011 to make print-digital masters of ten of my “previously private publications” within five years; as an experienced book builder I knew exactly what I wanted to have produced for me.  I learned that CreateSpace.com gave me the control I required plus creative insight I had not expected.

kathleenk erotica gender dynamics family life indieThe first book was a trial run, and the book-team assigned to my project popped this image onto it with that choppety font: they caught the mood and carved it on the cover.  Talk about a strong entrance to print-on-demand since that image draws then holds the eye, plus it thumbnails well.  Deciding which book to put into production next is part art and part strategy, author meet publisher (“Enjoy sharing that skull.”).  Joody grabs you long enough to notice there now are other characters-covers around her:  a dozen Kathleen K. Books examine the commotion of emotion around sex∞love and the infinity between.

Bedside readers for the adult mind… erotic & sexotic


Examine what it means to hide your primary sexual relationship from the people you love but flaunt it in front of strangers. 

Enjoy this flip and witty take on gender dynamics, deliciously explicit, as it probes themes of submission, permission, and admission.

Just Released!


hires_frontcover    frontcover HoneyB I 7174296_cover     PP Native Cover.4539172.indd

Stoner-cover copy image   Stoners_bone_of_contention_cover ARCHING Cover Memorial+3 pre-FINAL cover_rough0003a


Vivid family fiction for those who read
between, around and beyond the lines. 

frontcover   Stainless Mary BookCoverImage LentHand frontcover-medium  FAMILY cover front harvest from PDF

I set three goals for the first five years:  make books, establish online catalog-outreach, and sustain a social media presence.

Twelve books.  100+ posts here.  450+ Tweets.

Done, done and done.

This is the foundation for the next five years.  The turning point may be when I am accepted as a content-provider to an alternative-indie periodical of some sort for print and digital access: a home base from which to syndicate-replicate someday.  I represent a distaff voice, in the tradition of lady wits and witches… sassy, sexy, smart, scorching, and self-contained.  Right now I’m angling to luck across a keen scout who pulls my work forward and sees the business I am building… it’s all about the books.

Another bet that paid off was selecting Kirkus Reviews professional service as a trial-by-fire for the books themselves.  Consistent positive reviews from Kirkus bolster my literary cred, which is especially valuable for the Indie publisher.  “We see you.”

A witty and wise read, especially for fans of tough-minded heroines.

Stainless Mary  Kirkus Reviews Aug. 2012

A beautifully woven novel about an unusual boy… and how he learns to be a father, without having really been a son.

The Lent Hand   Kirkus Reviews  Jan 2013

Quotable tags like these shorthand the type of book it is, indicating the style and tone rather than touting a thriller-killer plot or genre-buzz.  Consider this discussion on how readers might pick their books.

I leverage the GoodReads.com Give Away program to garner hundreds of “looks” from specifically-interested purposeful readers seeking books and willing to invest an actual click.  I can “look back” at the entrants via online profile image and presence: I skim past fast, going for the overall energy.  I’ve worked on the down-low so long, it’s exciting to start the next five years with a more public stance on my planning.  So many people imagine the things they would create if they had an audience but I took the opposite approach, I created what I wanted to create for the challenge-fun of fabricating bedside readers for the adult mind.  Groundwork laid, now I seek the rowdier readers who will at least pull my words to their screen.

Whether it turns out to be squibs of romantic-graphic poetry scattered around a gritty weekly, providing a quick jolt of thinking for the wandering mind, or excerpts serialized from my vignette-rich and scenario-driven books themselves between art-concept glossy covers, I can only imagine.  This sought-after periodical presence would be in the long tradition of actual literature in counter-culture small presses and little magazines.  With Playboy dropping nudes, they are conceding the porn-pic war as rendered irrelevant to their mission, we only hope they stay alive in the literary and arts communities which was the other revolution Hugh Hefner took on.  Remember those glorious interviews and break-out stories between the impossible beauties and those crazy-cool parties “in the Grotto”?  There is more to “getting it” than sex.  What they called a club we now call a community.  Like-minded.

kathleenk_erotica_fiction_books_indieI’m walking fertile ground since Fifty Shades of Grey helped weaken the grip of male-modality in adult entertainment:  those books weren’t about content-quality but about the surge of consumer fever whether or not the literary community approved.  Traditional publishers were aghast at the volume of mommy porn.  Really?  (Really.)  I’m not banking on a book or three, I’m presenting a 12-book collection available online today.

My investment in the actual book masters establishes my freedom, each title is available on demand with no further cost or effort on my part.  It’s a leap of faith to call a book finished, ending that interlude when a character’s bailiwick first exists without public criticism or praise, product of paper-pen-pixels grappling with the ineffable.  And then at one moment in time the writer declares the book to be complete as it will be, the people and places forever captured there.  Now, offered here.

Kathleen K Books — Next Five Year Plan

Produce five book print-digital masters.

Maintain online catalog-blog.

Sustain delivery of reTweetable @KathleenKxxx Tweets or similar evolving “pithy” webiverse.  Reactivate @Potcentric

Continue branding efforts as both a book collection, and as a dozen discrete titles.  To that end, I leave a steady set of markers: I was here, and here… and over here too.  Just linkin’ along.

Thankful.  Hopeful.

November 30, 2015

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Erotic-sexotic author seeks book bloggers seeking content

The challenge of blogging is content.  What to write about, how to capture concept then render it to others.  Whether you post to a small circle of friends, use your blog to enrich your writer–reviewer presence in the reading world, or you’re a culture vulture with others watching you circle the next target, there is something at KathleenKBooks.com for you to consider.  If you don’t blog, pass this invitation along to somebody who does…

I offer many topics in the context of my 12-book collection:  8 erotic-sexotic books for rowdier readers, and 4 family-life fiction books without the folderol of sex (although they are not without passion).  Contact me for a sample book or consider one of the 60+ posts I offer as commentary (see archives listed below.

Do you have anything to say about any of this?

  1. Women & Erotica
  2. Erotica v. Porn = Analog v. Digital?
  3. Voyeurism (The LunariumNamed to Kirkus Reviews’ Best of 2013)
  4. Graphic Poetry of Desire and Denial (Arching Over)
  5. Reefer & Romance (Stoner with a Boner and Stoner’s Bone of Contention)
  6. Sex work (Honey B., Sexual Consultant)
  7. Phone sex (nonfiction) (Sweet Talkers, Words from the Mouth of a Pay-to-Say Girl)
  8. Catholic women’s destiny determined by bio-plumbing?  (Stainless Mary)
  9. How do you become a father if you’ve never been a son?  (The Lent Hand)
  10. What do you do if your sister neglects her kids? (Joody)
  11. Independent publishing – CreateSpace.com
  12. Blogs-in-support of indie publishing
  13. “Second life” enterprise:  Erotica after 50 (Years of Age and Shades of Grey)
  14. Complex and detailed language in a world of memes
  15. Gender dynamics (man as prototype, woman as archetype)
  16. Tweeting lines from the books:  twitter.com/kathleenkxxx
  17. Book covers are judged – what makes a good cover?
  18. If you like one book by an author, will you seek out other books of theirs?
  19. As a writer, I’m thrilled when somebody wants a sequel but I’m less agreeable to the idea of “fan fiction” kidnapping my characters.  Your view?
  20. I’ve priced my print books at Amazon.com between $6.66 and $9.99, Kindle from $4.99 to $6.66.  What’s a good price-point to qualify as an impulse buy?


In pursuit of my publishing business, I’ve consulted with book promoters and social media captains, ran targeted ads, submitted work for professional assessments and peer review, etc., etc.  I continue to seek “buzz” around my rowdier readers who have to self-identify because you can never really know what someone is thinking (and reading is thinking).  So that’s why this call for conversation.

Echo back!  As the late great Joan Rivers says, “Can we talk?”

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Adulterated Love. Sex + Drugs. Prepare for 420 2014

The lyric recollections of Stoner, a fictional memoirist capturing his quest for romance and reefer, are not confessions of a carouser. He’s a man with a plan to balance his work-a-day world with dreamy nights of possibility. He savors his moments, polishes them. His skill with women starts with his choice of woman: he goes for the sane ones, the wary not the paranoid; does she maintain a stable orbit – can they synchronize?

The pot thing is a natural element in his society, his filthy drug habit is mild compared to the pharmaceutical pleasure-pills and addictive opioids and brain-blowers like speedy acid. He rolls right along, not begrudging the drinkers and tobacco smokers their social acceptance. It’s only a matter of time before marijuana settles back where it belongs, like liquor and porn, responding to the marketplace.  What?  Him worry?  He no think so.

These two potcentric sexotic Stoner books come highly recommended.

Written in a loose, free-wheeling prose that mimics the narrator’s lifestyle, the story glides from woman to woman and bong hit to bong hit without the burdens of plot or conflict.

… a memorable sexual escapade.

 By Kirkus Reviews Dec. 2012 re: Stoner with a boner

He likes pot but he loves sex.


After pg 104   by Barry “Mandot” Messer

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

I was indentured to a lady mechanic who promised to teach me how to maintain my own vehicle in exchange for driving her crazy from time to time. She was all business down at the shop, demonstrating how I could change my car’s oil, check the hoses and fuses, tighten the connections, loosen the throttle… stuff I knew in theory that she put into practice. I chained up my tires a few times, I replaced my headlamps. I mastered my vehicle for real.

Her actual name is unusual so I’m disguising her as Irina, vaguely Slavic in looks and manner, not as brash as an American, perhaps Canadian? Lovely to look at, Irina was enchanting to consider as a partner, in her fitted overall dungarees and tight ribbed long-sleeve tee-shirt. You notice her hands are tattooed, subtly, almost like henna but the markings pick up color as they cross up her wrists. She was shy to reveal her body to me, it was fully tattooed, sleeves on both arms, images twining up her legs to flower on her thighs. She asked me not to speak of them, not to her or to anyone who knew her (but said yes when I asked if I could include her here); etched into her skin was the work of many people, over a long time, badges of things I’d never be told. She’d show up at my door, as we arranged in exchange for the car stuff, and we’d share a bong before we doused the lights.

I understood what she wanted, she’d been able to explain how I fit in her bigger picture, that I wasn’t being used to make somebody else jealous, I wasn’t a substitute for a heart-wrenching love. She wanted to be held and felt and fingered and fucked and tucked into sleep in the dimmest of lights, she wanted me to know her shape, not her surface, to seize her pieces in my hands as if they were as ordinary and unmarked as any other.

Irina was soft in my hands, her bones well hidden in plump firm skin, her voluptuous shape pressed against me from all angles, contorting around me to maintain maximum skin time, my entire body engaged in containing her. Heavy globes with outsize nipples thrust forward from her chest, counterbalanced by her generous ass, looking firm but jiggling when she moved. She acted with a single aim to keep me interested, to hold my focus. She moved and I moved, I surrendered to her schedule but held my own when the time came. She was a shape in the dim to me; her movements were shadowed, still I felt their impact.

I was going through a phase in my life when I had withdrawn from the romantic arena. There was no fight left in me, I didn’t have fuel to ignite a connection so it took someone like Irina to note my utility as a toy. I had to be solid and knowable, set a low flame, a functioning male but lacking interest in being a sociable human. I had to be the kind of guy who would evaluate Irina’s offer and see she was talking about an exchange. She wasn’t giving me anything sexual, it was just the opposite; what she gave me was lessons on car maintenance, what she asked for was simple intercourse, spicy and hot, within a specified time frame.


I run into all kinds of deal-makers when out and about. Pot dealers. Sex dealers. It’s part of the fun of being free with my time.

“I cream for cash.”



“Let me check my wallet. Whip cream?”

“Double cream.”


I can’t say that I’m used to being naked. I get naked. I like being naked. I’m always aware I’m naked, I feel the air on me, I catch sight of stuff I don’t usually see, and I am at ease in the sense I’m fit for duty.

No, I’m not a nudist. It’s always going to heighten my senses to remove all my armor; it is an unsheathing of the weapon-temple-casing that is closest to the essential me.

When I see naked women I feel that same jitter, I’ve been intimate to varying degrees with a rich pool of females and can say that if they are naked or not naked is a defining moment. They can be disheveled, unbuttoned and unsnapped, even half-naked, still they are protected by fabric.

When everything falls away there is the strictest of taboos broken, it is a crossing over to an admission of your basic presentation. No high heels, no push-up bras, no shaping of any sort: being naked makes us feel vulnerable.

A few times, she beat me to it and I had the odd sensation of being (at least partially) dressed in the presence of a nude woman. She was stripped of something that I retained. I might join her sooner or later but for that moment we were not equally invested in the outcome. It would be easier for me to turn and walk away still clothed than for her to first have to dress before making an exit.

I never again would have not seen her naked.


After a hike we boiled up water for coffee or tea. We shared pot-nut bread for desert. We had each contributed some bud for our baker buddy to transubstantiate into some edible form, and we warned our guests to think clearly before we brought them to the camp site (because they sure wouldn’t after they got there). We were in the middle of a forest on a huge plateau, cushioned by good quality camping gear, with lanterns, flash­lights, and spare flashlights. We were anchored there, having agreed that the cars’ keys would be locked in the tackle box then held by Darren, our designated straight guy. Nobody was going anywhere physical on this partic­ular trip, it was all about our surroundings and each other, what we felt and thought.

Things got a bit blurry between sundown and moonrise but then at some point a stout woman backed me up against the trunk of a tall strong pine tree, I was caught up in the contrast of rough bark and her fluffy sexy self pressed against my front. Even as she knocked her crotch against mine, I whispered to her to tell me her name. Who was she? I knew what she was doing. I liked how she was doing it. I didn’t need her address. I needed her name so I could tell her what this all felt like, the woods and her hot honey scent mixing in my mind, my curiosity rising. Nothing more was going to happen, we were all overnighting as buddies, we were not pairing off, and as far as I knew I’d never get this close to her again. When we broke apart, sometime later but much too soon, I was thrilled that eventually I’d be in my sleeping bag under the stars bathed in moonlight with a simmering memory of this one particular woman, Jenny…. Jenny pushed me against the tree, Jenny whispered her own name to me, she gave a little shiver when I said her name, ohh, Jenny… you feel dreamy to me, delightful. You are magnificent tonight, sweet Jenny. A touch of aggression, a hint of compliance. Remarkable. I’ll think of you, I’ll think of this. I like who you are. Jenny.




I have a standing offer to my fans for review copiesAPRIL 2014 LIMITED OFFER for free book.  Let me know if you’re curious.  Act now to have smokin’ hot reading material on hand for 420.   Info@KathleenKBooks.com


KathleenKBooks.com       Fan Page

#sexybook #potcentric #RowdierReader #420

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Sweet Talkers: the seminal voice of indie-author Kathleen K.

My first book was published in New York City in 1994, brokered by a real literary agent, back when this was the only route to readers.

hires_frontcover             hires_backcover

Sweet Talkers (Words from the Mouth of a Pay-to-Say Girl) was an outspoken chronicle of an actual phone-sex business and the masturbatory fantasies it was based upon.  The book went to paperback in 1997 then slipped out of print.  It has been an online collectible for over fifteen years.

Jamie is the narrator, the alter-ego who runs the tele-erotic business meaning she trains the operators and works the line and interviews potential talent by getting frisky to see if they can follow.  She is the seminal voice (how could I resist?).  The dual punch of literal call diary excerpts like this:

Noon to 4 p.m. on a Wednesday in February

12:02 Relieve Helen; 12:04 silent; 12:06 silent; 12:16

silent;; 12:29-30 how’s your pussy?; 12:32-33 silent;

12:42 silent; 12:59-1:08 interview style, graphic

technique; 1:??-12 do you do girls? same caller,

slow to interact; 1:13 silent; 1:19-26 5’10”, 165#, has

girlfriend, masturbation; 1:28-29 new caller, couple

of questions; 1:30-31 b.j.; 1:34-35 background

a-hems to a provocative but discreet come-on from

me; 1:36-40 1st call, kind of different, might like a

moaner; 1:47-56 hard to hear, either ‘what sex’ or

‘butt sex’; 1:57-2:03 Hawaii, lucky there, sexy talk

until he thanks me a lot; multi-listeners through

both connections, all scatter when talker departs;

2:10-19 young, kissing style, sensuous, lots of girls,

good body, work out (well-defined), great “cut

up” stomach, 5’9”, 165#, 8% body fat, bone hard,

likes long sessions, quickies OK; 2:20-27 no jack

off, problem is he likes sex, gets too wound up, b.j.

standing up, doesn’t eat out unclean crotch, bathe

in oils to massage; 2:34-43 creeeeeeek, silent!; 2:36-

43 hello, sexy talk with listeners, let’s all scream

together?; 2:44 hello, click; 2:49-58 called back, love

dog, use images later, big dick is a problem (9”), likes

to listen; 2:59-3:08 fuck scene, big dick, relate to real

fuck, needs wide hipped, deep cunted female, loves

to hear about big cunts (hand fit the glove); 3:27-

?? silent; 3:18-25 pretend to be wife being eaten by

someone else since he won’t BUT THEN HE DOES;

3:29-33 one talker, not much feedback, 2 silent; 3:34

someone still on??; 3:35-37 cock in hand, would

gladly feed it to me; 3:??-28 silent or hangup; 3:53-

4:02 was male model for bachelorette party, six gals,

6’2”, blond, 180#, 25-30 year old “audience,” couple

of hours, tie on bed for pics but stuck thermometer

in his prick, didn’t hurt at all (!?), (bride-to-be didn’t

play); 4:00 Sybil arrives, what’s a gigolo, caller said it

wasn’t a man who seduces women for their money

or prestige… reassured her he was wrong.


and re-created phone calls like this:

“I’m back, it’s me, Steve.”

“Hi, buddy. What’s happening in the video now?”

“The redhead is on her knees sucking the black dude while the

white guy fingers her ass, she’s got great tits, bouncy.”

“That turn you on?”

“Oh, yeah, three-somes! It’s my all-time fantasy.”

“Pretend I look like the redhead if you like, imagine your hands

on my body.”

“Jamie, get on your back, OK?”

“OK, hold on, yeah, I’m on the bed, on my back. I’m naked.”

“Lift your knees and spread them, wide, real wide, until it

almost hurts, yes, spread ‘em, I just want to look at your pussy, I

stop the video at the cunt shots, I love women!”

“I’ve got a muscular pussy, pink-lipped, large and well-defined,

with a thick patch of black pubic hair I keep trimmed.”

“I could play with you for hours, like we could watch videos and

I’d just stroke you.”

“I get so wet, Steve, sticky-sweet and sexy. Run your finger

down the slit, right into my secret hole, the one I dare to show

you… think of my hands on my thighs spreading wide for you so

you can see it, feel it.”

“I fast-forwarded to a cum scene, Jamie, I’ve watched it a million

times, she’s masturbating on her back with her knees open, the

camera is right there! You can see her whole body get rigid, she

gets so close… I know what she’s feeling!”

“Imagine me just like that with you as the camera, you are

filming it for your imagination, you can see me open and inviting

you closer, my cunt-hole is dripping I’m so excited, and my fingers

are shoving my mound around, making my clit throb, my hips are

lifting off the bed, you zoom in closer…”

“Ohhh, yeahhh, I zoom in closer…”

“You see it happen, you have captured it forever…”

“I watch it, close up, tight, you come in my face, right in my

face, I can feel you come.”

“Such a pretty pussy, she likes you.”

“Ohh, I can’t thank you enough, especially that zoom-thing, it

was perfect.”

“Darlin’, you can direct me anytime. Remember me when

you’re watching videos, OK?”

“You bet, Jamie, you bet I will. Bye, ‘till next time.”


and commentary like this:

People will ask me if I talk like this to my lovers. Repeat after

me, people: Jamie is a character, and, as part of her character,

then, yes, lovers are talked to this way.

Only one caller has admitted to having a “love doll,” a life-size

plastic surrogate love-object, and I didn’t hear that until after I’d

worked over 1,000 hours on the line. He said it was no good on

top, no pressure, but was OK to lay on top of and hump into… it

wasn’t as if he TALKED to it, after all.


earned the book critical praise and reader enthusiasm.  Here’s what readers have told me:

 “I read it one-handed.”

“Wore it out.  Bought a replacement (and a spare).”

“Filthy.  Positively filthy.  Thank you!”

“This isn’t a book, it’s   a film-treatment with dialog included.    If you can cast the right Jamie, everybody else plays a cameo.””

“It’s a bedside reader for sure; I keep mine in the nightstand   with the toys!”

“So many hilarious beautiful words pinpointing that singular   feeling of passionate release.”

“Loved it, didn’t think I would but I   very much did!”

“I want to recommend it but I’m not   sure who to, it’s really steamy and kind of sweet.”

I’m 20 pages in and can’t put the book down. This is getting me all   kinds of wild!


Spurred on by the moderate success of this non-fiction porn book, I authored over a dozen books while trying to figure out a gateway to rowdier readers.  Publish-on-Demand is the answer for me.  It takes about 90 days to bring a finished manuscript to book form including cover design and interior proofs.  I’ve got book #11 in production now.  CreateSpace.com allows me to “bank” book masters for print and Kindle while I promote the collection of adults-only and all-age narrative fiction.  Priced to share.

Jamie lives on in all the books, she’s sassy and wise and oddly thoughtful.  She channels all those guys who told her what they wanted, what they really really wanted, was for somebody to want them.

KathleenK.xxx for rowdier readers


#erotica #phone-sex #sexysexy

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We come like a heartbeat, a rolling pulse, emptying one chamber to fill another.

Make Me                  Take It

Let Me                     Have It

make-me cover image

erotic poetry

 Kathleen K.




you always make me feel


over you, on you

with you


* * * * *

i stand, naked, in your mid-day dreams

shining for you

tender tabernacle

for a never wavering prick

* * * * *

we’re holding our breaths

afraid to alter the balance

it’s so perfectly right

like one of those kinetic sculptures

that knock their pieces

together then apart

together then apart


* * * * *

i want some

i want one

i want you

* * * * *

i stood behind you

and reached around

my hand like yours encircled your dick

but my other could slip

between your legs to cup your nuts

my forearm pushing against your ass

my tits warm and full on your back

as we spilled you like a pitcher

both watching it pour

* * * * *

up the backs of my legs


a hem lifting



to where the seams end

dark bands

above which, plump thighs

skin galore

* * * * *

the brazen stance repels you

but in truth you always had better sex

with people you didn’t exactly like

you tried harder, pushed more

daring you both to perform at peak

convoluted but effective

so withstand the initial withdrawal

for the satisfying slam when we notch crotches

* * * * *

serial jack off

first, me for you

then you on me

* * * * *

i didn’t lie

those are my own pinch marks…

i missed you so

* * * * *

the goal is to go over

the edge

teetering teetering

finally tottering

* * * * *

from behind me

your hands curve

and cover my breasts

like my own do


* * * * *

i sit up

you stand back

we connect

male plug

female receptor

alternating currents

* * * * *

there are times

when your prick weeps

shiny drops of feeling

* * * * *

leather gloves on a naked me

moving all over a naked you

* * * * *

tender human holding

what sometimes crackles

is a hum, is a hush

our surfaces in contact

rise and fall

whisper kiss

that’s all    is all

* * * * *

i’m so tender

when you are

so sensuous

so fine

but when you’re bad

i’m even worse

and when you fail

then i won’t try

* * * * *

glossy lips

reflecting desire

to cling, to cover

to color

even stain

* * * * *

you’ll never know

what i feel

… it’s rather sad

because it is so beautiful

i see my very own star

(you see it twinkle in my eyes)

* * * * *

no, i will not stop


stop this

* * * * *

chapped nipples

sore buns

and a sandpaper pussy

raspy nerves

it isn’t that the thrill is gone

it is that the party’s over

i want my body back

* * * * *

the feel of flame

misted lips

skin that crawls

i love you

* * * * *

you come: a liquid signature

purely yours

* * * * *

there at the tip of my nipple

in a space so small it’s a nub

hide such feelings

hot and cold

sharp –

plucked like stringed instruments


* * * * *

oh, the longing

for the longing

the wanting want

* * * * *

you ask would i please

please you

like this

would i, please

do everything you like

and like it



ARCHING OVER  Collected Collections of Graphic Poetry

KathleeenK.xxx/Gift Ideas

#giftideas #erotica #romantic #explicit #complicit

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Calling all rowdier readers: Inventive, intelligent erotica for mature audience only

As an independent producer of books, it was heartening to hear that people still read; it is easy to say that video has taken over but that is actually a form of distraction for the folks who wouldn’t have been reading anyway.

The erosion at the border between readers and non-readers isn’t significant as long as overall we continue to prize the time-travel peculiar to writing.  Visual media transcends language, I can’t argue that the complexity isn’t alluring.  It cannot replace the building of impressions word by word, crafted to communicate the subtleties (or brash facts, or whatever) in the common language of writer-reader.  That’s why translators reweave the fabric of the story because it cannot be done word for word or “out of sight, out of mind” in English becomes “blind and crazy” on a foreign page.  That’s why declaring sexy writing as graphic is a fact but calling it erotic is a matter of judgment.  So many words… so many meanings.

Story telling is tribal, it invokes a common lexicon, known characters with specific motivations:  the big bad wolf, and the fairy-elf-pixie chastising the goblin-imp-troll.

Up next for my readers is the second in a quintet of sexotic books about a retired call girl turned erotic advisor.  Honey B. tells a truer-than-true tale of commercial satisfaction.  She gives Frank advice about Dick.


Honey B., Sexual Consultant (Book II of V) – EXCERPT    (All rights reserved.)

People want to want and be wanted, they consider desire an exciting state if it leads to contact and painful if there is no resolution for this urge towards another.  Many times I’ve had couples discover that what bugged one was that the other “let” them have sex but never initiated sex, or offered service, or accepted service, never broke whatever routines they’d attached to their coupling.  It’s the sexy underwear debate, not only that you wear it but that you put it on of your own accord.  Men imagine women stripping, selecting the flimsies, sliding them on, showing them off.  It is partly how it looks and partly what it means to elect to look like that.  Men appreciate GO signals.  Inter-male contact relies a lot on signs and context: you can punch a guy in the boxing ring but not on the football field, rump slapping is not an element of chess.

When their female partner trumpets a sex call, the male can respond with enthusiasm.  Once in gear they’ll usually go all the way.  Much of their frustration in a given situation lies not in the fact they didn’t get sex but that it took so long for them to understand they weren’t going to get sex.  They stoked the fire for an engine that was never going to leave the garage.  Men’s inventions and machines offer red lights, warning flags, most men would benefit from forthright sex signals.  Not getting it is bad enough, you see, but thinking you might, maybe, then realizing not, that just aggravated them.


Jane was the epitome of plainness.  She was plain plain.  Nothing about her was plainer than any other thing, she was of medium height, average build, even featured, yet inside her sizzled a slutty bitch.  Nothing seemed more incongruous than to frame her unremarkable face in a feather mask or to stick tassels on the tips of her 34B bosom.  She thought she should be a more successful dominatrix but it wasn’t happening.  She had the necessary accessories, the right attitude but – fizzle.  I told her to donate that stuff she was wearing to a poor whore’s home and get some button-down-the-front dresses, a few drab wigs, and a selection of common household items like wooden spoons, a belt, a yard stick.  I was of the opinion some men didn’t think they deserved an exotic mistress, to perform slave service for plain Jane was to face the true unworthiness of a miserable dick.

To our way of new thinking, since she had to work so hard to appear exotic, she might turn about-face and step a bit deeper into the verbal works for stimulating her clients.  She could learn to talk nasty instead of wasting time decorating her plain exterior.  We brainstormed various patters for her, these were sex speeches she could build on.  She distinguished herself from the common practitioner of this art by mesmerizing them without a shiny exterior.  She slapped them for calling her beautiful because it was so obviously a lie.  How could a lower life form expect a beautiful woman to notice him?  Even plain Jane wouldn’t touch him unless he paid.  Her pussy was just a hole; her tits two humps with bumps, nothing deluxe about them.  Don’t even think Jane gave a shit if you enjoyed yourself.  If you paid, you played.  She enjoyed your money.  Every pathetic excuse for a man who could raise the price could get his face licked or kicked, she’d twirl a cucumber in your ass as nonchalantly as she bent forward to be fucked (never ever fucked face to face, she didn’t like to be “close” when she took it from a john).  She would dismissively shake her head at a guy even as she yanked an ejaculation out of his cock, proving he was nothing but a cum-cow, milked by a sullen maid; next?

Jane and I enjoyed a fruitful collaboration, we found it easy to discuss her prostitution, it was obvious I didn’t consider it odd that the soul of a sexual dominant had come plainly wrapped.  Why not?  I’ve met many hot-looking women with cold hearts.  Jane was willing to do her best but there is so little advice available to a pro when her methods are stale.  She discovered sex work was easier when you were honest.  She never liked the habitual, stereotypic response of her customers, she didn’t let them get away with their mundane play acts.  Where else but at my place was she going to have time to work this out for herself?


Ollie did not like having his penis touched by other people: not by their hands, their lips, their vaginas, their butts.  It gave him the creeps.  He didn’t like to masturbate.  He did not consider himself “ill” or “dysfunctional” but he did want me to tell him, honestly, was it possible he was just naturally not a sexual person.  I said I thought the “creeps” were a response, if he was truly asexual he’d be unresponsive to stimulus.  Did it give him the creeps to have his hand touched?  His elbow?  His shoulder?  His chest?  No.  No.  No.  No.  Would a gloved hand fondling him be better than a bare one?  Never thought of it.  Probably not.  Condom-covered cock?  Didn’t know, hadn’t tried.

I told him, honestly, he was demonstrating an aversion that I would call a “mis-function” in that he invested special energy resisting such typical contact.  Did he dislike touching others?  In general, no, he did not dislike touching people; he, for instance, could square dance but, specifically, sexually, nope, he didn’t want to touch them any more than he desired to be touched.  I suggested this aversion might be compensation for whatever deeper peculiarity of circumstances engendered this anti-sexuality in him.  It would not be necessary to seek the roots of that personal quirk as long as he considered it as such.  If he ever felt it was intruding on what he wanted from life then it would have escalated to the status of a problem and would then deserve attention of a personality specialist.

Ollie went out my door, back to his neuter world of engines and gizmos, satisfied with the idea he could ignore the harping of his sisters to get involved with someone.  They didn’t like his long-term bachelorhood, they expressed disapproval of his solitude, didn’t all people who grew up in a family want a family?  If you didn’t, did that mean you were repudiating your family?  And your family’s families?  Not to Ollie.  He was paying his bills, keeping his yard mowed.  He attended all family functions, belonged to the VFW and went monthly to their socials (socializing, not hoping to “meet someone”).  He always was glad he’d gone because he felt he should go, he’d talk to people, trade assessments of local events and developments:  he liked the mall, he didn’t think the town needed a third topless joint.

I became Ollie’s other monthly outlet, for him our conver­sations were a personal foray.  Whether by genetic chance or social conditioning Ollie lacked motivation to couple but he was curious about coupling.  He was not missing information, he knew precisely how and what sex was but in earlier self-examination had determined he did not like it.  He always ended up hurting the feelings of his partner because he could not attain an erection.  Of those who stayed around long enough to hear his explanation that it wasn’t her he didn’t want touching it, he didn’t want any one, any woman, any man, anybody, to touch his genitals, too many of the women forged ahead figuring surely SHE could “fix” him.  He finally gave up dating.  The women he knew were either married so he couldn’t pal around with them, or single but considered him eligible – for which he disqualified them…  Contrary to the social myth that women don’t want sex, it had been his experience that when a man and a woman are together often enough even if the man makes no move whatsoever sooner or later the woman will move against him.  Then he has to say no, thank you, how kind… but, really, no.  No.  NO.

Sooner or later I thought he would run into a companion but it didn’t happen.  Ollie was attractive, solvent, a good conversationalist, handy around the house.  He had tried forewarning new lady friends that he would not pursue the sex angle but somehow they mostly thought he was using reverse English to learn her sexual potential.  The more he protested, the more they yearned to learn why.


Sense memories play a part in sexual exploration, not all arousing input comes from touch and sight so we close our eyes and reach for the subtler signals:  what is the sound of ejaculation, the scent of orgasm, what does ready seem like?

Lots of talk of physique and technique, but I was not a surrogate providing hands-on education.


Penny and Brand were in a sex slump.  Their jobs were familiar and nothing was going exceptionally right or wrong between them.  How could they spice up their love life?  They weren’t seeking more personnel or anything “odd” but I seized on the fact they found the identity of participants crucial.  When we discussed fantastic sex, setting wasn’t men­tioned, equipment not noted, for them sex was about people.  Perhaps they could rent costumes, slip away from the mundane and approach each other as a knight might circle a queen, like Romeo dogged Juliet, reaching forward and backward in time so as not to be confined in love matters to the daily reality of being outwardly middle-aged, middle-of-the roaders.  Shedding their current “skin” might allow them to act differently, they might act like actors!  Action!

They looked at each other and laughed.  I could not have known they’d actually met in a college play and first kissed while dressed as a butler and a maid (off script).  They considered costumes a great idea, stunningly on-point in our first meeting.  How does this happen?  Intuition?  Practice? Combo?  I struck a chord with them, they played their parts.


Lady readers, close your eyes and slowly squeeze the muscles of your pelvic floor, clench it tight then shift it forward.  Imagine a man in the room, a finger in your hole, a prick pushing forward.  Men, imagine that.



#erotica #sexybook #KathleenK

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Kathleen K. answers five more questions about writing for rowdier readers

Five More Questions about writing erotica.  See 21 Questions for indie author Kathleen K.

Kathleen, do you think the arts and entertainment world are becoming more sexually open or less?

Exaggerated sexuality splashes over music and video, film and advertising.  It deadens the impact of the rare and real opportunities we have to consider passion in our lives.  The wedding industry corrupts the ceremony of private pledge to everlove.  Fashion parades itself on stick-thin models who diminish the confidence of the consumer they claim to embody.  I do think pandering to the lowest common denominator is all twisted up in commerce and culture, and not to our benefit.

Erotica flourishes underground, taking a sacramental approach to the magic words of desire. Shamed by the religious-civil morality police for celebrating sex, the average reader lacks the confidence to judge for themselves when offered explicit verbalizations of natural lovemaking.  People can get hot under the collar with a banned book in hand.  I think it is the personal reaction to erotica that proves its power.  We’re thrown in the salty sea of commercial sexuality without a defense, it is just there on the screen, on the billboard.  Written erotica demands you move yourself ahead one word, one sentence, one paragraph at a time.

As in any form of literature, there are standards and conventions in erotica that distinguish it from porn.  Basically, is the writing all and only sex (porn) or were there connectors via dialog and scene setting to qualify as “artful”.  Our vocabulary is wide open; our acknowledgement of the basic interconnection options available to us is presumed.  Erotica is deliberate.  Using deliberate to mean considered, judged, evaluated, meditative.  Erotica straddles the reader.

Porn-adgraphy is deliberate too… deliberately thrust into view not to celebrate the deeper powers of soulful attraction but to sell whiskey, motor oil, and web domain names.

Have sexual attitudes in this country changed over the past 10-20 years and therefore, such views are reflected in our books and entertainment, or is it that our literature and entertainment have pushed the envelope and the public’s views have followed along?

We’ve polluted ourselves sexually, like we do the air and water (we’re sloppy), it shows in the decline of our bodily health.  Overtly sexual messaging dulls the receptors, it is as simple as that.  If you want to prize the images of intimacy then you must make some choices about what you watch by choice and what you absorb passively like the beer commercials on a tavern’s TV.

This oversaturation is part of the video culture that came of age as the century turned and settled.  We were doing fine with our Y2K cable TV and our mobile telephones which were not high-speed interactive processing centers.  You flipped it open and made a call; you flipped it closed until you wanted to talk on it again; it didn’t talk to you.  Even with that primitive communication system, we were meeting and mating and procreating.  Exponential growth in what you can see on your own screen, what you can pipe into your ears has some relation to the need for Viagra and scientific sperminating.  We brag about our hip appreciation of sex more than we experience its true glory which is by definition a private act.

We’ve got a bit of monkey-see, monkey-do left in us so the shiny objects and pounding music of visual input are hypnotic.  If I drink that potion, I will drive that car; if I smell like something other than my own self, I have a better chance of connecting with a partner who disguises their scent too.

Books take an investment from the reader and thereby carry additional impact.  My bedside reader books are tailored for the nightstand.  Like all intoxicant-stimulators, dosage matters.  Some folks need one simple good-night vignette, some want a couple to mix and match.  There are changes in tone, in personnel, in subjective objectives that let the reader skip past any that don’t ring right (at the moment).  Unlike Fifty Shades of Grey where you must appreciate the dominant male and subordinate female motif, my books shift focus to all sorts of scenarios.  There is value in variety, allowing each reader to find parts of the book that work for them without begrudging that some pages go to those of other interests.  It’s about thinking about sex.

Do books lead the way in terms of influencing and commenting on sexual mores — or is that role being usurped by film or cable TV or other forms of art?

Books remain the hidden asset of our influential thinkers, there are few true intellectuals who ever forsake reading.  Reading closes down those other sources of input in order to drop into a world of words.  People can read amidst distraction, on a bus, with the dishwasher chugging away.  Some reading is snatched a page or two at a time; other times you set up survival supplies, kick back the recliner and enter a COVE away from everything else.

Of course video impacts reading, because it represents a separate stream of info.  Before TV… before even radio… cultural significance was given to magazines or books.  Publishing is controlled by restricting access to presses and paper and distribution points.  What was available to read fifty, a hundred, two hundred years ago, was “richer” on a per-volume basis due to scarcity of choices.  It wasn’t better or worse but it had more impact on the individual since they saw so little of it. Video is the EXTRACTION OF WORDS which means the message is accessible by a less invested audience.  Telegraphing visuals through the eyes floods the mind, reading a word at a time teases it forward (wayward).

How do your books make the reader feel?

Squirmy sometimes… mostly grateful.  They stress how smart the books are.  For those who do enjoy sensuous writing, I provide them ardent landscapes.  I have collated so many perspectives that the reader has been able to grasp essential details about what is truly attractive to them.  You say you like boobs?  Perky upturned titties or heaving bosoms with dark crowns?  Pert bottom or a big fat can?  Saucy talk is impish, almost elven.  Erotica works best when it carries the reader forward, sets the pace as part of the out-of-control indulgence in savoring luscious language about sex.

There’s some consternation about my book Sweet Talkers in particular because it is nonfiction.  This upfront chronicle of running a phone sex business includes so much “unspeakable” dialog to and from the callers that it defies an easy dismissal.  This isn’t dirty, it’s rude – in a dare-you-say-you-don’t tone.  It was first published in 1994 and went to paperback in 1997.  That experience set me into a rich niche of collectible erotica.  I understood I was counterculture for the times but I also had faith that the times, they were a-changing.

Readers feel the possibilities that parade through the books, they are curious about the situations that percolate and escalate.  They are surprised that it is inventive and intelligent, frank and explicit, oddly thoughtful, successfully riding the fine line between not quite enough and a little too much.

As a woman, do readers relate to you differently when you are writing erotica than if you were a man?

I have been told readers “forget” that a female is writing my books because the male characters are so strongly drawn… as if men haven’t been strongly drawing female characters into our myths and fiction all along.  There is always a little kick when women enter a sex-based exchange:  any woman, any time.  Overall there is such a strong sense of humanism in the books that I hope it dulls the gender-skewed perspective on sex.  [He complains he’s doing it just three times a week, she complains he wants it every other day.]

Readers are engaged and aren’t overly concerned with the gender of the mechanic providing the linkage as long as the proverbial vehicle moves them along.

Spread ‘em.

Spread me.

My most economical phrasing of sexual dominance.  Who is fuckin’ who?  [You don’t know fuckin’ if you remember to say “whom” here.]  Bing-bang-boom.  It’s sweet and snarky, hot and hotter.  Choosing to provoke those reactions isn’t gender based, we’ve had our naughty bawds male and female, straight and gay, all along.  My gender has colored my late-Boomer childhood, my white American experience.  We’ve each got our finitude to contend with.  My day job is in IT so that’s another boy-land I’ve invaded… even there I am counterculture.  Gender rules culture… I try to counter that.


#erotica #sexy #KathleenK

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Bras in Space – Boobs in Government – Presumptions and Surprises

Playtex took bra-smarts and created workable astronaut suits – an example of perspective determining outcome.  While the military-type contractors made prototype rigid suits of moon-armor, the BODY DRESSERS understood the challenge was to engineer fabric to support and protect a moving person in a hostile environment.

Gender dynamics push and pull the story forward.  Why is it surprising that seamstresses held the answer to the precision construction of space uniforms?  Why is it not surprising that Playtex didn’t play Uncle Sam’s Procurement Roulette very well?  The astro-military complex needed something more organic than their unyielding smash and crash protection; they needed to enfold the astronaut’s body layer by layer weaving strength from disparate pieces.

There were men at Playtex, this isn’t a Jack v. Jill story; it is about presumptions and surprises.  Most important is the notion of fair evaluation of the competing products and ideas, of the actuality, no matter who created it.  The demonstrable fact was Playtex had the expertise and the workforce to tailor safety suits for outer space, and the bureaucrats were smart enough to (eventually) accept that.

COMMENTARY by indie author Kathleen K.

The tug of war over gender dominance is a male theory, as if it was axiomatic that competition exists between men and women.  That’s a man thing.  Women see it more as teaming, us against whoever is against us.  Women don’t have illusions about what male domination means:  assault, rape, and murder.  Check the stats on who is harming and who is harmed.  No effective leader-class dismisses the contribution of half its population, so whatever design flaws in the male-model world result in pollution, crime, and slavery cannot be separated from their flagship belief they are “masters”.  Women are not blameless, but we’ve never been in charge.

Feminism is not the answer, not if it merely reverses the polarity of judgment.  The genders are complementary by design.  We are not the same, but we are equal.  That’s a premise in my books.

FAMILY:  Love v. Money examines the emotional foundations of two female narrators.  It’s a two-for-one book with Baby Girl Battersea telling the story of a fatherless heir to a family fortune in the hands of her selfish uncle.  You, Drive North puts us in the driver’s seat of an accountant’s hijacked car as she tries to figure out what makes this intruder tick and how fast he is ticking.

Woven into these stories is the impact of being female, the intrinsic plus-minus of gender presumption set against the family-social background.  Neither story is a strident call for change; the observations articulate the tilt of being born female.

“There certainly is one way women are superior to men.
They are better at being women.”

from Stainless Mary by Kathleen K.

I like men, it is obvious in my writing; I married one; I raised one.  I appreciate and applaud them as individuals.  I’m not distracted by their pretensions of ascension as a group over women as a group.  One on one we’re even.  Each of us is given unique parts of the human whole:  we laugh, we weep, we dance, we sleep.  That’s the underlying discord for me:  that a seemingly sane person thinks the presence of his twig and berries specifically confers… intelligence, bravery, worthiness… beyond my own second-sex aspirations.  As a matter of fact.  No.  If men en masse embodied the acumen to actually run the show, they would make a world of balance and beauty to survive and thrive.  Theories of communism and humanism speak to our shared souls; practicalities of capitalism and territoriality overstuff the greedy.

The focus of males on male dominance is an entitlement mentality that undercuts the true power they have to lead and mold their own lives with allies of all sorts.  Instead, they follow the baying of the brethren who they trust beyond reason to lord over lesser beings:  females, children, weaker men, animals, crops, the land itself.  Even Space is a man’s world (so say the men).

We can abandon the male supremacy argument because in the race to quantify their superiority they muddied the water and polluted the air which is not a high-side outcome.  Given the percentage of children living in poverty versus percentage of politicians not living in poverty it is fair to say that men take care of themselves before their children which is tribal self-defeat.  Not all of them but enough of them disrespect their mates and disregard their offspring to use their selfishness as a meaningful character marker.  They abuse their mates with misdirected aggression (sorry, doll, bad day at the office), rising specifically from their hunger for “presence”.  They have to noticed, to be accommodated, to be obeyed, to be feared, they believe it is their right and therein lies the danger.

Luckily, women aren’t asking men to change the shape of their pelvises or give up team sports… simply cut back on the chest-thumping and dick-waving.  We get it.  You have an immature need to pronounce yourselves better than us.  Go ahead.  It doesn’t make it true and in a way it proves it false.


#erotica #KathleenK #goodread

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