Anna Bayes Erotic Special

The ultra generous Guy Hogan has thought of a brilliant (and did I mention, generous?) plan of promoting the erotica writers that he publishes regularly on his Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette. This month is the Anna Bayes Erotic Special: From today onwards, he will post an erotic flash fiction piece of mine, interlaced with exclusive interviews, on his Gazette. He publishes flash fiction, and especially appreciates erotica. It is a pleasure and honour to be featured on his site.

(Pic credit: Der Kuss by Peter Behrens, 1898)

Head over today to the  Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette!



Dreaming of a Wolf

I often have lucid dreams. Nothing to be alarmed about. Some new-age people say it is the sign of unusually active minds (probably true in my case), and of someone who is intuition-based (also probably true). If dreams are screaming something at you, listen, because it is your gut feeling, animalistic instincts and unconscious mind giving you insights or warnings before your logical conscious mind gets around to it. I tend to agree, perhaps in a less dramatic way, but yes, I take heed to feelings that are predominant in dreams. Last night, I had an especially luminous, lucid dream: a wolf.

(Pic credit: Gray Wolf)

Interpretation of a wolf appearing in dreams can vary greatly according to different traditions and “schools” of dream-reading. But for me, wolves, and no, in my dream, it was one lone wolf: links to powerful but hidden sides of me; the secretive but very real, true self inside of me.

A wolf was there. I had no fear of him. I stood next to him, gazing down at a valley from the tip of a cliff. There was something impending, a mission that must be accomplished. We were going to do it together. Then I walked side-by-side with the beautiful wolf (perhaps he is my wolf, or simply, me, the essence of the real, pure me). It felt purposeful but peaceful at the same time. We were going somewhere, we had a purpose.

The fact that my wolf did not howl, was not trying to eat me, was not chasing after me, and was simply with me and did not instill any fear in me proved that he was my inner self.

The wolf is mysterious, charismatic, powerful and potentially dangerous. In this case, I know for sure, the dream was meant to be understood almost literally: I must allow my inner self to surface, not be hidden anymore, and to walk together in life peacefully, on a mission: to lead a purposeful, content, happy life.

It felt natural. It just felt right.

I know exactly what my wolf meant: I no longer wish to hide or lie about who I am. There is a deep resentment in me, a problem in my real life which I have allowed to fester and continue beyond its natural lifespan; I will end what is no longer applicable in my life. I am letting my wolf step into the light with me. No more lies, no more compromises, no more guilt.

Once that is solved, once I put that plan into action, I will let you all know what I am referring to.


Writing Tips for the Mind

There are many writing tips out there. I don’t usually talk about these, because what works for one person may not (or probably won’t) work for another. But the mind… tips for the mind, or inspiration for the mind and heart… I think these work, all the time. So I’m sharing some with you today. Enjoy, and be inspired!

(Pic credit: Portrait of a Girl by Joshua Reynolds)

Notice how many of the Olympic athletes effusively thanked their mothers for their success? “She drove me to my practice at four in the morning,” etc. Writing is not figure skating or skiing. Your mother will not make you a writer. My advice to any young person who wants to write is: leave home. — Paul Theroux

I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide. — Harper Lee

You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you. — Ray Bradbury

Start telling the stories that only you can tell, because there’ll always be better writers than you and there’ll always be smarter writers than you. There will always be people who are much better at doing this or doing that — but you are the only you. — Neil Gaiman

If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time — or the tools — to write. Simple as that. — Stephen King

You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write. — Sal Bellow

I owe my success to having listened respectfully to the very best advice, and then going away and doing the exact opposite. — G.K. Chesterton

To write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write is to write. — Gertrude Stein


Bizarre mood, bizarre tale: Doing Laundry

I was in a bizarre mood, so a bizarre tale came into being… I do have a thing about washing machines but maybe not quite to this extent. Anyhow, hope this doesn’t sound too bizarre and won’t scare you away… enjoy!

Doing Laundry

Seven years of marriage. One miscarriage. The sex was long gone.

She had two affairs and a few very forgettable one-night-stands. Now all she had was laundry.

His voice irritated her. He complained all day long: his job, his colleagues, his boss, his subordinates, his mother, the neighbors.

He had grown a beer belly and it steadily continued to squeeze out more each day.

She grew weary of him.

Once on a bright autumn day, she visited a lawyer and learned the procedures of filing for divorce. It sounded tedious. She arrived home feeling tired and dejected. She did laundry. The humming of the machine soothed her; she sat down on the tiled floor watching the fabric and water going round and round. The soft cottony smell of the detergent hypnotized her.

That night in the showers, she masturbated again. It was the first time since — well, since far too long ago. Her knees went weak, her cheeks flushed deeply, she was out of breath. It was exhilarating.

Since then, she has done laundry every night. She was happy to wash just one pair of jeans, the carpet at the front door, anything; she must hear the machine hum everyday, sometimes more than once.

He noticed a difference in her after the nineteenth day, when he caught her folding two pairs of his torn, white underwear and burrowing her nose in the fabric, sniffing long and hard, and then smiling wistfully. He checked afterwards just to be sure those really were his boxers and not another man’s.

He suspected an affair; he tried to come home early to sneak up on her during weekdays, but always, he found her in the laundry room. He hired a private detective for sixty days: nothing.

After a while, he forgot about it, until yesterday when the washing machine broke down.

It has been seven years after all, the thing had been solid, and at the rate she used it, it was normal wear and tear.

But she cried and refused to let him buy her a new one. She locked him out from the small room throughout the night. He checked up on her in intervals. Once he heard weeping, once he heard the sound of her slippered feet pacing the room endlessly, once he heard a faint, wet sound followed by an almost imperceptible cooing sound; it took him a while to recognize his wife’s moaning. He was shocked, but decided that at least she must be all right.

This morning, he awoke to the smell of fresh coffee, and watched her cook bacon and eggs; a real breakfast as he had not seen her make since — well, since too long ago. He kissed her affectionately on the lips and went to work. He found himself getting hard at his desk remembering her whimpering last night in the dark, in the locked room. He thought maybe with age, he was getting kinky. No matter. It would be nice to have sex with her again that night, he thought.

By the time his car pulled into the driveway, it was too late. At least she did not stink, the washing detergent swamping the floor masked the stench of her vomit, her body curled up next to the machine.

(The End.)

Sharing: Funeral Blues

I rewatched the movie, “Four Weddings and a Funeral” and was reminded again how perfect the poem-reading scene in the funeral was. I don’t think there is another more appropriate poem for that emotional scene. I thought I’d share the poem here with you, in case you haven’t read it before:

(Pic credit: Wiki Commons)

Funeral Blues (or, “Stop All The Clocks”) by W. H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Excuse me while I go grab a Kleenex…

Hug and kiss your loved ones!


New Release: Love Letter

Exciting news everyone! Love Letter is live on Amazon and everywhere today!

love letter small png

Title: Love Letter

Keywords: contemporary / erotic romance / heterosexual / loving relationship

Pages: 18

Buy linksAmazon USAmazon UK | Smashwords

Goodreads link:


A glimpse into the loving relationship between Bee and her lover. This is her love letter to him, signed, “Yours, body and soul, this life and forever.”

Note: Explicit sex scenes. Adult material intended for readers aged 18+.


The first time you made love to me, I quivered like a virgin. I kept reminding myself that I have had my share of men, but I was still so nervous, sitting on your bed, knowing that you wanted me. You saw right through me; you were gentle, and took your time with me. When you peeled off that last piece of garment from my body, I felt like I was being unveiled for the first time in my own skin, as if I had never been naked before. You had no idea, but the way you looked at me made me feel grateful, for the first time during that horrible year, that I was still alive. Your eyes savored every part of me; I felt admired and lusted over. I felt like a woman, a beautiful woman — a thought that had almost never entered my adult mind until you made me feel your hunger for me.

Since then, we have done so much. No, I should say, you have brought so much out in me. One by one, you ticked off your secret check-list of things to do with me. I sometimes still wonder how you have done it; you always seem to know precisely where my limit is for the moment, and then you push just a little further, inducing me to try a little more than I believed I could, and before I know it, you have held my hand and crossed a new boundary with me.

You said the first time you discovered my potential for going beyond my comfort zone was a rainy night as summer began, when you were penetrating me to the sound of thunder outside the window.

Enjoyed the excerpt? Get it now!

Buy linksAmazon USAmazon UK | Smashwords

Add it on Goodreads too!


Book Cover Reveal: Love Letter

This serves as concrete proof that I really do read all my emails, and that I really do listen to what you want, dear readers. Some of you have read It Is Time and Other Stories and expressed that you especially enjoyed Love Letter and Marion’s First Menage. So, I have decided to publish Love Letter as a stand-alone ebook. It will be launched next week, June 14 (Saturday)! Today, (*drum rolls…*) it is the book cover reveal! I always love cover reveals because as you know, I design my own book covers, so it’s extra special for me to share this additional creative outlet with you. Here it is, the book cover for Love Letter:

love letter small png

Going for the sweet, contemporary look this time. I just realized how my past book covers always only featured one person, either a sexy female or a hot male. Let’s try and put a “togetherness” to this book cover then, since it is a love letter, after all. Love Letter is heartwarming and sweet. It’s a contemporary, M/F erotic romance.

Blurb: A glimpse into the loving relationship between Bee and her lover. This is her love letter to him, signed, “Yours, body and soul, this life and forever.”

Note: Explicit sex scenes. Adult material intended for readers aged 18+.

Hope you like it. Stay tuned for its release next Saturday!