Call Of The Wild

Our Lost Connection With Nature

I imagine most of us have had the experience. Out walking or picnicking with a partner, we feel a sudden overwhelming urge to make love in the open air. 

I have come across some surprisingly conservative grown-ups, some even quite elderly, who have been taken in this way. They describe it in a way as if they might have been possessed while out minding their own business.

"There we were, Marjorie and I, marvelling at the workmanship of a gate as we made our way casually along the South Downs Way, when suddenly she turned to me and said, Lionel, I want you to do me. Now in the long grass over here. I was taken aback. What right here? Yes, she said. I confess I was somewhat afraid. It wasn't like her. She couldn't get my trousers down fast enough! A wonderful experience, though. We do it regularly now. Never discussed, but I know when it's going to happen. Walking boots with a skirt and wooly stockings were never Marjorie's kind of thing in the past." 

I have wondered a lot about this. Once I became aware of the phenomenon, I became more aware of what was going on around me when out and about on my daily walks. I don't wish to sensationalise. Obviously not all walking couples are up to it, but if one becomes attuned to it there is little difficulty identifying those with outdoor carnal intent. There is a furtiveness in their body language. Exaggerated eye-contact. Pressing closer than needs be as they pass through a gate. A hand used unnecessarily to steady a woman's thigh or buttock as she crosses a stile. Look more closely, there's a lot of it about.

So why all of a sudden the passion for outdoor carnal activities?

Well, of course it has been going on for rather a long time – long before human beings ever had any notion of “indoors” in fact. It is our natural carnal playground. But I do believe there is a bit of a resurgence, and I think I know why.

Look at our lives now – especially in the developed world. We spend more and more time indoors. Even when we get exercise it increasingly tends to be indoors or at least removed from nature. Even pastimes with their roots in our primeval past, like hunting and fishing, have become steadily more sanitised and high-tech. We have become shy or even afraid of nature. It is dirty and uncomfortable. I surf because it brings me close to the forces of nature – one with its tremendous power – but even there, young surfers seem to spend more time on-line or in shops perving over equipment, or posing at beach-front bars and cafes than they do actually in the water, standing up.

So what is the future for our children? Call me extreme, but personally I think sport involving full contact with nature, some survival training and some wilderness adventures should be compulsory. Without it, I believe, we are doomed as a race. We will live comfortably with all our luxury, our digital virtual world gaming and our labour saving technology, but when the tipping point comes and nature gets angry, a revolution or a war begins, then 90% of those in the developed world will be wiped out. They will lack the wherewithal to survive. It’s not such a sad prospect, I don’t think. Yes if I think about individual people I like and love being washed down nature’s drain for losers, it does make me sad. But in the wider depersonalised scheme of things, the planet and the human race will be better off. Those who survive will be the more resourceful. It is survival of the fittest at its most painfully extreme, folks.

And what does this have to do with people – often very conservative people – suddenly being overwhelmed by the desire to fornicate out in the woods and fields? Well quite simply, they are responding subliminally (primitively) to the call of the wild. Nature is constantly reminding us that we are animals first and foremost and that our survival depends upon our ability to function as such. Many of us try to fight off these messages. Most of us have ceased to trust our primitive instincts. We are afraid of them. We are ashamed. We even make laws against them for goodness sake! The naked and the passionately unrestrained have been criminalised. But nature is fighting back in the form of our genetic memories. Nature is encouraging us to behave badly (“badly” in our society's ridiculous moral terms anyway), and when nature is the stimulus, many of us (the lucky ones) find it hard to resist. But calm yourself – this should not be seen as a problem. It is just our survival instinct kicking-in, and we should be thankful. One day it may save our lives.

So the next time you are out walking your dog and you see a local councillor or a couple of respectable members of a local rambling or bird watching society in-flagrante amongst the buttercups, console yourself with the knowledge that this is positive sign of human preparedness for survival. You might even try it yourself… Vicar.

Motivated by this subject, here follows part of a short story by the author, A.K. Anders:

Call Of The Wild

Sunday morning often finds me out foraging. Mushrooms are my main target. I have a penchant for wild mushrooms. I am in the habit of taking a small camp stove on a Sunday morning, along with some chorizo, eggs and ciabatta so that I can create a hearty breakfast somewhere impromtu. Last Sunday I took a lady I am acquainted with. She had requested it. Involved in a polite group conversation at the church fete, she professed to share my love for wild mushrooms and was taken with my description of these early morning open-air feasts. I took my time inviting her. I waited until later as I was leaving. I was being careful not to seem too forward, but it would have seemed impolite not to invite her at all.

So this lady is a rather well-to-do woman who's land I like to walk on now and again. She has seen me there a few times and not objected, at least not openly. Her husband shoots, although he's limited by arthritic knees these days. We were on last year’s church fund raising committee together. He seemed rather to be living in cloud cuckoo land, to be honest. Thought the new roof could easily be paid for with a “Sunday morning whip-round.” She, on the other hand, is much younger and in possession of all her marbles. So anyway, out of politeness I invited her. We walked quite a way before we felt we had collected enough fungi for our feast. She's a tall, strong woman and takes mammoth strides, even for a country lady. A successful three-day-eventer in the past, apparently and still an impressive horsewoman, or so I’m told. Eventually my foraging bag was full and we stopped at a small forest clearing by a fast flowing stream. There’s been a lot of rain recently and the power of the stream reflected it.

Sylvana had brought one of those waterproof picnic blankets, which, she said, would make everything more civilised. I was not sure I liked it. Getting muddy is part of the pleasure for me, but I didn't object. Anyway, though I say so myself, I had made a decent job of cooking the fare and Sylvana was just pouring some coffee when we heard giggling from nearby. We were very much out in the sticks so it was a surprise. She looked at me to see if I too had heard, then put her finger to her lips. Carefully Sylvana got to her feet and began heading in the direction from whence the sounds had arrived. Turning, she waved to me to follow her. All of a sudden this rather serious, mature lady had taken on the behaviour of a schoolgirl. Her face seemed filled with intrigue and delight. Down between silver birch saplings she tiptoed, beckoning me to follow. I duly obeyed. The giggling sounded close-by now, but we still saw no sign of its source. There seemed to be a line of large chestnuts with dense bushes grown up between then and it was in this direction Sylvana was drawn. 

"Be careful," she mouthed to me, "there's a sudden drop."

Carefully I followed her into the thicket, noticing how the ground beyond the thicket was at a starkly lower level. I heard a sudden intake of breath from Sylvana and saw her raise her hand to her mouth, but she was blocking my view. Placing a hand on her shoulder I moved in close behind her to see over. I could feel Sylvana's heart beating and it made me a little concerned about what I might see. Still the source of the sounds was not apparent to me. Frustrated slightly, I followed her gaze and caught my own breath as I focussed upon the brook. It was larger at this point – a river in fact.

What caught my eye first was the shoulder bag and the clothes laid out on a rock. Then the splashing of water and a restrained screech as something emerged from the water. Now I could see them. A woman was sitting in the water with her back against the bank and hanging onto a tree root so as not to be washed downstream. Something about the way her chest was rising and falling so quickly and the short gasps we could hear every now and then, told me the water was very cold. I was just considering this, when out from under the rushing white water something surfaced – a man. Clearly the woman knew him as he was now making amusing growling sounds and had begun biting her. It was entertaining to watch. However, very soon her girlish excitement gave way to squeals of shock as he began biting her and it was obvious that she was finding the attack deeply pleasurable. Laying her head back on the bank, the woman laughed brazenly and allowed her pale legs to float to the surface of the water. The man responded, moving in closer, preparing to pounce.

For those who feel the need to know how this story progresses, the complete story "Call Of The Wild" (and others like it) will soon be available on

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Just click the relevant link, or enter the title and author into the search-box of your local amazon website.

How Fictitious is Fiction?

"Joe, I'm afraid you've read something that makes you a threat to someone. I can't help you."

The question, "How fictitious is fiction," puts me in mind of an excellent film released in 1975 by Sidney Pollack – 3 Days Of The Condor. Joe Turner (Robert Redford) is a CIA employee (Condor is his code name) who works in a clandestine office in New York City. He reads books, newspapers, and magazines from around the world, looking for "hidden meanings and new ideas". As part of his duties, Turner files a report to CIA headquarters on a low-quality thriller novel his office has been reading, pointing out strange plot elements therein, and the unusual assortment of languages into which the book has been translated. One day Joe returns from buying a sandwich and finds everyone in his office has been shot dead. Following his training he runs into hiding but soon realises he can trust nobody - least of all his employers. 
I loved this film and found it an intriguing subject. Just like the book in the film, however, the film itself seemed to me like it might have been based on truth. The danger to the CIA, the US government and other unknown powers, was that the reading public would spot the fact that the story had a little too much authenticity – that what was written was very close to real life circumstances, and that they would put two and two together. They could not, of course, allow this to happen. So how far does that seem from reality, eh?

The dictionary provides several definitions of fiction. I find them particularly interesting:

1.

a. An imaginative creation or a pretence that does not represent actuality but has been invented.

b. The act of inventing such a creation or pretence.

2.      A lie.

3.

a. A literary work whose content is produced by the imagination and is not necessarily based on fact.

b. The category of literature comprising works of this kind, including novels and short stories.

4.      Law Something untrue that is intentionally represented as true by the narrator.

I especially like number 2. A Lie. All my own writing is lies. An imaginative creation may sound more literary perhaps, but I prefer "lies".

image courtesy of www.overtheretohere by John Burningham

But fiction needs to be more than lies. It is in the nature of fiction writing, that what is written seems believable, is it not? Lies are all very well, but we need believable lies. Even with fantasy writing or with science fiction, if the job is done well, the reader's disbelief is suspended. Something that may be far fetched still has a sense of authenticity. When it does not, the reader is dissatisfied. So how does the writer achieve this?

I think it is generally true to say that good fiction writers have highly developed observational skills. They notice how people behave and how others respond to their behaviour. They will usually have a wide experience of people, cultures and circumstances. These skills and their life experiences are then married to a literary ability to describe characters and situations in words (including in film scripts). Both elements are required to achieve success. So the fiction writer is a repository for a mass of memories about people and circumstances; of life stories and intriguing events. All things that are filed away in their mental library for future use as fiction. Why are we surprised, therefore, when people or events found written into fiction, bear a strong resemblance to people or events we know? Why accuse the writer of presenting fact as fiction? Must we fiction writers tweak things to ensure that they do not seem too authentic, for fear of such accusations?

image courtesy of www.numera.com

In my own writing, I have experienced exactly this phenomenon. People say (very flatteringly) that my writing has an overwhelming sense of authenticity. Not just the stories, but the detail. Particularly the characters, they say. The descriptions of my characters, what they do, what people say and most importantly how they say it, give the reader the sense that I am describing a real person and a real event. "Surely," I say, "all good fiction should do this?"

"Fiction my arse, I know that Newsreader"
Since the publication of my first book, The Pimlico Tapes, my publisher has received over a hundred accusations from people who claim that the characters (in this case the patients of a therapist) are in fact wholly and completely them, or someone they know. Only the name has been changed, they say. I call it "The Condor Effect." What makes this especially problematic, is that some of these patients are famous and therefore wealthy people with a taste for instant litigation, especially where their private lives are concerned and especially when it concerns sex. Their claims are hard to prove but it does not stop them trying, and that can be tiresome as well as expensive. Why do these people find it so hard to believe that their particular issues (the one's they have gone to a therapist about) are not unique to them. This is how palm readers and clairvoyants manage to dupe people. "You met a dark haired man recently and something he said made you nervous of him." "Someone in your family told you something that hurt you." Almost everybody will identify with these statements. It does not make the palm reader a gifted seer or a genius! The skill of the fiction writer is to conjure up something that people will immediately identify with. Something perhaps that they will feel is personal to them. Yes the individual components of what is described will come from the writers real life memories, but few would write them down exactly as they had happened in real life. In most cases it would not fit the story anyway. But I think what I have been accused of is actually the opposite of the legal dictionary definition 4. above:

Law Something untrue that is intentionally represented as true by the narrator.

In the case of The Pimlico Tapes, people feel that I am taking something true and deliberately representing it as untrue. Hah! I say to them, "Prove it."

The docudrama on television and sometimes in cinema has made good use of blurring the lines between fact and fiction. Imagine one of those political dramas featuring past or present senior politicians. References to certain events, phrases people use or they way they dress connect the characters to real life people or events. This is intentional of course but they don't say so officially. Certain elements in the drama are true but not all. Enough of them are true, however, that the viewer believes that all of what they are seeing might be true – or at least they do for a while. Such programs are often said to be fiction but based loosely upon real people and events. The question is, how loosely? Carefully, in most cases, they do not mention specific names. Some, on the other hand, do take the risk of mentioning names but it is a risk. It's a dangerous game and one that provides meat and drink for lawyers.

For myself, and perhaps for many others, the line between fact and fiction easily becomes blurred. I am a self-confessed fantasist. I live (as my father used to tell me) in a dream world. Many real things seem like fantasy to me and equally many unreal things seem painfully or pleasurably real. Step down all you therapists, I have no desire to be cured of this. I like my life this way, thanks. This does mean that often the things I invent (fictitious stories, or "lies" as I've chosen to call them), over time become fact to me. The more I read them, edit them and re-work them the more real they become. People pick me up on it.

"You're talking hypothetically of course," they say. Or "You mean if you had stolen the car!"

And I have to stop and think. Did I make it up? I'm not so sure I did. I remember everything about it – the place, the time, the people who were there, what shoes I was wearing, what I ate for breakfast that morning, the smell of the glovebox, the electric shock as I twisted the wires together. All of it. So it is real for me. Who's to say it didn't happen? Maybe in a different dimension, but it happened.

I wonder how that would stand up as prosecutory evidence in a court of law. By pure coincidence, I am a trained lawyer. Can you imagine how it would have been if I'd become a high-court judge? Outrageous. Yet there must be practicing judges out there who have the same tenuous grip on reality that I have. Fantasy Judge!
"I find you guilty because I met you in a dream once and you told me what you'd done." The mind certainly does boggle!

image courtesy of www.gizmodo.com

Eat My Erotic Shorts!

New Short Stories by A.K. Anders - Thanks to The Thatcherstazi

Determined not to see me waste my valuable time while I was in hiding from the Thatcherstazi (see previous but one blog), my two dear ladies advised me to use that time in hiding productively, by writing. I am so glad I listened to them, wise ladies that they are. A few weeks back, I came across the somewhat dog-eared Moleskine notebook that I used to jot down some new erotic short stories with one of those short betting-shop biros. The limited ink in that biro only just lasted the course. I immediately set about editing and publishing them individually on KDP. These are the first eight. Once all the stories are individually published, I intend publishing them as a collection. I will probably entitle that 'My Erotic Shorts' or possible 'Eat My Erotic Shorts' (just decided to change the title of this blog).

Model is not A.K. Anders

The cellar in which I was holed-up, had no power or water and was devoid of daylight. Once a day I ventured upstairs to use a backyard toilet and to collect a coolbox of food and water from a friend (eternally grateful to my fellow author MS). I did have an emergency bucket but tried to avoid using it – I have always been most sensitive to aromas. I don't wear a watch and had no clock so I was mostly unaware of time. It was an interesting experiment in sensory deprivation. Unfortunately I did not experience the kind of hallucinations that William Hurt enjoyed in the film 'Altered States'.

Image courtesy of www.thechive.com

This cellar-life gave me little else useful to do but to think and write. The result of my time alone in that cellar is five new short stories. My ladies like them. You might think one of them would have been an erotic tale of me being trapped in a cellar with a gorgeous and adventurous nymphomaniac. If so you (like my ladies) will be disappointed – at least so far. I have notes for more to come. The stories are erotic but mostly err on the side of my favoured 'romantic-erotic' genre. Here is a brief synopsis:

All are available on Amazon at minimal cost. Due to regional differences I advise going to my author's page or entering the title or author name into your local Amazon website's search box.

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Not For Training Purposes
An Erotic Short Story – with humour.
Martin receives a phone call one evening from Her Majesty's Revenue & Customs. Sure it is yet another prank by the admin girls at the university where he works as a junior lecturer, he tries to turn the tables by embarking upon a conversation in the guise of 'phone sex'. The consequences take him further than he expects.

On My Way To The Church Hall
An Erotic Short Story
Lawrence is a respectable man in his 50's. One day on his way to the church hall he is called upon to assist a young woman who has locked her valuables in the bathroom in the house of his friends who are away. The Slovakian girl is house-sitting. Using a ladder, he climbs in the window and releases the door. But after a polite cup of tea, Lawrence soon finds himself losing control while sampling Saskia's grandmother's strong homemade spirit.

Tickets Please!
An Erotic Short Story - with humour
An innocent young woman takes a sleeper train and is awakened in the night when a section of bulkhead falls out onto her bunk. Slowly she becomes aware that she can see into the next compartment. Later she witnesses a half drunk man return to his girlfriend, mimicking a conductor for a joke. Unable to find her ticket he tells her he must have his way with her as payment / punishment. The young woman looks on as the man punishes his girlfriend before the tables are turned on him.

See Me After The Lesson!
An Erotic Short Story - with humour
Two precocious sixth-form girls chat after returning to boarding school, discussing their adventures during summer holidays. One notices the other has an interest in the young Economics teacher and lures her into the Lacrosse pavilion to tell her about her fantasy about him. The heat rises and the two end by acting out the scene.

An Outdoor Girl
An Erotic Short Story - with humour
Polly is disturbed by a young farmer while picnicking semi-naked in a remote hilltop field. Unfortunately the farmer's Labrador has a penchant for ladies underwear and runs off with her panties and shorts. Stranded, she is saved by the gentlemanly behaviour of the farmer who runs to fetch a pair of shorts for her. That night her true desires come to her in a powerful dream that changes her life and her view of the outdoors forever.

Twitchers
An Erotic Short Story - Mildly humorous
Howard is a retired grocer and a keen member of a local birdwatching society who take weekly walks. Today, Winifred is the only other member who turns up. Their relationship is formal. Winifred, a spinster, is a charity worker and heavily involved in the local Women's Institute. A little disturbed by having inadvertently picked up an erotic book in Oxfam that week, Winifred finds herself considering the possibility of trying out sex with Howard while out walking. 

WARNING elderly people may find this story shocking and should not read it if they have a heart condition, without first consulting their doctor.

Something From Upstairs
An Erotic Short Story - With humour
Terry opens a second-hand bookshop but is troubled by unruly schoolchildren coming in to buy comics. One Viola, day a six-form girl, comes in and seduces him. Terry soon becomes involved in a social science experiment organised by Viola and her friends. Finally the project is submitted by the girls and all hell breaks loose. Needless to say the press find out and Terry is brazenly exposed. 


Banged Up
Erotic Short Story
The Author, A.K. Anders, is forced to go into hiding after British security forces hound him, over the possible true identity of a character in his book (The Pimlico Tapes). Living for 2 weeks in a tiny celar room in central London, he begins to hallucinate due to sensory deprivation. One night, Anders is unexpectedly joined by an diminutive Indian woman, Jamini, who has escaped from a brutal fiance in an arranged marriage. She has been sent by his two ladies, she tells him. Anders soon discovers that Jamini has special talents and the two spend the ensuing weeks occupied in gentle sensual experimentation. Despite no electricity, no window, and not enough room to swing a cat, boredom never raises its ugly head. 

A powerful tale of how the human mind can overcome sensual deprivation and turn an intolerable situation into an enviable one.

Am I That Patient?

So You Think Your Sexual Issues Are Unique?

I've had dozens of messages by now from people who think they might be one of the patients whose case is published in The Pimlico Tapes. The messages are all very similar in that the sender believes that their sexual predilections and behaviours are so unique that what is written can only be about them. Samantha who is has a thing about having sex in public and gets arrested in a cinema is a popular case. I recently began tweeting that this occurred in Chiswick in order to reduce the number of women who thought it was about them. Chiswick cinema must be see a great deal of illicit sex, because I'm still getting about 6 accusations a month!

The truth is, I believe, that there is very little in the often dark world of sexual behaviour that is unique. If you've thought about it, millions have probably done it. Since I published The Pimlico Tapes, this has been reinforced dozens of times. In the last month I have received twelve e-mails from parents saying that Elizabeth – the one who has sex around the house with builders, phone repairmen and boys from college in order for her parents to catch her at it. She's convinced her mum enjoys it as she always stands and watches for several minutes until the guy has an orgasm – is definitely their daughter. I have also had two different solicitor's letters warning against further revelations about high society nymphomaniac Lavinia. The vicar of a church in Suffolk has written to me saying he thinks Lionel is one of his congregation, while a Salvation Army minister in Cirencester has asserted the same. Amanda the TV journalist has had numerous claimants – some from TV viewers (many of whom seem to be obsessed with female newsreaders) - some from concerned female journalists and one from a television company. Many male actors seem to suffer from erectile disfunction as a result of too much philandering with make-up girls etc, if e-mails received are anything to go by and about an equal number sneak off to Amsterdam to meet transgender sex-workers in backstreet garages. Three women claim to have had experiences with Terry (or the man who he's based on), who loses interest in adventurous penetrative sex in favour of watching women shave their legs or stroke themselves with a feather. And so the list goes on. Some of the messages are quite fascinating and might actually warrant a book of their own!

I am guessing that readers of The Pimlico Tapes are at this moment feeling cheated. What of Virginia, I hear them ask?

I have lost track of the number of people who claim to know Virginia. Virginia is by far the most popular candidate. Many people believe they know her or actually believe they are her. Some feel that every detail – her childhood antics, sex with young men at night in the local laundry, predatory behaviour at university campuses, and especially the obsession about sexual adventures on trains in old films – fits with their own life. I can only say if they are anything like Virginia, they must be extremely popular. There are a countless number of fans who have contacted me to say how much they absolutely love Virginia.  Men and women alike seem to adore her. It's not just her voracious sexual appetite they like. I think predominantly it is her straightforward honesty and lack of shame. She has a clean, fun-loving approach to sex and doesn't mind who knows it. I wasn't surprised that men liked this, but I confess to being shocked by how many seemingly conservative women express admiration for her. I find it quite reassuring. In fact on more than one occasion I have written back to such ladies, suggesting that if they love her so much, they should try to emulate her. Watch out for that one coming your way guys!

Brief Encounter - Trains & Sexual Obsession

Was Thatcher a Patient?

Who Are the Real Patients in The Pimlico Tapes?

Plenty of people have asked me this question since I wrote the book. I found it quite amusing but quite natural that people were interested. Some readers thought they recognised one of the characters. One was sure a character was based upon them! Several characters do seem very like a well known TV presenter or other celebrity. If these people were who people think they are, do you think I would admit it? Exactly!

It quite clearly states in the introduction to the book that the names have been changed. There is also a statement on the publisher page, assuring readers that any similarity in the characters in the book to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

Today I found myself in a locked basement, trying to explain the above to a certain group of rather forceful gentlemen who were suggesting I might like to take the book off the market – pronto! And what was it they found so worrying, I asked. It  transpired, someone had assured them that one of the characters was in fact based upon a certain ex-British Prime Minister – "the same lady we know and admire in all but name," they said.
I told them there was no way of knowing this since it was a matter of public knowledge that the lady in questing had met her end at the Ritz last week. I felt inclined to comment that there must be a good storyline there too, but I held my tongue.

One interesting thing came out of this interview though. These gentlemen, unintentionally or otherwise, let slip the name of the therapist in the book. Clearly they had done their homework. Better than I had in fact, but then they have greater powers at their disposal. They may have been hoping to ascertain whether or not I knew his name, which I didn't.  In fact I was never completely sure until today that he existed. He might have been an actor. In which case, might the female character (I will not say which one) who had caused me to be detained in a basement not in fact be the very same lady who these gentlemen felt such admiration for? It is impossible for me to say.
"How could I know?" I asked.
"Where are the tapes, Mr Anders?" The small nasty one replied.
"I burned them after I had transcribed them, of course," I said, "after I had given them new identities. It seemed the decent thing to do."

Unlike a certain Mr Assange, I was let go this same evening. They would be watching me and might want to ask me more questions, they said. Oh and I might want to avoid mentioning this to anyone! They picked the wrong man. As any of my friends would have told them, I just can't keep a secret.

Are You a Sexual Voyeur?

The Sexual Voyeur

For most of us in the western world, it conjures up images of a man in a dirty macintosh, hanging around in seedy cinemas by night or lurking behind trees in the park. But in truth, are we not all voyeurs of a type. Most adults or adolescents would indulge in sexual voyeurism, would they not?  Imagine yourself on a train at night, stopped on the line waiting on a signal out in the wilds somewhere, alone in a carriage. Another train pulls alongside and you find yourself looking into a sleeper carriage. A woman is lifting a suitcase onto the overhead rack. A man comes into view and slips in behind her, lifting her dress and fondling her thighs. Running his hands over her lace trimmed underwear. She turns and smiles seductively. He removes her knickers . She raises her bottom towards him. In the dark of your carriage you can't be seen. At this point are you going to draw the curtains? Might you have done so at the first hint of intimacy between them? Of course not. We are all fascinated by what others do in the bedroom and more-so what they might get up to in a sleeper-carriage. It is human nature. Imagine if we could hear such experiences described by those with sexual problems in consultation with their sex-therapist. How fascinating that would be. Imagine no longer, now that AK. Anders has published The Pimlico Tapes. Download the book now or read a sample on Amazon.

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The Pimlico Tapes - FREE TILL MONDAY!

The Pimlico Tapes - An enlivening revelation, and compulsive reading

A.K. Anders shocking new book is FREE until the early hours of Monday 18th March.

The book has been described thus: "Anders has activated a literary time-bomb. Many will be shocked by what goes on behind the curtains of staid English people, who on the surface appear to be conservative and restrained. It is refreshing. An enlivening revelation, and compulsive reading."

The book is a set of transcripts of sex-therapy sessions recorded by the therapist back in the 1970's and 80's. The therapist, a likeable older gentleman, requires his patients to be frank and open with him and it must be said, he generally succeeds. What is revealed may offend some, but nobody can fail to be fascinated. Each case is presented in a simple, matter-of fact manner of a straight transcript with the therapist sensitively encouraging his patient to tell us about their activities, their fantasies and obsessions. These revelations are undeniably arousing, but they are also instructive. Few of us could read these cases and not find similarities in our own experiences and this can be extremely helpful. Most, I would imagine, will read it for the entertainment value but this book, unlike most erotic literature, may well prove beneficial to those with little experience or with repressed sexual desires and a background of disapproval.

Click 'buy now' to go to Amazon & get it free. All we ask is you place a review afterwards.

Book Launch - The Pimlico Tapes

A.K. Anders has launched the book 'The Pimlico Tapes'.

In 2009 the author, A.K. Anders, purchased a large property in Pimlico, South-west London, with the intention of converting the 4 storey Victorian property into flats. The building had previously been used as business premises, with an architects practice on the upper floors and a psycho-therapist in the basement. While clearing rubbish from the basement, Anders discovered an old box of audio tapes in a locked filing cabinet. Later he discovered the tapes were recordings of sexual therapy consultations. Many of these revealed intriguing case scenarios. Some patients even seemed to be well known personalities of the 70's and 80's. Anders made enquiries and found that the eminent therapist/doctor of his time had retired and since died. Publishing the transcripts was a difficult decision, Anders says, but one he felt might help others plagued by sexual problems or those with an interest in human sexual behaviour. The result is fascinating, and compulsive reading.

Anders warns, "To many, the book will be shocking. To them I say, it is life. What is sure is that for many of us, these cases are like a mirror placed in front of our own thoughts... if not deeds."

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