Sweet To Eat

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.



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.


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.”

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.

August 24, 2013, 11:55 pm
Filed under: Opinions: You Show Me Yours

Ok Khem here. Greggie is taking care of his diabetes the old fashioned way: morphine. Not really he has bad bad neuropathy so I’m sick of having ta defend him from drug nazis. You’ll be the first one screaming when you get into an accident or have a chronic pain problem like he does.

But he would kill me (and will) when he reads I have said this as he doesn’t like folks knowing.
So far its been hard to get help.

But what I WANTED to discuss is how different drugs affect sex.
Does anyone know of some? I’d like to make a list before talking too much about it.
I took Dr. Morrison’s (Daytona State College when I lived up there) Human Sexuality classes and he sez there a chemical you can inject into the base of the penis for a night of REAL fun. Like superboner. Imagine this mixed with a shot of Jagermeister a line of coke and some molly. Okay have I just invented a heart attack chemical or the most pleasurable substance on earth? Or both?

What to say when something really IS ‘Gay’
December 8, 2012, 12:54 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Okay so I’ve seen the political infomercials or whatever they are properly to be called by Wanda Sykes-Hall (hope that’s right but I don’t have a pretentious-y hyphenated name so if it’s not eat me) and others about why saying something is “gay” is NOT COOL. Okay. I gotcha, sister. I like Wanda’s comedy, and in theory I agree with what she’s trying to say. But that’s really gay. I mean, come ON. That is gay Wanda and you KNOW IT IS.

The real deal is this: why is ANYBODY concerned with what I stick into my vagina or what my brother sticks his (probably microscopic) penis into? Gay, straight, Martian, horse fucker, or my friend Rajneesh who seriously jacked off into a can of Crisco. He now tells everyone it was performance art. Well, Raj, unless your name is Genesis P. Orridge you were not doing performance art you were masturbating into a (hopefully willing and appropriately-aged) can of Crisco. Which, I think we can all agree, is gay.

Which is my point. QUIT TAKING AWAY BITS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND SAYING “SORRY THIS IS NOW OWNED EXCLUSIVELY BY MEN WHO LOVE BUTTER” or WHATEVER. I LIKE saying GAY. I mean no harm by it. I like homosexuals, and I don’t mean in the same way that I say “I like black people”….in other words, just to appear a certain way when the truth is I only know four black people and two of them are assholes, the third is an ex and the fourth is my best girlfriend. Who is gay. And THAT is REALLY gay. Like, for realsies.

So get the corndog out cho ass and pull yer little dingus out of the crisco. Cause thats really just gay.

19 Condoms and Counting

Sometimes, as a writer, even an opinionated asshole writer, you have to practice a certain amount of self-censorship. Take this post, for example. Its original name was “19 Abortions and Counting”…but that was, admittedly, a little harsh. So I practiced some sensible self-censorship and changed the title. Mainly because the TV reality show I’m referring to (“19 Kids and Counting”) deals with the cutesy-pie named Dugger family, who apparently refuses to stop breeding. But it’s not really the Lil’ Dugglings that are at fault. So I thought equating the name of the show with abortion might not be in the best taste. Equating them with a 20-pack of Trojans seemed much more…well…tasteful.

The thing that really jerks my johnson about this show is that its very existence seems to say, “Hey, folks! Having 19 kids is not only socially responsible, but it’s kinda cute, too!” These people have been turned into celebutantes [my word for the modern American aristocracy of celebrity wherein you can become celebrated and famous (or infamous) simply by becoming well-known, regardless of the innate “right” or “wrong” nature of the reason(s) for becoming well-known] simply because they have decided to routinely squirt Dugglings out into the world.
From one perspective, it seems a little scary. Without much effort, I could write a screenplay for a horror movie with this same basic plot. By replacing cute little Mormonesque kids who all have names that begin with the letter “J” (my favorite Duggling name is Jedidiah) with midget werewolves, I might just have the next summer blockbuster.
From another perspective, the Dugglings are JUST DARLING. The people that share this particular outlook are just as horrifying to me as the thought of a family of cannibals raising a pack of midget werewolves. I’m just really honestly confused at how having 19 kids is heroic or admirable…or even INTERESTING.
You wanna do something heroic? Send Mr. Dugger a box of condoms.
Damn, man! Stay away from your poor wife for awhile!
Masturbate. Take up macrame. Play a fucking video game. Take a cold shower. SOMETHING. ANYTHING. Just don’t make it 20. Please.