Below are 3 examples of sexually explicit books found in Keller ISD schools in April 2023.

Challenged by a parent in Keller ISD 4/15/23.  Deselected.  Does not meet Content Guidelines adopted by the board of trustee in the fall of 2023.

"I am surprised by how much I enjoy touching you. It's not very logical. It should only be enjoyable for you to touch me." ...Then as he said this, he pulled down my underwear, exposing me to him. It felt vulnerable, him sitting up, between my legs, staring at my nakedness. ..."Is it still okay that I touch you?" I nodded again. He reached his hand there, but then hesitated. "Penelope, I don't want to do it wrong, I would hate if I did it wrong." "You can't...I mean, yes, it can be done wrong...but just go slow. Do everything slow. Like you were touching my legs. Just go slow and you will be perfect." He did. Go slow. Using two of his fingers, he brushed against my pubic hair. It felt nice. I wanted more. I said, "You can touch me more." "How?" he asked. "More inside." "But I thought the clitoris was outside." ..."Because I love that you not only have read enough to know the clitoris is on the outside, but that you actually said the word 'clitoris.'" "I'm glad you love this. But can you show me where it is?" "Why not? You know where it is. I do not. It feels much more logical for you to show me where it is instead of me guessing." ..."I'm socially awkward, but I'm still very smart." He laughed at his own joke as I took his fingers in mine and guided them past my hair, past my... "There," I said as my body tensed and released from the sensation. "Can you feel it?" "Oh, yes, it's not that small. Comedians make jokes about how hard it is to find, so I was very nervous I wouldn't have been able to find it on my own." "Most guys don't even try, so they pretend it's hard to find." "No, Paul never tried to find my clitoris. He never asked. I never asked him to find it either. I wasn't real to him like I am with you, so I don't want to blame him, but no, he never tried to touch me the way you are touching me." "So I'm doing a good job?" "Yes." "So this will make you have an orgasm?" "Benedict, no..." "Then you should tell me how to do it so that I can make you have an orgasm like you made me have an orgasm." "I've never orgasmed with a boy before, so I don't know if I can." "But it feels good?" He was so concerned about me. ...Then he just went and said, "Can I try giving you cunnilingus?" ...Then OH-MY-GOD, he put his fingers, the fingers that had been rubbing me, into his mouth. "Benedict!" "What? I'm tasting it." "You're a bigger freak than me." I shouldn't have said that. All I ever wanted was someone to tell me I wasn't a freak and now I'm calling a boy who may be my sexual equal one. "I shouldn't have said that. 0r I should have said, I love that you are. I love that just put your fingers in your mouth. I really do. I'll probably masturbate thinking about you doing it tonight. You're just so comfortable, Benedict, so confident..” "You have made me feel confident about myself." "You have made me like myself," I said. Saying that made me feel even more vulnerable than having him kneeling between my legs. Maybe he could sense it because he leaned back into me, kissing me. Calming me. Then he said, "So you have never had a boy lick your vagina before?" "No." I tried not to laugh, still did a little, but I tried. "I know you are very experienced sexually. You know I am very inexperienced. It would mean a lot to me if this could be the thing we experience for the first time together." That was beautiful, but . . . "I'm scared....” "Scared of what? " "l don't know. . ." Just tell him. "That you'll think I'm gross, Or that I smell. Or that it's not as good as the ones you've seen... " “Your vagina is the first one I've seen.” "Then the ones you've seen online. All those actresses are perfect' with perfect vaginas. . . .” "You're perfect," he said. "I'm so not perfect." "You're perfect to me and your vagina will be perfect to me.” "...I get crappy grades, I smoke, I drink, I this scar..." ..."Yesterday, when I masturbated in the shower, I started out imagining having sex with you. But it was hard to imagine your body because I'm a very literal thinker...." ..."...but I was very horny and perhaps being horny makes me think in metaphors, but when I was in the shower, I was thinking, 'Her scar is like the best brushstroke on a beautiful painting.' And right after I thought of this, I had an orgasm." "You can do it. You can go down on me." ..."I know. I want you to." ...Benedict positioned himself again between my legs and began inching backward. He pushed up my shirt on his way downward, kissing my belly button. Then he kissed my pubic hair. Then he kissed the inside of my right thigh. Then the inside of my left thigh. Then he looked at me, his head framed by my legs, "Hello," he said. ..."Are you still scared?" he asked. "Yes, but also very, very, very turned on." "So, I've studied this, obviously..." "Obviously." "And in all the porn videos male actors go very fast with their tongue, but the online articles said I should go slow. And you said I should go slow with my hand..." "Go slow." I braced myself as he leaned his head in. And...it tickled. At first. Then. Oh. Yes. Okay. He wasn't really going near my clit but his tongue was so light and delicate compared to a boy's fingers...made me feel light and delicate and, oh- "I found it," he said, his mouth still on me. "You did..." Which was great, then too much, then- "Go around it too, Benedict...everything around there..." He nodded then my body just melted downward, like burner on a pan...not everything, though, no, his tongue was sending gentle waves from its tip to my tip, and my pelvis raised ever so, and... It was that Benedict wanted to be down there, for the excitement of doing something new, and to please me and only me...that he didn't just see my scar, but that my scar turned him on... ...I rose and I shook, and I moaned, and I came.... Still twitching as the orgasm subsided, I finally opened my eyes and looked down at him smiling up at me. ...And there, still between my legs, with my wetness on his mouth, with that grin of his, he didn't look cool, or sexy...he looked fucking adorable. SHE ORGASMED. ON MY MOUTH. As I lay there, on my stomach, with her vagina six inches below my face and her bare legs on each side of my head, I tried to remember my old life. "Penelope, look at Penis Benedict." I pointed down to my groin. "He is erect again. Just like you get turned on giving me pleasure, it is apparent I get turned on giving you pleasure." And then, Penelope yelled, "I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU!" ..."I want to have sex very much too. I didn't want to say it first because I was afraid you wouldn't want to..." ..."Me neither," she said. She lunged into me, kissed me, then pulled my shirt over my head. I pulled her shirt off, then she undid her bra and- "There are your boob," I said. She laughed. "Usually that's the first thing boys see, not the last." "Can I touch them?" "Oh-my-god, Benedict, you've already licked my vagina! Of course you can touch my boobs!" ..."No, I love that...it's...We don't have condoms..." "Oh, I have some." I reached into my coat to the zipped pocket and pulled out two condoms. "...I think back on this day and think it was the smartest thing I ever did, having sex with you." I then took her hand and put it on my penis. "Penis Benedict doesn't need one hundred years. He already thinks this is the smartest thing I will ever do." Penelope took my hand and put it between her legs. "Vagina Penelope agrees." She put on the condom because she knew how to do it right. I liked watching her do it. Then she lay back on our bed and coats and I got on top of her, my body pressing into her. "Scoot up a little and I'll help," she said. As I did, she reached around and grabbed my penis, guided it inside her. I'm not sure I had ever thought about how it would feel. I guess I thought it would be like masturbating but masturbating inside a girl's vagina. But it didn't feel anything like that. I didn't really concentrate on what my penis was feeling at all. So I asked, "How does if feel for you?" "Very good. How does it feel for you?" "It feels...very good...obviously...but I'm mostly feeling..." ...Then she said, "Are you close to coming?" "I think so." "Can you wait a bit longer?" "I think so." "I want to come at the same time..." "I'll need my fingers to help...Is that okay?" "Of course! Why wouldn't that be okay?" "Other boys might think..." "I'm not other boys, Penelope." She reached between our bodies, and I could see her body respond to her touch and I just had to say, "That is very , very, sexy...very sexy..." "I love that you think it's sexy..." "It might be too sexy because it's going to make me..." "I know...two more seconds...I'm close..." "I can't..." "One more second...." she said, and grabbed the back of my head and we locked our eyes together and... We came. Together. Our eyes open.

Challenged by a parent in Keller ISD 4/6/23.  Deselected.  Does not meet Content Guidelines adopted by the board of trustee in the fall of 2023.  

Explicit, detailed Stripping Scene: Page 44-48 

The woman is a statuesque redhead with eyelashes too long to be real and a beauty spot painted next to her full lips. Her legs are long, her hips full, her chest a stupefaction. She is down to a G- string, a glimmering translucent shawl, and a gloriously overflowing brassiere. She shakes her shoulders, keeping gelatinous time with the small band of musicians to her right. She takes a few strides, sliding across the stage in feathered mules. The snare drum rolls, and she stops, her mouth open in mock surprise. She throws her head back, exposing her throat and sliding her hands down around the cups of her brassiere. She leans forward, squeezing until the flesh swells between her fingers. I scan the sidewalls. A pair of shoe tips peeks under the edge of the canvas. I approach, keeping close to the wall. Just in front of the shoes, I swing the pipe and smack the canvas. There’s a grunt, and the shoes disappear. I pause with my ear to the seam, and then return to my post. The redhead sways with the music, caressing her shawl with lacquered nails. It has gold or silver woven through it and sparkles as she slides it back and forth across her shoulders. She drops forward suddenly at the waist, throws her head back, and shimmies. The men holler. Two or three stand, shaking their fists in encouragement. I glance at Cecil, whose steely gaze tells me to watch them. The woman stands up, turns her back, and strides to the center of the stage. She passes the shawl between her legs, slowly grinding against it. Groans rise from the audience. She spins so she’s facing us and continues sliding the shawl back and forth, pulling it so tight the cleft of her vulva shows. “Take it off, baby! Take it all off!” The men are getting rowdier; more than half are on their feet. Cecil beckons me forward with one hand. I step closer to the rows of folding chairs. The shawl drops to the floor and the woman turns her back once again. She shakes her hair so it ripples over her shoulder blades and raises her hands so that they meet at the clasp of her brassiere. A cheer rises from the crowd. She pauses to look over her shoulder and winks, running the straps coquettishly down her arms. Then she drops the bra to the floor and spins around, clutching her breasts in her hands. A howl of protest rises from the men. “Aw, come on, sugar, show us what you got!” She shakes her head, pouting coyly. “Aw, come on! I spent fifty cents!” She shakes her head, blinking demurely at the floor. Suddenly her eyes and mouth spring open and she pulls her hands away. Those majestic globes drop. They come to an abrupt stop before swinging gently, even though she’s standing perfectly still. There’s a collective intake of breath, a moment of awed silence before the men whoop in delight. “Atta girl!” “Lord have mercy!” “Hot damn!” She caresses herself, lifting and kneading, rolling her nipples between her fingers. She stares lasciviously down at the men, running her tongue across her upper lip. A drum roll begins. She grasps each hardened point firmly between thumb and forefinger and pulls one breast so that its nipple points at the ceiling. Its shape changes utterly as the weight redistributes. Then she drops it—it falls suddenly, almost violently. She hangs onto the nipple and lifts the other in the same upward arc. She alternates, picking up speed. Lifting, dropping, lifting, dropping—by the time the drum cuts out and the trombone kicks in, her arms move so fast they’re a blur, her flesh an undulating, pumping mass. The men holler, screaming their approval. “Oh yeah!” “Gorgeous, baby! Gorgeous!” “Praise the sweet Lord!” Another drum roll begins. She leans forward at the waist and those glorious tits swing, so heavy, so low—a foot long, at least, wider and rounded at the ends, as though each contains a grapefruit. She rolls her shoulders; first one, and then the other, so her breasts move in opposite directions. As the speed increases, they swing in ever-widening circles, lengthening as they gain momentum. Before long, they’re meeting in the center with an audible slap. Jesus. There could be a riot in the tent and I wouldn’t know it. There’s not a drop of blood left in my head. The woman straightens up and then drops into a curtsy. When she stands, she scoops a breast up to her face and slides her tongue around its nipple. Then she slurps it into her mouth. She stands there shamelessly sucking her own tit as the men wave their hats, pump their fists, and scream like animals. She drops it, gives the slick nipple a final tweak, and then blows the men a kiss. She leans down long enough to retrieve her diaphanous shawl and disappears, her arm raised so that the shawl trails behind her, a shimmering banner. “All right then, boys,” says Cecil, clapping his hands and climbing the stairs to the stage. “Let’s have a big hand for our Barbara!” The men cheer and whistle, clapping with hands held high. “Yup, ain’t she something? What a lady. And it’s your lucky day, boys, because for tonight only, she’ll be accepting a limited number of gentleman callers after the show. This is a real honor, fellas. She’s a gem, our Barbara. A real gem.” The men crowd toward the exit, slapping each other on the back, already exchanging memories. “Did you see those titties?” “Man, what a rack. What I wouldn’t give to play with those for a while.” I’m glad nothing requires my intervention, because I’m trying hard to maintain my composure. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a woman naked and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.

Explicit Sex Scene: Page 133-136 

“Well now, what have we here?” says a sultry voice from somewhere very nearby. My eyes pop open. A foot’s length of tightly packed cleavage is directly under my nose. I run my eyes up it until I see a face. It’s Barbara. I blink quickly, trying to see only one of her. Oh God—it’s no use. But no—wait. It’s okay. It’s not multiple Barbaras. It’s multiple women. “Hi, honey,” says Barbara, reaching out and stroking my face. “You doing okay?” “Mmm,” I say, trying to nod. Her fingertips linger under my chin as she turns to the blonde crouching beside her. “So young. Oh, he’s cute as a button, isn’t he, Nell?” Nell takes a drag from a cigarette and blows the smoke from the side of her mouth. “Sure is. Don’t think I’ve seen him before.” “He was helping out at the cooch tent a few nights ago,” says Barbara. She turns back to me. “What’s your name, honey?” she says softly, running the backs of her fingers up and down my cheek. “Jacob,” I say, around the edges of a belch. “Jacob,” she says. “Oh, say, I know who you are. He’s the one Walter was talking about,” she says to Nell. “He’s brand new, a First of May. Handled himself real well at the cooch tent.” She grabs my chin and raises it, gazing deep into my eyes. I try to return the favor but am having some trouble focusing. “Oh, you are a sweet thing. So, tell me, Jacob—you ever been with a woman?” “I...uh...,”Isay.“Uh...” Nell giggles. Barbara leans back and puts her hands on her waist. “Whadya think? Wanna give him a proper welcome?” “We practically have to,” says Nell. “A First of May and a virgin?” Her hand slips between my legs and slides over my crotch. My head, which had been wobbling on its stem, snaps upright. “You think his hair is red down there, too?” she says, cupping me in her palm. Barbara leans forward, unclasps my hands, and lifts one to her mouth. She turns it over, runs a long nail across the palm and then stares me in the eye while running her tongue along the same path. Then she takes my hand and places it on her left breast, right where the nipple must be. Oh God. Oh God. I’m touching a breast. Through a dress, but still— Barbara stands up for a moment, smooths her skirt, looks furtively around, and then crouches. I’m pondering this change of position when she takes hold of my hand again. This time she pulls it under her skirt and presses my fingers against hot, moist silk. I catch my breath. The whiskey, the moonshine, the gin, the God-knows-what—all of it dissipates instantly. She moves my hand up and down, over her strange and wonderful valleys. Oh shit. I may come right now. “Hmmmm?” she purrs, rearranging my hand so that my middle finger presses further into her. Warm silk bulges around both sides of my finger, pulsing under my touch. She removes my hand, places it back on my knee, and then gives my crotch an experimental squeeze. “Mmmmm,” she says, her eyes half-closed. “He’s ready, Nell. Damn, I love them at this age.” The rest of the night passes in epileptic flashes. I am aware of being propped up between two women, but I think I fall out the door of the stock car. At least, I am aware of finding myself cheek down in the dirt. Then I’m swept upward again and jostled along in the dark until I’m sitting on the edge of a bed. There are definitely two Barbaras now. And two of the other one, as well. Nell, was it? Barbara steps backward and raises her arms in the air. She throws her head back and runs her hands over her body, dancing and moving by candlelight. I’m interested—there is no question about that. But I simply can’t sit upright anymore. So I fall back. Someone’s yanking on my pants. I mumble something, not sure what, but I don’t think it’s encouragement. I’m suddenly not feeling well. Oh God. She’s touching me—it—stroking experimentally. I prop myself up on my elbows and look down. It’s limp, a tiny pink turtle hiding in its shell. It also seems to be stuck to my leg. She peels it free, delves both her hands between my thighs to spread them, and reaches down for my balls. She rests them on one hand, juggling them like eggs while she examines my penis. It flops hopelessly under her manipulations while I watch, mortified. The other woman—now there’s only one again, how the hell am I ever going to keep this straight?—lies next to me on the bed. She fishes a skinny breast from her dress and lifts it to my mouth. She rubs it all over my face. Now her lipsticked mouth is coming at me, a gaping maw with tongue extended. I turn my head to the right, where there is no woman. Then I feel a mouth close around the head of my penis. I gasp. The women giggle, but it’s a purring sound, an encouraging sound, as they continue trying to get a response. Oh God, oh God, she’s sucking it. Sucking it, for God’s sake. I’m not going to be able to— Oh my God, I need to— I turn my head and hurl the unfortunately varied contents of my stomach onto Nell.

Challenged by a parent in Keller ISD 4/1/23.  Deselected.  Does not meet Content Guidelines adopted by the board of trustee in the fall of 2023.  

Explicit Sex Scene:  Chapter: May and June 1990, “Reza”

So I just whisper his name again. I like feeling it on my tongue. “Art.” And then again, more decisively, “Art.” We lie naked next to each other, and we kiss for what feels like either a split second or an eternity. It’s a kiss that stops time. There is no past or future, just this moment, just this kiss. Time starts again when he removes his lips from mine and kisses the back of my ears, my neck, my shoulders, my chest. He works his way down. “I want to kiss every part of you,” he says. And he does. When he takes me inside his mouth, it’s almost over. “Wait, slow down,” I beg him. And then, when he does, I just repeat, “Wow. Wow. Wow.” I must sound like an idiot, but I don’t care. I don’t feel like an idiot. I feel like me. I pull him back up when I can’t take any more, and I do the same to him. I kiss and lick every inch of skin on his body, tasting the expanse of him, drawing him into me. The moment my lips leave his neck, I miss it already. Then when they leave his chest, I miss that. I want all of him, all at once, all the time. “I love you,” I whisper, my breath heavy. “Me too,” he says, laying me on my back and finding his way on top of me. I turn to the bedside table and grab a condom. I give it to him with a smile and a nod. “Wow,” he says. “Wow, I didn’t think . . .” “What?” I ask, mischievous. “You thought I’d remain like a virgin forever?” He beams. A hand on my cheek, he says softly, “Quien es este niño? Who’s that boy?” I realize I’m a new person now, the person I’ve been waiting to be. I feel it’s only right to quote Madonna back to him, so I kiss him once more, then whisper, “I’m a young boy with eyes like the desert that dream of you, my true blue.” His smile radiates love. “True blue,” he repeats. He tries to open the condom wrapper but fumbles with it. He tries his teeth. I grab it from him and tear it open. I try to put it on him, doing my best to block out why the condom is necessary, trying to forget all those images of death and disease. My hands shake as I place the condom on him. “I think you’re putting it on upside down,” he says, laughing. “Really?” I turn it over and try it the other way. It finally slides on. He smiles. I smile. We have a layer of protection between us now. He squeezes some lube onto him, then onto me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer to me, or deeper into me, because he’s in me now. We thrust and grunt and sweat until we almost fall off the bed. “I need to catch my breath,” he says. Then, with a smile, he adds, “I think this is the first team sport I like.” I laugh. “I’m sure your dad would be very proud if you tried out for the varsity sex team.” This makes him laugh. “Like an athlete,” he jokes. Then he whispers tenderly, “Reza, are you doing this because you want to, or because you think it’ll make me stay?” I kiss his neck, tasting his salty sweat. I lick the skin behind his earlobe, a hidden piece of him that feels all mine. “Maybe I thought about that,” I say. “But that’s not why I changed my mind. Whether you stay here or go west, I needed to do this. You had to be my first.” He nods, then shakes his head. “Hey, why are we talking so much? Aren’t we supposed to be having mad, hot, passionate sexual intercourse right now?” “You started talking!” I laugh. “Me?” he asks, a roguish grin across his face. “You’re the one inventing new school sports.” “Shut up,” I say, blushing. “Or I’ll never let you onto the junior varsity blow job team.” He laughs and kisses me. The heat quickly returns. He enters me again, and it’s like we are flying together, soaring above the world and its problems, and there is no more death or grief or distance. We collapse into each other when we’re done. After a while, Art gets up and opens the curtains. He’s speaking to me, but I’m still in a haze, floating. “That was incredible.” And then, sadly, “I wish I could tell Stephen about this.” I crawl out of bed. It hurts a little to walk, but in a good way, like my body wants to remember him inside me. I walk over to him. I wrap my arms around him, and we gaze out at the city together. We don’t say anything for a very long time. We just stare at the city that brought us together.