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 seventeen 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 seven compilations of erotic short stories, an anthology of naughty poetry, and a naughty novella too, totalling around 325,000 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...<img src="/forum/images/emoticons/evil6.gif" alt="evil4"> 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).<img src="/forum/images/emoticons/my2cents.gif" alt="My 2 cents"> 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!
Hacking bones, I glance askance At Graham in his bloody apron Sawing through a clump of muscle Trimming fat and severing tendons Oh, those hands! now gloved and crimson Skillful as a slaughtering surgeon Operations never ending Always reaping, never sewing Grisly gristle, loathsome lites are Minced for barbecue delights; I Stuff obscenely swollen skins Hope Graham sees me tease the meat ...
Added 12 Feb 2017 | Category Love Poems
| Votes 6 | Avg Score 5
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| 5 Comments
I know this will sound incredible, unbelievable, but you have to believe me. I swear this is exactly as it happened. There were lots to choose from, dozens, but this one sort of called to me. It did! Honestly, I know it sounds... Anyway, when I got home, the wife just sneered at me. 'Bit early for Halloween isn't it?' So what? There was a week to go, but she knows I like to have a...
Added 28 Oct 2015 | Category Humor
| Votes 6 | Avg Score 4.83
| Views 1,536
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Upright, naked, prowls the plain An alien race, self-conscious brain An ember born of sparking flint A revolution with no hint No light to shed where it may lead 'Tis here I hone my guilt, my greed My sisters venture north, east, west While clasping newborns to their breast And ripping meat from rigid bone A cavegirl with a cellphone * The beast...
Added 29 Oct 2015 | Category Erotic Poems
| Votes 7 | Avg Score 5
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Love, at the atomic level, is an electron. Whether an electron shared, given, or stolen, is not an issue, for these are human descriptors and electrons are not human. The chemical reactions that magically create the illusion of love within the human brain require the mass transfer of these virtually massless particles. Similarly, one may state that at a quantum level, love can...
Added 27 Sep 2015 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 10 | Avg Score 4.9
| Views 1,036
| 10 Comments
'Impress me Yes, you Standing, towering Over little me Cold drink in sweaty palm One eyeball dangling in my braless dress And one yoyo-ing from my hellish heels To split-thighed heavenliness A goddess, yes Now, little man Tell me your dirty Fucking filthy Earthly plan!' * He straightened Pelvis tightened And I saw with my own eyes His gold belt buckle rise ...
Added 25 Aug 2015 | Category Erotic Poems
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| 5 Comments
History records that a certain celebrated eighteenth century inventor and engineer was an only child. However, recent cataloging of previously unseen family documents has unearthed a hitherto unknown diary of one who appears to be his younger sister. Though written in a complex secret cypher, I have successfully de-coded several tracts, the most illuminating of which appears below. ...
Added 20 Oct 2014 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 9 | Avg Score 5
| Views 1,387
| 6 Comments
Slowly circling Sliding down Cork-screwing Paragliding Back from pleasure's peak My heaven Bliss My favourite moment Just before I sink to kiss His eyes, his lips And take his flesh Into my depths Once more Controlled and conscious Hold him Press and squeeze and Feel him fill my body As he fills my soul I whisper 'Did you?' 'No.' I know Forgo...
Added 22 Mar 2015 | Category Erotic Poems
| Votes 13 | Avg Score 5
| Views 1,983
| 10 Comments
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 11 | Avg Score 4.91
| Views 1,368
| 9 Comments
Gnarled roots snare my ankles; protruding rocks scrape my shins and bruise my weary toes. I struggle upwards through dense vegetation, skirting stinging trees, hacking through vines, my eyes peering ever high into the canopy, fervently following the bright swathe cut by the torch strapped to my forehead. Leeches cling in vain; insects bite for no return. I brush them away with mild...
Added 07 Aug 2014 | Category Love Stories
| Votes 11 | Avg Score 5
| Views 1,893
| 10 Comments
I was plain and knew it. Didn't need anyone to tell me. Make-up and nice clothes were wasted on me, created a caricature, a laughable parody of sensuality. So usually - and wisely - I didn't bother. However, this day was a special day, a day when I had to try my best to look my best and thus open myself to ridicule. I approached the desk with justifiable trepidation. The tweedy...
Added 14 Dec 2013 | Category First Time
| Votes 26 | Avg Score 4.96
| Views 16,351
| 23 Comments
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