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The Cozy Spot

7 posts categorized "Notes"

May 05, 2007



"but my priest says
you ain't savin' no souls
my father says
you ain't makin' any money
my doctor says
you just took it to the limit
and here I stand
with this sword in my hand" - Take to the Sky (Tori Amos)

There was little possibility of fate exploding in a menagerie of colour. The afternoon wilted, and he disappeared on my return. The earlier part of the day saw him transplanted to another section, not too distant from where I sat. He initially arrived, stopping less than a metre away from my peripheral vision, and I danced from within as excitement strummed the inner chord of desire to get a little closer. There's danger within conventionality or the daily humdrum of work and chatter, so I fled at the first opportunity. Defeat sprang up, slapping my mind. Hungry to make a temporary exit, and seek eupnea, my legs carried me through doors. The need to tweak some form of serendipity, within a clocked out city, inspired a jet of caffeine. So there he was standing further down the street; I couldn't avoid him.

It's incredible how a moment can invert the cloud of dejection; he stood, back facing me and I followed by compulsion, tapped him on the shoulder.

'Hey, how are you?'

'Where are you going?'


'If you're not doing anything later...come down to ...'

I took a little raincheck. Things like domestic tasks awaited me, that, and I'd finish up late at work.

Potential is an aphrodisiac.

May 03, 2007


For the first time since January, I decided to slip into some makeup. Odd huh? It's fun to hide the evidence of my late nights, but it also makes me feel so much better; such an ingrained social response.

I worked from the base to the tip; smoothed base, followed it by applying my favorite eye shadow, accentuating the hollow of my orbit, lashed myself with mascara and detoured to my mouth, where I applied some of my delectable, and unworn (for much of the year), Dior Addict gloss.

All because of my recent infatuation....
It doesn't make the slightest difference, considering he saw me the other day in train wreck mode. But it feels good or so I think. I don't want to analyze why it feels good, but it does. Militant femmes may argue that it's only makeup, but it's not solely about the makeup, it's also about the application, the texture if each cosmetic as it brushes against one's skin, and the minor transformation that takes place. A shift in mind, is a step forward and a shift in attitude.

What do you think?

Phantasy: Fragments

Things arrived in short bursts. I couldn't remove my mind away from certain thoughts I've been having lately in relation to a recent 'ooh-la-la' moment, or fascination I've having...


“It’s the type of weave, a thought that unravels and loops through the eye of the internal needle; under, over and between unseen layers, the thread peaks like a choppy wave. In the sea, that’s where I am, and I swim as I look at you through the portal within my mind.

All minor difficulties dissolve. I cut through each minor obstacle, and reanimate you piece by piece. Each piece coalesces, forming a whole and this portion of masculinity heats my wire until its glow irradiates me. You gouge holes through the transitory layer of nonchalance that I’ve fashioned, and I don’t mind…”

“I’d like to run my finger along your arm, trace the ink work on your forearm and watch your eyes follow as I circle your flesh, preparing for my upcoming move. Subtlety is nice, even though I feel like hooking my fingers over your belt. One solid shove; your aroma dances on my lips, and you stumble forward. Don’t break the fall. Obey your inertia, and pummel my torso with your mass…”

“A heated embrace, or as I imagine it to be. Your lips begin their trek. Over my chin, they arrive to my lips and my tongue prepares to paint yours with masterly strokes; color lunges forth to coat your tongue and I can’t avoid the fire within. Fucking your mouth with in an in-an-out tempo heats your flesh until your quadriceps spasm to settle the electrical storm within your groin; your rigidity, and its stubborn dance between my legs, grips my vocal chords. I want it all. It’s too easy to unzip and take care of your business. Friction, my best friend, whispers as my groin adheres to you. Each stroke charms your cock until…”

“I can’t take the strain…”

“I’d like to whisper sweet nothings, the kind that nauseate the masses except I lack the finesse. Words tumble onto the floor, to flee from the unfolding ruckus within my soul. Imbibing your oral delicacies is an arcane pleasure. Lips give way to saliva and a tongue so divine, it paints a masterpiece of lust within my mind, to twist each gentle thought into a tightrope that only a daredevil can conquer…”

May 01, 2007


The English version below doesn’t make that much sense to me because I’d originally thought it ‘Greek’, and wrote it in Greek…that is, my impoverished Greek.


Είμουνα στο μικρό χωριό, στο μέρος που ονωμάζετε γράφειο και η ματιά του με πύροβόλισε. Ξέρεις τι πάει να πει να μένεις επιτόπου;

Ο επισκεύτης…

Το θαυμάσιο πλάζμα…

Μια αντρική οικόνα που με τρώι ζοντανή. Nα τοv θέλο, να διψάω.

Ο οργανισμός μου τον τραβάει, λες και να ειναι ναρκωτικό. Τα σαρκόδη χείλη του, μια κόκκινη παπαρούνα που λιώνει και πέρνει αλλη μόρφη. Το όπιο που ζητω, που ξεπερνάει τα άστρα και αναστατώνει τη ψύχη μου.

Αντρική οικόνα ένος αντρας, απάνο στα χείλη μου και στο κορμή.


It was within the little village, in the place called an office that his gaze struck me like a bullet. Do you know what it means to be paralyzed?

The visitor…

The wonderful being…

An icon of masculinity, that eats me alive. I want him. I thirst.

I crave him like one craves a narcotic. His full lips are like a red poppy, which melts and changes state. He is the opium that transcends the stars and ruffles my soul.

An icon of a man, on my lips and body.

April 29, 2007

Al Fresco Writing & Coffee Appreciation

Smoking I took to writing outdoors today. I lugged the laptop to the local cafe, and got comfy after ordering the kind of coffee (a large helping) that can put hairs on a person's chest. A change of environment can work wonders. I clocked up over two thousand words in less than two hours, and felt good about it simply because I hardly got anything done over the passing week.

A group of lads sat at a table nearby, and I couldn't help notice the similarities. There are no differences between the genders where conversations about the opposite sex are concerned. Bravado and cappucino. The blokey conversation provided an interesting diversion.

'If she's hot, then give her my number,' one of the guys appeared to be interested in a girl they had in common. She must have been seen recently, as she came up in conversation.

The discussion revolved around weekend goings on, and the survival of the Hottest. I cringed, and appreciated being over thirty.

Continue reading "Al Fresco Writing & Coffee Appreciation" »

April 28, 2007

Lustful Exposition

The conversation, quite odd, riveted my thoughts in place.

‘Maybe he likes you?’ he said.

‘Get out of here!’ The reply naturally belongs to me; I couldn't comprehend the interpretation of a routine event or request as being (remotely) related to sexual interest, but the outside or objective observer or random observation can melt one's insides if it illuminates certain possibilities.

A short daydream followed, short due to the interruption of the phone. I turned the idea over, eradicated the age difference between me and the subject (a man) of conversation, and ogled him from within, using my mind’s eye.

The first thought arrived in the form of a couplet:

Teetering on the brink; ready to burst,

His fragrant vision quenches my thirst.

The second, emboldened by the rising dampness between my thighs, transformed into Haiku:

Salty sweet pleasures,

Lust infused flesh colliding,

Within and without.

March 10, 2007

Circa: April 2004

171880501_3e8052229cWhen one is in an absolute state of erotic bliss, happily entranced in another, one can write the most...well... things that one normally doesn't jot down in the course of the average day, only to peer into the vault, retrace each sentence and relive the moments.

All I'll say is that I felt like a complete cradle snatcher at the time, although unintentional, and it was thrilling to walk through every emotion...


April, 2004

Lodged within my own, custom crafted oblivion, in my own little world for you to scuttle in, a hermit crab. We inspect everything, from our eyes to our fidgety quirks. I’m yet to see all the steam that will escape - when our lips eventually meet - from each pore in our skin. Sitting as I speak, your eyes may hide or reveal - all your desires in one single swill. I cannot see, I am blind for my mind is swerving to avoid a bloody collision while those elastic ligaments within my knees quiver like guitar strings. Trying to run, to escape from something I cannot yet name. Your presence pains and resurrects my consciousness, and I enjoy what I see. Eye upon eye, face to face. You are fucking sublime. We speak in riddles. Mid-stream thoughts splash forth to clothe our skin. We are so well suited. Do you think we’ll….


Crass, I know…

…a three dimensional, motile sculpture of contorting, perspiring limbs…

But what do I know?

Should I lodge a confession, or kneel for penance?

You be the monastic priest. Stripped in preparation to whip my ass into salvation.

The days move ahead, moons wax and wane; we bring our lips to the prurient lake…

… of temptation

…livid damnation…

…holistic sadomasochistic bump-in-the-night fornication.

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