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. And hard, pink manly things.Hence, I'm not quite a virgin.I've had lots of stories posted here, received around a dozen Recommended Reads and Editor's picks, but have deleted almost all in order to publish them on Amazon.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 six compilations of erotic short stories, an anthology of naughty poetry, and a naughty novella too, totalling around 285,000 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. As I said above, 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, Darwin, Maxwell, Dickens, Newton, Turner, the BBC, IKB, Alan Turing, Stephen Hawking, Churchill, Elgar, The NHS, Tim Berners-Lee, Vaughan Williams, Ray Davies, Eric Clapton, P.G. Wodehouse, James Bond, George Formby, Vivian Stanshall, the Brontes, Douglas Adams, Judy Dench, The Rolling Stones, and a plethora of brilliant, innovative, eccentric, quirky and wonderfully warm-hearted people. There are no killer insects or animals here, and no killer meteorology or seismology. It is never too hot nor too cold and it rains just enough. Every worthwhile sport was codified here; almost 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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Rejection sucks. I wrote a poem, and I let the structure be dictated by the emotions that I hoped would be revealed by it. It was rejected because it did not fit someone else's definition of Proper Poetry.Sometimes, it's better to to let the writing of the work be a personal process, and a personal release. When I read your poem, I was saddened by the tragedy as it unfolded, but I did not feel the tremendous loss that you had to have felt in losing a friend. I sincerely hope that writing and sharing this piece is helping you to cope with those feelings.I also trust that you understand that having some heartless cynic reject your poem does not make your feelings less valid. In this case, I think it reaffirms that warm-hearted and kind people should stick together.Write on, and keep the pointy side of the pencil on the paper! I couldn't agree more. Well put! And great advice to boot xxx
I'm surprised it wasn't accepted too - did you piss someone off or something?I agree with OMKN - and I think it's way better than a lot of the stuff I've read... Thanks, Maz, for the very informative video and for your kind words. My poem is - and this also applies to the original - social comment, but is also linked to the tragic demise of a real and very insecure young woman with whom I was acquainted. I pissed no one off: some people are simply pissed off when you encounter them. As Aldous Huxley's wife - I forget her name (that's more social comment before you all start writing in) - wrote: 'You are not the target'. As much as I live by any adage (and I don't) I live by that one.
Maybe they weren't aware of the original versionIt's not really a poem though. Just a collection lines vaguely smacked around an old musical hall number.What is it? Well it looks to me like one of those drunken ramblings you hear at an open mic night. Maybe that's what you were going for.That said i'm surprised it wasn't accepted. 95% of the poems on here are utter tosh. Brilliant. Thank you. I feel truly as though I've been over your knee. Carousing criticism is better than rejection any day! X
Hi.This is my first time here, so please be gentle.Or is it my second?Third?Anyway.I had a poem rejected. Believe it or not, I'm not used to rejection. It hurts, doesn't it? Fucking really hurts. Feels personal. I spend hours, days, weeks, producing something for you, crafting it, shaping it, fretting over every word, every letter, every comma, and then you turn your back on me. Say it's not right. It doesn't fit. Where's the meter? The rigid metrical structure? Parts of it don't even rhyme! What's that prose in aid of? And, a love poem? Where's the love in it? And then you talk about 'poetic justice', hand me a definition of 'poetry', a link to a 'How to write poetry' page, and 'respectfully' slam the door in my face. Ouch. And it seems that a majority of the mods agree with you. The over-riding aim is perhaps not to covey something thought-provoking about the human condition, it is to tick boxes and fit neatly into a well-delineated though oft-meaningless category. (At this point, I really ought to add that there was no malice intended, that the rejector was rejecting for what they perceived to be all the right reasons while obeying the rules of Lush. And moderators do a daunting, thankless task, bombarded daily by reams of well-meaning but oft unprintable fare. Mine among it.)So now I know. But I'm not bitter. It's only a few words and I have millions more of those naughty little fuckers up my sleeve.:)Anyway. More seriously. To the point. Rather than leave it in the black hole of my iPad, I decided, at a friend's behest, to pitch it into the whirlpool of 'Poet's corner'. Hopefully, despite its supposed 'Am I a poem?/am I prose?' identity crisis, you will pat its little head and say welcome home. Thank you :) xxx (Oh, and if anyone wants a short essay on what it all means, from choice of vocabulary through the implications of its rhythm, rhyme, punctuation and structure, I wrote one, yet it fell on deaf eyes. What else would I expect? :)) Oh, soldier, soldier Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, because your hair should be more fair.So off she went to the apothecaryAnd bought some bleach that - nice 'n' easily -Turned to straw her hair that once curled so beautifullyAnd it made the soldier cum.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos your laughter causes wrinkles and your smile produces crinkles.So off she went, for a Botox session -The most 'acutely lethal toxin' known to the medical profession -Though she could neither chew nor close her eyes, it started an obsessionAnd it made the soldier cum.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos the features on your face look a little out of place.So off she popped for some plastic surgeryAnd though she paid several times, it still looked a mess to meHer nose was too big and her lips lacked symmetryStill they made the soldier cum.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos your tits are the size of orange pips.So she flew to Belarus for more plastic surgeryAnd acquired some tits that looked very strange to meTight bloated tits full of sad asymmetryYet they made the soldier cum.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos that unsightly cellulite won't keep me up all night.So off she went for some lipo surgeryThough to tell you the truth, her bum and thighs looked great to meAnd the results, though expensive, were much worse than most you'll seeYet they made the soldier (who, after 5 years service overseas, had a noticeable and rather - if you ask me - unhealthy arse fetish) cum.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, cos I'd prefer my fiancée to have, at most, the skin tone of Beyoncé. Apprehensively she paid for dodgy surgeryWhere they gave her stuff - hydroquinone, steroids and mercury -Fucking dangerous stuff, it was very clear to seeAnd, though she was quite ill when she got home, she still somehow managed, at his insistence, to make the soldier cum.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh, no, sweet maid, I cannot marry you, because (though I have been too polite to mention this before) your cunt is so loose I may as well stick my cock out of the window and fuck the world.So, yes, you guessed it, the silly cow spent a small fortune putting herself once again under general anaesthetic and into the hands of an under-qualified Filipino butcher who completely fucked up her hitherto quite beautiful pussy.And, after months of infection, antibiotics, and pain-relief, the soldier insisted instead on a blow job then the cunt rolled over and went to sleep without so much as a fucking thank you.*Oh, soldier, soldier, won't you marry me, with your muscles tight as drums?Oh no sweet maid, I cannot marry you because, despite all your efforts, which I appreciate very much - and that, thinking about it, must have cost you a fucking fortune - your insecurity is such a turn-off for me that I have decided to go back to my ex who - though she is a complete psycho-bitch - is aesthetically an unlikely cross between Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie and Halle Berry.*Oh, Alex, Alex! What am I to do? No one will want me now!Oh, no, sweet girl, come to Alex, baby; he was a complete cunt and you're better off without him.So I held her till she stopped sobbing, cuddled up and kissed her gently and repeatedly, and told her she had been beautiful all along, and then, as the dark night bleached into a bright and beautiful tomorrow, I slowly and lovingly made her cum.And though it is impossible to establish a direct link between any of the procedures Charlie undertook and her untimely death last year, I am certain that, were it not for the greedy amoral media and the obscenely heedless and cynical pharmaceutical, surgical, and cosmetic industries that drive young girls to seek unattainable perfection, my love would still be with me today.*
I think the reason may be:Life is fast here, speeded up a thousand-fold. Relationships blossom and die in days. Others get involved, take sides; people are shunned, leave in a huff. New lovers come and go as virtual relationships can soon lose their fire. People quickly get bored, need new stimuli. It's the way of the modern world: why work at what you've got when something new is around the corner? Especially something titillating and off-limits. It's immature, childish, and promotes a shallow, superficial existence that perfectly suits the free market economy. Sex, consumerism and the internet were simply made for each other.And then, of course, real-life partners suspect the worst, check histories, confront and threaten. We never evolved for this. It happened too fast. The choices are too great; the temptations too vast; and the flesh is very, very weak...
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!
Aardvark's at the front Page one And zygote's near the rear See, here But after that this dictionary's worse than Useless * Look No love But sex is everywhere A noun, to have, to be, Apparently So tied up to identity Commitment's close to shit Sense tells me otherwise Truth's here, before lies Honesty, integrity and trust Are simply absent Lust is there in...
Added 28 Jan 2015 | Category Erotic Poems
| Votes 13 | Avg Score 4.92
| Views 604
| 11 Comments
'Connie! Connie! Come in. You won't believe...' As the old man turned away and scuttled back into his study, his voice faded to nothing. From the bright, cold hard corridor, I stepped into a dull homely warmth, from echoes and cleaning fluid, into an anechoic cocktail of pipe smoke and coffee. The floor was tessellating redwood blocks, the furniture time-worn leather and mahogany, and the...
Added 27 Jan 2015 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 11 | Avg Score 4.91
| Views 1,407
| 10 Comments
Mercury once resembled our Moon, atmosphere-free and heavily cratered. Now, a thickening orange fog shields it from the dazzling daytime sun and insulates it during the freezing night. The peelers create immense plumes of dust behind them, which, over the seven Earth years of their operation, have completely changed the planet's appearance. Mercury's gravity is so insignificant, it will...
Added 14 Jan 2015 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 12 | Avg Score 4.92
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The rule's coldness was reflected in its steely-grey prismatic perfection. Engraved meticulously along its length, black incremental notches numbered in unerring sequence, offered me simple yet particularly mind-boggling data. 9. No more; no less. Of course, I had heard rumour of such prodigious appendages, though this was the first I had personally encountered. I stared at the markings on...
Added 01 Jan 2015 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 11 | Avg Score 5
| Views 2,131
| 11 Comments
10 a.m. Tuesday morning, clipboard in hand, I was boarding the Tube at Belsize Park. How did they get me to agree to this? And what were they doing meanwhile, back in our snug little set up? Fucking on the cold glass desk? Using up the free samples? The way Pam had looked at Geoff over their first morning coffee, I was almost certain they had recently become lovers. I was only grateful I'd had...
Added 03 Jan 2015 | Category Love Stories
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| 10 Comments
Another Monday. Another revelation. As per usual, I was the first to speak 'When do the appointments start?' Their faces were inexplicably blank. 'You know? The guys I've been luring here for the last four weeks? When do they start turning up?' I didn't think the question overly contentious though was about to learn otherwise. Pam's wan smile stayed fixed, while her eyes rolled from me...
Added 05 Jan 2015 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 7 | Avg Score 4.86
| Views 1,226
| 5 Comments
The Monday morning meeting had been a blur. The real work started today and the realisation was almost too much. I was shaking. Doubt was nibbling me. Apprehension was chewing me. Insecurity was ripping chunks off me and swallowing them whole. 'What do you think?' Pam held up a hanger. Dangling from its black plastic shoulders was a dazzling white uniform of sorts. My big blue eyes...
Added 07 Jan 2015 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 7 | Avg Score 5
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| 6 Comments
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
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| 11 Comments
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 12 | Avg Score 5
| Views 4,032
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A squirt in the hand is worth two in the bush Especially if you're in a rush There's nothing more delicious nor disgusting Than a warm and sticky Slick and icky Handful of ejaculate To make you late * Party: There'll be tarty Flirty dirty Girls A last reminder Know who owns you I do I do In the hallway Unannounced I rub you Deftly undo Whip it out and ...
Added 13 Jun 2014 | Category Erotic Poems
| Votes 29 | Avg Score 5
| Views 1,734
| 28 Comments
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