Tag Archives: rowdier reader

Most likely the average penis will fit the ordinary vagina

kathleen_k_sexotic_penis_size_erotic A Study of Attractiveness, Penis Size and Body Shape

You’d think by now we’d have figured out most people are around average (thereby establishing the average).  The enduring question of penis size has been answered yet again: 5.16 inches in length when erect, and 4.59 around, according to an analysis of more than 15,000 appendages around the world.

Since the root cause of this question is the idea that the penis is intended to fill the vagina, where is the corresponding target dimensions for the phallic missile?  That begets the question:  how would you measure the vagina?  We know it can accommodate a baby’s head with proper preparation…  these statistics on penis length and girth don’t begin to address the convoluted nature of that vault and its keeper.

The underlying unease about the equipment pinpoints the lack of honesty in our literature and art when it comes to what makes sex good for people.  It isn’t merely beauty, it isn’t only power, and it sure is not dick-length.  Sexual viability is a pre-verbal accord in some ways, a subliminal click.  Long before a woman sees a man’s penis (in the usual order of social-sexual involvement), she’s assessed his suitability and only an extreme anomaly would reverse that.  On a bio-science level, we’ve got a nearly universal adapter going on the hole and pole business, it is rare that anyone strays too far from the Bell curve bulge.

This isn’t the first pitch I’ve made for men to use what they’ve been given and for women to do the same, the theme runs through my books:  Penis size is a fact, what matters is a judgment.

In my choice to write sexotic vignettes around the themes of voyeurism, reefer and romance, phone fantasy, and sex⇔love strategy; I am assigning a high value to potential.  These bedside readers are brimming with ideas to consider – be thoughtful about your sexual happiness, consider elements to seek within and beyond yourself, identify purpose to confer meaning.  And have some fuckin’ fun.


SAMPLE – Not suitable for some, appreciated by others.

–from Honey B., Sexual Consultant (Book II of V)

Wendy gagged on Willie’s dick every time she ate it. Willie felt she was rejecting him not only physically but emotionally. He told me he understood she was new at it but, geez, in over a dozen attempts they’d always ended up with her spluttering and Whee Willie sputtering. Wendy didn’t say much but finally she turned to me and sighed. “He‘s the one. He thinks he has to hang his nuts on my chin or it doesn’t count.” Willie shrank back from this as if he’d been stung. He’d mistaken her virginity for innocence. He didn’t act happy about hearing this from her. Where was she getting her information?

She didn’t see what her having watched some sex movies had to do with her essential wife & partner wholesomeness. Wendy had known all along what was going wrong with their oral sex (she had a few ideas about intercourse, too) but try as she might she couldn’t dissuade him from thrusting his penis all the way into her mouth from the first to the too-soon last. He had no concept of laying back and letting her moisten his cock first. How could she tell him to let her take it in little nibbles, a bit at a time, saving the deep throat duty for the end when she was relaxed and open to him?

Our triangulated talk not only cured this one symptom but revealed a deeper presumption that he was to be the sexual leader on their team. He had no reason to doubt she was inexperienced when they wed but it was big news to him that she’d actually watched sex on a screen before she had any experience. She said it was a real eye-opener. I should think so, knowing the wide range of graphic film images available. They grabbed a couple of movies from my lending shelf and dashed home to discuss this hitherto unexpressed aspect of her nature and what it might mean for their future.


Nolan wanted me to look at his dick when it was erect and tell him my professional opinion of it, was it thick enough, long enough, the right color, did it feel OK… Upon inspection it revealed itself as ordinary in all respects, exhibiting no untoward aspect. He packed it away and left a happy man. His few lovers never spoke of it to him, he didn’t know who else to ask, and it was useless to speak in theory. Someone had to look at it and then look him in the eye and tell him the interpersonal truth. I told him it was slightly thinner, somewhat longer and exactly the same shape as other pricks I’d seen, and like all the others it had the head on the top. If the thought of me looking at it is what gave him the hard-on so be it. It was not the first or last time I’d give a critique of the client but rarely was it as simple as this particular see-and-say report.


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



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Branded! Logo Logic

It’s a big deal to create a logo for a business, you need to TELEGRAPH your meaning to a variety of viewers. I wanted a non-sexualized female wearing sensible high heels featuring something sassy around the ankles, her hair blown back by what she was reading, with a sense of movement. I asked for the xxx detail on the hem to give warning of adult-themes hidden in plain sight… then put more xxx’s on the collar “for fashion” and to add light at the neck. Do all that AND it had to work when miniaturized.

cropped-logo_green_big.jpg     cropped-logo_green_big.jpg      cropped-logo_green_big.jpg      cropped-logo_green_big.jpg Click the pic for detail.

This fresh embodiment of KathleenKBooks.com coincided with the re-launch of the website from its home-grown roots to a sleeker look and feel courtesy of WordPress.com and its user-friendly toolbox.

I am working with the logo artist Maxximus on a Post about the evolution of the logo design. He created a writer-reader engaged in a book. I may have had the idea but he knew, for instance, to bend her arm up to her chest (clutching her heart?) which gives her balance. I admire his craft and praise his sensitivity to the underlying tone. The message is clear that people carry books and books carry people.


And what will you find at KathleenKBooks.com Here’s a sample from Dark Prince, Heed Thy QueenComing.  Soon.

My female friends’ men were occasionally caught breaking “relationship rules,” the guys would mooch or stray or overstep.  Toy Boy Malfunction.  Stud Dud.  Whenever we found ourselves talking about things like this I would be grateful for Nathan.  I knew he wasn’t costing me any money, straying didn’t apply within our special context and similarly within our sensuous universe he was omni-potent thus unable to overstep.  He didn’t tell me what to do in any other area of my life so I didn’t feel over-dominated.  He bossed me in bed where it turns out I like to be told what to do.

I didn’t offer to describe to my friends the nights when Nathan would shave me and bathe me and stake me out on the bed and turn up the heat and smear me with my own body’s juices then let me simmer while he looked through Polaroid pictures of our sex life.  He never kept the pictures around long.  I thought he was romantically discreet but now I know he was probably thinking search warrants.

((Speaking of inventive, Nathan once bought me a bridal outfit and supplied a groom-in-tux to paw me on the alleged wedding bed.  Before the faux-spouse could bust my fantasy-restored hymen, Nathan stepped forward and ordered the chartered husband to leave the honeymoon suite.  Nathan told me that such a delectable bride deserved to be taken by the best man.))

I let it be known to my pals that I was being cared for in the boudoir but declined details.  They figured my partner was either encumbered, famous, or both.  He was a mystery man to them which kept the girl-talk light.  I don’t deny I got vicarious experience from hearing of their real-world boyfriends and husbands.  It was nice to have my own living+working territory, uncluttered by a spousal-type relationship [even if it also so happened I’d surrendered my soul to a little demon].  There’s nothing better than a fuck buddy who can really fuck.


I savored my alone time; I blended my memories and my fantasies. I tried on clothes and ironed my sheets and developed a new jack-off technique with a chubby vibrator rumbling along the seam and a buzzy button stimulator under the hood.  In those moments alone, when I was agitated by desire, there was freedom, I felt potential welling up.  I was on the high dive, poised for a flamboyant back-flip but surprised myself with an inward pike.  I could change trajectories that fast.


Nathan calls me and says, “I sent you a package in care of the lock shop on 19th.  I want you to pick up the package at 7:30 Friday evening.  Make sure to inspect the contents at the counter.  If you see me around there, don’t recognize me.”

Not sure what I’d be walking into, I wore black thigh-high stockings, a top-of-the-knee skirt with a kick pleat, a cashmere sweater.  No slip.  No bra.  No panties.  The heels I wore were a bit too high to be casual so I had to watch my step.  Nathan was not (visible) at the shop when I arrived but a suspicious number of virile men were hanging around profoundly absorbed in the keys-and-locks on display.  I played it simple because the men were pretending very hard not to watch me through their slitted eyes.  I wanted them to stay back and they did.  The promised package was easy to open, I pulled a string that slit a thin strip of tape to open the rectangular flaps.  Inside I found pictures of three men, and a note.

“Pick out one of these three.  Call him Lucky.  Please invite him to join us in the back room.  I’m done waiting.”


Nathan told me to write him a summary of what happened to me in the back of the lock shop but I refused.  I said I wanted to dictate it and have somebody transcribe it, like a stenographer in court… a witness to my tale.  He arranged for a guy with one of those steno machines to record my statement and put it to paper.

“This is Thursday, April 8th, and I am making a voluntary statement about my activities on one certain Friday evening.  I felt slutty and adventurous when I dressed that night; do you know what it’s like to plan to have multiple men checking me out simultaneously?  I felt their eyes on me, rolling up over my breasts and piercing my privacy.  They might never have been at a pussy raffle before this one, it was a turn-on just to participate.  ‘An honor to be nominated’ and all that.

“The three pictures given to me had to have been chosen at random, there was no theme.  An out-of-shape laborer with great hair, a sharp lawyer/banker/hitman/? and a unidentifiable sort of hipster-survivalist Mr. Mom.  I kept my eyes on the pictures so I’d pick on that basis alone, I wanted no extra cues from the actual men standing somewhere within speaking distance.  I went for the banker, he had smart eyes.

“Walking up to him, I could feel the men behind me deflate just a bit; they could let down their bellies and unsquare their shoulders: they escaped winning.  The banker knew to take my arm and escort me to the back without speaking.  We had to preserve a veneer of sociability even as we both were throbbingly aware that we were going to indulge in some naughty temptation.  Without fear, because there were boundaries protecting us all.

“The idea this stranger could touch me – touch me!   I felt my sex stirring, a flutter between my legs, a tightness in the nipples… was this a dream for him, too?  Did he realize I judged him worthy because he offered?  He had nothing to prove to me.  I wanted your attention, not his; I was going to absorb him because you’d see me do it, you were my focus, he was my instrument.

“I played him for you, do you think it was an accident that I had to bend over and slowly peel down my stockings, do you suppose I really forgot to wear panties?  I know you expected my sweater to come off sooner… I didn’t give in to your situational expectations.  You wanted me to get you two hounds howling, and for that particular purpose my nudity wouldn’t do.  I felt the cool air on my ass and knew your man hands would be hot, all four of them.  I hid the beauties from you, yes, but not from him.  I didn’t want you to see the conqueror tattoo I had pressed to my breastbone until later.

“For the record, I hereby attest I did kneel in front of the man I didn’t know and unzipped his pants with my teeth.  It may have been a surprise to him but you certainly know the gesture, don’t you?  The submission of kneeling, the gleam of teeth at the crotch.  I should have guessed a banker would wear boxers, under his tailored-to-be-loose suit.  He was rightfully proud of his body, that health club membership paid off.  He had a toned feeling to him, muscles available if needed, with the smooth hands of a modern man.  I was surprised at his thin cock, it didn’t seem “big” even though it was dense as rock.  It was easy to eat in that position, as I demonstrated to you both.  He was getting weak in the knees, his foundation was rocking.  Too much of a good thing, dizzy with it.

“He needed a break so I backed up against you, bare-assed against your jeans.  I felt the button fly press tight with the surge of your cock and balls, you filled the pocket in your crotch with a rising desire.  I would ride your knee eventually, but I felt like a constrictor snake waiting for your exhale before I wrapped myself around your heart, to seize you when you were empty then prevent your filling again.  Your hands moved up under my sweater and palmed my chest, your thumbs caressed my crowns.  What could I have done to be sweeter?  My box was brimming with good will towards men.

“So ends this voluntary statement.”


#IndieAuthor #erotica #readforfun



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Ten Books Published in Thirty Months: Erotica after Fifty [Years of Age and Shades of Grey]

Kathleen K. Books was launched in Spring of 2011 to bring my fiction to the marketplace.  I had spent years writing in private and felt it was time to manifest faith in the work I had done.  I didn’t bother trying to find an agent-editor-promoter-publisher (external energy source), the next step was making the books and I didn’t need help doing that.  I needed inventory before promotion.

As I planned my strategy for publishing sexotic books for the rowdier reader, it was important that I understood my audience.  Vintage Boomer porn is not the millennial digitized-kaleidoscope of unrelenting stimulation.  Bedside Readers for the Adult Mind address the deeper hungers for inclusion and possibility; they target the sharper reading skills of a sophisticated consumer.  Romance and expectancy are not limited to the young or the restless.

I wrote most of these books underground during my Mommyhood, benefitting from my IT job with family time for team sports and field trips… there was no reason to explain I was a notoriously naughty writer on hiatus.  I retreated into a creative backwater, where I could soak in the words of others and sharpen my narrative choices heedless of external praise or criticism.  I sometimes circulated segments of new things among local literati but I stayed down low on purpose.  I completed my front-line kid care in 2011 and launched the indie publishing project.  (Selling would come later… which turns out to be now.)  So, I’m over fifty years of age… but the business is young.

I knew after Fifty Shades of Grey went legit that my business model was right on target:  people still read as individuals but can be moved in ever-widening circles that go beyond the book.  The secret was to be purely submerged in the world of that book while you wrote it, and going underground gave me that luxury.  An author falls into their magic kingdom or their gritty crime scene utterly and completely alone, reaching for coherency that can only be proven later.  Then came the reviews:  I commissioned professional assessments of six of the books with each yielding positive results.  Necessary validation to proceed.  They weren’t perfect but they were contenders for a reader’s attention.

To construct the world of Harry Potter, or Get Shorty, or We Need to Talk about Kevin, is to craft a map for others to follow into the emotional wilderness of an off-tangent world.  I am pleased to introduce you to the different worlds I’ve populated for you.   My business plan includes a smart audience, people who use their words and appreciate sexy, sassy, candid, comical writing about the human condition.  I am (finally) seeking those rowdier readers, confident that these ten books fairly represent my contribution to high-end erotica on one hand (KathleenK.xxx) and contemporary narrative fiction on the other (KathleenK.com).  These are statement pieces, ageless and recognizable as words about love & sex have always been.

I started the publishing project with an “all age” short story collection, Joody (A Case Study in Post Dramatic Stress Disorder).  I was willing to “sacrifice” it if the production company I selected was unable to co-create my book to the simple standards I established.  If it was horrible I would bury it and keep looking for a way to make books I could afford to sell.  I was stunned by the striking cover image proposed by my new “creative team”; it arrests me every time I see it.


It made that first step in creating “product” meaningful because I knew CreateSpace.com could build books that I’d be proud to share.  I have four “vivid family fiction” books for those who like wry and witty narrators with choices to make, minus all the folderol of overt sexuality.  Romantic, yes.  Deep and abiding decisions about love in the voices of real characters wrapped in rich prose and peppered with sharp dialog.  The next all-age book is Lee Chin, Law Office Safari (names have been changed to protect the inefficient).

Six bedside readers for the adult mind tailored for the nightstand…  This tenth book is graphic poetry, sexotic and tender and sassy and chill.  In this Tweet‑y world of ours, quick jabs and complicated word play work as stimulants.  Arching Over pairs nicely with the other sexplicit works because the authenticity earned running a phone sex business (Sweet Talkers) flowers in the fantastical voyeur’s catechism The Lunarium (One Man’s Memories of the Watchers and the Watched) then snaps back in Honey B., Sexual Consultant to give Frank advice about Dick.

There are five more books slated for production in the coming 15 months.  I’ve been banking all these titles as “on demand” print and Kindle formats to share with loyal readers who appreciate that I never underestimated them.  I aimed at the high side of their mentality:  the part that churns their yearning.  Not suitable for some, appreciated by others.  I trust people to set aside what doesn’t satisfy them… and to reach for things that do.

Kathleen K. Books invites you to read…

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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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The Lunarium – revisited


I wanted to follow-up the sample provided here yesterday with “context” by sharing some of the “Table of Things” that are included in this sexotic manuscript evoking one man’s memories of the watchers and the watched.  This is vintage Boomer porn with redeeming social commentary.

The Lunarium — Table of Things

 About Things

The First Thing  ><  The Lunarium

The Second Thing ><   Voyeurs’ Cave

The Third Thing  ><   In the Mirror

The Fourth Thing  ><   Rear View

The Fifth Thing  ><   We’re Not Alone

The Sixth Thing  ><   SLIDE open the door QUIETLY

The Seventh Thing  ><   You Asked for It

The Eighth Thing  ><   Live Nude People

The Ninth Thing  ><   Procrastination

The Tenth Thing ><   In the Car, in the Day

The Eleventh Thing  ><   Rockets Away

The Twelfth Thing  ><   View with the Room

The Thirteenth Thing  ><   Lysergic Acid Diethylamide

The Fourteenth Thing  ><   Lean Over and Brace Yourself

The Fifteenth Thing  ><   Two-fold Twins

The Sixteenth Thing  ><   Sodom Community Theater

The Seventeenth Thing  ><   Close Your Eyes.  See What I Mean?  He Is the Pilot, She Is Flying

The Eighteenth Thing  ><   Stripping vs. Disrobing

The Nineteenth Thing  ><   Men Put Their Hearts into It

The Twentieth Thing  ><   Women Elude Me

The Twenty-First Thing  ><   Fancy Meeting You in the Mirror


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The Lunarium – an orgiastic peek at a voyeur’s secret social life.

The Lunarium: One man’s memories of the watchers and the watched.

Available on line at KathleenK.xxx – for rowdier readers.

Sixty-nine vignettes of voyeurism presented as “things” to think about. Not suitable for some, appreciated by others.

ADULTS ONLYAmateur readers may not be amused.

The Ninth Thing >< Procrastination

I’ll tell you about this later.

The Tenth Thing >< In the Car, in the Day

Do the watchers want to be watched? Can’t answer for all, but for this one, under some circumstances, yes, the risk of being seen is an element in the excitement.

I had a mild affair, years ago, with a woman who was married to a gay athlete (they were best friends). She was especially affectionate (starved?) and we found it exciting to fool around in the car. The catch was, I could only see her during the day so it was a challenge to find a place we would not be interrupted. One of our favorite places to go was the lakefront drive, it had small two-spot parking areas along the road, under leafy trees, and we’d find a place with one empty car in it hoping it belonged to somebody busy fishing. My friend would drape a car blanket from her shoulders to her knees and I’d slide my right arm over to her side of the car, under the blanket, and explore her body. She would lay back with her eyes closed, lips moved by murmurs.

Cars went past in both directions but the canopy of leaves always provided shade cover. I would feel my lover’s legs fall apart and discover the crotch had been cut out of her panty hose: she didn’t just snip in a slit, she’d remove the entire cotton panel so I could get my hand at her. She had a juicy pussy, she knew I liked that. I could prod at the mound and work my way along the closed lips to the place her ass rested on the car seat. She would brace her legs on the floor and tilt her hips up so I could get more of her. The angle of my approach was dictated by our side-by-side position, I had my elbow toward her far hip and my hand snaked over her thigh palm-side to her cunt, thumb up. My left hand would have been more maneuverable but it would have meant my turning in the seat and making our actions obvious. As we were, to the cars zipping past, we gave an impression of two people facing forward in a car. Perhaps one was napping? Nothing cuddly or outwardly intimate about it.

My fingers would become the focal point of my mind, I closed my eyes and felt this woman, I’d trace the curl of her pussy lips and feel the first creaming of her excitement. She talked while I touched her junction, she talked about getting caught, a cop coming to our car door, the three of us mutually aware of our relative positions, she being “interfered with”, and the cop watching, and me… nasty appreciative me willing to risk even that to get her scent on my fingers.

I, too, thought of being seen. I would be seen shoving her face-down onto the trunk lid of my car, I’d be seen yanking my zipper open and freeing my beast, witnessed slamming up into her, showing she was ready for me, I’d put a kink in every dick that drove by ‑‑ monkey see, monkey want to do. [I’d seen this face-the-trunk position in a movie once and, truth, I considered it a fantasy. It seemed so selfish/macho with the power of the vehicle (to escape) and the facing-away female like she was one in a nameless line. I didn’t want to do it that way, I wanted to think of doing it that way.]

Our actual affair was brief, but long after we quit having intercourse my friend would still meet me for a drive to the lake. For my entertainment, she’d masturbate to climax — something she had never done when we were still having sex (or before). The strain I felt in my cock was good, yearning for the days when this woman would have permitted full body contact with her. The fact I still did the lakeside thing with her was partially because it gave me time to gather my erotic thoughts. Sex deserved contemplation. I’d be nudging at my friend’s clit with the tip of my middle finger, hearing the impact in her voice as she whispered to me about being seen, being watched, being the show.


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Kathleen K. Books – Business Plan for independent purveyor of erotica + sexotica + curiosa

Business Plan:  online sales of affordable books for rowdier readers

Definitions:  online sales, no brick-and-mortar stores, no consignment (no paperwork), no direct financial relationship with book-buyers or book-returners.  Minimal distribution cost keeps the books affordable.

affordable books are between $5-10

rowdier readers self-identify.  It’s a litmus question.  Yes or no?  Stop or go. 

Info/Buy Links available for the Private Publications of Kathleen K. in print and Kindle. 

Thanks to Kindle, please enjoy a free “Look Inside” the books.

Questions.  Answers?  Order!  Info@KathleenKBooks.com

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