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The Cozy Spot

118 posts categorized "fiction"

July 18, 2008

Coffee Fairies & Mondays - a Fiction

There are elements of sadness, Jim thought. As for being sad? Being sad, according to the others, pertained to enjoying the feel of a keyboard under his fingertips. He’d also grown to take pride in the fact that he’d spend little time correcting typos; the computer monitor became his friend, accommodating him in more ways than the Kama Sutra and a loving partner. All beneath the grayness; carpet, partitions, filing cabinets. He could have been draped from head to toe in, what could be termed, Bleak prêt-a-porter.

The sadness didn’t hover above him like a ravenous condor. It jabbed him on the most ordinary day. Monday.

Continue reading "Coffee Fairies & Mondays - a Fiction" »

April 29, 2008


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.

April 27, 2008

Lucrezia Magazine - Updated & Live

I never through it would happen so quickly, but YES, Lucrezia Magazine, or should I say, the reinvented Lucrezia Lucrezia Magazine is now up and live.

The new site has so many more features, including something it didn’t have before - a search button. It also is a valid RSS feed. It has a rotating news header on the main page. It’s worth all the all nighters that I have put in over the last seven days.

There is another thing I am in the process of adding to the site and that is a sidebar of four blogs that will be rotated from time to time. I haven’t decided on which blogs and prefer to leave that open. The only thing I require is for the said blogs to be more than six months old and to have an avatar that is 40 x 40 pixels. Those interested can email me via the email that is listed on this blog.

Anyway, I’m off to bed.

Enjoy the new mag.

I am going to take a complete day off from the Internet.

April 26, 2008


I just posted up a new story here.

Is it adult? Yes it is.

April 14, 2008

An Erotic Short Story by Moi

The story isn't here. It is here. It is the first erotica story I have had published on a site for quite a few months. Eight or nine? I don't remember exactly, and thank you to the gals at Oysters and Chocolate for making that a reality for me.

April 02, 2008

Angies Secret Garden - I

I don't know how erotic it will get yet.


Angie's Secret Garden

Dear Diary Day One:

Pouring over each nicely worded advertisement unlocks the door to my rage. Within each groomed newspaper square are requests. One needs to be malleable, adaptable and open minded to be trained by a manager barely out of school. When you’re over thirty, like me, this parallels candid camera, God is Alan Funt and I dangle over the precipice.
What if I ran a razor sharp blade across my wrist?
My mind wanders. Will blood seep through the clean cut and if so, does that confirm my life?
If only it were that simple. The moment always passes, my fingers dig out another cigarette and my ears absorb the crackle of tobacco as I set it alight.

“You should stop smoking, you can die.” I may be told.
It would be half my luck. I’m not so fortunate, I think. Everything else may occur, but death is too sweet a reward for one such as me. God looks on, the planet revolves and the sun rises once again.
I’m not sure if I want to live.
This tends to be a family tradition. How wrong can it be?


Angie blinked at the page that contained her insight. The kitchen faded to the background and a low whistling wind hummed against the kitchen skylight. She visualised dead copper leaves whirring along the litter infested back alley, normal people strolling to the corner café and her resident inner demon crouching on its haunches. Her fingers creaked from the cold and twirled her black pan like a baton. Her apartment no longer felt like home and she considered hopping on a plane but had only been back in town for a month.
Angie eyed her tepid instant coffee and pursed her lips, its acrid odour irked her thoughts. With acute perception, Genghis began pacing around her feet. She felt his feline body rub against her calves and ran her tongue up and down the inside of her cheek. Her primal urge to kick the cat sparked through her murky thoughts before logic stepped in. Genghis wasn’t at fault; Angie was the supreme conductor of her own dismal symphony. She was one day shy of entering her third decade and everything took a rancid turn. She sifted through her kitchen pantry and isolated an open packet of crackers. Fur rubbed her bare calves.
“Go away!”
Her voice echoed and the black bundle froze mid pace. Genghis then completed a full revolution and sat a couple of feet to her left. The morning sun met his golden eyes and two black vertical slits pondered Angie.
“Surprise, surprise. I’ve finally made a decision. And?”
Genghis bowed his ebony head.
“I’m talking to the damn cat.” She muttered.
Her chair screeched against the grey tiles. The world outside danced to an autumnal rhythm, while the inner recesses of her kitchen vouched for her mangled splenetic mind. She padded to the sink and rifled through a mass of dirty china in a bid to locate a teaspoon. The cutlery drawer was bare. Who could tolerate a bad housekeeper?
A voice from her past manifest itself, a brackish whine, and Angie frowned. The feminine cigarette stained tone would harp on about the lack of housework. By the age of sixteen, Angie knew she’d never make the grade of ideal hostess or homemaker. A myriad of disbanded relationships attested to this minor fact.
She immersed her hand, to the tune of clattering saucers, and unearthed a teaspoon. She turned the faucet, mindful of the cold water, and rinsed it. It would do, no it wouldn’t. Angie abandoned the idea of a second coffee and the seemingly clean spoon landed in the sink with a clank.
The small three by two kitchen surrounded her. To her left lay remnants of the past fortnight. The wide bench on her right boasted evolving clutter. Bills, newspapers, junk mail, books, and crumpled pages coalesced to form a symbiotic relationship. She couldn’t shift a utility bill without disturbing the latest K-Mart sale brochure. If she lifted a newspaper from the pile on her desk, crumpled balls of notepaper would wobble with displeasure.
Her eyes erratically darted from sink to bench. Angie retreated to the solitary confinement of her bedroom with an audible sigh.
People she knew sailed through life. Angie clambered like an uncoordinated klutz on a laser illuminated dance podium. Her final thought, before she closed her eyes, drifted to Mount Everest. She grappled with the mountain of her life, fought it tooth and nail, and found herself at the foot of the natural wonder.
She viewed the content of her thoughts as flotsam and jetsam; they all swirled within the maelstrom of her soul, and she became acquainted with the struggle until she collapsed on her bed. Genghis searched her face. Oh he knew. Something did arise and it wasn’t time for his Whiskers.

Blane arose, or at least that was how he introduced himself. Angie laughed.

Ghengis yawned.
“Pretentious? Like something out of a TV soap?”
Ghengis collapsed, his furry butt sank into her pillow, and he wriggled his tail
“He’s cute though…and I know Gengy, I am a goof, but…”
Genghis licked his paw. Angie lay back and scanned the cream colored ceiling.

(to be continued)

Afternoon Capers

I found and I decided to join.

And I also posted a story on it, after tidying it up a little.

You can find the story here.

Now I'm off to a parent-teacher school meeting.

March 31, 2008


The below story is written from a male perspective, and was first published at more than a year ago. I decided to change the title of it now, only because the original title was far too long. It was written a while back. I settled for "Lights,Camera,Suction," because it involves a main character that is within the film industry. All the erotic elements are below the 'read more' link.



Thea and I go back; so far back that I remember pulling her braids in kindergarten. I recall her calling me a naughty little boy. She couldn’t find the blue crayon to finish off her pretty sketch and I decided I’d hide it in my pants. Our childhood relationship grew thornier as we progressed through to elementary school. Her hair, elegantly braided by her doting mother, held me transfixed.

‘You suck!’ she hollered, throwing a HB pencil directly toward my head.

‘Watch it!’ I replied, giggling at her reaction. I remember the pleasure I felt when Miss Struthers, our class teacher, organized the seating arrangements. I had Thea next to me for the better part of the year. The same ritual applied where, at some point during the day, I’d wave my fingers under my nose and loudly proclaim that Thea let off a deadly silent fart.

‘Miss!’ she wailed.

The other ugly reality was that I was the one who let off the ghastly methane fuel jets out of my ass.

‘Yes Thea?’

‘Jim’s being…’

‘What is it Thea?’

The entire class focused on Thea. All twenty-five pairs of eyes regarded her with uncertainty and some of the other girls frowned with disdain. I was the most popular boy, after all.

Continue reading "Lights,Camera,Suction" »

March 30, 2008

Naked Lunch

This is a story I wrote a little while back. It's an erotic girl-girl story.

Naked Lunch

‘You haven’t shown up lately,’ the husky voice, a product of winter and perhaps a few too many cigarettes, lunged at me. I felt a hundred pairs of eyes flick toward me within the small lecture hall. The few seconds that it took, for me to look at Dr Jansen, felt like hours. Her green eyes blazed like perfectly cut gems. I opened my mouth to speak, and a minute squeak erupted from my larynx.
‘I’ve been…’ my face prickled.
I covered for someone at work…
My bus was late…
I had a doctor’s appointment…

Each rehearsed lie fluttered inside my head at the frequency of an agitated pigeon repeatedly slamming against a windowpane.
I slept in after cramming for examination she was about to hand out. She gathered the small pile of papers and stepped forward. Her black culottes loosely draped her curved thighs, and danced to her every step.
‘Take one and pass the rest along,’ she instructed. My fingers gripped the papers while my mind tried to resurrect all the organic compounds I tried to memorize. Each molecule, bond and element, fragmented when her eyes briefly met mine. The three hours that followed saw me with my head down, scribbling answers to questions that barely had meaning. Dr Jansen uncannily structured the examination, leaving little room for us to check our answers. My heart galloped within my chest as the minutes bore down.

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March 25, 2008

Sting in the Tail -fiction

After nine years of marriage, Mary knew that the holidays were not a good time to ask her husband for a favor. There were few things to smile about; Daniel’s eyes lingered over the cold meats. She reminded him to hurry up. He scowled; his warm breath elevated his sandy fringe. It was the same breath that tantalized her damp neck.

“I’m leaving in five minutes. I thought you’d be finished by now,” she said. Then again…

She’d often joke about his lengthy shopping trips. They’d laugh, and their limbs would fall in place. Caresses, and kisses; marathon love sessions.

The cute anomalies became frightful over the years. It was strange how she ignored his peculiarities; he’d stand, for minute at a stretch, reading food labels. Their lives diverged after Jess's birth: his tendency to control every shopping expedition. You should buy the other yoghurt. It has both strains. Strains?
How stupid, why of course: acidophilus and bifidus.

She leaned against the cool metal edge of the refrigerator. Would Daniel snap out of his meditation to ask her about her day?

“Daniel. We have twenty minutes!”
“Where is Jess?”

By Christ, he’d noticed!
“With my parents. They’re expecting us at the school hall.”
“Give me a few more minutes, there’s a special in aisle five and I need to stock up.”
He hadn’t desired stocking up on her body; his eyes preferred carbohydrate ratios and percentages. He could recite each calorie load per gram. It all began with his affair, the one he kindly confessed. Oh, she noticed it. He’d gone off his clothes; needed a new fitness regimen, and attended office socials. He’d gone from devoted family man, to corporate animal.
“We have every thing we need…Shit, we went shopping yesterday!”
“Darling, please…people,” his eyes narrowed. An older man smiled, and gingerly picked up a pack of sliced ham – without reading the ingredients. Her longings stirred her senseless. If only he were thirty years younger. Most were pedantic about …


Continue reading "Sting in the Tail -fiction" »

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