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The Cozy Spot

9 posts categorized "Oral Fixations"

September 17, 2008

Having Sex Without Having Sex?

I'd like to blame Bill Clinton for what I'm going to discuss, or refer to, but it's not that simple. It's the rise of oral sex in Australia, particularly among teenagers according to a SMH article. I think that oral sex has always been viewed this way: it's not 'full sex'. The only type of penetration that it involves is oral penetration and since that doesn't involve potential reproduction, then it's not considered a huge deal and yes, these sorts of newspaper articles or sexual articles (that appear in the mass media) focus on heterosexual adults or teenagers.

The SMH article relates to the rise of oral sex as a form of abstinence, which doesn't make that much sense really. The idea of oral sex not being 'sex' doesn't make sense either. It still falls under the category of sexual intimacy. Don't let any Rhodes scholar tell you otherwise - it's still a sexual act. If oral sex isn't a sexual act and more in line with a platonic greeting, like a handshake, then we'd be going down on everyone instead of shaking hands.

I've always thought of oral sex as sex or a part of sex/intimacy. I can't separate or decant it. Then again, I've never been kind enough to give a bloke the full pleasure. Maybe I'm selfish, but those porn films depicting women being satisfied by fellatio only are all bollocks to me. I think bukkake is a (pornographic) commercial prop. I've seen films depicting women giving oral sex and acting (because that is what it is - acting) like they're in the throes of ecstasy, having multiple orgasms via fellatio alone. But the idea of oral sex not being sex is beyond me. I mean, does this idea relate to the theological and moral/social value placed on genitals or what?

According to the article, people have a tendency to think oral sex safe, and it's not safe without a condom and the idea of sucking on latex isn't erotic either, artificial flavors can only last so long and if you don't have flavored condoms, then it sucking on a condom - pardon the pun - sucks.

May 04, 2008

Online & Tacky

Sexual revenge is often tacky, or has become more tacky since the advent of web sites that focus on ‘my bitch ex-girlfriend/boyfriend,’ web sites. I can understand the anger. Some relationships don’t wind up at the end of the rainbow with a pot of gold, and it can be more like a bucket of shit, but I can’t say that I’m really thrilled about having a one of my posts highlighted on one of these sites. Who runs these sorts of sites anyway? These sites often have no contact address (so you can't write a letter of complaint), and they often create some stupid writer name that they attribute to bloggers. My 'name' is SSAF33. One quick click on the logo, and I am redirected to a tacky porn site. So I figure, I'll just send an email to them to see how I go, about removing their link to my post.

Lesson of the day: Never make any personal x-rated films or pictures with your lover.

Has the Internet derailed the concept of trust in relationships? Moments like these often swing me toward that attitude. Head back a few decades ago, and the most people had to worry about (or the most women had to worry about) was unplanned pregnancies and being labeled ‘sluts’. In the modern day, the era of voyeur vision, they have an additional thing to worry about, such as having their orgasm published (without permission) for all to see, or have their sexual moment viewed by hundreds of thousands of people. Now that may not be the ideal concept of fame for the giver. The idea of privacy is just that, an idea.

November 09, 2007

Incantation - fiction

Incantation is longer short story. It's a mix: crime, sci-fi, erotica, and other things. I hope that readers enjoy it, as I enjoyed writing it.


And he showed me all the secrets of the ends of heaven and all the storehouses of all the stars and the lights, from where they come out before the holy ones.” The Book of Enoch 71,3-4


Rosemary was one of the fortunate few who entered the sector that her society had affectionately baptized the Humanity Zone. She remembered her first day, being scanned from head to toe, entering the zone for her first job as a consultant (they may have eradicated deformities, and other psychological disturbances, but crime is something they’ve never managed to eradicate) or, profiler. She rushed home the next day to tell her group or The Final Frontier, as they preferred to call themselves; they’d never reproduce.

“A nuclear family?” Katie, the youngest of their group, shook her head, “a complete unit?”

“Some of them have a small army of children,” she said, feeling their eyes peel her away piece by piece; she hadn’t seen a child for years. The new arrivals were settled a few districts away, and each district was guarded around the clock.

“How many?”

“As many as four,” Rosemary nodded.

“Four?” piped Raul.

“Oh yeah, four…I saw a family with four, all walking to some leisure center.”

Her stories exhausted them. She was never allowed to approach any children in the perfect sector, and the children she’d approach would smile initially, then their parents would intercede, pulling them away the moment they saw the mark on her hand; she wasn’t permitted to wear gloves. She tried that once, to be cautioned by a random inspector. Status Concealment.

Her work enabled her to keep her chin up; they may be perfect on the outside, but they’re far from perfect from within. Up to her eyeballs tracking a rapist, and working on a deadline, Rosemary followed each crime scene, interviewing the women, who in normal circumstances would find her repulsive; others created interesting diversions…

“She left the door unlocked?” she walked through the front door, noticing the security grids.

“She stepped out for a moment…”

A moment in time, she thought.

“Where is she?”

“Not here, I’m afraid.”

“The scene?”



“Hmm…just do your job.”

He introduced himself as Jake, and had little time for small talk. She noted a wedding band on his finger: a traditionalist. His phone rang. His wife. He spoke in whispers, frowning in places before telling the voice on the other end that he’d be home soon. “It will be all right honey, call your mother if it gets worse. I have some loose ends to tie up.”

A first time father, which was strange considering he was a clone. She didn’t want to explore it further. Law enforcing officers were all cloned to enable behavior modification.

Rosemary gazed at the disheveled bedroom. Half stripped bed, a couple of drops of blood, nothing dramatic to indicate any severe injury; a cut lip perhaps, a small cut nonetheless, and something caught her eye. A glint of metal; she bent down, and fished the object out from under the bed, incredulous at her luck or the victim’s stupidity; all doors were opened willingly and all relied on optical scans. This case was the anomaly. All other victims were taken from behind, on the way home.

“Is her husband in law enforcement?”



It is possible that the object is his, but if so, there’d be no reason to hide it under the bed. They’d know…. they’d return it to its rightful drawer.

“Where is he?”

“In Singapore. He’s at a conference.”

“I think you need to interrogate her before she puts an innocent man away.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s having an affair.”

“How preposterous.”

“They played a few games, sadomasochistic. She probably has a cut lip or a minor cut around her breasts. Knife play…” she pulled out the shiny handcuffs and tossed them to the coffee table.


“Shit Sherlock, only a 20th Century rapist would leave enough sperm to paint a house. Did you look at that bed?”

She almost heaved at the sight of the encrusted loads.

Continue reading "Incantation - fiction" »

March 17, 2007


It didn’t take long for him to ask, let alone make the move; the dimmed pub, and its veteran patrons continued shooting pool while they shot the daily shit.

“Don’t you like the sound of balls cracking?” I said.

“What?” he leaned over, continued cradling his beer, “Thought I heard incorrectly…”

His lips slowly opened, revealing teeth that could be paid a separate income.

And now, in an improved flavor…

This thought coincided with another, that of his tongue taking a swipe at mine, and the little train that possibly could, derailed a few moments after nine, after our fourth round of beers. The question of his taste lingered on my fervid taste buds.

“I wanna to be your bitch,” he said, ringing the glass rim with his index finger. It brought to mind Iggy Pop, ‘ah-ah wannaaaaaaa be your dawg!’ and the six foot something dear next to me didn’t resemble Iggy with his shiny black locks, and clear olive complexion.

Continue reading "Bitch" »

March 02, 2007

Toxic Bachelors

I don’t know what’s more offensive: Seeing Flavio in his itty bitty swimmers or reading through the list of toxic bachelors at RadarOnline.

It just goes to show that a celebrity can say the most hideous thing and get away with it.

If an ordinary bloke uttered the following to me:

"If a fucking camera could blush it would be fucking red because you are so fucking pretty."

I’d barf.

But is Colin Farrell ‘ordinary’, in the sense of hanging out at your local café, or bending over at a building site to reveal his ass crack? I’m betting there are thousands of women who read that quote and thought, ‘aww how sexy.’ When a person uses ‘fucking’ three times in one sentence they need to brush up on their education or conversational skills; I’m amazed he absorbs his scripts. He’s awfully cute! (forget I typed that).

Flavio Briatore is a funny bloke:

"The big excitement comes with the flirting. You flirt, flirt, flirt, and then you are there."

I’m sorry to break it to you Flav, but the reason you get there is because you have substantial amounts of cash. If you didn’t, and you wore those itsy bitsy bikini bottoms, hell would freeze over before you saw -let alone touched - some ass.

Now if you want to read the full article, this piece is currently on sale at Newsstands. The Toxic Kiedis2 Bachelor article has been syndicated here. I nearly slid off my bed when I came across Anthony Kiedis (as quoted from his memoirs) and his starry eyed account (because there are many, but he doesn’t consider himself a womanizer) of him performing cunnilingus on a tour bus.

“Her purring, revving, undulating spiritual motor started humming and she allowed me to engage her in a very long and wonderful exchange of oral sex that was the most beautiful sexual moment of my life to date.”

On a tour bus no doubt. Were the other band mates watching?

I’d find it hard to concentrate. Shit, I’d need a defibrillator if I had Anthony Kiedis’s lips between my legs, amalgamating with Miss Kitty. (Who said that?)

I’m loving Radar Online…so now I’m going to see how much it will be to have this magazine mailed to me Downunder.

Picture: Pure fan art done by yours truly, a while back.

February 06, 2007

Days, Arvos, Buses & Blowjobs

It takes me ten minutes to wake up in the morning; slamming the snooze button too many times has kept K-Mart happy. I’m up to the fifth alarm clock in two years, and logic would state that I’d move the clocks a fair distance away from the bed, but I don’t just in case I don’t hear the alarm. I’m not a tardy individual. On the rare occasion that I do run late, I’m zapped with anxiety; by the time I do get on the train I submit to timetables:

“No amount of anxiety is going to hurry up this slow moving train.”

“What’s the worse thing management can do?” (Transfer me to Abu Ghraib?)

This is the kind of small talk I make with myself when I’m running late.Kamasutra

At some point in my earlier life I assumed - the assumption ought to be included in the Catechism as a sin - I’d end up a sophisticated thirty-something woman but I’ve lost track of the digits along the way. One can’t put a digit to emotions or life’s screw ups:

- I haven’t set myself up with a mortgage.

- I haven’t settled with anyone or found my star crossed lover.

- I haven’t lost those few extra pounds, gyms frighten me (after two long obsessive bouts), and yes, where exercise is concerned, my time management sucks.

- My bedroom could be easily mistaken for that of a teenager. The walls may not be plastered with posters of Justin Timberlake, but there’s a mini crisis going on with the amount of papers and books strewn around the room. So much so that I’m thinking of taking out public liability insurance just in case a future lover sprains an ankle on the way to my side of the bed. That is, if he should make it.

Continue reading "Days, Arvos, Buses & Blowjobs" »

November 18, 2006



She knuckled down, her fingers stabbing at each key with caffeine-injected vigor. The screen greeted her eyes, and a hoarse grunt escaped her lips. The deadline loomed. Cartec, a major account, needed its monthly account summary and she almost forgot her afternoon appointment. She could always reschedule The Salon, and wait until the next opening. It could stretch to three months, and it wouldn’t do. “How’s it going Kath?” She looked up to see Julie, her vivacious colleague slide her ass onto her desk. “Getting there.” Julie’s emerald eyes scanned the monitor. Kathy’s mind rewound. Cats sometimes ate their offspring. She’d been ten, and hiked through the shrubs of her local park only to catch a glimpse of the local feral cat. Its blank green eyes focused on its offspring, and it was too horrific to recall but Julie’s eyes took her to the moment she heard the soft moist crunch… “I’m nearly done. How can I help you?” “Heard you’re using the gift voucher.” Kathy nodded. She received the plastic fantastic birthday present three months prior. The girls pitched in and come half three, they all gathered round her desk for her birthday presentation. “I’m going this afternoon,” three months passed, far too long for her liking. She’d always adhered to monthly maintenance but the new account placed more demands thanks to a corporate takeover and a sadistic General Manager who called her each day to be updated on the transition. “Well they’ve added a couple of new items on the list,” Julie smiled, “you should check out 23, 45 and 54.” “What am I going to do with a 54?” “I tried 54 two months ago, and I returned a month later.” Anything to show off, Kathy thought. Julie frequently reminded them of her regular schedule. Where others struggled to book appointments, Julie waltzed in with few problems. Her eyes quickly scanned her showy colleague. Kathy inwardly gaped at Julie’s radiant, near flawless, peachy skin. The whites of her eyes glowed, and she muffled her urge to sigh but venom seeped out instead. “The 54 would be more suitable to a woman of your…maturity?”


The afternoon, and each laborious task, almost ground up her brain. Kathy wondered if her head ached or whether her brain cells groaned. The wall clock had to be wrong. A half hour remained until her appointment, and her feet needed to pound five concrete paved blocks. “That’s it. You’re out of here.” A shrill ring burst through to her brain, via her ear. It took a moment for her to realise her desk phone came alive. She gently picked up the handset, cursing her forgetfulness. “Hello?” the masculine voice on the other end sprang forth. It could only be one person. “You’ve reached Kathy Williams. Unfortunately, I’m unable to take your call right now. Please leave a message after the tone.” She thought she’d pass out as the asshole on the other side left a long, terse message, and she couldn’t believe her inner child. Her hand gently replaced the handset, and she relaxed her lips in disbelief. Did she dare pretend to be an answering machine? Her fingers quickly entered her four-digit pin, activating the real deal and she shut down her computer.


23 seemed to be the right choice. She couldn’t help but smile. Sergei, the Salon manager, commended her on her choice. “Totally new. Fresh off the rack. Completely trained to satisfy,” his gleeful grey eyes met hers, and she blushed. They both turned their heads toward her selection. “Anything?” “Anything, Madam. You only have to request. No, demand.” She needed it straight up, without a twist or fancy arsed umbrella. Her eyes appraised the masked specimen. Once upon a time she would have thought 23 too young for her thirty odd years. She faced 23, a well built man, and appraised his downcast eyes for a few seconds before taking in the rest of him. Smooth tanned skin, visible musculature; he could pin her down at any time with the strength his muscles boasted. Bulging deltoids, cut triceps, she almost swooned as he lowered himself to his knees and waited like a trained canine.

Heat unfolded, like a coil, and occupied her pelvis. She watched the interplay of his Gluteus Maximus, and hamstrings, as he crawled along the cold marble floor. He stopped in front of a black painted door and leaned toward the brass door handle. A half moment passed, his mouth latched onto the metal and the door opened.

Well within the scarlet and black furnished vestibule, she stripped off her suit and stood, parting her legs.
“Get up.”
His exemplary obedience further moistened her anxious cunt. She needed him close by, standing a couple of inches away from her, and his fingers wedged deep inside her. He silently took his place, her eyes closed and she deeply inhaled his salty scent.
“Does it turn you on?”
The menace in her tone, so unlike her, briefly alarmed her. The song in her chipper sweet voice morphed into a cocktail of metal spiked lust. She pictured his face underneath the black shiny mask, and her eyes opened to peer down south, detecting a stirring erection within his leather pouch. How long before the tip of his cock slid out to nudge her belly?
Kathy grasped his collar, and firmly yanked it. Her ass nudged the edge of a heavy, ornate mahogany bench. She didn’t feel the need to strap him onto the table, even though each heavy leather strap beseeched her. God, how she wanted to laugh. Did he sigh with relief beneath the mask? She detected his eyelids, slowly blinking, and perched herself on the edge of the bench, spreading her thighs apart.
“You know what do,” she said, and gave him a brief introduction. Her fingertips skated over the wet groove, pushing her labia aside. Her three fingers merged, and she firmly rubbed herself up and down. His obscured face minimized his needs, and his psyche. 23 became a vessel, or toy, she focused on his middle and forefinger.
She panted as his fingers steadily ploughed into her creamy hole. A hole or slit, was how she saw it, in addition to it being a cunt or a pathway to her pleasurable climax. Her hands trailed over her torso, appreciating every microscopic river of blood that warmed her skin and inflamed her nipples to firm rosy peaks. She gripped his forearm, and held it firmly in place so she could grind against his knuckle deep fingers. A spasmodic pair of butterfly wings tickled her chest before rising to her throat, almost knocking the wind out of her.
She let go, ordered him to strip down, and redirected her attention to his cock, firmly stroking it without any wet love from her lips.
“Does it hurt?” Not that she cared. He was hard, and ready to fuck her.
She caught sight of his bulging Adam’s apple.
She decided to push the envelope, and take a risk.
“Take it off now,” she nodded, signaling his mask, “oh, you’re pretty,” and he was in a matter of symmetry. Flawless skin stretched over his high cheekbones, and firm jaw. For a moment, she couldn’t believe her luck and saw his fleeting glance, how his eyes glimmered within their sockets.
She quickly guided his cock inside her, a firm stab and he began his dance, pummeling into her. She told him to fuck her.
“Don’t stop.”
She looked at his shiny cock exiting before re-entry, coated with her need, lust and he then moaned, thinking he could take the lead because of his face.
She slapped his face on re-entry, her energy briefly adjoining with his to then reverberate through to her limbs. A train of soft moans danced along her neck as his hips repeatedly met hers. Each wild thrust sparked further thoughts. Her left palm met his cheek, but he continued fucking her. An orb of electricity coalesced at the base of her spine.
So this is Kundalini?
The orb emanated outward, and she squeezed her eyelids shut, appreciating the prickling heat within her.
Kathy rode it for a short while, and abandoned her initial mission. She pushed him away, stood and crouched.
She licked up the muted scent of her arousal off his cock, and swallowed it all, snatching it away from him. His eyes widened when she instructed him to fuck her mouth.
It was funny, she thought. She entered the room with a sense of authority, and now his hips became the lever, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth.
She slurped, and dribbled along the way.
What a messy bitch…
Her fingernails dug into his buttocks at the right moment of his cataclysm, and she eagerly absorbed each pearly jet only to stand, wipe her lips with her fingers and smile before stepping into her clothes.



She stepped inside, and was overcome by the scent of sautéed mushrooms in, what she correctly detected, red wine.
“You look energized. Gym?” her husband Terry smiled as he oversaw he oversaw his sauce.
“Went to the Salon.”
“How’d it go or how much did it set us back this time?”
Kathy fished through her handbag and retrieved the receipt.
Terry eyed it and whistled.
“Care to share?”
“It’s tax deductible…”
She'd paid cash, retaining the voucher for her next scheduled appointment. Kathy toyed with the idea of a prickling hot ass fuck.
He rolled his eyes. “Go on. I’d like to hear. Was he good?”
“That’s something I’ll discuss after dinner…in the bedroom, or anywhere that takes your fancy?”


December 05, 2005

What me Swallow?

Sometimes I think the feminist notion of equality has gone a bit too far. I guess the annoying thing that has arisen, because of this ‘bang the drum, burn our bra’ mentality is that over the years I’ve been confronted by the issue that is posed as a challenge:

‘What about equality? A man goes down on you and, as a result, swallows your secretions (doesn’t the word ‘secretion’ suck?) so the woman should, in theory, swallow…’

It goes something like that, always features equality and this is what bugs me because it’s often difficult to comeback with a ‘between the eyes’ response apart from saying something like a man’s arousal doesn’t involve ‘secretion’ whereas a woman’s does. Two different things, right there.

Frankly, I don’t like swallowing. Doesn’t turn me on at all. I don’t like it when men get excited and think they can use my body for target practice. I find that infantile and I’ll pass some blame onto the academies of pornography for that absurdity alone. What bothers me, sometimes, is that you’ll find many of these living ‘fuck dolls’ who get paid to flaunt their bodies go on about how they love it for a guy to come on their face. My answer to that, and pay attention guys:

I’d be HAPPY to have a guy come on my face IF HE PAID A DECENT PRICE TO DO THAT - like a few grand or even a grand (lol).

Money is a great aphrodesiac as is FAME and attention.

See, today’s porn actresses get paid A LOT OF MONEY so of course they’ll say, ‘oh yeah (eyelash batting) I lurve it when I feel his warm load slide down my cheek.’ I don't. It reminds me of nasal mucous, and I'll only make the exception if I'm as snug like a bug in a rug, within a relationship.

Call me narrow minded, but some things one needs to ‘train’ themselves for, effectively condition themselves to ‘like’ simply because if nature decided for males to spray their load into our faces - it fucking stings if it gets in your eyes, don’t ask me how I know this - then it would be detailed in the Kama Sutra or something. Visually, to me, it looks like a dollop of runny snot. Sorry, but that’s what it looks like and no amount of porno kittens or directors are going to make me think otherwise.

Before anyone poses the, ‘you probably haven’t tried it’ question, I have (and I don’t like the taste) and the only type of scenario that doesn’t trouble me is when a guy, as a result of pulling out, shoots on my abdomen (as a result of withdrawal).

In writing all of the above, I’ve known plenty of males in my life who didn’t like the idea that was presented in porn, that of the usual cum shot or the ‘facial’, but males are ‘supposed’ to like it as are their women in this modern age we all live in. Does that mean that sexual play is a fashion? Should there be a sexual version of Vogue that comes out once per month, complete with a yearly updated of what’s hot and what’s not in sex?

Sometimes, this is what it seems like and it can be disappointing for those who aren’t presented with the fantasy they all assume sex to be.

Porno is great to get off with, you can fast forward to or rewind to moments that get you off, whatever tickles the fancy, but these scenarios may not translate well with real life and they don’t have to. What some people need to realize is that the people in these films are paid to perform a job, and the very reason as to why some acts may not translate well to real life is because the average person doesn’t screw a minimum of three different people per film shoot, more than once a month (porn doesn’t take three months to film). The average person doesn’t sleep with more than five different people per week. Therefore it’s pretty silly for people to assume that a person they find sexually attractive (new lover, date, etc) may perform in that manner or even direct them to perform in that manner (deep throat, 'anal sex- blitzkrieg style').

May 04, 2005

Oral Profanity in the key of 'A'

      When he’s hard, aroused beyond recognition, all the signs change. There is no amber, green or red and we’re in another land, on a totally different highway where all rules fade out and the texture of skin only applies. I like his texture, underneath my fingertips his skin sings out and I take pleasure in the stroke. Although he can be satisfied with a mere digital touch, sensations differ depending on skin sensitivities and as he slowly gyrates into my clothed pelvis I can definitely feel his cock howl. There are profanities and there are profanities. He wants my lips wrapped around his cock. It’s the way he speaks, the only way he knows and his tone of voice expresses the razor edge of his arousal. I like it, I live for it and in some ways its irreplaceable, almost rare. He doesn’t worry about the chance of me tasting him, he doesn’t tiptoe over the matter.
I am expected to feast on his penis, it’s necessary, a bit like breathing and in the same manner, observing his arousal is equivalent to an oxygen tank - I can’t do without it. So I push him onto his back and eye him up and down. He knows I’ll unzip him, he knows that I’ll free his erection and he also knows, and dreads, me taking my time because I cannot do otherwise. It’s the initial taste that perks me up, that first moment when I lightly drape the tip of my tongue over his length. I may stay around and focus on his glans, but it’s the length, the feel of his visible arousal against my face. He rotates his hips ever so slightly, wanting me to gulp him down and I have to bear down and grip him tight, so he doesn’t get too excited, but he fights against this and entwines my hair around his hand and firmly pulls against my hair so that my head follows. I don’t wait for the order, I just do. The texture of his skin and organ within my mouth is something that can be indescribable, depending on the moment of arousal. Murmuring as I sample his entire shaft, the frequency of his breath changes as does the sound. At first shallow, he breathes with rather long intervals in between. My eyes look up, his eyes look down and of course we meet in the middle. My urgency increases as I slather my wetness all over his monumental shaft, it’s monumental to me because it represents the heat of his arousal. The fact that it also happens to be the right size also helps, he is tantalised by the middle limit - my lips can never get past the halfway mark, because they already have swallowed their limit. He sees me continually try and there’s no letting up as my eyes remain fixated, although rather dilated, on his face and the limitless contortions his facial muscles make as he feels the satin heat within my mouth engulf his cock in addition to sampling everything within the vicinity of his inner thighs.
I look at him, he looks at me as the tensile force increases and my hair is pulled tightrope taut, his arousal undulates and I can almost taste the electricity underneath his skin. Humming, moaning, imparting that vibration from my mouth as my lips engulf him bring him to the edge of the high edifice that awaits. It’s my push, my shove, I want to see him go over, I want him to gyrate, annihilate and use the orifice as well as I want to use it.
As his lava erupts, his eyelids are squeezed shut and a slight internal wave precedes his involuntary twitch. He loses control, lurches forth and I’m the satisfied receptacle that remains.    

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