Here is a highly abbreviated chapter from Nicholson Baker’s full-throttle pornographic new novel, “House of Holes”:

“We’re professionals. I know it may seem a little strange to you that we don’t have pants on.”

“I thought about you yesterday. I did rude things to an orange.”

“This is pleasant.”

“Whooo!”

“Ooh boy.”

“Ohhhhhrrrrr.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Did you take off your sponge gloves?”

There’s more, of course. But you aren’t supposed to eye it in a newspaper. You’re supposed to be teased into reading the full, unexpurgated “House of Holes” by even the tiniest peek at its fantasies and taste of its lingo. “Newspaper” is the only word in this paragraph that the 54-year-old Mr. Baker, now staking his claim to the title of World’s Oldest Teenage Boy, couldn’t give a smirky spin.

Among the unusual eroticized terms that turn up in “House of Holes” are “united parcel,” “chickenshack,” “address book,” “subway improvement project,” “the fondling fathers” and “cold Snapple in my condo.” Malcolm Gladwell could either sue or thank Mr. Baker, depending on how he feels about seeing his name used as a ha-ha synonym for a body part. However much fun he has toying with innuendoes, Mr. Baker finds lots of time for the Anglo-Saxon standbys too.

With a vocabulary like that, “House of Holes” comes with built-in hyperbole. It all but demands to be called the dirtiest book ever to emanate from an author who already has “Vox” and “The Fermata” on his curriculum vitae (not to mention “Double Fold,” a manifesto aimed at libraries, which won a National Book Critics Circle award for nonfiction). But Mr. Baker’s earlier sex books veered into pervier territory, making “House of Holes” pretty innocent by comparison. This new book seems a deliberate course correction after “The Fermata,” about a man with a yen for secretly undressing women and a magical ability to make time stand still. The behavior that he called “chronanistic” gave more than one kind of pause.