I suffered for my art: now it's your turn.Things you need to know about me:I'm Alexandra. I was born in Russia, though left when I was very small. I'm very girlie; love soft, pink girlie things. I'm not quite a virgin.A page containing links to everything I've published is here:http://selfpublishersshowcase.com/alexandra-amalova/If you care to pay a visit, you will see I've self-published five compilations of erotic short stories, an anthology of naughty poetry, and a naughty novella too, totalling around 245,000 carefully chosen and artfully arranged words. Follow the links from Self-Publishers' Showcase or simply search Amazon for Alexandra Amalova if you'd like to take a closer look. Many of the included tales have been posted here, and many received Recommended Reads from Lush's discerning moderators!I live on the same tiny island as The Beatles, Shakespeare, Dickens, Newton, Turner, the BBC, Elgar, The NHS, James Bond, George Formby, Judy Dench and The Rolling Stones. There are no killer insects or animals here, and no killer meteorology or seismology. Every worthwhile sport was codified here, every worthwhile invention was invented here. It's not perfect, but wouldn't you agree I'd be a fool to want to live anywhere else?Right from the off, I ought to say that I'm not really the chatty type. Can't really see the point (that's almost a pun. Almost.) though don't mind if you all talk amongst yourselves.
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Thanks to whomever considered my little sex-free cookery manual to be amongst the top three sex stories in the latest comp. What must your minds be like? :)I am truly honoured being placed above so many wonderful writers, and the pleasure I continue to enjoy coming directly beneath Liz and Sprite is, quite frankly, beyond compare :) Congratulations to you two ladies for your incredible tales :) xxx
This stanza from your poem is brilliant - such a clever and witty use of words, all propelled by an unerring sense of rhythm. For something of my own, I quite like the closing couplet of my "Sonnet on an hand-job in a pub garden":"And suddenly he comes, great streams of mess,With most of it, alas, upon my dress." As always, you combine sensuality with a touch of the surreal and a great runny dollop of humour! Brilliant xxx
This baited 'best line' thread has hooked some beauties; to it may I add my uncontroversial wriggling minnow:So, Old Nick nicks our knickers, steals the kinky drawers of vicars, while the fallen angels frolic - a black mass of diabolic lycra, leather, latex lingerie for his Satanic Majesty.
How you manage to insult our readers, authors, moderating team and this site, all on one post, is quite amazing.It's a shame. You are a talented author, no doubt, but your attitude really does need some adjustment (it stinks). There was no intention to cause offense or to insult anyone. I am an adult with carefully considered opinions amongst other adults with the same, not a naughty child in a classroom, and had a point to make, a valid one, I thought, and I made it in an ironic and light-hearted way. If authors, moderators and the site are offended, then I withdraw it unreservedly. As site owner, it is obviously your prerogative to assess my attitude and publish your opinion on it. There is nothing more to add but to say sorry again to everyone I have offended.
You are the demon of the seamen! Classic Jack Tar with a couple of fingers from Captain Birdseye... Irresistible!
Surely the greater consideration should go to those readers that might happen across something they did not wish to read, as opposed to those that don't really know what they are looking for. Ah. Yes. The readers. I hadn't considered them at all, to be honest. I imagined they would look after themselves, are probably old enough and hardy enough to survive viewing 'specialist adult material' without being too shocked and offended :)'Surely' or not, I stick by what I said: too many categories narrows the readers' minds... possibly narrows the writers' minds too. I understand how Incest might offend and needs to be kept separate - as do its advocates and their resulting progeny - but other than that, I feel the categories need to be broad. One could argue that a love story is a love story, whether it's under the sea, on another planet, or between two consenting restless spirits. Why does it need breaking down into smaller categories? Though I am speaking from an artistic (if that's not too pompous. It is, isn't it? Artistic is always pompous...) rather than an economic perspective, I can fully appreciate how more categories may well fit a more successful business model. Thankfully, making money from my writing - or from others' writing for that matter - will never be a major concern of mine :) xDespite the above, another category just struck me: First time writerOr better: brand spanking new first time writerAnd another: Reluctant spell checkerAnd: Comma? Whats a comma? Or an apostrophe, for that matter?And the famous: Story? What story? Anyone got any more for the next round of nano-category specialisms? :)
Categories are all well and good, and the addition of some new ones may be a boon to some; however, the smaller the pigeonhole, the fewer pigeons that are likely to call in. Yes, being more genre-specific and specialist may help a reader find exactly what they want, but what about readers stumbling onto something they maybe did not want, but end up enjoying? Sometimes, the broader the category, the more diverse the experience for the general reader, and thus the broader the resultant mind. Just a thought :)But, conversely and even more blinkering, when posting stories, I have often thought the following: it would be useful if I could choose two categories for this story. Maybe cross-dressing/sci-fi. How about supernatural/gay male? Or lesbian/milf. Just another thought...
I've never tried a story in second person. I suppose it would be necessary to be very clear if the narrator is taking about him/herself (essentially talking to one's self or describing one's own actions), taking about the reader, or objectively observing another person in the story.I can see a lot of difference between 'I fucked him' and 'She fucked him.' With a third person limited omniscient POV all the narrator can do is explain what is physically going on (which in itself can be enlightening and insightful). But with 'I fucked him' the narrator has free reign to go into their internal aspects: why fuck him? how do I feeling about fucking him? What do I hope to get out of the encounter or achieve? etc. Well, yes, there is a difference, but if the 'story' is simply about two people fucking then I'm not interested in who did what to whom or what the POV is; I'd rather have a cup of tea and watch Grand Designs. That was my point, though I didn't make it very clear :) x
Why this obsession with odd ordinal numbers? What's wrong with second and fourth? And will fractions and decimals ever get their say?I think for erotic short stories, first person is generally more effective, more intimate and arousing, allows a more personal perspective on what is generally a very personal interaction and thus makes the whole more believable. I've written erotic stories in third person and have later changed them to first and found them more effective, but I suppose it depends what your aims are, what you are trying to say and why. However, if you are simply choosing between 'I fucked him,' or 'she fucked him,' I can't imagine it will make much difference.
Story ideas are ten a penny and are even more worthless without the hard graft that goes into the telling. The writer's craft, it seems, is rather like the songwriter's or the comedian's. The skill is in the timing. The build up. The language. The punchline. Some great books are based on fairly simple and mundane ideas yet are immensely satisfying simply because the author knew how to tell a tale, create tension, and how to keep us turning pages. Any idiot can tell a joke. Any idiot can write a song. And any idiot can tell a story. Apparently, a good one takes a spark of genius, a flash of inspiration, then lots and lots of hard work to make it look like it was easy.Christian-based recovery programme? That sounds very scary. They are probably well-meaning people, but are likely to be a little unbalanced and probably need recovery themselves. By all means take their help to get to a better place, then say goodbye.So, to sum up: don't worry! By all means write down your ideas in a diary of sorts. Why wouldn't you? Write it in code if the God-squad are getting heavy... And enjoy your creativity. Simply enjoy :) xxx
Auto-cue 1 The mass-production of our daily staple (waggle the limp, blanched slice till my tits jiggle) has debased it, devalued it, ripped it (dramatically tear it in half) from the core of our diet to lie curled and pasty on the periphery (toss it over shoulder; pick up wine glass and toy with it). I have barely (steal a glance at understated Rolex) twenty-five minutes to eradicate...
Added 05 Feb 2014 | Category Love Stories
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| Views 2,349
| 17 Comments
I'm plain and know it. Don't need anyone to tell me. Make-up and nice clothes are wasted on me, create a caricature, a parody of sensuality. So usually, wisely, I don't bother. However, today is a special day, a day when I have to try my best to look my best and thus open myself to ridicule. I approached the desk with justifiable trepidation. The tweedy receptionist smiled patronisingly at...
Added 14 Dec 2013 | Category First Time
| Votes 25 | Avg Score 4.96
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I cling to speeding, spinning cones of lead That pierce the air and armour, skin and bone; Once deep inside, I ditch my deathly ride, Spread dark destruction, quell life's fragile wick. * I cleave to sharpened shards of stainless steel That separate the living from the dead. A scratch, a nick, a cut will let me in To fester in the ragged bloodied meat. * I steal by...
Added 23 Jan 2014 | Category Love Poems
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On the thirteenth day, scraping woke me. Scratching and scraping. From the surface end of the tunnel. Improbably fortuitously, a ship had arrived. And they were digging me out. I tapped furiously, clung to any hope. I've been so lucky, been close to death and escaped so many times - I knew a pile of rocks could never get the better of me. Another thought sobered me: even if I get out...
Added 05 Jan 2014 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 11 | Avg Score 5
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Antipodei 3. Satellite1. Rotation 9: 2347 I am Moon. I rise and fall with the tides. I turn my face to match the seasons, though I always stay the same. I am unknowable, but you will come to know about me. I am untouchable, but across time you can touch me. Without the 'you', there are no words. Without the 'you', I never existed. Thank you for finding me, for once found I know I will never...
Added 04 Jan 2014 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 9 | Avg Score 5
| Views 3,772
| 10 Comments
I remember everything single thing about it. The squealing windscreen wipers on the bus, slightly out of sync, one completing seven cycles to the other's six. Condensation streaking down my window, collecting in the rubber seal then sloshing out whenever the bus slowed, accelerated or stopped. I was cold, my polyester cardigan, short cotton dress, insignificant shoes and soggy tights...
Added 23 Jul 2013 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 20 | Avg Score 4.94
| Views 1,412
| 18 Comments
'Klara? Where are you going, my love?' 'Out. Simply out. I need some air. This house is stifling.' My husband shakes his head. 'It is getting late. I should walk with you.' 'No, my love!' I try hard not to sound too insistent. 'Finish your meal.' Alois nods then scrapes his spoon across his plate and shovels its captured contents beneath his untidy grizzled moustache. I know he...
Added 30 Jun 2013 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 13 | Avg Score 4.62
| Views 2,054
| 12 Comments
The machine was built for pleasure. Independent of external forces, it rocked and rolled, ebbed and flowed on cushioning foam and silent springs. Touching parts were exquisitely oiled so they moved freely, yet still maintained sufficient contact. A delicious necessary friction. The machine was tireless, drew on an infinite primeval power source. Its cycles were random, yet...
Added 24 Nov 2013 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 18 | Avg Score 5
| Views 1,409
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The gallery was free, yet full Of endless dull Depictions with no wonder thundering In my heart or head. I stood instead And gazed within: why must my ordinary life Forever imitate art? * There! Amongst the moulded marble Art, by name And nature, nurtured in an alien Scrapered world for his and my mimetic sakes Bought tea and toast, taught me to see that most of life ...
Added 31 Aug 2013 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 12 | Avg Score 4.83
| Views 340
| 7 Comments
The winter of your absence I hide and freeze Entombed beneath the sheets of ice And sleep a thousand deaths * The springtime of your nascence I wake and thaw Swell and split with roots of white Shoots of the brightest sheen * The summer of your presence I thrive and bloom Bedecked is wondrous petalled shades I burst and bear my fruit * The autumn of your distance...
Added 26 May 2013 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 6 | Avg Score 5
| Views 288
| 5 Comments
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