There’s a single line in Katrina’s Kiss that sums up the story perfectly:
“No strange goodbyes. No number exchanges. This was fucking. Not sex, not love making, but fucking.”
That, my fellow readers, is precisely what Katrina craves . . . and precisely what Betty has created. This is the literary equivalent of a stag film, a sizzling story that is concerned with only two things – sex, and the pursuit of sex. There’s no plot (beyond the pick-up), no character development (beyond the establishment of Katrina’s wanton needs), and no wasted dialogue (beyond the standard bedroom exultations).
And yet, for all that, it’s a story that succeeds so well!
The story is well-written, with just the right mix of spicy language to create the proper tone. It’s erotic and explicit, designed to titillate and arouse, but never vulgar or obscene. The sex scenes are creative, but not so much that they require any mental gymnastics in order to decipher the positions, and the orgasmic delights resonate as authentic.
If you want to get deep, and perhaps put something of yourself into the story, you can read this as a feminist piece of erotica, designed to empower women, and justify their lust. It actually works quite well with that assumption, but it’s hardly necessary to the vicarious enjoyment of Katrina’s sexual excesses. On the other hand, you can just as easily read this as the story of a woman with a problem . . . a dangerous sexual addiction . . . but, really, that’s just part of the fantasy.