Abuser or Tramp?

Have you heard of the saying that a sexually abused child would grow up to become either an abuser him/herself or become someone addicted to having promiscuous sex, i.e. turn into a tramp?

One of my readers asked me through my contact form if the molested child in my lesbian romance, Almond Scent was in fact, myself.

Almond Scent Book Cover

Wow.

I had not imagined that a reader would decipher that. After all, I wrote of having menages with a vampire as well — which, I had not experienced. ;-)

But the molested part: yes.

So, the next question: Have I ever sexually abused anyone?

No.

And I do not ever plan on doing that.

Then how about the tramp part?

I am an erotica writer but I don’t think that qualifies me as being a tramp. I write stories which would not have worked without the explicit sex scenes but I am not inviting any and everyone who looks decently human to have sex with me.

But… whether I am using this as an excuse or not, I had a tendency to cling onto dead or bad relationships for a lot longer than any sane woman would suffer. I also had a tendency to believe in a lot of bullshit that manipulative people say.

I hope that is not a subconscious self-abuse tendency, but I believe I am cured of that now. There is a limit as to how much a person (no matter how gullible) can tolerate.

I am not ashamed of who I am, and I am not ashamed of what once happened to me, because I did nothing wrong. It was the abuser who was wrong. He was dead, a long time ago, by the way.

My demon is not becoming an abuser or mindlessly giving my body away, it is a deeper sense of self-worth that sometimes might not be strong enough. For women who share my insecurity and doubts, here is a book that is especially helpful: Why Men Love Bitches. It was an instant hit, a huge bestseller, and the author deserves every penny. It’s a great book to help smack you on the head when you let yourself be a doormat. Never be a pushover again.

 

Enjoy! Be strong!

Birthday Confession

Confession: It was my birthday yesterday, and I am proud to announce that I am now 36 years old.

Proud, because a fortune-teller had warned my parents that my birthday had a secret “3 bell summon” hidden in it — there were to be 3 bells in my youth that would seek to take my life before I turned 18. If I survived those three bells, then I’d live past 30.

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Sounds dramatic, huh? But I am completely serious. There really was such a prediction, and it was true: there had been 3 instances when I could have died: all happened before I turned 14. I wouldn’t re-tell the details of those stories, but I am happy that I have outlived the “bell summons.” I find the number 36 meaningful, because it’s double the number 18 which marked the deadline (ha, pun intended) of the bells’ attempt on my life.

My parents told me of the “bell summons” after I turned healthily into an adult, as a story. My father’s poker face was impeccable, it took me a long time to decide if he was serious about it or not.

For someone who survived such a summon, I’d like to say Thank You to everyone who has been on this writing journey with me. Whether it’s because of the “summons” or not, my parents had always allowed me freedom in whatever I wished to pursue. And even though I learned of that possible curse much later in life, I have always been quite impulsive and wilful — and I don’t mean it in a bad way. Whatever I think of or pine for, I read up on it extensively and then go for it. I have to try out what I want to try out. No one could ever stop me. I am proud of that; it made me try out more than my fair share of experiences. Plenty of failures, yes, but it’s awesome to be able to try something out, and in a few months, admit defeat, learn from it, be wiser, end it, and then move on to bigger things.

Writing was something I had begun impulsively as well in the winter of 2012. A little over 2 years now, and it has become something that I will not, and do not ever have to give up. Even though I am not quite obscenely rich yet, I have 2 books that have reached Amazon’s Bestseller list more than once, and that is something (pardon the ego).

Thank you for being with me in this virtual world. Let’s continue exploring!

P.S. in case you were wondering which of my books made it as Amazon’s Bestsellers, they are Ginny’s Lesson and Under His Wings. Grab a copy and see if you like them! ;-)

 

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Ginny’s Lesson Under His Wings

 

A Twist on Happy Ending

I love happy endings, but sometimes, the “happy” in a happy ending can mean slightly differently from what you’d presume. Let’s try that twist on happy endings with this story, shall we? Enjoy! ;-)

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Happy Ending

The obese lady focuses her charcoal pupils on mine. “Are you sure?”

I stare back, unflinching. “Yes.”

“This is only temporary; a potion this strong cannot last forever, from one week to nine days, never more. If the resistance is strong, the effects wear off quicker. Whatever he says or does are not real, it is only an illusion of what you want. Are you sure you can handle it when he snaps back to normal?”

Seven days is plenty. “Yes, I am sure.”

She toys with the beads around her wrists. “Love is meaningful only when it is free and genuine.”

I almost laugh. She has no fucking idea. “I know.”

She regards me immobile for half an eternity, and then replies, “As you wish.”

She disappears into the back room. A whiff of something half sweet, half repungent makes my eyes water. She returns with a small transparent bottle. “This carries no taste. Pour it into any drink. It works instantaneously.”

I nod and hand over the money. She counts it, and then looks up. “You know where to find me if you need anything else.”

I mutter, “Thank you” under my breath and leave.

**

For five days and nights, I have enjoyed him. He was everything I had imagined: he gave me his undivided attention, texting me, writing me long loving emails, calling me and showing up on my doorstep right after he finishes work every evening. The sex was phenomenal. I could almost believe that it made up for what he had done to me. Almost.

On the fifth night, after he fell asleep from sexual exhaustion, I emailed a copy of some of our choicest, sauciest photos and video clips, and excerpts of our most explicitly dirty sexts to his wife, from his phone. Then I left, suitcase pre-packed and stored in my trunk.

The first 30 minutes or so, my palms were sweaty from sheer fright and elation of what I’ve done. After that, I began laughing. I laughed so hard I had to pull over to let myself guffaw in peace. My stomach hurt.

The bastard had been a heartless playboy. He toyed with my heart and then left me bleeding without even a backward glance. I refuse to be toyed with like a fool.

The voodoo priestess’ love potion was used to keep him loving me genuinely long enough so I could document his love acts, with clear shots of his face, twisted in his throes of passion. Tomorrow morning, if not right now, when his wife sees what I’ve sent, becomes furious and looks for him, he would still be under the effect of the love potion and be professing his undying love for me for two to four more days. The damage will be permanent. Even after the potion wears off, no amount of explanation can heal the wound that the evidence has burned into his family.

A nasty move, perhaps. But he hurt me first. I am simply making sure that he pays me back, with compound interest.

Revenge is sweet.

 

Bothered or Not Bothered?

The new Dove advertisement has sparked polarity amongst people. There are heated debates on Twitter and all over online magazines. Are you bothered, or not bothered by it?

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“It” being the fact that the Dove campaign asks women to choose a door to walk through: one being “Beautiful”, one being “Average.” Dove’s original idea was to boost women’s confidence in their looks, to #ChooseBeautiful as in, choose to believe that you’re beautiful. There is nothing wrong with that, but I was slightly perturbed by the visual representation: there were only two doors to choose from, I must be either beautiful or average — both being adjectives about my looks.

If there were more adjectives above the doors I might be happier in the choices: Beautiful, Feisty, Insanely Clever, Occasional Smartass, Loyal, Funny, Responsible, etc…

This article sums up my idea, I’ll highlight two points that are especially well-written:

These ads each depend on the assumption that in order to be happy, empowered, or confident, women need to feel beautiful. Dove wants us to talk about why women don’t feel beautiful. I want to talk about why that’s the only question they think is worth asking.

I don’t measure my worth by my physical appearance. In fact, I don’t measure it by any single criterion. I value being a well-rounded person with many virtues and some flaws (which I like to think make me interesting). It would be nice to be beautiful, just like it would be nice to be wealthy or to be able to solve complicated math problems in my head, but those are not the cards I have been dealt. I would rather embrace being average-looking and get on with celebrating all the other great things I am than spend my time and energy trying to align myself more closely with a beauty standard that is simply not relevant to my life.

What are your thoughts on this?

(By the way, Bitch Media is awesome, awesome, awesome. Subscribe to it already!)

1 Weird Tip to Help You Never Get Stuck with a Loser Anymore

Let’s go goofy today, shall we? Here is my 1 weird tip to help you never, ever, get stuck with a loser anymore.

Get a pet animal.

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No.

Seriously.

Hear me out.

Random case in point: you have sustained a crush for a hot guy who only treats you as a Friend with Benefits. He never calls you or texts you, he very seldom entertains you when you want to confide in him about something, and is always ready with perfect excuses as to why he cannot “be there for you” when you do in fact need him. But, always, after weeks and even months of silence, he’d suddenly text you at night with a cheerful, “Hey baby, miss you. Wanna come over for a drink and catch up? Around midnight?”

The sane girl would scoff at the message, promptly forget all about it, or if she feels playful, reply with something like, “Sure. Come pick me up in a limousine and take me to some place grand for that Tequila shot, and then maybe I’ll get changed and come downstairs.”

But what does the wrongfully emotionally invested girl do? She gets all warm and fuzzy inside, feels that surely he had feelings for her all along, and suddenly believes that the world is full of hope. She ditches all her plans, ignores sleep, gets a bath, goes through a long list of grooming rituals, and then rushes over (paying for a taxi herself) to that loser’s house to offer herself to be used conveniently as his (obviously) last-minute one night stand.

Pathetic.

Women have a tendency to nurture. You may not have children, but you still find people to nurture, to pamper them with love. Sometimes, you shower people who do not deserve your love with all your unconditional love. It is completely wrong, completely illogical, but women tend to do that. It is similar to seeing a wet kitten on the street, and you simply cannot not pick it up, bring it home, and nurse it back to health.

It works out well for a wet kitten, but not for men.

The only woman in the world who can safely pamper a man, even when he does not deserve it, is his mother.

Please don’t act like his mother.

Be the Goddess that he pursues. Be the woman whose love and affection are a privilege for him to earn.

To earn: that is the key point.

Now, if you have a pet animal at home, e.g. a cat who waits for you all day long just to snuggle into your lap, purr while you pat him, and looks up at you lovingly with his perfectly feline goo-goo eyes, you must be inhuman if you do not want to smother him with love. But the great difference is: it is ok to shower your pet cat with love. Show him unconditional love. Show him too much love, even. It’s fine.

When that sucker calls or texts you again, look over at your hopeless little kitten who relies 100% on you for food, for affection and happiness, and then glance back at the pathetic attempt of a Booty call by the loser.

What do you do?

You snap back to your sane self.

Lavish your love on someone who truly will never manipulate you, someone who deserves all your unconditional love (pet cat, rabbit, or tortoise if you wish), and you will see your womanly need to nurture reach a healthy equilibrium with a warranted outlet.

I’m not kidding. My cat always keeps me in check when I almost treat some stupid asshole too kindly.

Incidentally, Happy Easter everyone! :-)

 

Rope Musings

I just like the ideas of ropes, you know? The idea of him tying me up; his hands meticulously wrapping the rough hemp rope over my skin, around the precise joints and curves that he wishes to control and hold. It is a tangible demonstration of his power over me when my body becomes his plaything: it always has been, but more so with the ropes. He calculates and envisions how he wants me to be restrained, how I am to be presented on his bed: a visual illustration of his ownership and my submission.

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(Pic credit: Bigstock Photos)

Physical pleasure is a given. I have never feared my body or the feelings that I can incite in myself. I have known since a young age how to attain ecstasy, but the shadowy parts of my imagination has kept taunting me about how to escalate that pleasure, how to reach and surpass limits which would make sex even more extraordinary that it already is.

The coarse friction of the rope on my body, especially as the hoops circle my wrists and elbows, holding them into place, turns me on and ignites a primal desire inside me as nothing else can. The warmth of his fingers when he ties the knots and the heat of his breath along the tiniest hair on my limbs cause goosebumps along the trail of exposed skin that he marks on my curves, preparing me. The concentration in his eyes is mesmerizing. Each of his calm inhale and exhale is a manifestation of his disciplined lust for me.

The moment when I first realized that I had found my match was stunning. The excitement and the terror that such a perfect thing can happen sometimes still strikes a fearful chord in my soul. I had given up hopes of ever meeting a man like him, because it had seemed too unlikely, the possibility too far-fetched. But we met. The Universe had been kind. The precise second when that click in the heart and mind synchronized, all the mysteries in the world made sense. It does not matter that neither he nor I are “free” in society’s terms, because our bond defies that. We are not above the law or morality, but for the nature of what we share, such rules and considerations are irrelevant.

I would never scare my Dom away with too passionate a sentiment, too outrageous a request, too wild a fantasy, or too lustful a need. Nothing is out of bounds. When we cross a limit, it is not terrifying, and unlike other sick addictions, we do not face emotional emptiness after each session. There is no fear, no limits, and no obligations.

Loyalty, faithfulness and trust are redefined. Our fidelity lies unquestionably with each other. Nothing is forbidden because our loyalty is assured and unmistakable. Don’t judge us.

 

On Female Strength

Women are powerful. We are able to accomplish so much nowadays that just 40 years ago, my mother would have rolled her eyes and said, “You wanna what?” Female strength is undeniable, but let me touch on a little detail that sometimes we tend to forget.

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We are strong enough to be self-sufficient, self-reliant and basically doing every single thing ourselves, yes. But that doesn’t mean we have to be strong and alone all the time. Part of feminine charm and strength lie in the fact that we can be soft. We can gently, subconsciously but very powerfully, suggest others (yes, including men, why not?) to do things for us.

It is fun, and perhaps even more powerful to have other people slaving themselves over us even when, or especially when, we are perfectly capable of doing everything ourselves.

Leave room for men to please you and earn your approval, ladies. Even when we do everything so much more efficiently than they do. ;-)

Happy Women’s Month, everyone!

 

11 Random Facts about Anna Bayes

Anna Bayes writes, Anna Bayes reads, Anna Bayes over-thinks everything entirely too much. But, what else? Allow me to share 11 random facts about yours truly here.

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  1. I never wear sunglasses.
  2. I read every single book about dragons as an instructional manual up till the age of 8.
  3. I have lucid dreams at least once a week.
  4. The first comic book I read was Garfield the cat.
  5. My father was an expert in keeping jellyfish and Himalayan cats.
  6. I have an Exotic Shorthair cat as a pet.
  7. I prefer Tequila over Bailey’s.
  8. I had my first bottle of beer (full bottle) when I was seven: result of a dare.
  9. I was a virgin until age 19.
  10. My favourite day of the week is Thursday.
  11. I met my best friend when I was 14: we sang in harmony to every song on the radio together until she left for New York (we are still close).

Hope you enjoyed it! ;-)