Lucrezia Magazine

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The Cozy Spot

1 post categorized "erotica to music"

February 03, 2008

A Cross Post - 'cos I'm a busy bee

The below is a cross post from my other blog, a musical interlude & writing, because I'll be a busy little bee this week. The Feb issue of Lucrezia Magazine will be live at some point this week. Monday, or Tuesday at the latest.

Hurdy Gurdy Man - Donovan

From Bogotá, to downtown LA, all the cocaine in the world couldn’t compare to his incandescence, and my febrile palpitations. The idea of his presence was enough; it goaded me, taunting me from within.

He, an abstract concept of my imagination or one that reality spat out on fine afternoon on the computer…

“You wouldn’t speak to me in that way if you faced me.”
“Maybe not, then again…” he typed.

Going from byte riddled, type written non-entity to full blown Eros exceeds the lunar leap – for me, anyway. It was so long ago that I began with, Pissant, asshole… to arrive at Hello, what do we have here?

The steadiness within his warm chestnut eyes floored, magnetizing me to the grimy, gum splotched pavement. He kissed my cheek, and gingerly took me by the arm, as if to say, “lost for words now, bitch?” Polite, restrained and somewhat out of sorts, he sat, and drank. We drank. Drank until the small hours, until we ran out of watering holes; lust most likely struggling to come up for air thanks to the copious ale.

I imagined wrapping his long raven hair around my fingers; wondered how long it would actually be once he released his hair band, and let it all fall. My ardor would then leap out, and tunnel through him with juggernaut speed, eating him up like a ravenous Hydra on speed; super slut of the evening. Big wishes, and few actions; rendered speechless by his a la naturel eau de dermis.

God fuck me, and he did. God fucked with my head that evening. Eros drove me home, and as we erupted in small talk in the light of dawn, a police car materialized; nightly patrol. A uniformed constable stepped out.
“How are you doing?”

Well we weren’t fucking…how I wish, I thought. Need seeped through my pores, making my pubic hairs twitch. There I sat in the middle of grimy suburbia. In a parking lot with little to show but a parting kiss.

I pocketed his lips, stretching it out until I could visualize his very teeth. His mouth accompanied me day and night, breaking through the barrier once again. I didn’t bat an eyelid, and as for playing hard to get?

I needed, wanted and couldn’t let another second slip by.

Pick me up…now.
Let’s go.
In the lap of the gods, or demons, and I didn’t care. In the car, on the way to anywhere, his hair flapped in the air. Black silk merging with the night. I needed to feel it against my skin.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything. It was a drive to an undecided destination for decided action. He broke the ice with his tongue; down my neck, along my earlobe, tantalizing my eardrum with moist, lugubrious smacks that were further compounded with the expanding flesh between his legs.

His monolithic cock and satin tongue revived the concept of juxtaposition; English had never been so orgasmic. Trippy, beneath the gibbous moon, and sure enough we couldn’t time it better than an astronomer; night, sea, moon, if this is the last night on earth god, then thank you!

No drugs necessary. His mouth became the pipe, his tongue a Coca leaf that tickled the insides of my lips, and his thick spatulate fingertips delved deeper still. A slow motion fingerfuck that launched me to the next galaxy; the stars faded. Then again, it could have been the moon, dissolving each second with the most corrosive, yet sublime, acid yet unknown to science. We didn’t go forward, and didn’t rewind. We spun on the moment, entangled on a bench, giving the nocturnal world a bird’s eye view to our wandering hands, tongues, and writhing bodies. Rising up, to bear down; he dipped inside and roamed a little farther up as the night air tickled my navel.

In the building across, I spy a mature woman heading to her balcony. She closes the door as his mouth engulfs my nipple, and I suck my breath, swallowing a potential cry; she stops briefly, and rushes back. Concern fled long ago; I’m glued. Riveted. The maniac within needs a little more. He shifts position, I keep him there, so I can raise my hips and appreciate the full rise of his cock, as it salutes and marathon foreplay continues.

The moment: a hairline crack in time’s continuum, or an eon.


Whole body tremors and god manifest during those hours.

There was a god…

The kiss of love…

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© Anastasia Mavromatis 2005 - 2008