Sweet To Eat by khemistry

So I have this problem, see? Like everyone else on this planet, I know. But mine is kinda freaky. And kinda vanilla. Maybe not so strange. I’m just not sure how weird I am. I mean, I was married once. Sort of. Back then a girl couldn’t marry another girl, not legally. But we had the ceremony. Both of us were lipstick lezzies. Everyone we knew said it wouldn’t last. And it didn’t. I mean, I’m not strictly speaking a lesbian. Neither was she. But I liked her pussy, and when she left she took it with her.

So what is my problem, then? Well, she did leave this little denim one-piece dress I liked a lot. It zipped up the back, slick as sin. An oh how I loved to reach behind her while we were kissing and unzip her. She was a tiny thing with curly blonde hair. Let’s call her J for the purpose of this discussion.

I don’t know why she left the dress. Maybe she just forgot it. But it was one of her favorite outfits, and she looked so sweet inside it. Like a piece of candy, all for me. And she used to wear a certain perfume. I think it was called ‘Red Door’. She left a little spray bottle of it, too.

Now I’ve had several partners since those days: two men and another woman. But no matter how serious it gets, I do this thing with the denim dress…not a lot…but every few months the feeling will get me going, right? Now, I’m basically a good girl. I write about my sex life with three other college friends. We started XSEX a long time ago, to discuss our ex-girlfriends and boyfriends. Our x-sexlife. Now none of us have really kept up with the site. My college buddy G actually did all the work building the site because I don’t like computers. But we all know the login codes and we all contribute. Until G stopped to become “serious” about a sci-fi novel. Plus, he said talking about this stuff was not “healthy”. I disagree. And it makes me horny.

And it’s been awhile since I got the urge, with the dress. So here it is: last night it just hit me like a wall. I even thought about calling J up. We’ve talked a few times. She’s married to a guy. She has video of him wearing women’s clothes and she will take care of him with a plastic dick. So I don’t know what that means. I guess he’s a freak like all of us. But I have these urges…maybe if I had a copy of the video I could make him leave. I could get into J’s panties. Because I really want to. So instead I find the old bottle of ‘Red Door’ and spray it on the denim dress. The denim dress is way out of style now. But I keep it in the bottom drawer of my dresser. With the perfume and some pictures (PG-13 or a soft R) we took on our “wedding night”.

I lay the denim dress over me, like J used to lay on top of me and we would touch each other. So now I have this physical weight, and it smells like her, and I unzip it and touch myself and remember it all. All the stuff we used to do. And in five minutes I am a wet rag, all wrung out. Breathing heavy. Wow.

I guess I need to get out more. I mean, I’m 40 years old now! I feel cheap when I do this. Once a year now. Maybe twice. And I went for about three years without it. So why do I still think about her? I don’t love her, she doesn’t love me. We’ve talked on the phone. She sent me a picture of her tits once. Still firm. “Remember when these used to be yours?” she texted me. What a bitch.

My boyfriend is home. Oh shit.



FUCK YOU, JAX! by khemistry
August 22, 2014, 6:18 am
Filed under: Love Letters | Tags: ,

Jaxon, you are a dickhead and here’s a bi girl who’s gonna kick the tar out of your ass! You SEE what you do to me, you ass! You bring out the Mississippi in me! I FUCKING HATE THAT PLACE! I left because they don’t believe in dancing! That’s right, ladies n gents! Dancing! Not talking about twerking and all that shite. I mean just gettin down town with Julie Brown (oops! Better be careful or I will reveal my age). My church didn’t believe in dancing. My Mom took ALL my Motley Crue (Nikki Sixx I want to sex your sixx stik) posters are BURNED THEM! I kissed a girl in front of them, got in my car and LEFT. And that’s the truth.

I like dick. I like pussy.  You call it the “c” word, or twat or vagina and I will KILL YOUR ASS.

Just WAIT until I see you with Purvis.  He won’t be able to help you anyway, he can’t half walk! So you are MINE!

HURRAH TO BISEXUALITY!!! Give me some pussy, give me some dick. Both at once.

I’m Katy Khemistry and I’m going to kick this guy’s ass. Dumb ass.

August 16, 2014, 2:50 am
Filed under: Opinions: You Show Me Yours

I have pretty much always accepted homosexuality.  Mainly because I really don’t have a problem with it.  Except for one thing: it has always pissed me off that the homosexual community seems to be totally okay with bi’s. I mean, come on people! In 99 percent of the cases, Jax has your back! I am willing to bet that I am at least 67.3 percent (I’m into percentages) freakier than you–and if some straight people bothered to consider things like: “Hey! Why do we hate gays? Because they like to scissor…give rim jobs…have anal sex? WHAT IS IT WE HATE? Their better sense of fashion and color coordination?  The fact that some of the lesbians can kick our asses?  A verse in Leviticus? The gay man’s propensity for incredible abs and an awesome, square jaw, with just the right…ahm…anyway, why do we hate them? WE are freakier!” Well, I am. I let my freak flag fly all the time.  When I’m sleeping it’s flying high!

But bi’s: get off your maybe-sore, maybe-not asses and pick a damn side you greedy bastards! Here is my theory: if you are gay, great! Welcome to Team Homo. If you are not, it’s Team Hetero for you. Bi’s are either unable to pick a side to play on, or greedy.  Or they just don’t want to admit to gay acquaintances that they’ve been faking being “kinda gay” to get free fashion advice and cool friends.

I love my gay peoples. I love my str8’s. I love my freaks. But leave some sex for the guy on the corner who talks to an invisible dog he calls Bodean and smells like old cheese. Nuts need to get a nut too.

DEVIANTS: Half-Elves and Helicopters by Gregory Purvis


Reay Tannahill—in her interesting and informative book Sex in History—gives readers an overview of human sexuality from our primitive prehistory paternity, down through the rise of the first great ancient societies to modern gender roles and pornography. But, as with all histories that attempt to cover countless generations of human society, Tannahill couldn’t (and didn’t) detail every dot, dash, footnote and freak. But reading between the lines, the oddities of the past make sweet love to the present…and approximately 9 months into the future you get a brand-spanking new generation of strange bedfellows.

In other words, there is nothing new under the sun. No new perversion, sexual deviance, sex position or fetish is likely to be much of a surprise when you consider the length of a man’s…history.

Take, for instance, Edward Smith of Yelm, Washington.

Eddie owns a 1974 Volkswagen Beetle. But it’s not for transportation. Oh, no. “Vanilla” (as Ed calls her) is his girlfriend. And this is definitely a friendship with benefits.

“[Vanilla] is a sexy, sensuous name,” Ed tells a documentary filmmaker. “Almost every inch of her body is a thing of beauty.”

And though I should be asking WHY and HOW (exactly) this man makes sweet love to his Volkswagen, the thought that keeps interrupting these more practical questions is: what part of “her” body isn’t a thing of beauty..?

My best guess is the license plate. I try to picture this gnome-like man getting it on with Vanilla’s chrome-plated tailpipe. Then he looks down, maybe gives Vanilla’s German rump a playful slap, and sees…the tag. It expired last month! And maybe—just maybe—that realization would intrude on Ed’s fantasy enough so that reality hits him in the face like a squirt of 40-weight motor oil:

“What am I doing?” I imagine Ed asking himself, suddenly ashamed. “I’m sticking my dingus into my car. I think I may need professional advice—and not from a mechanic.”

But the truth is, Ed doesn’t see anything wrong with the love he feels for Vanilla.

“She’s my lover,” he says, proudly. “And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

Ed even writes love poems to his car:

Vanilla Beetle of 74

Your creamy body I adore

Flesh and metal, overwhelm

Man and Car become one


Where my sun sets, freed

From the light of day and dark

I leave my loving seed.


The documentary then shows Ed walking his dog, and you can see the relief in the dog’s eyes. It doesn’t take a K9 psychologist to figure out what Ed’s dog is thinking:

“Thank God he doesn’t like Schnauzers.”

The same documentary interviews another man who has an even weirder sexual fetish—if you can believe that. This guy has an obsessive sexual desire for the souped-up helicopter of the 80’s TV show Airwolf.

He followed air shows like hippies followed the Grateful Dead, going anywhere the object of his desire was on display. Apparently he managed a few moments of alone-time with Airwolf at one of these shows:

“I just couldn’t hold back,” he admits.

When he heard that Airwolf suffered severe injuries in a crash, his grief was nearly overwhelming. Just talking about it to the documentary filmmaker (presumably years later) was enough to make him emotional all over again.

The 2013 movie “The Counselor”  [Directed by Ridley Scott / Screenplay by Cormac McCarthy]

features a hot-and-bothered Cameron Diaz having sex with Javier Bardem’s yellow convertible Ferrari.  He describes the event as resembling a catfish—an animal I personally find repulsive.  Then again, I can put it out of my mind for Cameron Diaz.

It’s a little easier to understand when the object of obsession is a human being, however. But what if it’s a half-elf like Bjork? Her stalker, who painted his face up like Mel Gibson in Braveheart and recorded a strange, rambling video diary before committing suicide, left some clues about his odd desires:

“Today I searched the Internet for obsessive details on Bjork. I want to fuck her. Which I suppose means that I’m some kind of Neanderthal. I’m not supposed to admit infatuation (lust) when it’s attached to someone as “vital” an artist as she is. But I can’t help it. Like all geeks, my darkest fantasy (besides jackbooted world domination) is sexual relations with an elf. And Bjork, despite that horrid song “Human Behavior” is quite obviously not human. I will leave the exact nomenclature of her fey race to the type of experts who speak Klingon and write poems in Tolkien’s Quenya.”

Now, this guy is FUNNY.

Err…WAS funny.


Now, most of the time all I do is laugh at my buddy. I mean, he’s a loveable bear that never found the right woman, so he went into hibernation, sticking his middle finger out at the rest of us as he entered his cave, retreating from our world: he’s 6’0″ (probably 6’1″ in those old combat boots he won’t throw away), he weighs about 240 and has a full head of short spiky dark brown hair and a goatee with a little gray in it. He looks like a punk intellectual–which I personally think is a good look if he knew how to pull off the outfit; he has no real fashion sense except a love of fountain pens and pocket watches and long coats.

But he focuses on things lots of aging Gen-X’ers are dealing with: years of having no affordable healthcare, highly-dysfunctional (and aging) parents, a disappointment that the world didn’t go through a zombie apocalypse, and a penchant for turning into a kind of “angry old Henry Rollins” (“Get off my fucking yard you little malformed mutants and take all those copies of ‘The Watchtower’ and stick em up…”, well you get the idea; the old man persona taken on by Gen-X’ers entering middle age is NOT pretty).
I mean, I KNOW what kind of girl he needs: 34-44 years old, unconventional, artistic, maybe a librarian. A designer of some kind, maybe. A Eurotrash heiress. Someone who likes history (he reads crap like the history of the Borgias or Simon Schama’s ‘History of Britain’–that’s his version of porn), movies (err…film, sorry G), and writing. He’s a geek, but we all are. Let your geek flag fly my friends. He was 7 when Star Wars came out, and he never forgave his Dad for not taking him to see Alien when it came out a couple years later.

Oh, and he did manage to procreate: a 20-something who never listens to a damn thing his dad tries to tell him. He did manage to imbue in the kid some appreciation for music, but apparently the kid is getting into DJ electronica, which my man calls “pure shite” even though he was the creative force behind a Nine Inch Nails-‘kinda like’ band in the 90’s.
But I still laugh at him. I can’t help it. He lives with his brother, who I think spends a lot of time online and is maybe a DJ or a party planner or a long-haul truck driver. I can never remember. They hate each other. Oh, and he ALSO lives with the aforementioned son, who has kids, and is in the middle of a divorce with one of those twenty-something girls who thinks the hippies are the pinnacle of human evolution.
So WHAT’s so funny about any of that? Sounds kinda sad, right? Borderline pathetic.
Well, his kid has started dating some Gen-Z (or are they called Millennials? I’m not sure) girl, and ALL they do is eat, fuck, and take showers. My buddy grumbles about this. Sometimes he yells “Shut the fucking fucking off!” towards the other end of the house. Sometimes he pops a Xanax and tries to ignore it.
“It’s not working!” he wailed at me yesterday.
“WHAT isn’t working?”
“The drugs. The screaming. Living in this house. My God, I can’t take all this fucking fucking anymore!”
So I’m laughing so hard I pee a little bit. I mean, I know that he’s just jealous that his kid is getting WAY more than him.

“Well, you’re just an idiot,” he fires back.  “The name of our blog is XSEX. It MEANS the lack of sex, Generation-X sex–in other words, a sexual sociological study, and it sounds cool, too, I guess.”

“Maybe it’s X-SEX like sex so hardcore that it has to have an X before the SEX…like a warning.”

“They already have that, dumbass.  X and NC-17.  I don’t know if X is a valid rating anymore, though.  And XXX was just to sell porn.”


“I hate my life.”

“Listening to your kid have sex is that bad?”

“It’s fetid.  Like that movie ‘A Serbian Film’.  Just wrong.  I need a shower.  But I can’t TAKE a shower…wanna know WHY?”

I didn’t.

“BECAUSE THEY FUCK, FEED, and FLUSH.  Like some weird Japanese porn-toilet.  All they do is make food, have sex, and take showers.  I have got to meet someone.”

“AWESOME! It’s about time you got back on the wagon!”

“I’m hoping they might have a room.”

Lawyers and Nazis by Gregory Purvis
March 24, 2014, 8:38 pm
Filed under: Let's Play Dress-up! | Tags: , , ,

220px-Alfred_Jodl_USA-E-Ardennes-2Megacon in Orlando was this past weekend, and it’s been all over the local media. I recall the good old days when us geeks were left to moulder in the corner with the goths (who in my opinion are all hypocritical dicks, because they bitch about how alone and hated they are by the popular kids, but they are just as exclusive and unfriendly to others as the aforementioned “in-crowd”). WHAT HAPPENED? All of a sudden everyone thinks its cool to play D&D and read comic books. Not only was every news station and radio station running live feeds or stories about the Con, but the prices had gone sky-high. So I stayed home, by my cantankerous old-man self.

I was thinking of old friends (being alone), and I remembered something an old girl friend of mine told me about dating a lawyer in the small town where we went to high school. This guy used to brag to the local legal community how he was so much superior because he had gone to Harvard Law School. Wow. I’m so impressed. This basically just means he comes from money (don’t argue; he didn’t “earn his way in by his grades”, this isn’t ‘Good Will Hunting’, just shut up–he’s a rich boy asshole, okay?), and that doesn’t impress me. My family came from money, too. They spent it all and I don’t have shit. So Hahvaad doesn’t mean much to me. Apparently she was fascinated with him, though. Probably because he WAS intelligent, and so is she. We were all kind of a mix of geeks, heavy-metalheads, and punks (in a town of 14,000 or so), so I suppose it was only natural for her to look for someone with more to talk about than pot and the new Butthole Surfers record.

But, being our friend, she let us know after the relationship soured what a true freak lawyers are. Apparently his thang was to dress in an (apparently authentic) SS officers uniform. Now, being a punk/electronic thrash/weirdo raised in the 80’s, I went through a stage where a friend of mine and me shaved our heads and wore white-shirts with our Kool 100’s rolled up in the sleeves and Doc Martins. We were skin heads for a week or three–but not the Nazi variety. Just the “no hair” variety. I’m giving this lawyer the benefit of the doubt, and assuming the uniform was just his “dress-up rebellion” uniform. Well, actually, it was his sexual uniform, according to my friend.

I think I’ve written about this before, not that I’m typing but I don’t care because I hate lawyers and the legal system in general. And who knows? Maybe he watched films of Hitler making speeches in Nuremberg like Klaus Kinski in that freaky movie ‘Crawlspace’ and jacked off.

Whether he did or didn’t, I’m wondering how far dress-up sexual games are cool to get into..? I mean, is it REALLY just cosplay if you are a mixed-racial couple and you secretly play “slave in the Big House”? Or you are a lawyer who has an authentic black SS uniform and you are playing “Himmler’s Ho”?
What is crossing the line?
Ah, he was a Nazi anyway. He had a law degree.

February 15, 2014, 8:58 pm
Filed under: I'll Show You Mine | Tags: , , ,

After some discussion with G, I’ve decided to quit writing for the three kink blogs. Our discussion revolved mainly over G’s hatred of porn (he’s the ONLY guy I know that really does hate porn and can argue you into his corner (if you’re not an ex-stripper who makes a living partially by writing porn) and maybe he’s right but I hate his stoopid sci fi stories so ha-ha-ha.) but what he really wanted, being a male and a hypocrite, is me to resurrect XSEX as a viable blog.

Since two of the other places I write for owe me money, I have decided to stay with the non-Wordpress blog where I actually make cash, and contribute more of Katie’s Khemistry to XSEX.

He also made me promised to reveal my side of an argument he calls TOO MANY ORIENTATIONS IS KINDA DUMB: PICK A SIDE.
So that’s gonna be our first “argument post” for this new resurrected XSEX.

And by the way: XSEX meant sex with your ex, which I was having plenty of and G wanted a little of.
It also means sex as seen by two Gen-X’ers: a straight male and a bi female.
We’d like to recruit some writing talent by a straight up homosexual…ha ha ha, I love little sayings like that.

Anyway, more is to come. THINGS I SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE was GOING to be a whole separate blog about stuff we did and regretted, but it is going to fit in real nice I think. If it gets too much, we’ll make it into a blog of its own.