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Published in 2013 by Midgley Erotical Press Bournemouth Š Mystery Sachet Jonny Clapham - www.jonnyclapham.tumblr.com Louis Wood - www.louiswood.tumblr.com


A Rousing Poem I dreamt that you were but a trampoline and I the trampoline’s mistress and even though I jumped on your finely warped head, we jumped together Mutual rythmic jumping pattern filled with respect and consent, why can’t it be like this outside of my dream? In waking life I jump on you and you hate it, so much. Blood comes out and I have to hide the body.


g use of lovin e th r fo re a ons The These positi arm houses. w d n a fe in sa anouevers, couples only m l e v le r e n all begin If positions are it too hard. y tr ’t n ld u o you sh aren’t so this time be you just y a m , g n li g g you are stru r? r life partne u o y h it w le compatib

Gozu Love Tactics A gentling massage Rokurokubi strangle thrust

Tickling frenzy

Beastmaster General


Decapitated mermaid defecation sequence

The ‘meet your maker’

Underbelly crossroads threeway

Jurassic love cushion

Pregnant something forest fire urination cleansing


Excerpts from the life of a loveless manlump (part 1)


A love story about a man who falls in love with his own heart. PART 1 I first laid eyes upon my heart during the ultrasound. A fragile beast, she was, for sure, hence the extended medical enquiry into why she wasn’t performing as well as she should be. But there was something in that vulnerability, that tenderness and that quivering beat that set me aflame with desire. I watched her on the screen for two minutes as the doctor scanned her various assets. She was a curved beauty, bulbous in all the right places and quivering in the most curious way. She must have been nervous, after all this was our first meeting. The lubricating gel was cold against my chest, but the burning love I was feeling dispelled that in an instant. It was different to heartburn, more of a lustful heat. I was in love with my own heart, that much was clear, but was my heart in love with me? “Can I.. speak to her?” I said, whispering into the doctors ear. He seemed confused, and explained that the equipment just ‘does not do that’. That’s what you get if you go through the NHS. For now I just had to watch her on the screen, pulsating wildly like a rhythmic dancer. And then she was gone. Just like that the ultrasound was over and I was asked to leave. I would be given my results in a weeks time. --I spent the walk home confused and detached from the world around me. It was as if all that existed was this deep connection between me and my heart. But If I was in love with my heart, what was I in love with my heart...with? Surely I couldn’t love my own heart with my own heart. But If I wasn’t in love with my heart with my heart then what organ was I loving with? I came to the conclusion, after considering a multitude of other organs as my new primary love-core, that my brain was in love with my heart. And then I began to become jealous of that special bond my brain was having with my heart. The blood that pumped between them, that they shared together forever until death would do them apart was something special. What could I give my heart that my brain couldn’t? I wondered where I stood in all this, and realised that I was the brain and felt very foolish indeed. This minor embarrassment did not change my heart’s perception of me and she kept pumping on nonetheless. Surely the fact that she kept on going, that she wanted to keep me alive, was a sign that my love for her was reciprocated? Or was she just selfish, realizing that if she were to end my life, she’d have to kill herself too. I tried not to think about this, remembering the bond between my heart and my brain. I did not want to betray my love for her... I wanted to make a good impression. --For dinner I prepared something special for her. I just dolloped loads of margarine on everything. The packet said it’s good for your heart so I figured the more the better. I ate a lot and could tell she was enjoying it, pumping away faster than anything. I then spent the evening sat watching the television whilst softly massaging my heart. I had never become so


aware of her before, for the first time I was paying close attention to my hearts heartbeat. I desperately wanted to talk to her, there had to be a way to initiate a conversation, but she didn’t have a mouth or a facebook account, so I was going to have to be inventive. I tried out some morse code but the message I got back made no sense and never ended. It was just one really long letter i’d never heard of. She didn’t even put any breaks in. It was hopeless.

I didn’t want to stress her out so I decided to spend the rest of the evening watching various shows. Casualty was on and they had a particularly gruesome reconstruction of heart surgery on the screen. She skipped a beat as they tore into the fake organ. I switched it over to Heartbeat and she seemed to be a lot happier. She doesn’t like horror films, but I secretly found it cute how scared she got. I really felt like I was in with a good chance, that we were in this relationship for the long term. --It was silly really, we’d spent so many nights so close but I had never considered her my lover. We didn’t take our relationship any further that night, instead we just fell asleep together. I kissed her goodnight, albeit through my chest (which was a bit difficult), tragically separated by my ribcage and flesh as if she were some kind of prisoner. I slowly drifted off to the sound of her soothing beat and began to dream. ENTER EROTIC DREAM SEQUENCE PARAGRAPH, STAGE LEFT I found myself in a strange place I’d never been before, alien in appearance but familiar in it’s warmth. A red chamber subtly lit with burning embers. I knew this place, it was my own heart. I was inside her. Suddenly, from one of the ventricles, she emerged; a curvaceous silhouette. As she stepped closer I could see more of her, details unseen during the ultrasound. Her legs were like slabs of sexy meat in a butcher’s window display, her arms like delicate offal swaying in a mystery breeze. She also now had a face, which was new. Two halfopen blue eyes and giant red lips, like the candy ones you get in the pick and mix. She was definitely naked and I was okay with this; I was ready for the next stage. The entirety of her self fell onto my own body with a heaviness that could only mean she was filled to the brim with globules of passion. I was already naked, I didn’t even have to remove my clothes because it was a dream. My hands ventured down towards her vena cava, which was dripping wet with blood... but I think that’s normal for a giant heart woman. She lowered her gasping atrium onto and around my sacred pelvic totem and started pumping fast, sending herself racing. The effect on me was not dissimilar, her being my heart and all. It was a full on cardiac-workout but I didn’t even break a sweat and I was a bit more muscly than in real life, which was nice. She was pulsating atop of me at a steady rate of seventy-two thrusts per minute, her valves quivering and shaking, her fluids sloshing joyfully around her various chambers. I was making love to my own heart! I was inside my heart inside my heart inside of me inside my heart, in aeternum, caught in a rapturous loop. The thought overwhelmed me with ecstatic confusion and I felt that aorta ejaculate at any moment. EROTIC DREAM SEQUENCE PARAGRAPH LEAVE, STAGE RIGHT


I awoke in a cold sweat, my heart beating faster than ever. Had we just shared the same dream? Was it just a meaningless fantasy, or had I actually just met some kind of psychic, anthropomorphic manifestation of my heart’s being. I assumed the latter, and placed my hand on my chest, stroking gently. This was the first time that we made love. PART 2 One week later and our relationship had progressed further. She came to me twice more in my sleep, in that sacred atrium of love. The third time she held me close to her stunning, but perhaps a little oversized, face and whispered into my ear “Embrace the change”, which I just put down to ‘dream logic’ so I carried on doing her doggy style. I got a phonecall. Nobody ever really calls me (you might not be able to tell from this story but I am quite an introverted individual). I knew it would be the doctor with my scan results. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong over the phone, only that I should come in and discuss it with him further. I didn’t understand. Nothing felt wrong, in fact nothing had ever felt more more right. I was scared, not for myself, but for her. I was scared that she would need surgery. I pretended to not be scared to calm her down by laughing. I spent the whole walk to the doctors laughing at everyone and everything to distract myself from the fear. I arrived and the doctor was wearing the most serious look upon his face. He told me that my heart was sick. That she wasn’t beating properly..or something. It was hard to listen, but I’m certain that my heart was taking it all in. She was racing at a furious speed, clearly distressed with panic. Then the doctor said ‘heart transplant’. He said that I needed a new heart and that If I kept my current one I would die within a month. A sickening realization, then, that the organ I had fallen in love with only had a matter of weeks to live. My choice: live out her final days with her and die together as if we were in some kind of shakespearian tragedy play, or have her depart from this world early and I live on with another heart inside my body. And then I remembered her words to me, the ones she’d said in my dream, our dream. Embrace the change. --One week later, in a surprisingly efficient move from the NHS, I found myself on the operating table, ready to go under the knife. They let me have a moment alone with her. I said my goodbyes, rubbed my chest delicately and masturbated, not realizing at the time that ten or so interns were watching me through a one way mirror. Then the surgeons entered the theatre and I went under. In my drugged sleep state I found myself back inside that familiar chamber, my soon to be ex-heart. Something felt a little different this time, the central atrium felt a lot smaller than before, the walls slightly discolored. The whole place sounded hollower, an empty version of what it was in its prime. I waited in there for some time, in a sort of meditative state, until she finally appeared. She looked different; sad, but also serene, as if she knew what was coming and she’d accepted it. She didn’t come any closer to me, instead choosing to


close her eyes and outstretch her arms, which were far more scrawny than the arms that had pressed down on me during that first night of passionate love making. Something in her acceptance of change and her own demise unsettled me. How could she have transgressed to this state of tranquility when my own heart, or rather my own brain, was still stuck in the past, unwilling to accept what my heart had already accepted. I shouted out to her and ran toward her. As I did so the floor began to crumble under my feet and the walls around me came crashing down. My heart was being demolished, ripped apart from my mortal body in the waking world, and I could do nothing to stop what had already been begun. I looked over at her, sitting there serenely with her eyes closed. Everything went quiet, the pieces of crumbled heart around me suddenly became frozen in the air as I floated amidst the shattered fragments. She opened one eye, blew me a kiss and then exploded into a million pieces. She had left me, and I floated for a while alone in the darkness. Then a great cold came over me. A sense of panic, of walls closing in around me. A new heart, vibrant and crimson red, was building itself around me. But it wasn’t a lustful red, it was a harsh angry red, the kind of red that pissed off bulls in fields. I was still naked and whereas my previous heart chamber had felt like a temple, or a really relaxed sauna, this place felt like some dark dungeon in the lower recesses of hell. Something was approaching with heavy footsteps from one of the ventricle tunnels that had formed around the outer edge. With each footstep the sound of heavy breathing grew louder and deeper until it filled and became the ambience of the chamber itself. The breathing was like that of a hound or a wild boar, animalistic and labored. And then, out of the darkness came a huge, burly and misshapen heart with one arm more muscular than the other. It lumbered towards me like some kind of horny ape and was clearly erect.


I turned to run but it launched itself upon me, grabbed me from behind and penetrated me with a great deal of force. A warm and lubricated tongue made its way up my back and drenched my hair with sticky, red blood which trickled down my face and into my eyes. I closed them which only intensified the pain. The discomfort was intense. This new entity was inside me inside my heart inside my body as an unwelcome guest. The sound of my new heart thumping out its powerful new tribal beat overwhelmed my senses and I passed out. Which meant I woke up in the real world. But the dream reality lingered on in my mind. This foreign creature was now inside me, this rapist-organ. I lay there on the operating table, my chest feeling painful and swollen. The surgeons tell me that the operation was a great success. I asked them who the heart was from but they could not tell me, or wouldn’t. These surgeons had taken her away; taken the love of my life away from me and replaced it with the heart of some kind of criminal thug. I began to panic. Where was my old heart, where had they taken her. I began to flail on the operating table wildly. “GET IT OUT OF ME!” I screamed. “I WANT HER BACK. I DON’T CARE IF I DIE, I’D RATHER DIE WITH HER THAN BE TORMENTED BY THIS DEMON HEART!” The surgeons told me to calm down. Injections of morphine were being prepared in the corner of the room whilst a young nurse did her very best to calm me down. She told me that my old heart was being taken to be incinerated and that my new heart was a perfect healthy specimen. I told her that it forcefully raped me during the operation. She giggled. I punched her in the face. She fell. I ran. Incinerator. Incinerator. I frantically searched every corridor whilst the surgeons and security searched for me. Luckily I’m a generically dull looking guy with brown mousey hair (sorry if you imagined me differently, In hindsight I probably should have mentioned this earlier). I lost them pretty easily and found the room I was looking for at the bottom of a rusty flight of stairs. It didn’t really look as sterile as the rest of the hospital. It was much grubbier and there were no members of staff on hand for me to fight my way through (typical NHS, but at least in this instance their lack of staff was an advantage to me). The grotesque centre-piece to this room was a pile of organs, not arranged in any orderly fashion but just heaped on top of one another like some bizarre sculpture. She was in here, in that pile, I could sense her. I could almost hear her crying out to me in my mind, she was scared, she was frightened, surrounded by the dying stench of other organs who had been rejected by their owners, just as I had foolishly rejected my own. I jumped on into the comically oversized pile, getting splattered with blood and other oozy substances for which I have no name. The smell was strong and enough to make you gag, but it was nothing compared to the scent, the aroma, of love itself, and that was what guided me through this macabre heap. I found her nestled between a liver and half a brain, I could recognize her in an instance, that beautiful figure. She’d been crying, but I had to stay strong for her. I removed her from the pile and held her close to me. Tears rolled down my cheeks and onto her. I was re-united with her, but she was in no good shape at all. Her body shriveled and pale, I could tell that this


would be our final goodbye, the end to our love story. I held her up to my lips and kissed her. As I squeezed her gently she made a sound, like air escaping. It was a happy sound, a sigh of relief, like she could move on knowing that my love and her love was the real deal, and not like phony love that you see in magazines or read in cheesy love novellas. And then something overtook me. An undulating wave of desire as my new heart began to thump fast in my chest with the same angry primitive beat I’d heard in my anesthesia induced nightmare. As if in a voodoo trance I ripped off my hospital gown, took my ex-heart in my hands and thrust her down onto my ecstatic lust-rod. Sweating all over I felt like I had completely lost control of myself, as If this intruder in my body had taken over and was filling me with animalistic thirst. That’s when they found me, the surgeons and security, saying goodbye for the final time to the mashed up remains of my old heart. --Lots of things have changed for me since I first met my heart. I learnt to love, both with my heart and my mind and I learnt what it’s like to lose it. I learnt what it’s like to have really amazing dream sex too. I also learnt that it’s not normal to fall in love with your internal organs during my time at the facility, and adapting to being here and accepting that has been one of the hardest changes of all. The carers tell me I’m making good progress, and although my new heart still abuses me in my dreamscapes, I’ve been talking with him more and were working through some of our issues. Turns out that like all of us he’s just trying to love, he’s just going about it in the entirely wrong way, just as I was when I first fell in love with a part of my own body. My liver has been making advances on me but I’m trying to ignore it. Turns out my old heart was right when she told me that I should ‘embrace the change’. Change is difficult when your heart’s not in it, but sometimes a change of heart is necessary.


Ant and Declapatra This is one of the eldest of the love stories that exist and is actually an adaptation of a book by Enid Blyton. Who could not forget that classic tale of love and lust and the bit when Declapatra dies oh man who could of seen that coming? Only Shakespeare himself can read the transcript he wrote, which he unfortunately created using some kind of jibberish text, but luckily he told a lot of people what it meant before he passed away. Now lots of people are aware of this story and they use it to improve their lives on a daily basis. Since it was created and made there has been significantly less death by snake bites in the whole world. If anything we are now eating more snakes than they are eating us, and that is no small victory. Shakespeare recognised that snakes were a threat and wrote this film as a public service announcement. This was a big competitor to The Bible when it came out and some of the story felt too similar so Shakespeare had to edit out all the magic from his story to stop the comparisons. This was really upsetting for him but ultimately the play succeeds because of its harsh view on modern life.

7 out of 8 star


Excerpts from the life of a loveless manlump (part 2)


ACTUAL SINGLES IN THE AREA WATCH OUT!

Hi I am Dorotha and I am manly keen to hang out and touch friends with. Can you be the man of my dreams? I’m just a funy girl i love a laugh and can take a few drinks in my neck.

I DONT ACTUALY CARE EVEN IF YOU ARE TAKEN I WILL GET YOU AND YOU WILL BE THE MAN OF MY LIFE. I AM COMING FOR YOU DOROTHA. PREPARE YOUR now.

mosfgly hdrunk actualy. sometheimes i rememeber i haves kidss and i ama gfilled with eremorese wahta have i adone ive f rogtoteen myye owwnn kidss i forgott to feed ehtem theyve been downt hrere so long oh god now

My name is buntle please dont be put off by how small i look because itsnot the motion of the boat but the way the waves move that makes the difference. if u think there are plenty of fish In the sea then i could be your fish id even cover myself in fish oils i am so desperate please


Gnomo and Huliet A fantastic example of a tragedy story and an inspiration to every story ever this is the one story that made everybody cry. In this one, Huliet uses her body to tantalise the sickly farmhand Gnomo, who just wants to be a farmer when he grows up. Their love is forbidden because Gnomo has an obscene hunch protruding from his back, and hunchbacks were frowned upon when Shakespeare wrote this one. A little known fact is that Shakespeare himself had a hunchback, but it was really small so he just covered it up with a hat. This play was the first time anyone actually even tried to use CGI. It was the olden days, so technology wasn’t as good as now, but it still beat the quality of the majority of Dreamworks output. Back then rendering was a much lengthier process and involved much whipping of animals. Of course now less cruel methods are used to create beloved computer generated family films, but the animator always yearns for that simpler time when the abuse of animals was enough.

5 out 0f 10 stars.


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