Tag Archives: romance

Studying what we already know: men and women are different.

We have proven the gender difference is neural, cellular, bio-electrical, socio-emotional, and hydraulic.  Our brains are different, our bone mass is different, our hair growth patterns are different.  Over and over we seek to quantify the abyss between men and women.

Book #9 in my collection is the second potcentric sexotic fictional memoir, Stoner’s Bone of Contention, and the narrator examines this gap by diving in.

**** EXCERPT ****

There is not a mere gap between the genders, there is an abyss.

a•byss   [uh-bis]   – noun

  1. a deep, immeasurable space, gulf, or cavity; vast chasm.
  2. anything profound, unfathomable, or infinite: the abyss of time.
  3. (in ancient cosmogony)
    1. the primal chaos before Creation.
    2. the infernal regions; hell.
    3. a subterranean ocean.

You have either been in the abyss or you have not. You might have approached it, examined its edges, sniffed its presence, licked its periphery, but in fact you have either been taken into the abyss between ♂ ♀ or you have not. Virgin or not. We’ve held to that distinction in our life experiences for recorded history. Then we invented all sorts of words to specify how far from virgin you become over time.

Clarifying further, ♂ v. ♀ draws deeper into the elemental differences as if to reflect the polarity of copper and iron. They can be alloys but one does not consume the other (watch for phases). This dichotomy whether of metals or humans can be a topic of conversation but it is not amenable to fundamental change. It is what it is. We are equal but we are not the same.

I am enchanted by the abyss, by that divide between sides, us men and those women. Gays, transgender, spinsters, priests… these folks are straddling a high-wire over the natural canyon of gender, locking into unusual configurations, unable to actually descend fully and freely (and frequently) to that most profound sensation of merging flesh interlocked by nature. I am fully formed and at peace with my choices. Confused people may stumble into the abyss, tumbling down along its edges. Abyss dwellers aim for the deep center of the breach where there is no resistance. To meet in the canyon between genders you must go all the way to the floor to connect with someone(s) from the other side who also descended there. Roiling in the gorge, we surrender to greater forces, the inevitable gravity of sexual connection. We always fall deeper once we tear away our fact-jackets and surrender to our brain-driven bodies.

**** END EXCERPT ****

Erotica, at least the hetero expression, brings focus to the difference in design and motive between the genders even as it shows the human unity in acts of sex∞love.  The neutral fact of gender difference was exploited when men took hold of many “powers” of life (money, property, law) specifically acting as men and more pointedly declaring themselves self-evidently superior versions of the human being.  We can’t untangle that now, together we advanced over time and for that we should be grateful.  Whatever it took to get us to this point has bred a curious, inventive population.  We have such talents!  We can re-balance.  Men were quick to take the big things on like government, commerce, war, but less willing to do the small every-day (every single damn day) stuff like parenting and citizenship.  We’re better off blending our strengths, yin-yang, like twining varieties of ivy.  You can’t let one choke the other.  If you buy the Adam and Eve story then man is the prototype and woman is the archetype.  We can parry and thrust all day about it.  That can be entertaining.  Doesn’t change anything.

What we cannot ignore is the outcome of the current value system that has millions of US citizens in jail, tens of millions of US minors living in poverty, and soul-crushing tax debt for our heirs.  This is economic mayhem systematized into bureaucracies.  Shame on us for following such uncouth leadership.

Violence is still one essential difference in the genders.

“Men are afraid women will laugh at them. Women are afraid men will kill them.

— Nicola Griffith, Hild

The fact is some men will kill women for laughing at them – how dare she!  (And some women do have vicious laughs.)  What we need to do is separate the BIG goal of gender parity from the IMMEDIATE goal of gender détente.  Between individuals there can be accord; we meet and mate as individuals.  Any bonded pair that thinks either member is weaker than the other based on gender will struggle for balance over time.  For love to work, there must be thoughtful consideration given to both sides of the bargain.

“He felt protective of her.  Not because she was weak but because in her strength she was precious.”

— Jeromeo Clover – narrator/character by Kathleen K.

My vivid family fiction books center on deep and abiding relationships without the folderol of overt sex acts; the quote above is from The Lent Hand (Adventures in Beach Town Towing).

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

A comical, honest love story between two lost souls who complete each other.”

— Kirkus Reviews Jan 2013

The “family” fascinates us, we spy on the workings of our friends and neighbors, gleaning strategy for our own household dance.  My kind of readers like to slip into the world of a book, they want to believe and experience the chances and choices as circumstances evolve.  I let the story roll forward, characters wither or thrive, not everybody wins.

I offer my readers a sense of perspective that does not dismiss all men as brutes nor revere all women as sainted.  Life is much more interesting than that.  There are underlying themes of duty and honor that run through yet each book establishes a world of its own:  a tow truck driver and the women who love him, an empty-nester mom with a second chance at love, a sociable voyeur, a fatherless heir to a family fortune in the hands of her selfish uncle.

I invite you to read.

KathleenKBooks.com ← Click to LOOK INSIDE the books

#erotica #genderdynamics #fiction

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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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