Tag Archives: rowdier readers

The Erotic Engine – What Drove Me Today

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

by Patchen Barss

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


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

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

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

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

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

Amorous, yearning, exultant.  Frisky.

SAMPLE — All Rights Reserved

no youngster ever fucked like that

… it took ten years of bad sex

and disappointment

to stoke the fires

to blast past mistakes and earn learning

the mature and thorough sex

of one who has hungered

* * * * *

dog-style and howling

that’s how we do it

so you can really see

and i can really feel it

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

and i wag my tail

* * * * *

my back seems balanced

on the tip of your prick

the twin-curved ass

a surrounding

your hands bridge me

hauling my hips back

so we clang

* * * * *

thick stick

lush tush

bit tit

come some

* * * * *

i fuck myself

with a pliable substitute

it’s a matter of balance

not hard enough to hurt

not fast enough to burn

but almost, almost

* * * * *

a glow

so hot it boils marrow

eyes steamed blind

and ears melted

i’m shrieking

but my mouth is sealed shut

stunning sex


* * * * *

your cock is putty

in my hands

i like it

soft and pliable

lo, the stages

from palmful

to mouthful


filling full

* * * * *

our eyes are closed

but what are we seeing?

to you, am i a pair of fluted lips,

swollen, slick and seeking?

like you, to me, are a probe

with a heated tip

searing your name inside

* * * * * *

i find myself


all over the bed

toes over the edge

fingers dug into the pillows

my legs so far apart

i feel my trunk unlatch

* * * * *

my pleasure drips from your chin

when you look up at me

but the crown of your head

is all i see

when your face is what i feel

* * * * *

thick bodied

wide smiled

hot cocked


* * * * *

you loom

then weave

… the fabric of love

made between us

* * * * *

nipples like littlest dicks

full to bursting, up, out, insistent

LôôK LôôK

Info/Buy Links for Kathleen K. Books

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Digital porn vs. Analog erotica

Info/Order LinksKathleenK.xxx provides a pipeline to sexotic collectible books tailored for the nightstand.  We asked what value should be placed on the written word when audio-visual digitization dominates online; she had this to say about that:

I’ve earned my work-a-day money manipulating technology since before Al Gore invented the Internet.  I was setting up site-to-site email over dial-up modems before most people were @ anywhere.  I’ve got no grudge against the e-reader.  That presentation-translation really doesn’t have anything to do with the “books” that I make as an indie publisher.  The book masters are keyboarded, screen-viewed, laser printed from portable document format… ever so automated.  The spirit of the book comes out in print, in composing the cover and finalizing the interior for physical reproduction.  That is the WORK that I want to present to you, one complete embodiment of a certain voice telling a particular story.  Info/Order Links

Web porn is immediate, it bombards you.  Erotica is immersive, it encompasses you.  I construct an imaginary sexual landscape then people it with a variety of characters interacting with a narrator:  a call girl, a voyeur, a pot-smoking grocer.  Stoner waxes poetic about the glory of sexuberance while the fucking pro takes on a brisk but explicit viewpoint.  In book form, you as the reader can luxuriate in the freedom to IMAGINE who is doing what.  Existing in your head, these characters are a unique concoction of my words and your ideas.  Nobody “sees” what you see; they don’t hear it like you hear it.  Books are intensely personal (still sharable), and it is my intention to evoke thoughts of desire, denial, and demand.  Savoring sensuous language is not universal so I am careful to warn of the adult content.  Rowdier readers welcome; others should pass on by.

My kind of reader has bookshelves, and books on those shelves; a book on their nightstand is not staging.  My sexotic books are free-wheeling, relying on deft word arrangement to rattle your thoughts, hinging and unhinging you.  There’s commotion in tart psycho-sexual commentary, slipping in significant phrases as you rush then linger down the channels of language.  I’m providing a narrative slipstream for you.  It’s easy-breezy, no undertow.

In answer to the related question of female writers in today’s sex literature, I’d say we are where we’ve always been – at the heart of twining the genders.  It is just as true that women are the energy-source that embodies online porn (men merely pay for it); at the most basic level females strut and spread and hump in collusion with the makers-distributors to address an overt expression of simplistic human desire.  (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)  It’s easy to separate bleak porn and erotic intent.  Within the writing arts is the familiar teeter-totter of power and passion we see in music and movies.  Is it really all about the badonkadonk?  Or is it the beauty of Faith Hill telling us to Breathe?  We’re all explicitly reflecting and refracting the energy of others so we see into each other.  (I support the linking power of the Internet; the shortcuts above are in honor of the artists’ work).  I spend my time making books aiming at the same sass and beauty.  KathleenKBooks.com is a gateway to writing for literate grown-folk.

There is another part of the amorous-arts spectrum which is the reading of your first banned book.  So many ways to begin: the revolutionary eroticism of Anaïs Nin, the unnerving thrill of 9½ Weeks, the good cheer of The Happy Hooker.  Most of us have stumbled across a hidden box of Aunt Betty’s bodice-rippers or Grandpa’s hysterically-serious marital sex manuals at some pubescent moment.  Somehow or another we were introduced to restricted words dancing in our hands making our eyes narrow.  Some drop it like it was hot; others took it as heartening evidence there was a secret language that existed outside their own thundering imagination.

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