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The Cozy Spot

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141 entries from April 2008

April 30, 2008

I Don't Like Facials

To be exposed, even by accident, to scenes of rape or extreme sexual violence posing as sexual kink, that subtly diminishes consent, for fantasy purposes, was not a part of my life as a child or as a teenager.

Today, it is all a different story, one that is opening debate and stirring people into a frenzy. Some feel they are immediately victimized via laws that aim to create some middle line where adult content is concerned, and others clearly don’t like the idea of extreme porn being passed off lightly without question or debate. Others still, dare not express a real opinion lest they offend people. I really couldn’t care about that. I feel that it is much worse to bullshit and feign overall acceptance of everything without any debate or question.

Continue reading "I Don't Like Facials" »

on Mother's Day...

Mother’s Day is around the corner. This Sunday, in fact, and while I’m in dilemma mode, I have arrived to one conclusion: I’ve transformed into a run-of-the-mill house frau with simple desires. The inner fashion freak within enjoys the small, pricey trinket and the libido challenged Zoloft popper inside is gazing at ergonomically designed sex toys…but the other, freakish thing, is that my third option is outweighing the first two:

The complete set of Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone series on DVD. Serling was an amazing writer who wrote 92 of the 154 episodes. It's a classic series. It's pricey, but it satisfies the happy moments of my childhood when I'd sneak into the living room at 9.30pm to wait for the opening theme and narration, and even back then, I knew that weird stories were for me.

What makes this urge more insidious is the way in which I've gone about negotiating this. My son asked me about potential gifts, and we arrived to a mutual agreement: he passes the suggestion on to his dad, and in exchange for his suggestion, he receives a small (financial) reward. It may sound terrible, I know, but lord...I don't want:

Coffee machines
Sandwich makers
Dust busters
or any other domestic appliance.

Looks like I’ve entered the Twilight Zone.

The 'Achy Breaky' Photo Spread

Is it scandalous or is it a lot of hot air?

The Miley Cyrus situation over at Vanity Fair is a mind boggling thing, considering a renowned photographer elected to snap sexualized images, and the magazine decided to publish them. Who was in charge of the creative styling?

The bottom line is that Miley Cyrus is 15 years old and she is made up and styled/posed like a sexually aware adult.

There’s plenty of time for sex, sexual experimentation, or sexually seductive imagery, and sometimes I feel that certain publications tend to rush it, and some creative people tend to condone it in order to have the gig.

What message is the come hither imagery sending to similar aged girls, or younger girls?

Is one hit wonder, Billy Ray Cyrus, rejuvenating his long lost fame through his daughter?

Celebrity parenting is one weird trip. Previous examples of questionable parenting do exist in the form of Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears.

And people have had issues with Madonna adopting a boy from Africa?

There is a noticeable pattern. Parents who seek some form of the limelight tend to utilize their children (and condone anything for publicity), and those who are stars in their own right, tend to keep their children away from the limelight. Madonna should be awarded parent of the year, and the above mentioned parents need to attend parenting classes for beginners.

There is a Difference Between Consensual Sex and Rape - even with Internet Porn

People's views on sex change over time, and may also be influenced by outside factors such as marital status. Single versus attached/married versus attached/divorced/married parent. All views differ and sometimes empathy can vary.

Take the new law to come into effect in the UK next week, that will target extreme pornography. It is true to say that as societies change, so do laws. The current Internet age or information age has enabled positive things, such as a wider access to information, but it has also enabled access to information that may be age inappropriate, and it isn't restricted to porn, or extreme porn, but things like online terrorist organizations who have reportedly used known social networks as potential recruitment grounds.

The new Act, I think, isn't that extreme, and as usual, much paranoia unfolds. People immediately assume that all adult content will be banned outright, or that people will effectively have a scarlet letter painted on their chest. This new law targets content that is against the law in our everyday life, away from the Internet, images such as rape or extreme violence, generally things that are unacceptable behaviors in society, and to say that it's simply 'extreme' to ban violent sexual content, is verging on the side of inane political correctness.

What I found disturbing in the article, is the following quote or response by one 'Helen', who - it is stated- enjoys being submissive, and watching porn:

"Mrs Longhurst sees this man having done this to her daughter and she wants something to blame and rather than blame this psychotic man she wants to change the law but she doesn't really understand the situation."

Continue reading "There is a Difference Between Consensual Sex and Rape - even with Internet Porn" »

When Amateur Pornmeisters are Sued

There is always debate about the acceptance of adult entertainment or porn, but there are many sleazy companies who give it a bad name by association, due to their clouded ethics. Frankly, I’d rather watch hours of Vanessa Williams promoting Pro-Activ on late night television, than have to watch those sleazy Girls Gone Wild commercials. I think the Girls Gone Wild thing is sleazy, demeaning and predatory, and that is what I thought when this company made Australian headlines last year when they tried to promote their sleazoid amateur films and recruit potential starlets out of the groups of teenagers at Schoolies week.

If I had a choice between Michael Ninn and amateur anything, I’d take Ninn. But amateur porn aside, the tactics Girls Gone Wild use, to recruit potential talent is questionable, and the way television networks accept any advertising revenue, justifying the late night time slots, is nothing short of amazing, considering the level of sleaze, not to mention shady telephone/text message deals that they promote late at night. I’ve seen more Girls Gone Wild adverts on Channel Nine, here in Sydney, than any other network. I don’t find nudity offensive. It’s the sleaze that shits me to tears. Networks such as Nine pretend to be thoughtful and community orientated by day, but come night, or late night, the sleazy adverts (and questionable products, such as ‘SMS chat’) are a joke.

To accept (and advertise) money from a company that uses alcohol to entice female teenagers to participate in films is joke worthy. The girls may not be under the legal age of sexual consent, but some Australian high school seniors are under the age of eighteen, therefore minors.

News of Ashley Dupre (Eliot Spitzer’s ‘call girl’) suing Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis for a staggering $US 10 million is quite pleasing to read. There is much to be said about amateur porn. Personally, I don’t like it. I find that a lot of amateur porn isn’t really amateur because many people try to ape professionals and look gauche in the process, but this aside, the sinister (and seldom discussed) side of amateur porn is that which is uploaded on sites without permission. There are cases where former partners are uploaded on porn file sharing sites, or you-tube style sites, without their knowledge, let alone permission, and what happens? Their former lovers promote the sex, gain some sort of Internet fame, and the sites earn money or fame without having to pay for the uploaded content. A hundred thousand (or more) views isn’t fame. Personal videos are a dime a dozen these days, but for those who are uploaded without their permission, and that upload containing sex, they face repercussions that can affect their personal relationships, careers and general well-being. It’s quite invasive to be uploaded without permission, or to be used as a financial vehicle without permission.

So I wish Ashley the best of luck, because Joe Francis will never have Hugh Hefner’s style and innovation. His creations reflect his sleaze.

Being a sex worker doesn't give sleazy arseholes (like Francis) the right to use a likeness to promote their product.

April 29, 2008

Life is Too Short to Fart-Arse About

It was as my eyes roamed his office, as my mind stirred its contents, that I prepared to respond to the personal question. I don’t like sexual questions. I think the focus on sex can be overrated, sometimes revealing little about a person. Sexual things tend to catch people off guard. They catch me off guard and I always try to duck or hide behind an imaginary rock.

I’m not embarrassed, and I don’t find the subject awkward, but I don’t like the spotlight facing me. I don’t wish to analyze my sexuality to the finest detail because I don’t think it valuable. It may have been valuable almost two decades ago, as I was testing the mating waters, but now, so many years later, after lovers, flings, idiots and former partners, I feel that I know all there is to know. There is no sexual quest, not in the physical sense. I gathered some nerve, inhaled and met the therapist’s gaze.

“I don’t think sex is part of the issue here, at least not for me.”
“But the sexual undertones behind the event that upset you did affect you.”
“Maybe,” I said, but I wasn’t really sure. There were many other factors involved in my upset. My forced tolerance is one thing that nags me at the best of times. I don’t really understand why a person must be politically correct. I find it incredibly difficult to tolerate fools.
“Can you expand on that maybe?”
“It wasn’t the sexual detail that upset me, it was the confirmation it provided.”
“What did it confirm?”
“That I spent an unnecessary amount of time tolerating stupid people.”
He pursed his lips together, and I detected a shred of discomfort.
“Yes, they’re stupid. I’ve already told some higher ups about the stupidity of their selected managers. Stupid, incompetent,bitchy, just horrible. I’m also angry that previous people, those who were pushed toward an exit, had to tolerate their behavior. I don’t want to put myself in that situation again. I’m too old for that bullshit. So it’s not about the sexual thing or innuendo they created.”
“I see.”
But do people who say that really see?

A large chunk of my early adulthood was about sex. Jeez, I was doing stuff  (along with friends) that wasn’t an ideal topic of discussion on television. Sex on television became fashionable more than a decade after I lost my virginity. I watch comedic sex sitcoms and I feel that I’m being talked down to. It’s as though the script acts as a quasi-educational vehicle, when it’s not and the female characters may as well live on another planet. Actually, scrap that, make it a parallel universe.

I used to like fucking, I really did, until it became like groundhog day and I felt that it lacked a certain joie de vivre, not to mention emotion. I hated how some takers would randomly call me thinking I’d drop everything to suck their dick. As I always say, a fictional fuck is always better than a real fuck. For one, it’s easy to train to be a synchronized swimmer than time a simultaneous orgasm. I am 36 and I think that, and no, I haven’t been married to one man all my life.

The room took on an ashen hued gloom as rain clouds gathered beyond the window.

“So how is your romantic life?”
“It’s non existent,” I said, “I don’t really think about it, and since the Zoloft, I’m lucky to average an orgasm a week. It’s been two weeks…I think I’ve lost count. I’ve been busy.”

Busy for an orgasm? Is that possible. I think so because that is what it has been like for me. The corners of his mouth took a southerly turn. He jotted a couple of lines and I guessed his sentences would have been summed up as, ‘no sex life, no orgasm, low libido (Zoloft), transmutation.’

“You’ve been busy with your hobbies.”
“I wouldn’t call it a hobby now. It takes up as much time as my job did. Eight hours a day easy, and more than eight hours if I’m spending time figuring out technical issues.”

“This satisfies you?”
“I’ve felt more satisfied doing this than dating the last five men in my life, and I feel like I’ve accomplished more.”

We ended there. He wanted to discuss my early life next time. I gathered my thoughts at the bus stop as I waited for the bus home, to finally opt for a taxi.

It’s not like I abhor sex, I don’t, but I don’t feel the urge to conquer as I once did. I don’t feel the urge to travel through the same physical terrain without that X-factor being present. Sex, or fucking, doesn’t automatically mean that a relationship will develop. It took me considerable time to separate sex and emotion as a young adult, or differentiate between sex/sexual attraction and relationships, and that both aren’t bound together in a pink hued, heart shaped bubble. I have passion for other things, but I can’t find the passion for dating, sex and the entire mating rigmarole, like I once did. In terms of dating and/or relationships, I feel like I’m a chef in a serious culinary rut, who can’t find the energy to create a fantabulous meal in a restaurant, and so, I focus on other strengths. Dating has never been my strong suit. I’ve always felt like an actor in a role, behaving in a socially acceptable way, or conversing about polite topics when I couldn’t really care less about the football, cars or the fact that the other person earns a great income ‘in a job they love.’ I don’t do The Rules.

I’ve downsized in the last three months, and some days I think I have one rule:

Life is too short to fart-arse about.

Before (Ages 20 - 29):

- Will he call me?
- What will he think (after we’ve had sex)?
- Will he want to take it further?

The above three have been swapped for:

At ages 30 - 35
- I hope he doesn’t turn into a text message freak
- He’s extremely fortunate to have gone that far with me.
- If it happens it happens, if it doesn’t, I’m not going to waste time agonizing over it, but I wish he was more communicative, because this is pissing me off big-time.

At age 37

I just realized. I don’t care.


How long before a person transforms into greasy convenient fast food burgers and forgets haute cuisine?
I never thought of comparing people to burgers but I threw my canvas against the wall, watching my easel tremble on the parquet floor. My paintbrushes followed, expressing their angst with wet multicolored smudges along the wall they hit. There was I, splayed out on the bed while my lover at the time, prepared to land his Apollo space shuttle. I could have been a fast food drive-through. He finished in a time frame that would have puzzled Albert Einstein. We didn't manage to swap positions and my eyes stared at the ceiling hoping for something that the Richter scale could measure. My taste buds soured at all this sex business and my own mind reprimanded my inner need to find the perfect male life model. It appeared that all experienced men my age or over had it all in the bag. My dirty Thirties were being laundered right before my eyes and I had little choice but to pull the plug on the whole debacle.
'I'm sorry, I'm busy,' said I to the astronaut on the other side.
'Aw, come on Samantha…' he whined, ‘we’re still on for tomorrow…’
‘No we’re not. I’m not painting you anymore, my inspiration has vanished. I’ll mail you your deposit!’
I shook my head and pressed the end button.
'It's the same, as they are on a mission to reach their ultimate destination - eternal astronauts that are focused on landing on the red throbbing planet.'
I stared at my diary entry and thought of double beef patties on a sesame seed bun. Intimacy gradually resembled a generic plan where journeys ceased to matter. I gathered my toughened hide, sketchpad, and ambled to my nearest burger joint. The ten-minute walk justified the calories I'd ingest and after I collected my pre-fashioned meal, I found an outside table.
'Hi, do you mind if I sit here? The other tables are full.'
My eyes transformed into a separate entity. He, a definite decade younger than me, launched a lust missile into my brain. His glossy black hair, tied back into a short ponytail, begged for release and his bulbous lips reminded me of strawberries.
'It gets like that in here.'
'I've never been here, stopping by after work,' he said, lowering himself onto the plastic seat.
Our conversation took off like Concorde. David and I sat in the café for two hours and before I could slap my cheek to remind myself of our age gap, his hand covered mine. A virile twenty-three compared to my thirty-three, I agreed to a nocturnal seaside supper on the edge of Bondi Beach.
Invisible fingers massaged my mind as we sat on a blanket watching black waves stroll to the shore.
Without any forethought, I rotated my head to stretch my neck and ease the busy locusts in my stomach.
'Here,' said David as his hands gently massaged my shoulders.
'That's good. I don't usually…'
I felt his velvet tongue dance on my neck. Its wet trail linked with my mind and each mental lens magnified the sensation. Every skin receptor tingled with delight and my conscious mind was at a loss. He opted for a slow journey as black, velvety waves met the sandy shore. A ten minute interval elapsed by the time the tip of his tongue found my earlobe. My hunger pangs rampantly demanded attention.
Our lips throbbed after three hours. My knees, liquefied by his ardor, trembled as his tongue danced inside my lips. His mouth served to draw out my essence in gradual steps. Our bodies mingled on the grass and our languid limbs tangled as we feasted. David's staggering arousal sculpted the throbbing monolith between his legs; his deft fingers slowly pried apart the moist petals between my legs.
'Your lips are sweet,' he murmured, fanning my mouth with his hot breath.
Clothed, albeit creased, we focused on the journey.
'I'm so…' He whispered, stroking my hair with his long fingers.
'I know…
I covered his lips with a lingering kiss as I slid over his sturdy body, melting to the tune of his husky moan as he slid into my core. A life drawing in motion, his hips slid against mine.
‘David,’ I whispered, revisiting Michelangelo’s sculpture.
His eyes glimmered, illuminated by a crescent moon.
Each agile hand of his braced my hips and guided my pelvis over his pulsating shaft.
‘Dance for me,’ he moaned.
‘I wanna paint you…’ I whispered, breathless with lust.
‘Anything you want…’ he murmured.

Bigger can be Better @ 22 Inches

The soles of my feet are throbbing, and my butt cheeks have endured a four hour walk through the city central business district in search of a computer monitor for my desktop. I'm not a financial tight arse, but I wanted to get a great deal.

Myer, David Jones, JB Hi-Fi, a stopover at Ralph Lauren (so housemate can stock up on another shirt), Skygarden, it went on and on, until we finally glimpsed Digital City and the word 'sale'. I am a retail whore. It may pain me to admit what I'm going to admit, but I'll do it anyway. If I had a choice between a five hour fuck-fest and a five hour shopping spree, I'd take the latter. It's a terrible admission to make, but like always, my eye can't resist things like high heel black boots, trinkets (Gucci,Dior, etc), technical gadgets (I almost had an orgasm over the Mac Air notebook today - it really is featherlight) and Krispy Kreme.

We brought the new monitor home, plugged it in, and we ended up fighting over who would use the desktop. "You have the laptop! The desktop is mine!'' and "But mum you have your laptop!" I quickly browsed the sites I usually browse (on my laptop) on the shlong LCD monitor, and almost wept from the size of everything...

I'm sad...I know.

April 28, 2008

Date with Gordon

I’ve found my birthday present today - thanks to OK Magazine (Aust) and its mention.

The Good Food and Wine Show. I’m going to buy myself a ticket…

I’m a foodie.
I love good quality grog.

And Gordon Ramsay’s going to be there (!!!)

The Erotic Repository

There is a new addition to the magazine, and it is similar to most news aggregators or adult blog listings. It is a list of feeds that is automatically updated each day. I've taken some liberties adding blogs to the Erotic Repository, and I haven't finished yet. I have added the blogs on the list in alphabetical order, and I have done it in small batches. It enables me to test each feed from the site.

I will be adding more blogs tonight and tomorrow.

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© Anastasia Mavromatis 2005 - 2008