Amelia May Wilde

Amelia May Wilde Profile

Bronze Writer Badge


Amelia May Wilde

Location: Brighton, United Kingdom

Member Since: December 2012

Open for read requests: Yes

Profile Information

I was twelve years old when I discovered my sexuality... I discovered it first through reading literature that was, perhaps, advanced for my age. I realised very quickly that words could evoke physical responses in my body as I read. By the age of thirteen I had dispensed with my virginity, with the assistance of a close friend, and by fifteen I had located the source of my own orgasm. Alongside these wondrous explorations of being, I found that it was with words that I longed, most of all, to frolic. Men will let you down. It is inevitable. Especially if you are a writer.  Time after time I would fall into a man, I would love him as hard as I could, for that was the way my mother taught me. Sex without love demeans, she said. And as I could not resist the sex, the only solution was to fall in love. Thoroughly and repeatedly. But as a writer of fiction, and in order to make loveable the men I had fucked, I would invest them with hidden qualities. He hits me, but it is only because he lacks the words to tell me he loves me, and how that terrifies him. He ignores my needs, but only because he is so deep, so intense, so devoted to his art. He pours my energy into himself, fills himself with me time and again, he drains and depletes me. But it is only because he loves me so insatiably.

All bullshit. Honestly. So now, wiser, I dive into the fiction. I am not deluded any longer, I dive knowingly and willingly into all of it. I give of myself with abandon and abundance and I revel in the pain, the lacerations, the love and the despair and I am truly alive. But I do not trick myself into belief in forever. There is no such thing as Tomorrow, it is a dream-place that will become Right Now the moment we touch it. Yesterday is a chain we drag behind us... it snags itself on our mistakes, our failures and our unrealised dreams, it rattles and groans to remind us of why we should fear. It is no more real than Tomorrow. It too, in its day, was Right Now. And so I give my all to the moment. For Tomorrow, I hold in mind an awareness of the things I do not want to have in my Now. Angry, hurt wives, betrayed girlfirends, sexually transmitted diseases and broken people. In my moments I act with this awareness in mind. Each morning when I wake I take the cooling links of Yesterday in my hands, I release myself from them with tenderness. I note each scar, each scratch, each loving caress that has touched my Yesterday, and I write what I learn in a journal.  And the Nows... these become whole fictions of their own. Sometimes a mere flash of words and others a slow internal examination, sometimes flying free on the elation of soul recognition that is one of the rewards of loving sex freely shared, and sometimes tied with bonds of rhyme and meter and dictated by my mistress as she weilds her whips and pinwheels on the flesh of my pages.

I share some of these with you here.

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Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

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