Cavegirl with a cellphone

Hi

Well, I got the book out of the way, smashed the champagne against its hollow hull and sent it sliding down the slipway. Phew. And here's where the work ought to begin, all the pushing and shoving, the hyping and triping. But you know what? I haven't the strength, haven't the energy. I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but I really don't have the interest in that side of it. Yes, I'd love people to read it, but that isn't the reason I wrote it. I wrote it for me, wrote each of the stories for me. I got an idea, started to write and off it went with a mind of its own. No planning. No sketching out. I just write and see where the people take me. Endings suggest themselves. Themes spring out of the ether. Done!

Don't get me wrong, it's hard work - not in a grave-digging way, not at all - but the stories mostly flow and write themselves. Okay, so I read them through a thousand times and make them mine. That goes without saying. However, I simply start and know they will go somewhere. They have to. It's what life does. Nobody ever got life-block, they just kept on living. And so with a story. On and on to its end.

And once the book was sailing merrily away, I wrote down a poem that had been slowly forming over a day or two. It's about... well, it's typed out below if you want to read it; if I could tell you what it's about then I wouldn't have needed to write the poem, would I? I think the answer to that is no, though I am not entirely sure. Anyway, here it is:

Cavegirl with a cellphone

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 collapses, breathes its last  

We fall upon it, kill the past  

Eternity of hunger, fear  

We dared, now share, grow ever nearer 

Cling together, fight and flee

We feed and fuck, I speak and see

While way beyond our understanding 

Stalks unseen a monster hand in 

Hand with demon seed unsown 

A cavegirl with a cellphone 

* 

Flickering flames dispel the night  

We huddle, cuddle, till the sunlight  

Frightens off the circling pack  

He hunts, I gather, hurry back  

To him. Yet waiting in a gloomy  

Future perfect secret room he 

Lies, a smooth, sweet-smelling creature  

Svelte sophisticated teacher 

Anthropo-scenic beauty once unknown  

To a cavegirl with a cellphone  

* 

I accept my lot, my life-long mate  

And cosy cave to decorate  

Existing in simplicity  

With fur and fire for luxury  

Yet out there in the ether  

Hides a snarling monster neither  

Of us has the genes to beat  

Clicks are all it takes to meet  

Now I'm found out, thrown out, living on my own  

A cavegirl with a cellphone 

* 

It's here! It's here! I'm so excited!

Released today!

Measuring up: an indispensable compendium of eclectic erotica

Buy it here!

So hot, it melted the press. So funny, it split its own sides with mirth. So insightfully human, the Bible is now redundant.

None of the above are strictly true. There was no press. It has no sides. The Bible is still useful for propping open that fire door. However, it is out there, released into the wild, hungrily eyeing up the coins in your pocket. But it's not overly voracious, will devour no more than a Starbuck's worth of rattling metal. And then it will be yours, to take out on the train, to peruse at the traffic lights, to snigger at in the dentist's, and to hide when your beloved enters the room. Some of it will make you uncomfortable. The rest will make your underwear uncomfortable. Such are the depths of my artistic aims.

The sexy short stories it contains are, I believe, amongst the best I have ever written. And I should know: no one has read them as many times as I have.

So, go on, download it today. Your Kindle will be forever grateful. As will I.  :)

Love, as always,

Alexandra xxx

A comically harrowing Halloween tale especially for you xxxx

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 dummy run at everything I do. I wanted to make it the best Halloween ever, you know? For the kids? Anyway, Elaine went out soon after so I made a start.

I carved out the eyes first. Two symmetrical triangles topped with a thin upturned  'V' for eyebrows. They looked great. Another triangle for the nose. And then, as I cut a slit to start the mouth - you know, the traditional gaping jagged jaws - something stopped me.

Yes. Stopped me dead. A thought, a voice in my head. Can't describe it any other way. It spoke to me. No - she spoke to me.

'No, please,' in a little voice just like that, 'Please don't hurt me.' 

I dropped the knife, stepped back.

'Help me. Free me.'

Then she sobbed, her voice broke down. I cautiously placed my hand on the orange flesh, stroked it and she seemed to pull herself together. I was incredulous.

'Will you help me?'

'Yes, yes, of course.' I felt stupid, you know, talking to it like that. I looked round the house to make sure I was alone, to be certain someone wasn't playing tricks. But there wasn't a soul.

'Kiss me and I shall at last be free!'

'Kiss you?'

'Yes, it will break the spell. Kiss me. Please.'

'Spell? What spell?'

'On the eve of my wedding, All Hallows Eve, my evil stepmother - who was secretly a witch - turned me into a pumpkin. She hated me, was insanely jealous of my impending happiness. You see, I was to be betrothed to a very handsome prince and we would, in time, rule the neighbouring kingdom.’

That sounded a bit extreme, but I’ve heard of stuff like that before: family jealousy.

‘I’ve been trapped in here for a thousand years. I die as each pumpkin is consumed or decays, but I'm reborn in the seed. It is so painful to be carved, cooked, eaten... you can't imagine the torture. Worst of all is to slowly rot in the field, my beautiful flesh turning to putrefying mush.'

I had to admit that her flesh - for a pumpkin - was very beautiful.

‘But to be born again… Oh, the joy!’

'So I… kiss you?'

'Yes. Kiss me and I shall be free at last. Free to go home! Don't fail me, please!'

So I kissed the cold, firm skin, stood back and waited, but nothing happened.

'No. On the mouth. It must be on the mouth.'

'But... I haven't carved your mouth yet,' and I picked up the knife in readiness, though, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could now even touch her with the sharp blade.

'Please, hurry. Nothing elaborate, just a hole. Hurry!'

I plunged in. It didn't take me long to cut a hole. I crouched down next to the kitchen table and peered inside, half expecting to see a tiny princess standing there, but realised that would be silly.

'Hurry! Kiss me!'

I pressed my lips to the hole, closed my eyes and wished. She didn't say anything about wishing, but I thought it might help.

Nothing.

The lifeless, hollow-eyed fruit stared at me like a skull. Alas, poor Pumpkin...

'The magic... It's too strong and I am too weak.'

'What can I do, Princess? Anything!' 

'There is only one thing now that can break the spell. It will take courage and a great sacrifice.'

'Tell me! Princess, tell me! Anything to end your suffering!'

'You alone can break the spell! And send me back to my time, my kingdom, my life... my love! But it is... it is... I’m sorry, I can't...'

'Please, Princess. Say it! Anything!' 

She was so desperate, yet so noble, kept her composure beautifully, despite her torment. She was definitely royalty. I decided to help her in any way I could.

'You are such a good man, such a pure spirit that I... I can't say it. Can't say it aloud... I'll whisper.'

And I put my ear close to the pumpkin's roughly-hewn mouth.

I was shocked, horrified by her words. I'd read lots of fairy stories, knew all the twists, but had never heard of anything like this.

'Are you... are you sure this will work?'

‘Positive. It is written.’

I turned my back on the pumpkin - not sure why - and took out the old man. I'd asked it to do some weird things in my time, but this was just about the oddest. I know what you're thinking, but I honestly could see no other way.

And no, I wasn't turned on by the thought. What do you think I am? It took me quite a while to get it up, actually, had to run through a list of well-tried scenarios before it even twitched. But I'm quite proud to say it's never let me down. And it was for a good cause.

I called over my shoulder.

'Ready when you are... Okay, Princess?'

'Please hurry! Our seed must mingle for me to be fully free. Give it to me, lover!'

Grasping the pumpkin in two hands, I positioned the tip of my manhood against the makeshift mouth and pushed. As I slid into the perfectly proportioned orifice, the cold, slimy innards surrounded me. It felt strangely pleasant. Her seeds stimulated me, titillating me with every thrust.

And yes, I know most people cut off the top and scoop the insides out before carving the features, but I don't, Okay? It's not a crime, is it! Anyway, where was I?

As I pumped the pumpkin, I envisioned the princess on her knees before me, sucking for her life. Silver tiara in her long black hair, white dress spreading out on the floor like the upturned head of a huge flower. Porcelain breasts heaving as the flesh of her cheeks were drawn in, defining her exquisite cheekbones. Blues eyes, shining, pleading, urging me on.

Closing my eyes, I imagined the soaring, elegant spires of her palace glinting in the sunlight, the broad, leafy avenues of her kingdom. Streets lined with exultant subjects, waving pennants, banners, throwing confetti. Her golden coach, drawn by four white unicorns, driven by two stately frogs in uniform. The marble steps to the cathedral and the happy throng chanting her name. And her prince - so handsome - waiting patiently, expectantly at the altar. All this brought about by me alone, with this one selfless act.

The climax approached faster than I thought possible. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I squirted my cum into the pumpkin, yelling her name as I did so, urging the magic to do its work. 

'Go Princess! Go Princess!'

There was a flash and the sound of rolling thunder. I screwed up my eyes and there she was, like in a film, standing outside the cathedral, long train of her magnificent dress snaking behind her, her prince on her arm. They looked up in unison and waved, smiling broadly. She blew me a kiss, the crowd roared... and the image faded away to nothing.'

When I opened my eyes, there stood Elaine, loaded carrier bags in hands, gawping at the pumpkin impaled on my groin. I tried to explain, but she ran upstairs and locked the door. And that’s all I can remember.

*

‘After careful consideration of all the facts, I have reached my verdict. I grant the divorce on the grounds of unreasonable behaviour. I trust you can now get on with your life, Mrs Smallwood? Right, I think we’ll take lunch now, ladies and gentlemen… (Aside to clerk:) No pumpkin soup for me today. Put me right off, this has. One of my favourites too…’

*****

#free # erotica Whatever happened to my teacher - and my self-respect...

Hi

Here I am again, throwing myself at you. Whatever must you think of me? And whatever shall become of me? 

I'm giving away more of my stories, my erotic stories, my naughty shorties, as I like to call them. A whole bookful. And before you ask why, I will tell you: it's a teaser, a taster, of a shortly forthcoming compendium of brand new erotica. It is mine, all mine, and I shall call it 'Measuring up'!

So there. Think of it thus: I am offering you a free feel of my very tasty titties, perhaps with even a little lip action thrown in, in the hope you will be so enthralled you will part with hard cash to sample my even naughtier parts. Who could resist such an offer? Most people, to be honest. But not you, dear reader. Surely not you? Go on, add a bit of sheen to my stiff little nipples and get your juices flowing in one swift shot. Click here in the next 48 hours and the 40k priceless words of 'Teacher' are yours for free. xxxxx

Here's some blurb to oil the wheels of this once in a lifetime transaction:

In 'Whatever happened to my teacher?' the beauty of Alexandra's prose once again belies the often dark and dangerous themes. Interspersed between the four chapters of the central story that lends the collection its name, are seven enlightening tales in which one or more of the characters receives shocking self-knowledge in sexually-charged epiphanic events. Follow them as they are tempted and taunted by their weaknesses, and applaud them as - more often than not - they rise above their base instincts and thus arrive at new levels of self-awareness. 

The stories:

Whatever happened to my teacher?
While enjoying a colleague's stag night, Lewis realises the cavorting foul-mouthed drunk on the dance floor is his old biology teacher, the once demure and attractive Mrs. Cheetham. 

First kiss 
Recovering from a long illness, a vulnerable and lonely man pays to bridge the lost years. 

TV Times 
Carl will be forever haunted by an extraordinary encounter in a seedy nightclub.

Symphony for the Devil 
Lydia, an insecure young music student, gratefully accepts after-school tuition from her suave teacher. As sacred music plays, he takes advantage both of his position and of her naivety, and lives are irrevocably changed. 

Miriam of Magdala 
Suffering terribly at the hands of zealous persecutors, first century Christians used every subtle subterfuge to keep their burgeoning faith alive. 

Last flight of the metapillar 
During a drive through the countryside with her pop-star uncle, Jazz confirms that creativity runs in the family 

Cleaning up 
A writer's journey is of infinite steps and starts with a single word. Typically - and usually deservedly - that word is 'Rejection'. However, we stumble onwards and, by degrees, approach our impossible destination. Please give this particular stumbling hack a chance: under the auspices of his attractive cleaner, his spelling, grammar, style and ambition improve with every paragraph. 

The treachery of images 
A chance meeting in an art gallery gives a thoughtful teenager an opportunity to explore the limits of self-expression. 

New cover: yes, that's much sweeter!

Hi! 

When I designed the cover for 'The big bag of sexy allsorts' I decided to make it grey, so the reds, yellows and blues would show up against it. However, having recently viewed it in its natural element - on my Amazon page - it simply faded into nothing, stood out like a chameleon in a rain forest. So I took it to one side, stripped away its monochromosity and made it pink instead. It's waiting to be uploaded, isn't quite on there there yet, so I put it up here for your perusal.

Have a great weekend!

All my love,

Alexandra xxx

Almost there! Another erotic short story compilation!

Hurrah!

Another compilation of my erotic short stories is in the offing. It is entitled 'Measuring up' after one of the included tales. The strap line calls it an 'indispensable compendium', a combination of words which totally tickles my fancy.

The preparation is endless. Though the stories are all already written, that is far from the end of it. The 40k words need careful further fettling before the book will see the light of day. There's editing. Proof-reading. Cover designing. Blurb writing. More proof-reading. Refining. Another cover. More blurb. Read through again. And again. Over and over, till there is nothing, nothing that catches the eye, that snags on the tongue. Comma in or out? In? Out? Shake it all about. Does that hyphen help or hinder? Now delete all the blank lines, the paragraph and speech dividers that some story sites demand. Phew! Phew indeed!

After all that comes the Herculean task of uploading to Kindle. Give me those shit-filled stables any day! Yes, I know it's supposed to be easy, but it never turns out as it should. Page-breaks vanish. Headings become body and body becomes a heading. The contents page doesn't work. Time to read the manual once more and try again.

Almost there. And of course, there's the pasting into notepad to remove all extraneous formatting - an absolute must for a clean final document.

And - of course again - just when you think all is done, one is invited to view the new book in all the various formats - iPad Kindle, iPhone Kindle, Windows Kindle, Mac Kindle, Kindle Kindle - where inexplicable formatting errors will always appear. It's a nightmare. But a good one. For eventually it should all be okay. Eventually. Give me a week and it may well be out there. I'll keep you informed.

Attached is a preliminary cover. A 'beta' I think they call it these days. Hopefully, gamma will be as far into the Greek alphabet as I need to go.

So I'm almost there. On a recent read-through, I decided to insert a short section into my 'Love, lies and the apocalypse' story which appears about half way through the proposed book. The story needed it. And, deep down, I'd always known it. Here it is, plucked from its natural habitat, as naked and vulnerable as a lab-rat. It's a fair example of what you might expect were you to download the finished article. As always, your comments are invited.

Take care till next time,

Love,

Alexandra xxxx

Extract from 'Love, lies, and the apocalypse'.

She entered my quarters like a ghost, her gossamer gown drifting gently to the floor as she  silently floated towards me. The unmade bed mutely accepted her slender body and she smeared her nakedness across it, limbs stretching, back arching, her half-closed eyes never leaving mine. Lips moved. Air vibrated.

'It's time.'

But for the meagre angle-poise and my dimly glowing laptop, the room was in darkness. I dropped my pen onto the desk, swivelled my chair towards her and simply stared in wonder. She was toying with herself, enjoying herself in the literal meaning of the phrase. Nipping and tugging. Touching and tasting. Writhing and moaning.

'Hurry up, Jim, or you'll miss the party.'

I stood and quickly removed my teeshirt and trousers, peeled off my socks and thermals, till I too was naked. My raging erection spoke immeasurably more eloquently than my clumsy tongue.

'God, Mia, you are beautiful.'

One step and I hovered over her. She reached out then hesitated. It was the only time I ever witnessed her hesitance. In that moment, playfulness evaporated. The simmering woman solidified into the ice-cold scientist.

'I know you're married. Know the score. And I'm fine with it. I don't want love. I want cock. I need cock. And lots of it. You okay with that, Doctor?'

Her mouth needed it first. Her pussy came a close second. In the briefest of intermissions, as I poured coffee, she rolled gymnastically backwards till her knees clasped her half-ears, then drank the cum that drizzled from her innards. The wink was pure Mia.

'Waste not, want not; that's what my mum always used to say.'

The resource she craved I had in abundance. It was infinitely renewable. Unnaturally inexhaustible. I gave: she took. And fuck the consequences. I would cope with the fallout. I would gladly reap the whirlwind. 

*

Blow me! A dangerous game indeed!

Hi,

I have missed you! Where have you been? Please don't hide like that again! Now give me a cuddle and tell me all you have been up to.

But first (and please extricate your sticky fingers from my tiny knickers - I am not yet primed for such intimacy) let me tell you of a very dangerous game I have just invented. It involves interesting words and phrases. It involves everyone I encounter. And, naturally, it involves sex.

Every day, I think of a little-used word or short phrase, one that was, perhaps in earlier, more loquacious times, everyday. And I etch it into my mind. I have to be careful here. I have to be very careful. For, if anyone utters said word or phrase during the next twenty-four hours, I have to offer myself to them. On a plate. On a table. On the floor. On a bed. Or (my current favourite) in a car. Male or female, young or old (the game is neither ageist nor sexist) I have - before we part - to make it very plain that I am instantly open to their every sexual whim. Every. Even if 'synchronicity' - that was last  Saturday's mot when I had a vague notion I was going to bump into Sting at Morrison's meat counter - is your final word on this Earth, I promise to jump you before your corpse is cold. Yes, raising the dead is just within my remit.

So far, I have been spared embarrassment. So far. However, as days slip by with sex-greased ease (and, by the way, you may slip your fingers in again: I am ready now, very ready indeed), my chosen triggers are becoming more mainstream. Monday was 'cornucopia'. Tuesday was 'truculent'. Wednesday was 'pugnacious'. Yesterday was a rather apposite 'Blow me!' And today is... I am simply not telling! That would be too easy. Yes, okay, I am easy, but not that easy! But I'll give you a clue. Sherlock Holmes often exclaimed it (okay, perhaps I am that easy).

Now go expand your vocabulary. Coin a rare phrase. Impress your friends with your arcane lexicon and you never know: there may be, skulking in the shadows, a not unattractive, a not unshapely, a not sexually unproficient, me. Yes, You guessed it: 'litotes' was my Sunday word.

I love language so much, I am prepared to fuck for it, ready to offer my body on the altar of lexical diversity, with the sole aim of keeping our beautiful tongue as subtle and splendid, as candid and colourful, as it ever was.

Have a great week. Wrap your tongue around some tasty words and you never know: I may be wrapping my tongue around you.

Lots of love,

Alexandra xxx