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Welcome to Issue 5

It seems like only yesterday we were starting out, squirreling away on our first ever issue but now over a year has passed and we’ve had dozens of completely marvellous contributors! So a big thank you to everyone who has been a part of our success, let’s move onwards and upwards with valour!

This issue is an absolute beast! It’s the second collaboration between myself and design director JG and we’ve got superb photographical talent from Jiri Ruzek, Alan Pedroso and Sebastian – Alexander Stamatis. Musical offerings from Julz Ramos of Hatchet and Vincent Crowley of Acheron. Not to mention our criminal investigation into the Black Dahlia murder, Mistress Hayden begins with the first entry of her utterly crackers memoir and Rich Saunders interviews the wonderful Ed Fox about his foot fetish. Also! I must add that this issue is available in printed glory! So head to our online store at and get yourself a copy! Love is the Law!

CARMIN CONNER – EDITOR Ex adult model and published author, Carmin currently resides in Scotland devoting herself to researching the most peculiar things in life, seeking out the biggest deviants imaginable and occasionally dabbling in the occult. JG – DESIGN DIRECTOR

Having worked in the publishing industry for a number of years JG is also a highly accomplished erotic photographer specialising in the most intimate aspects of a woman’s sexuality. His fine art monologue, Intimidad, was released in September.

AMW CONNER – FICTION WRITER Currently residing in Scotland he has mostly been influenced by the lyrics of UB40, Breakcore, violence and HP Lovecraft. Ivory Madonna dying in the dust. Waiting for the manna coming from the west. Barren is her bosom, empty as her eyes. Death a certain harvest scattered from the skies. RICH SAUNDERS – FETISH WRITER Based in the south of England, Rich has interviewed the biggest names in the modelling/alternative world from Bianca Beauchamp to the editor of Bizarre. Joining the SKIN team he’s covered the fetish scene from the sex doll industry to interviewing Ed Fox on his foot fetish and covering the fetish Olympics.

Contents Jiri Ruzek 06

Alan Pedroso 18 Ed Fox 28 Stamatis 38 Francesca Woodman 46 Man Ray and the Black Dahlia 54 Vincent Crowley 64 Larry Bradby 72 Martin Van Maele 82 The Hanging Club 90 Julz Ramos 98 Mistress Hayden 104 Safe Sex 112 Interview with a Snuff Director 120 Ask Funeral Twiggy 126 Film Reviews 128 Music Reviews 130 Book Reviews 132 Horrorscopes 134

What made you first discover your talent for photography?

I think it was many years ago, when one older and very experienced photographer told me that this and that is bad. Later he told me, that if my photographs would be really bad, he would say just

“yeah, that’s nice”.

After that, every time when someone from the other side of our planet writes me or comes to Prague to visit me, I feel it has some sense to continue in my work.

Who/what inspires you? Wine, woman and song!

Really, every model herself is an inspiration for me and some glasses of good wine, music and talking helps to make that creative atmosphere. In other words, I am inspired by the moment. I am also inspired by film and theatre scenes, combination of light and darkness inspires me, too. And I see great photographs by old masters or contemporary photographers every day.

Perks of the job? What’s the most enjoyable part of being a photographer?

I most appreciate meeting great new people. Models, photographers and fans from the whole world. I experience great moments with all of them. And also the feeling I create something what someone is interested in.

In an ideal world, who would you most like to shoot? I don’t have any “the most” favourite person. It can happen at a bus station, that I see someone charismatic and at the moment I feel this is the One. But if you want any names, so for example Jack Nicholson, the Queen (band) around 1975, Liv Tyler or Uma Thurman, Megan Fox, John Travolta etc...

Any big plans for 2013? Yes, of course.

Any advice to budding photographers/models? Models - think what you want to show to

a photographer and to the world. Every photograph can be and probably will be published and tomorrow can be too late for “Delete it, please!�.

Photographers - you must be sure

you can get anything you want, but you need to know what you really want and you have to work a lot for it.


My interest in photography started with a gift , my uncle gave me a Polaroid , a black and white only model in the early 70’s. I loved that I could see the images right away, soon after my dad bought me a Kodak 35mm, he was the building’s Superintendent in a Brooklyn neighborhood which housed over 100 families, they all knew him and soon I began taking pictures of all those odd, weird and one of a kind characters that were as colorful and diverse as a rainbow. I continued the same practice in school, after High School I took a course in photography with a friend , he later became a wedding photographer, I gave up and started working with my dad in a business he had just started . Later in my late 20’s I started producing films for pay per view and HBO, and picked up the camera to take the movie stills, I had a fun time and it was profitable too. Soon other producers were asking me to shoot their movie stills , it was so much fun I could not resist . I made a tidy sum throughout those years to retire early and enjoy life a bit . After my daughter was born I moved to Florida, where I have been living since. I go back to NY and LA every so often for different photography work from old friends , but only if I like it and find it challenging and fun.

I was never much influenced by famous photographers, but one that stuck in my mind was the work of Helmut Newton and his style , the way he used sets and out of context imagery was genius to me, eye catching and surreal at times.

One day I happened to shoot a model as a nun and a bunch of people were upset about it, to me it’s just photography and telling a story. I did some research and found that the images I created with religion were not far fetched, it actually gave me fuel to start shooting different scenarios, just like a comedian looks to politicians for material for their jokes .

it’s not the equipment but the vision and style you develop

With the new generation of digital cameras I found myself right back in the middle of things, I loved the easiness of viewing the images right away and being able to do the post work in a computer. I started doing portfolios for models and worked on projects I wasn’t able to before. The movies I produced in NY were always of an erotic nature, not even simulated sex, just erotic and scorching hot, always leaving the viewer to desire more. I try to convey the same concept in my images , of course , I shoot also what the models like so it’s a trade off. My work has been published in magazines, newspapers, galleries and even stolen and published all over the internet, used for pillows and t-shirts and even for a CD cover in Russia, without my permission of course. I laugh and actually take it as a compliment, the World is changing, nothing is sacred anymore. I do keep certain works from the public until I’m ready to launch a book I’ve been working on, it will contain my life in pictures, from my very first camera until now, images of my movies, actors and just great people I have met throughout my trajectory in this field.

is not so much the outer beauty but the beauty she possesses inside

New models and photographers always ask for advice, but what works for some does not work for others, there is not a formula for success, just to do what you love and do it well, if you’re lucky you’ll make some money along the way, if not , you’ll probably enjoy the ride and the fun that comes with it. For photographers it’s not the equipment but the vision and style you develop , just like a painter or sculptor. For a model is not so much the outer beauty but the beauty she possesses inside, the ability to pose and the connection with the camera , the facial expressions that mostly come from within and not from a course in a modeling school.

hello there

MR.FOX By Richard Saunders

Being a fetish columnist for SKIN magazine has many pleasures. I get to write about a subject that enthrals me; have my work seen alongside some of the most talented people in any industry; and most of all it gives me reason and inspiration to seek out the maestros of fetish. In this feature SKIN welcomes “The Foot Master� himself onto its pages; that being the incomparable erotic photographer Ed Fox. The fantastic Mr Fox took time out of his very busy schedule to answer my questions about everything from his own foot fetish, to the changing industry he finds himself in today. In a very honest interview Ed demonstrates the forthright and knowledgeable views that have influenced his work throughout the years. He is a man that creates fetish art that both ensnares and titivates. A guest that will reaffirm your own ideas of fetishism, and a very welcome addition to SKIN magazine. >>>

If you’d please indulge a fetish writer this piece of word association to start the interview Mr Fox. What does the word fetish mean to you? Does it have much significance, or do you not mar certain activities and predilections with such labels?   To me, “fetish” means something out of the ordinary that only you and a few others really understand and are VERY into. A few years after I began thinking I might have a problem, I started researching the word fetish at the public library. This was back in the mid 80’s, WAY before the internet and my discovery of Leg Show Magazine. The thought of maybe correcting this ‘psycho-sexual disorder’ did cross my mind, but could you imagine? Why would I want to miss out on this gift that only a few of us get to enjoy? Anyway, I remember the definition in the book saying something like: fetish refers to a part of the body you want to ejaculate on...  After the internet was born and life in general became more extreme, the word fetish got thrown around so much that it kind of lost some of its taboo qualities. Kind of like tattoos and interracial sex. Does your work within the foot fetish realm begin with the ideal model or the ideal foot? Or ideally does it have to be both? The ideal model has the ideal foot. A model has to have at least a pretty face or great feet for me to want to shoot her. Her face should be a little stronger though because with creative posing, lighting and styling almost any foot could look tasty. I have never shot THE perfect foot though, nor do I want to, or I would feel like my quest was over. One of my fans said it beautifully, “Most feet are average but the good ones stand out like diamonds”. Do you have to do a lot of coaching or directing when you shoot, is it difficult getting the best performance out of your models and their feet? Fortunately most of my models are great with posing, but a lot of them do need some coaching as to how their feet should be posed. A shoot starts out with minimal coaching then I begin to fine tune everything - body and feet.

Kayla Jane Danger seems to be the best at this. I only have to correct her, or wait till her foot moves to a different position, a few times during a shoot. Jelena Jensen is the other one. Right as I’m about to open my mouth, her feet straighten out.  Then there are a few models that I have to correct all the time. I physically have to go mould their feet into position.

You’ll sometimes shoot a model holding a cigarette or utilising the smoke generated by one. Is this a stylistic choice, and if so what do you think it adds? I do it for a few reasons: To please the smoking fetishists, to add mystery or an accent, but most importantly as a stylistic choice. As BAD as it is for your health, smoking looks sexy in a photo.  What do you think about blandishments on feet; tattoos, jewellery etc? Do they add or detract from the natural beauty of the naked foot? When I first started noticing feet, I remember loving anklets. So sexy the way a gold chain would drape over a portion of the outer ankle. Tattoos are sexy too if they are subtle, have an interesting design and are creatively placed. They are like toenail polish, toe rings and anklets - they say, “Look at me!” Pamela Anderson was once said to have the most perfect feet, have you got a personal opinion of a more deserving recipient of that title? Her feet are nice but there are way better feet out there; Sophia Vergara, Charlize Theron, Laetitia Casta, Victoria Silvstedt are the ones that come immediately to mind. I know some of you are going to Google those names right now, but if you are a foot fetishist, this isn’t news to you. Fetish is a very personal thing of course, and you’ve indulged and revelled in your own fetish for years. Do you feel as though it defines you in any way? I was actually thinking as I was answering the other questions, “Why am I even doing this?” Yes, this is VERY personal and I have made myself vulnerable all these years by talking about it.  I feel like I’m too deep into this and it’s my duty since I have been referred to as, ‘The foot master’. I need to educate some and speak for others at the expense of being exposed. But to answer your question Richard, besides being fortunate to be able to appreciate feet, I think it also says that I’m more aware of details that most others are.

When I first started noticing feet, I remember loving anklets

Lastly, with the lifeblood of many adult/erotic photographers being websites showcasing their work, it seems the industry is becoming more and more bastardised. Sites are popping up offering free services where once there was a fair trade of craft for payment/membership. Do you have the same passions or feelings about the industry you’ve been a part of for so long? I have been asking myself that a lot these days, “Why am I even shooting this anymore?” People are just going to steal it and if there is money to be made , it’s hardly enough to cover the production of a shoot. I hate to say it, but doing this JUST for the love of it isn’t enough for me anymore. When I started out I was more concerned with being famous rather than rich. If you read all the interviews I have done in the past, I ALWAYS said that. I have been burnt by magazines and ripped off too many times on the web that it’s left a bad taste in my mouth. I feel like I have paid my dues and need to be compensated now so that I can continue shooting. As much of a blessing as the internet has been, it has also killed the adult industry along with all artists in general. I’m fortunate for starting out when I did and having the magazines as a platform, otherwise I may have never risen to the top with the over saturation of photographers and photography on the web today. The web keeps us pro photographers on our toes because of all the new great talent that has been given a chance to prove themselves. Because of that, most newcomers and even some pros will now only be able to call photography a ‘hobby’. Just look at your phone. What’s THE first thing you can do before even being able to dial? Shoot a picture. When you’re contacting an industry legend you never quite know what to expect. Sometimes you’re met with middlemen and handlers who vet and filter out every ounce of truth and personality from their client’s words. In the case of Ed Fox, I was greeted with an honest artist. Someone that appreciates endeavour when it comes to celebrating and discussing true art. I feel honoured to have conducted this interview for SKIN, and I’ll be eternally grateful to Ed for his professionalism and candour. The images used to illustrate this piece were provided by Ed himself, and are exclusively the property and product of his efforts. Please visit for more examples of the great man’s work.

As much of a blessing as the internet has been, it has also killed the adult industry

I’m Sebastian-A. Stamatis, a 24 old photographer residing in Copenhagen, Denmark.

I have taken pictures since I got my first SLR in 2007.


My motifs are often spontaneous and with a focus on the aestephical with a twist of something unusual.

I’ve some future projects circling in my head at the moment. Hopefully they’ll be reality soon enough.

Francesca Woodman Born in Denver April 3 1958 Woodman has been likened to the Sylvia Plath of the photography world. Influenced by Man Ray, surrealism and Gothic Victorian literature her work showcases a dark sense of foreboding that has become increasingly popular over the years. Her signature style was black and white depictions of nude women sometimes blurred with a long exposure, shot on medium format cameras. She also produced many self-portraits, some of her most popular being her faceless portrayal of herself aged 13.

Only a mass of hair can be seen as she turns away from the camera clutching a shutter release cable. Another one being of the mourning at her grandmother’s funeral, she sits at a window backlit by dusty sunlight as a table sits nearby strewn with family portraits. In her short career Woodman produced a prolific amount of photographs leaving behind 10’000 negatives and around 800 prints that have received high posthumous acclaim. In late 1980 Woodman began to be depressed due to the lack of attention she received with her work and after the break-up of a relationship she attempted suicide. After surviving her first attempt she moved to Manhattan to live with her parents, George and Betty, both highly successful artists. However, On January 19 1981 she committed suicide by leaping >>>

Woodman produced a prolific amount of photographs

10’000 n

negatives and around 800 prints that have received high posthumous acclaim.

out of a loft window. There have been various theories explaining her suicide but her father George suggested that his daughter was driven to suicide after an unsuccessful application for funding from the National Endowment of the Arts. What I love most about her work is the surrealism it exudes. Although her work is simplistic in its essence a, strong sense of escapism can be seen. Although in many forms of art, escaping to the fantastical realm is a happy and sometimes sexual journey, Woodman’s work follows a more sombre path. Manifestations of her on going depression are seen in the almost body dysmorphic displays of blurred bodies, covered faces and oddly placed nudes. All photos copyright owned by George and Betty Woodman.

Man Ray and the Black Dahlia

Surrealism to Die for or an Endeavour in Delinquency? By Carmin Conner

Born August 27, 1890 Emmanuel Radnitzky was born to Russian Jewish immigrants in South Philadelphia. At the turn of the century the Radnitzky family relocated to Brooklyn, New York whereupon they changed their surname to Ray because of the anti-Semitic feelings within their new neighbourhood. Emmanuel, who was simply called Manny at the time abbreviated his first name and became the Man Ray we know today. Although Ray wanted to distance himself from his family in later years they didn’t cease to have their influence on them. His father ran a small tailoring business and it was in his childhood years that he was exposed to the artistic nature of the job, having been surrounded by mannequins and colourful fabric and textiles. Ray attended the Brooklyn High School and it was here that he learnt the basics of art amongst his frequent trips to art museums. After high school he was offered a scholarship to study architecture which he declined in favour of his more artistic pursuits. He went on to become a commercial artist and technical illustrator for many Manhattan businesses. It was around this time that he peaked his interest in Dadaism, abandoning conventional art in favour of constructing bizarre mechanical structures to photograph. In the summer of 1921 Ray moved to Paris where he fell in love with an artists’ model, Kiki de Montparnasse who became his main companion and subject throughout the twenties. Over the next twenty years Ray’s career as a surrealist photographer blossomed as he fully embraced his “anti-art” style of what he called pure Dadaism by reinventing a photographic technique called Solarization amongst many other surrealist works such as his Rayographs and experimental filmmaking. Fast forward to Chicago 1945 and the body of Josephine Ross lies dead, her throat is slashed. The mattress on which she lies is soaked through with blood but bizarrely Josephine is perfectly clean. She has been bathed and placed back at the scene of the crime. Her many puncture wounds are patched together crudely with sticky tape and her head is bound in a dress. There are no signs of rape although evidence suggests that the killer stayed in >>>

the apartment for several hours to masturbate in various rooms. Six months later and the body of Frances Brown lies slumped over the side of her bathtub. She has been shot twice and a large butcher’s knife is impaled through her neck. She too has been cleaned and placed back to rest. On the wall in lipstick an ominous plea for help stares out in blood red.

“For Heaven’s sake, catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself” As America was lulled into a false sense of post war comfort this alarming duo of murders shook up the public as the media delved into a frenzy of headlines. The Lipstick Killer was born and the Chicago police department hastened to find the culprit. Despite the public outcry for a suspect the Chicago police came up dry and the cases went cold.

On January 7th 1946 Suzanne Degnan’s parents went hysterical with fright as they realised their 6 year old daughter had gone missing from her bedroom. The FBI and local police combed the area for the little girl but found nothing. That is until an officer was peering down into a sewer when he noticed what he thought to be a doll’s head. On closer inspection it was discovered to be the severed head of Suzanne. Scouring the underground sewer network the remains of Suzanne were uncovered, limb by limb, her torso was wrapped up in her pyjamas. At autopsy it was discovered that her body couldn’t have been bisected by an amateur. She had been surgically dismembered at the joints, by someone who must have been incredibly skilled at such an endeavour. Despite the public’s intense plea to find the killer there were no leads. Six months later Bill Heirens was caught mid burglary by local police in the same neighbourhood Suzanne used to reside in. The police shot

at Heirens three times as he tried to escape. In a feeble attempt at self-defence he merely threw his own gun at a nearby officer as another policeman hit Heirens over the head with a flower pot. It was reported that Heirens indulged in “fetish burglaries” and stole only things that excited him sexually. It was because of these incidents and the proximity to Degnan’s residence that Heirens was dubbed the Lipstick Killer. Aged just 17 Heirens was beaten to a pulp by the police as they attempted to pry a confession from the young adolescent. In an era when the Miranda Rights didn’t exist, Heirens was tortured excessively, deprived of food and water, given a spinal tap and injected with Sodium Pentothal – truth serum. Threatened with the death penalty should he plead not guilty, he confessed in exchange for a life sentence. Heirens was told he would no doubt be found guilty at court and sentenced to death had

he not confessed. Heirens was denied access to a lawyer and without a trial he was sentenced to life imprisonment which he is still serving today aged 77. He makes the record books twice as the longest serving inmate in Illinois history and the only person in Illinois history to earn a college degree while incarcerated. To this day he has never been offered parole. However, according to newspapers, Heirens blamed Suzanne’s death on a man named George Murman. The police claimed that Murman was Heirens’ murderer alter ego; although some people claim he was just merely fabricated in Heirens’ mind as a fictional character. A year later on January 15th 1947 the body of Elizabeth Short is mistaken for a shop mannequin in a vacant parking lot, six inches from the curb. The sheer horror of such a sight terrified the public as >>>

they read about how her face had been gashed from ear to ear leaving a morbid synthetic grin. Her torso had been bisected perfectly, her organs still intact. Again the dismemberment of young Elizabeth was surgically performed, her spine severed between the second and third lumbar vertebrae like that of Suzanne Degnan. The letters BD were written on her body. Elizabeth was a young glamour girl from Medford, Massachusetts who arrived in Los Angeles with high hopes of becoming a movie star. However, she was finding the life of an aspiring actress tough as she struggled for money, crashing with friends and moving from one seedy motel to another. Her teeth were cracking from malnutrition and she was desperate. It has been greatly debated as to whether she was a prostitute or not but the general consensus was that she had a greatly active love life and would have been the perfect prey for a sadistic sexual killer due to her transient ways and desperate nature. It has been said that although it was unlikely that she would have sold her body, she would have most likely climbed into any gentleman’s car out of sheer desperation. The last known sighting of her alive was on the morning of January 9th when she was dropped off by an acquaintance at the Biltmore Hotel.

At the time, the media was whipped into a frenzy dubbing Short, The Black Dahlia. The police were taunted with first her missing purse, then peculiar cryptic postcards from the killer as his narcissistic personality toyed with the authorities. Although at the time, many of Hollywood’s elite were to become suspects, from Bugsy Siegel to Orson Welles, to this day the killer has never been discovered. Also in a seldom mentioned case, a month after the discovery of Elizabeth Short, the body of a young woman was found a mere seven miles away, also with the letters BD scrawled on her body. However, due to the separate MOs the two cases were never linked. It is important to mention that during this era police methods of investigation were somewhat primitive to what we are lucky to have today. During the forties the term serial killer was never used apart from in pulp paperbacks. Of course there were the odd recorded cases of maniacs killing for pleasure but on the whole it was

It is important to mention that during this era police methods of investigation were somewhat primitive disciplinarian, formal and detached, yet laden with charisma and personality. He describes his father to what we are lucky to as a charming gentleman that made one feel as though they were in the presence of a king or a have today. pope when he entered the room. generally assumed that victims were only killed by people they knew. The idea of serial killing never properly developed until around the early 1980s so cases like the above fell into the abyss of unsolved murders. If the police at the time were to make the second BD killing public or were to connect it with Elizabeth Short’s case, who knows what evidence might have emerged. In 1991 Steve Hodel, who was a mere boy when the case of the Black Dahlia hit the headlines, was grieving the death of his beloved father George Hodel. According to Steve his father was a strict

George Hodel was a genius, at nine years old he was deemed a piano prodigy and was recorded to have an IQ one point higher than Einstein’s. He was accepted to university early at just fourteen years of age, but the pressures of such genius weighed heavy on young Hodel. He became increasingly introverted and immersed himself in the arts while being heavily inspired by sex, drugs, and violence. His aim was to become a photographer and a writer but he received little recognition for such endeavours and he became more and more jaded with frustration. That was until at nineteen he lied about his age to secure a job as a crime reporter. He loved being surrounded by the violence >>>

and sordid activities he had to write about and the atrocious crimes inspired him greatly. When Steve was rifling through his deceased father’s belongings he came across a photo album. One photograph leaped out amongst the rest. The black and white, nude shot of a young Elizabeth Short. Steve Hodel, who was employed by the LAPD at the time, decided to investigate the case of Elizabeth Short, first due to curiosity but then out of fear and confusion. As he delved further and deeper into the facts of the case alarming parallels emerged between the gruesome murder and his recently departed father. First of all, in his more mature years George Hodel went on to become a notable doctor, running a clinic for the Hollywood elite specialising in Venereal Disease. Because of his profession he was duly acquainted with many Hollywood stars and his decadent parties were notorious. It was discovered that it was at one of these parties that he met Elizabeth Short, with whom he began a romantic relationship. It was also at one of these parties that he became acquainted with Man Ray upon his arrival back in America. The second parallel that Steve discovered between his father and the Black Dahlia was the issue of the dismemberment. The procedure performed was a hemicorporectomy, the bisection of the body below the waist where the spine is severed between the second and third lumbar vertebrae. Although it was a tenuous link, it was recorded that George Hodel had performed seven hundred hours of surgery so could therefore easily perform a hemicorporectomy.

Next were the anonymous, taunting postcards in which Steve clearly recognised his father’s journalistic style. Again tenuous, though possible. However, it wasn’t until Steve took notice of the work of Man Ray that he began to convince himself of his father’s involvement in the Black Dahlia case. Bonding over perverse sexual encounters and a love for violently dominating women, Man Ray and George Holden became increasingly close and bore a devoted friendship. Holden, enthusiastic on the Dadaist anti-art movement looked to Ray for inspiration and Ray soon became a father figure to Holden, a sort of surrealist mentor. Much of Man Ray’s work features decapitated female figures and segmented, dismembered bodies but it’s not until one notices Ray’s Minotaur

that the link between The Black Dahlia and his work is prevalent. The torso and arms of a woman mimic the head and horns of the mythical bull figure. The woman’s arms bent ninety degrees at the elbow, nihilism lying below the waist. Like exactly that of the demise of Elizabeth Short. A quick glance at the Minotaur and The Black Dahlia crime scene photos show an eerie resemblance. Could all these links be mere coincidence? Or could The Black Dahlia murder be closely inspired by Man Ray’s work, Holden’s ultimate masterpiece of surrealism and tribute to his master. His son Steve thinks so as he says “Elizabeth Short’s body was his canvas, his scalpel the paintbrush”. After seven years of investigating the Black Dahlia case Steve presented his findings to the head deputy district attorney who was astonished at the evidence. He said that if George Hodel was alive today he would no doubt seek the death penalty. However, upon closer investigation it was discovered that all of the Black Dahlia’s physical evidence, notes and transcripts had mysteriously gone missing from the LAPD. The police department’s explanation being “These things just happen.” Steve has a more sinister theory though, he claims his father’s VD clinic held secrets. Secrets that could be held as leverage against so many pow-

erful figures in LA, thus blackmailing them to insure his freedom. It was at this time that he discovered that, although it wasn’t pursued, his father George was the chief suspect in the Black Dahlia case fifty years previously. At this point in the investigation Steve realised his father had travelled to Chicago in 1946, at the same time Suzanne Degnan was murdered. Due to the similarities between the dismemberments of both Suzanne and Elizabeth, Steve Holden couldn’t help but come to the conclusion that his father was responsible for both. Although he couldn’t prove his relation to the two previously murdered women or whether they were indeed >>>

killed by the same person that Suzanne was, he came to the conclusion that George Holden was in fact the Lipstick Killer. So what of Heirens? The poor teenager convicted of murder. He was once a promising student, being accepted for college at just seventeen to study mechanical engineering. Now a wheelchair bound septuagenarian he sits consumed with grief as he continues to protest his innocence. He admits he made mistakes, acting out and behaving without thought, but he insists his most vehement crime was burglary and that he had nothing to do with Suzanne’s murder. His life has passed him by behind prison walls as he can only imagine the life and career he could have had. Despite numerous legal campaigns along with Steve Holden’s evidence on his father, Heirens is still found to be guilty, without possibility of parole. In an interview with Michael Stone, forensic psychiatrist at Columbia University, Heirens lowers his head in regret having resigned himself to his fate as he explains how the police and media manufactured his guilt. Upon reading over the evidence published by Steve Holden I couldn’t help but possibly think some of the links were tenuous. I first regarded Steve with hesitant suspicion but when I delved deeper into his theories I couldn’t help but be increasingly intoxicated by the coincidences. However still, they could merely be coincidences. That is until you realise the final coincidence that concludes the case. Elizabeth Short’s body was dumped on South Norton Avenue. The street that runs adjacent to Norton Avenue, at the point in which Short was dumped? Degnan Boulevard. However, is that it solved? Many other theories are to seem just as logical as their coincidences parallel and entwine themselves with Elizabeth Short and her demise. In 2005 a book titled The Black Dahlia Files: The Mob, The Mogul and the Murder that Transfixed Los Angeles by Donald H. Wolfe names many suspects. One being that Elizabeth Short was pregnant at the time of her murder, implicating a rich and powerful poten-

tial father as the killer. Could the perverse method of covering up a forbidden pregnancy be the motive? Along with what people theorise Jack the Ripper’s motive to be it surely seems possible. However, many people argue that if that was the case then the murder wouldn’t have been committed for pleasure as evidence would suggest. Elizabeth had been tortured for days on end and subjected to unspeakable acts of perversion so therefore could have only been killed by a sexual sadist who genuinely enjoyed her ordeal. Could it be one of the many theorised suspects who peer up at us with smudgy, black and white faces from the history books? Or could it be someone else entirely? Someone who has yet to make it to the suspect list. Will we ever find them or will we lose them in the annals of time?

Elizabeth had been tortured for days on end and subjected to unspeakable acts of perversion so therefore could have only been killed by a sexual sadist who genuinely enjoyed her ordeal.

Formerly of NOCTURNUS, Vincent Crowley is the bassist/vocalist/songwriter of ACHERON. In 1992 Crowley was appointed by Anton La Vey to the CHURCH OF SATAN priesthood. He also created the Order of the Evil Eye, an Anti-Christian group aimed at fighting the lies and propaganda of the Christian Church. The Order later evolved and branched out into three different groups, Anti-Christian, Satanic Movement and Satanic Lair. It came to a close in 1995 when Crowley was promoted to the rank of Magister in the CHURCH OF SATAN. He resigned from the C.O.S. in 2000 and decided to stay an independent. We feel so privileged to have had the chance to talk with him as he clears up some misconceptions on Satanism and its strong bond to the music industry.

Vincent Crowley of

At what point did you discover Satanism and what made it attractive to you? VC- The term Satanism was introduced to me at a very young age due to my religious upbringing. The church’s bogus propaganda had nothing to do with what real Satanism was really about. Unfortunately my youthful protesting against a belief system that was pretty much forced on me sent me down a path that was far from Satanic. I was a very anti-social adolescent with very few friends. I tended to get into a lot of trouble as a youth and that caused a lot of friction with the family unit. Rock & Roll became my outlet. Listening to bands like BLACK SABBATH, KISS, JUDAS PRIEST and ALICE COOPER made me feel alive. Dark occult aesthetics were very appealing to me. From the age of 13 to 18, I went from a simple rebellious kid to an all out Devil worshipper. During this change I started to listen to more extreme bands like VENOM, SLAYER and BATHORY. The negative media on Heavy Metal music in the 80’s only made me want to be a part of it. Soon I strived to be the person on stage pissing off the masses! As I said before, my frame of mind wasn’t in the right place so I dabbled with a lot of so-called occult things that were nothing more than being destructive and blasphemous. I experienced lots of trail and error as a teen. When I was 20 yrs old my views started to seriously change and I wanted to get my shit together and really figure out where I was in life. Even though I had a copy of THE SATANIC BIBLE, I truly never read it without my past Christian influ-

ence warping the words. So I absorbed the book with a fresh mind and really got to understand what it said. It was a realistic philosophy that I was already living by. Finding my true Self led me down the Left Hand Path. Satanism didn’t save me, I saved myself! And that is what Satanism is all about. Since then I have stayed true to myself and continue to evolve as a human being. Today I consider Satanism to be a lifestyle, not a religion. Like many of us you were raised by Christian parents, how did your family react when you renounced Christianity? VC- My Father and Mother are great parents, but when I was younger they got way too caught up in the church. And much of that was due to their social outlets. They associated with a few real brainwashed Jesus freaks that took religion to another level. These people are the reason I hate Christianity so much! When ACHERON got signed and I started getting active with the CHURCH OF SATAN they pretty much knew what I was about. But they never really wanted to sit down and discuss it. At that time we just never brought up the topic of religion. Are they happy with my views? I’m sure they are not. But after so many years we have a mutual respect for each other and we don’t let personal beliefs ruin our family relationship. These days they still have their beliefs, but they are not fanatics like they used to be. It sucks when religion causes problems in a family. >>>

What do you think is the biggest misconception about Satanism? VC- Probably that it is just Devil worship. Christian propaganda has used scare tactics to get people into their churches. Satanism and its fictional evil agenda helps to cause controversy for their cause. We become the villains and the church becomes the superhero to save the day. Christians actually are the ones who create “Devil worshippers”, not Satanism. The fact is Satanism is basically embracing your true predator nature and understanding that it is fine to question things and rebel against that you don’t agree with. We don’t worship the Devil, we are the Devils! And recruiting souls for the Dark Lord is the furthest thing from our minds. (Ha, Ha) Following the path of “Do what thou wilt” what is your opinion on so called “heinous” crimes such as murder? Do you think they should be regarded as wrong or should people feel free to indulge in killing? VC- I can only speak on my behalf regarding this question. And just to cover my ass I do obey the laws that are set forth in society. It really depends on the situation. Serial killers have always fascinated me. It amazes me how far the human mind can take people to do extreme things. But I also live by a personal philosophy that I respect another’s space as long as they respect mine. So I don’t think murder should be made legal, but perhaps a little more lenient depending on the circumstances. If someone has violated a person’s circle by doing an apprehensible deed to them or a loved one than perhaps they should be allowed to get vengeance on

Christians actually ar the ones w create “Devil worshipper not Satani

s re who

rs”, ism.

the parasite that did it. How can you imprison the parent that kills the child molester or the husband that beats to death the one who murdered his wife? In a Satanic society, if a person was absolutely guilty of a crime, then equal justice would be allowed to be inflicted on the criminal. Recently there’s been a spate of mainstream celebrities being accused of practising Satanism because of symbology in their videos, Rihanna, Kanye West etc… Do you think they actually practice Satanism, or do you reckon their stylists are just using pentagrams and goats’ heads out of context? VC- They have nothing to do with Satanism! These Hip Hop artists want to make society fear them by linking their selves to The Illuminati. The funny thing is that the whole mythos about The Illuminati is being a totally secretive group that controls the world. Many of these artists openly declare themselves to be high ranking members. Isn’t a secret society supposed to be a secret? (Ha, Ha) I think many use the symbolisms to get reactions so people talk about them. There’s a close link between Satanism and music, how do you think they complement each other? VC- It goes hand in hand. The Devil’s music has always been stuff that is rebellious or makes you think different than the status quo. Satanism promotes tapping into your artistic side and applying your full potential doing it. That is why the Devil has the best tunes. (Ha, Ha)

What do you think the future holds for Satanism? VC- Personally, I think we need to discontinue calling it a religion. Religions are for slaves and they don’t benefit society in any way. It should be considered as a powerful philosophy and lifestyle. If society took some advice from Satanic ideology this world could actually evolve. But in reality I think the few who do practice it should just try to live their lives and be open with their views. Forcing your ideas down people’s throats is no better than any other fanatic. My opinion is just be true to yourself and let them come to you. Hopefully common sense with prevail in the future. Do you think we’ll ever be rid of Christianity? VC- I think Christianity has indeed lost its stronghold, but it will never totally be destroyed. There will always be a people who need a crutch and it will be waiting for them. Let’s just hope their power weakens more and more! But the problem is that other religions like Islam are growing and becoming even more of a problem than Christianity. Religion is a disease. Just when you think you have a cure for one another one emerges. Mankind is such a pathetic creature!

Do you have a message for our readers? VC- We exist in a world full of madness and mayhem. Life is short. Be true to yourself and embrace what you are, not what others want you to be. God can’t bring you salvation and governments won’t take care of you. That is your job! Embrace few and trust even fewer! Indulge in all the pleasures life has to offer. That is my advice. ACHERON will be recording our new album “KULT DES HASSES” for LISTENABLE RECORDS in April 2013 and it should be out by the end of this year. We hope you all pick up a copy and see us when we are out on tour. Many thanks to SKIN MAGAZINE for the interest and support. Ad Maiorem Satanae Gloriam! Follow ACHERON on TWITTER at: CONTACT: ACHERON, P.O. Box 28234, Columbus, OH, 43228, USA

Oh Larry Oh


What first made you discover your love for photography? Well, when I realized I had a lot of female friends and I said to myself “I can make a career out of this� I have a lot of hot female friends and females like to be photograph.


Who/what inspires you? These are some of the photographers who inspire me. Helmet Newton, Scott Church, Eric Cain, Steven Meisel, Patrick Demarchelier, Richard Avedon.


Perks of the job? Getting to photograph beautiful models all over the country. Your subjects are so quirky and interesting, how do you find them? Sometimes my subjects find me and the other times I find them

In an ideal world, who would you most like to shoot? MADONNA Any big plans for 2013? To make it big and make a career out of my photography, get more covers on magazines, getting into more books and having more of my own books.

“I can make a out of this�


Martin Van Maële

“The only difference between pornography and erotica is time” – Anon Born October 12 1863, not much is known about the French illustrator. Over the course of his 62 years Van Maële was a prolific artist, creating highly provocative illustrations for an array of notable literary giants from HG Wells’ The First Men in the Moon to Edgar Allen Poe’s Dix Contes which was translated by Charles Baudelaire. Although he illustrated popular classics such as Sherlock Holmes his real accomplishments were in the field of erotic literature. His most well-known work being for Charles Carrington’s La Grande Danse macabre des vifs in which he produced 40 drawings.


Hanging CLUB

The man in the dark tuxedo with a big microphone in his hand stood beaming out at us from the front of the stage, in front of a heavy black curtain.  Ladies and gentlemen, he boomed out, we have for your hanging pleasure tonight four very beautiful girls. Join me please in welcoming our gorgeous volunteers. >>>

The MC invited the girls to stand next to the tables and put his microphone on the ground as he slipped a noose around each of their waiting necks.

Loud applause and hoots and whistles rang

swing! The black curtain rose quickly on his words

out as four women strode smilingly onto the stage.

and the girls turned a little nervously and all of our

The MC was right; the four girls were very, very beau-

eyes followed their expectantly shining faces.

tiful: young, slim, and (best of all) completely nude,

their bodies glistening with oil, their white skin show-

wooden beam suspended by heavy cables a few feet

ing in stark relief in front of  the black curtain. The

in the air, and from this beam limply hung four glis-

girls fidgeted and laughed while the crowd called out

tening thick white nooses. Under the nooses were

to them and the MC looked on half avuncularly and

little tables. The MC invited the girls to stand next

half mockingly lecherous.

to the tables and put his microphone on the ground

Finally the MC spoke again. We should get to

as he slipped a noose around each of their waiting

know our girls, don’t you think? He leaned over to the

necks. He picked up the mic again and asked the

girl next to him and put the microphone in front of

girls to step up on the tables. He turned smilingly

her face as he asked, What’s your name sweetheart?

again to the audience and asked for a last round of

The first girl somewhat shyly responded, Alison, as

applause for the now noosed young women, and we

she smiled up at him. And, dear Alison, said the MC,

all jumped to our feet to cheer them. They bit their

looking out at us as he smiled indulgently, why have

lower lips and shuffled nervously, their firm breasts

you come here to be hanged tonight? Alison ran her

and stiff nipples rising up and down as they breathed

tongue along her bright red lips as she looked out

their heavy last breaths.

at the audience. I dunno, I have always wanted to be

hanged, and in particular I wanted to be hanged in

audience settled back in our seats, the MC waited a


moment and then began to speak again. You have no

The bright stage lights showed a large dark

As the cheering died down and we in the

The MC nodded approvingly. Well, we’re

doubt noticed that we have not, as we usually do with

very lucky to have you here my dear, and we are

our pretty young air dancers, tied the hands of the

looking forward to watching you hang with great

girls. That’s because we’re going to have a little fun

anticipation. The MC moved down the line of girls

tonight, a little hanging game. In a moment, the MC

having a similar short chat with each of them. All the

went on smilingly, I am going to ask our wonderful

women voiced more or less the same story: of long-

girls here to grab hold of the beam from which they

held dark fantasies, since childhood in some cases,

will be hanged. Once they have done that the beam

of being hanged naked in front of an audience and

is going to be raised up and I’m going to pull away

after consensual killing was made legal deciding to

the tables. The girls will therefore have to continue

check out this club, of being wildly aroused as they

grasping on to the beam as best they can—and be-

watched others die, of each deciding that was what

lieve me, he said with a big wink to us, it’s harder to

they too wanted to do, to really hang, to feel their feet

hold onto that thing than it looks—until they can’t do

kicking in the air and (they hoped) wracking waves

it anymore and then they will drop and begin to hang

of orgasm as they choked to death in front of an ad-

by their necks. The MC turned back to the girls and

miring crowd.

repeated his last sentence: Hang by your necks. The

The MC thanked all the girls and called for

MC considered the now more scared-looking young

another round of applause and then stepped a little

women in their nooses before he turned back to us

away from the obviously excited victims as he called

and finished his explanation. They will do so until ex-

out with a grand sweeping gesture, And now it is time

actly one minute after the fourth and last girl drops

to see the gallows from which our lovely ladies will

off the beam. This last girl to drop will be cut down


first to see if she is still alive after hanging for sixty seconds. Then we will cut down the others one by one, although of course the chances of survival are probably going to drop off pretty dramatically for the girls who swing for us first.

So, the MC concluded, those are the rules.

Everyone understand? he asked the girls who now all anxiously studied   the beam just behind them, almost as if the possibility of surviving made their imminent hanging more nerve-wracking. But they all dutifully nodded, and the MC nodded back cheerfully and turned to us with a big smile as he called out, Girls, grab the beam! And good luck!

We could tell immediately the challenge pre-

sented by trying to hold onto the beam; it was quite thick and sharp-edged so linking hands over its top was difficult, but so too was trying to hold onto each side. The girls were given little time to figure this out; already the beam was rising and they all grasped as best they could as their feet were soon dangling in the air and the MC whisked away the tables on which they had stood. The beam lifted the women a couple of feet higher and then stopped, and they struggled to avoid the inevitable drop as long as possible. A couple of the girls pedaled the air and they shifted their hands in desperate attempts to hang on.

The girl on the far right weakened first; her

hands visibly slipped and she cried out in pain as she desperately fought to pull herself back up. She quickly gave up and her face took on a momentary look of resignation just before she dropped and the white noose harshly snapped her head back. Cheers rang out from the audience. The girl now hanging by her neck still had lots of strength after her fall though and she tried to pull herself up the rope and then tried feverishly and of course futilely to get the noose off her neck as her face seemed to swell and turned bright red and her flashing, bulging eyes looked out at us wildly. She swung her feet with violent kicks, many of >>>

The girl on the far right weakened first; her hands visibly slipped and she cried out in pain as she desperately fought to pull herself back up.

A wild cheer went up from the crowd as the

MC jumped onstage and ostentatiously held up his big wrist watch to show to us he was counting down the seconds. As he did so the beam was lowered so the feet of the hanged girls was millimeters above the which slapped the girl next to her, the sound of skin

stage floor. When the MC shouted, Now! he grasped

hitting skin and the terrified grunts of the girl being

the last girl to hang in his arms, lifting her athletic

kicked ringing out clearly in the now completely si-

but completely limp body as high as he could to re-

lent club, all of us transfixed by the death struggles of

lieve the fatal pressure on her neck, as a stagehand

the beautiful naked girl.

ran out with a big knife that he used to cut through

She had finally started to sag limply with her

the rope hanging her. The MC slowly and carefully

hands still clenched at her hips when the girl beside

laid the unconscious woman on the ground and

her started to lose her grip after the many blows from

pulled the noose off her rawly red and purple neck.

her now-dying neighbor and she too slipped until

He laid her head down gently, then he and the stage-

her head was snapped back at the end of her rope.

hand repeated the lowering operation with each girl

Unlike the first girl though, this girl, a fiery redhead

in the reverse order in which they had hanged.

(her natural hair colour, we could all see) only feebly

resisted the choking noose. Her feet pedaled softly

watching turned to loud whistling and cheering as

in the air and only briefly and her hands didn’t try

the first girl to be lowered suddenly started to spas-

to seek release from the rope strangling her. Instead

modically shake and then after few moments, aided

they did a short but sweet little ballet and then she

by the stagehand, she sat somewhat dazedly upright.

hung still in the air next to her now completely re-

Finally she was able to stand shakily on her feet and

laxed and deeply purple-faced partner.

she gave a little grateful smile to the audience be-

The two women still alive were hanging by

fore she was helped off the stage. The other girls re-

their hands facing each other, and they stared into

mained starkly prone, clearly relieved too late from

each other’s face with a steely determination. But one

the noose’s deadly grip.

of the girls was more muscular and after a few min-

utes of fierce concentration the other one started to

down, the girl sitting next to me leaned close and she

slip. She seemed unworried by what was coming and

laid her hand on my throbbing cock. That’s how I want

she blew a little kiss to the other girl just before her

to die, she said. I had been so absorbed in watching

hands slipped down. Her hands jerked up to her neck

the hangings that I had almost forgotten where I was.

as if in reflex after she was yanked to a halt by her

I looked at her a little surprisedly and then studied

noose and she spun wildly in the air. The last girl still

her face, which was intently staring at the three dead

holding on watched her strangle with a small trium-

girls lying on the stage. She turned her big sparkling

phant smile, seemingly waiting for her to die, or at

eyes to me and as she rubbed me a little harder she

least go limply quiet, before she closed her eyes and

said quietly, almost whispering,

let go of the beam.

Want to go back to my place and do a little practice run?

The last girl was the most electrically erotic

of all the girls who were hanged that night. One of her hands even reached briefly between her legs as if seeking a last release. But soon her magnificentlymuscled body was gently spinning next to her presumably now-dead companions.

A lively murmur from the audience raptly

After the cheering and applause had died

Julz Ramos ofHatchet Julz, lead guitarist/vocalist and the last original member of Bay Area thrash metal band Hatchet took time out to have a chat with us and to share some valuable advice to budding musicians. He also tells us how he got held at gunpoint on a highway and what his basic tour essential are. It’s not brown M&Ms. >>>

How did Hatchet come about? Hatchet came about by the likes of myself and our original drummer Dave. We were jamming in another band going nowhere and decided to do our own thing. Soon after writing a few riffs we knew we wanted to take it further. Soon after posting some Craigslist adds and weeding out a few flakes, we came upon our first full lineup. Since then, we grew a fan base, have been signed to Metal Blade, and toured a few times. Also since then, the band has dropped all of its original members leaving me the last original member. I essentially rebuilt it from scratch, took over the vocal and guitar duties and now have the strongest lineup we have ever had musically and personally. We are now on The End Records and our sophomore album is about to come out. What were you first impressions of each other? Of the original lineup? We had never been in a band like this before. One that had potential, so it excited us all. At first we were all just trying to figure it out. But through various parties and drunken times, things smoothed out. Perks of the job? None....yet. Haha, the only perk is when someone comes up to you and tells you how awesome you were after playing and that they just bought your patch or shirt. For me that is the perk of the job.

the only perk is when someone comes up to you and tells you how awesome you were What are your tour essentials? Tour essentials are basic. Barely enough food to get by (Granola bars, top ramen, mac n cheese in a can, and of course BEER! Beer is the must! A van to get you from place to place is also helpful. Gotta take it to the basics to try and be an up and coming touring band in this day and age.


Artwork by All Things Rotten

Have you ever made any ridiculous demands just for fun? Not yet...still thinking about busting out the ‘only brown M&M’s’ or is it ‘no brown M&M’s? Any tour horror stories? Once while driving out in the Midwest, I think Ohio or something, a driver was tailgating us on a 2 lane highway for miles. Our bass player at the time was kind of playing with him by slowing down even more. This guy was obviously just ridiculous and would not get the hint to back off. Eventually he floored it around us on the shoulder and pointed a revolver at us out the window. He was in a small white SUV, so every time we made a stop somewhere after that on the same highway, we were looking at every white SUV all cautious. Never saw him again. Do you have any advice to budding youngsters wanting to enter a career in music? Good Luck!! (Sarcastically). It is pretty hard to do and unless you love it for the music and the feeling of being on stage, give up. Because everything else surrounding the music business is not too fun..especially these days. You WILL spend a lot of money. Do you have a message for our readers? Just to keep up the deviance, always be sick and twisted and always love that you like the darker things in life. It’s more fun. So embrace it!

always be sick and twisted

An open minded city girl with a cinematic life

wrought with drama, unique experiences and salacious affairs. That’s who I wanted to be when I moved to the big city, barely older than a little girl. The juxtaposition was intimidating. I longed to be jaded. I

The Diary of

Mistress Hayden The First Entry of her Perverse and Depraved Memoir Photography by: Brian Firth // Sandbox Studios

snapped up the first chance I got at a seemingly “life experience” type job, working as a professional dominatrix in a NYC dungeon. (Granted, it was not in the basement of a medieval castle, it still fit the description as much as an office on the seventh floor of a midtown brownstone could.) I amassed a large collection of fetish wear, the basics included a leather thong, garter, thigh highs, and a few corsets. There were several rooms, each themed, and all with plenty of accoutrements to accommodate some serious corporal punishment and whippings galore. What I didn’t expect, however, was the elaborate and specific fetishes I would be exposed to while working as a pro Dom. The array ranged from smashing fruit with my heal, to changing diapers after spanking Mr. Man Baby. There was a plethora of unique challenges, and I, mistress Hayden, seeker of literary worthy adventures, was about to take them on.                One of the first clients I saw was a large man named Johnson*. Bald, tall, almost menacingly quiet, he oozed confidence and testosterone. Once inside room number two, though, the realm of safety for him to unleash his hidden obsessions, the former facade melted off immediately. It was an ephemeral mask, one that allowed him to get from the elevator to the room, where he could collapse metaphorically into the arms of his mistress. He explains what he fantasizes about. He’s a toddler. Head between ‘mothers’ breasts, he wanted a mix of stern punishment and nurturing placation. Usually aptly referred to as ‘infantilization’, this fetish allows the fleeting comfort of being solely in the hands of a loving mother to become reality once again. I’m sure there is a Freudian explanation for each individual who seeks this type of role-play out. Perhaps an absentee >>>

mother, or the opposite, an overbearing one, were to blame.  But I refrained from intellectualizing the psychology behind their motivations, and focused on thoroughly becoming what their fantasy demanded. Infantilism not only involved diaper changing and close-to-leather-clad-breast coddling. There were also elaborate role-plays in which Johnson (and others I’d eventually come to know) would do something wrong, and after discovering it, he wished me to take the diaper off and sternly spank him. It was a delicate balance of discipline, and soothingly explaining why, as his mother, I was forced to teach him a lesson. Punishment and placation intermingled. Eventually our sessions achieved a rhythm, and Johnson and I continued to delve into his obsession. We achieved a very musing and unique intimacy that I grew rather fond of. Infantilizing him, and the many others was not the last obscure fetish I’d come to know.

First discovering armpit worship, through a

client named Teddy* when I’d just spread my wings as a baby dominatrix, I immediately questioned the motivations and intent behind the urge to sniff, lick, bow down to, and beg for one’s mistresses armpits. After seeing other clients, and extensive sessions with Teddy, I began to realize it was less about the body part itself, and more about the intimacy associated with it. Not even do significant others shove their faces into your armpit, breath it in, lick it, and consume all that they can of it. Part of the mistress/ submissive relationship is total control over the individual, and the individuals total willingness to please every aspect of the mistresses needs. There is also the reward system. For doing an acceptable job, the slave, submissive, or client (whatever term is considered politically correct in any given situation) is given a taste of their Mistress. They long fantasize about these moments, and are kept continued stretches without such perks. They are made to beg for them, humiliated, with the end result being that they get a sniff of the ass of their mistress. In this case, it’s their armpit that brings total joy and a feeling of closeness unmatched by almost anything >>>

What I didn’t expect, however, was the elaborate and specific fetishes I would be exposed to while working as a pro Dom.

Crushing is the name, and what it consists of is very literally...


else to the submissive. I’ve known mistresses to sell

offered to buy out the entire floor of the dungeon, so

their over worn T-Shirts to armpit fetishists for copi-

that I could actually hunt him down. He’d genuinely

ous amounts of money. One can only imagine what

be the hunted. The owners agreed, as did I (human

would be done to these. (I assume plenty of sniffing

hunting to kidnap? Fuck yes!) and we got started.

and wanking.)

Dimming the lights, I went into our lounge area to

                 Ned*  introduced me to another one that

change into his preferred costume. He requested I

doesn’t immediately come to mind when one thinks

grab my phone, as there would be a ransom demand

fetish. Crushing is the name, and what it consists of

in the mix. This was also to give him a five minute

is very literally... Crushing. Stomping on fruits like

head start to hide amongst the hallways, four sepa-

grapes, tomatoes, bananas, or bubble packing wrap

rate private rooms, and even the lobby and office.

gave Ned an erection for the books. We’d alternate

Once time was up, the hunt was on. I began the clan-

between him laying on the floor, watching at eye

destine search, tip toed in stilettos, ropes and hand-

level as my stiletto heel impaled grapes, and actu-

cuffs in tow, through the hushed and darkened hall-

ally trampling them on him. Take away the fruit and

way. I peeked into each room until I heard a scurry. It

Ned became the object of my pulverizing. Whether

was time to taunt him.

healed or not, these type of fetishists love to be stood

on, trampled on, and walked on from head to toe. One

I’ll have you soon enough…”

client, Conrad* and I had perfected a technique that

allowed me to gently step onto his head, one foot at

closer to his slouching shadow. He was in room two,

a time. Barefoot, I’d then march in place. Slowly, as

crouched behind a vintage dental chair. As I ap-

to not break his neck. I could hear his gasps of thor-

proached I could hear the pure fear in his short and

ough arousal as I found the exact position and began

shallow breaths. He had made this as real a situation

the careful march- type stomp. Gil* enjoyed when I

as was possible, and we were both reaping the ben-

jumped up and down on his back. Whether my cli-

efits. It was exhilarating to say the least. I stealthily

ents themselves were the object, or any item that is

worked my way up to his ear and said “Gotcha.” He

capable of being smashed, stomping is quite a unique

jumped up, cried out, but before he could fight back

fetish that I’ve seen men find very erogenous.  My

I’d already secured a simple knot tie, his hands be-

personal favorites, however, dealt with an element

hind his back. A blindfold applied to his eyes and

of role-play. The mimicking of reality gave me and

dragged him into my designated room. I threw him

the client a sense of honesty that exhilarated us. The

onto the leather bed and took the blind fold off. He

next fetish is a great example of how a role-play can

was sweating profusely, eyes darting around, until I

become as authentic as real life, and just as arousing.

finally spoke.

My first dealings with the kidnap/rape fanta-

“No point in hiding, there’s nowhere to run. I could hear his breathing quicken as I moved

“I know who you are. I know you have money.

sy was probably as far as you can go without actually

I’m going to get it but before that, we’re going to have

kidnapping and raping somebody. Alan* came to me

a little fun.”

at the dungeon, sat tranquilly upon the leather chair

and said guilelessly “I’d like you to kidnap and rape

has money, and they’ll pay anything if he was left un-

me, please.” I was well versed in the nature of this

harmed. I let him know this wasn’t going to work. The

fetish, but he wanted to take it one step further. He

money would be paid for his survival. The rest was >>>

He begged me to just let him go. His family

up to me and there was nothing his futile pleading

had other clients simulate the situation, but none

could do. I smacked him hard across the face and or-

as thorough or involved as Alan. It was a day for the

dered him to take his pants off. He seemed confused,

books, one that expanded my limits and his own. We

his hands were tied. “Figure it out.” I said as I unbut-

played off of each others feelings well, and it worked

toned them for him, and half un-zipped them. While

itself into a perfect scenario. Here’s a disclaimer for

he wriggled out of them, I opened a large case and

any Doms who come across this situation. Make sure

removed a strap on and a dildo. He started plead-

that all limits are clearly discussed before the role-

ing again, offering more money. I turned around and

play begins. Although my session with Alan went ex-

smacked him again, this time harder, and ball gagged

emplary there is always the possibility that without

his mouth. If I was going to rape him, I couldn’t have

proper care in the beginning, lines will be crossed. At

any more of his loud mouthed shenanigans. This was

the very least you will lose a client. At the very worst

already feeling real as anything and my heart was

you could be criminally pursued. (Even though the

pounding in my chest at the shear honesty of the mo-

client sought out your services for that very reason,

ment. Hands tied, mouth gagged, I threw him face

and that will ultimately be brought to light, it is still a

down onto the leather table. Whispering in his ear

hassle and a cloud of suspicion that you certainly do

“Don’t worry, this will only hurt for a moment…” I lu-

not want hanging over your head.) That being said

bricated and shoved the 9 inch dildo into him from

Kidnap and Rape fetish is more common than you’d

behind. He squirmed and a muffled scream escaped

think, and done correctly, can take you to places

his gagged mouth. At several points I questioned

you’ve never imagined.

whether I was going too far. Or if his fighting back

Fetishes, to the uneducated, may seem like

was genuine. But I remembered our consultation.

just another way to bring novelty into a world already

He’d clearly stated that for it to be authentic, he would

saturated in taboos. With the ever so delicate and

fight back. I was not to take this into consideration. It

convoluted relationship between a Sub and his or her

was what he wanted and he signed off on my having

mistress, I’ve learned this not to be the case. Though

complete control of him for the next two hours. After

the former fetishes are some of the most esoteric and

I was done sodomizing him I took the gag out. We

strenuous to rationalize that I’ve come across, they

went as far as the phone call to exchange the money

all share in that they bring an intimacy into the re-

for his release and finished the most intense role-play

lationship that otherwise might be difficult to find.

I’ve partaken in to date. I was anxious to speak to him

Exchanges between a Mistress and her submissive

out of character, to know if I had pushed it too far,

(slave, client, worm, there are many terms of endear-

taken things to a place he thought he could handle

ment used) grow with time and experience. Through

but couldn’t. Once he was changed into plain clothes

exploring these fetishes together, a Mistress/Sub duo

he thanked me for the best two hours of his life. And

can establish a trust and rapport that brings comfort

I knew I’d given someone their ultimate fantasy. That

and ease to both. No matter which way you look at

of being genuinely (as genuine as it can get) afraid

them, they are indeed intriguing, and I for one(and

of being caught by your kidnapper and raped. I’ve

I’m sure many others) believe, warrant a second look. MH Filth to All :: Mistress Hayden Brittany Ann Selditch and Dollymop ::


I’m a writer - short fiction, novels, essays. I needed to write an article on Safe-Sex. Now I’m an average guy, and a product of the seventies. Safe-Sex to me is not getting caught, and nobody gets pregnant. In my day venereal diseases were taken care of with a shot in the rear. Inconvenient, but not life threatening. Most girls, who were willing, were on the pill. Ah, simpler times.

These days STDs are a real issue. It seems

the free love of the sixties and the sexual revolution of the seventies is coming back to bite us in the ass, so-to-speak. What’s a horny, divorced, child of the me generation to do? Like any good writer, in the new millennium, I turned to the internet for some research.

ESEX by Maxwell Cynn

The porn was good, but not helpful. Some

of the info sites were okay, but mostly wanted to sell me something I didn’t want to buy. Handing my date a vibrator might constitute Safe, but it would leave me high and dry on the Sex part. Not that I don’t like to watch... but that’s another story.

Back to the research - I decided I needed

some old fashioned, feet on the ground, face-toface, intel gathering. I jumped in the old, gas guzzling mini-van and headed to the nearest sex shop. Those things are everywhere these days. Back in my day there were lingerie boutiques, hidden off in secluded shops, and adult book stores on the bad side of town. Now they are right in the best shops, in the highest trafficked areas.

There was a nice “Intimate Apparel” shop

right up the road. I pulled in and the display in the window was hotter than the cover of most porn tapes. I walked in to find, aside from the sexy lingerie, rows of shelves against the back wall, packed full of sex toys. There were also books, and videos, but that’s not what I was here for.

I approached the counter. There was a

cute little number, maybe thirty, manning the cash register and another, early twenties, stocking the shelves. I decided to speak to the older one.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to put on my

“They are all very effective in protecting both part-

best poker-face. I didn’t want to look like an em-

ners from STDs.”

barrassed fool, or even worse some perv. “I’m an

author and I’m doing some research for a story on

said while she was still looking away. She turned

safe-sex practices. Can I speak to your manager?”

and I had to force myself to allow eye contact.

“What type of stories do you write?”

Looking away would have pegged me for the re-

“Mostly romance.”

pressed geek I am.

“Oh, I love romance,” she beamed. “Do you

“What about protection during oral sex,” I

“We have a wide variety of flavored con-

write any paranormal romance? Or historic, I love

doms,” she offered with a smile. She was good at


making the customer feel comfortable. The initial

embarrassment was fading quickly.

“I’ve written both, actually. I also like sus-

pense and mystery.”

a girl,” I stammered out. The embarrassment was

“I’m sorry, the manager is gone for the day.

“What if I, like, ah, want to, ah, go down on

Can I help you?”

returning. My face felt flush and I was sure she

could hear my heart beating. “What sort of protec-

Damn, I was hoping the manager would be

some Dr. Ruth type older woman, or better yet a

tion should I use?”

guy. This girl could help me in all kinds of ways,

but that had nothing to do with the story I was

pointed to a rack among the condoms. There were

writing. I took a breath and forged onward.

flat, square packages, larger than the condoms, but

much the same.

“What type of things do you have that are

Her smile took on a slight mirth. She

used for Safe-Sex?” I pulled out a note pad and

pencil to try and look more professional and less

“They are much like the little squares of latex that

of a perv.

dentists use. These are ultra thin, and flavored, for

a more pleasurable experience for both of you.”

“We have a wide assortment of condoms,”

she said, leading me toward a full wall display.

“These are dental dams,” she explained.

I’ve had a root canal. The thought of that

latex tent stuffed in my mouth was enough to make

on the fake puss. “You just lay it across, like this,”

me bypass the oral sex all together.

she explained. I couldn’t help but imagine laying

it on her. “Then it provides a safe barrier during

“That would be kinda uncomfortable,

wouldn’t it?” I asked, a bit incredulous. “That

oral sex.”

would be sorta like trying to wear a condom on my


little cumbersome. It would take practice, obvi-

ously, before it became comfortable. She seemed

She giggled. It wasn’t an embarrassed gig-

“Ah,” I said, studiously. It still seemed a

gle or a condescending one. It was light and infec-

to sense my misgivings.

tious, filled with an adventurous sense of humor

that was very appealing – even sexy.

get used to it pretty quickly.” Then she nudged

up against me and gave a conspiratorial wink.

“You don’t put it in your mouth,” she ex-

“They are very easy to use, and you’ll

plained. “Would you like me to show you?”

“I actually like it better with the latex. It blocks

just enough so the feeling is soft like a feather

That was a loaded question. I could think

of all sorts of things I would like for her to show


me. I’d like a demonstration of most of the toys

on the nearby shelf. I didn’t care if we were in the

ty commonly used these days?” I tried to divert the

middle of a store. Hell, I didn’t care if her twenty-

implied image. I was already fighting an erection. I

something friend over there watched. She could

was sure my trousers looked like a khaki pup tent.

join in too if she liked.

priced. Most of my friends use a little plastic wrap

“Yes, please,” I said, trying to hide my over-

“So do you sell a lot of these? Are they pret-

“Actually,” she confided, “they’re over-


from the kitchen. That is just as much protection,

and a little more sexy, I think.”

She pulled down one of the packages and

opened it. It was a flat square of latex, about three

or four inches on a side. She handed it to me. It was

was taking on a sexy, breathy tone. If I didn’t know

very thin, but seemed sturdy enough not to tear. I

it was my own mad fantasy I would think she was

looked it over, still having trouble visualizing what

getting aroused as well.

I was suppose to do with it. I looked up at my sexy

advisor and she must have seen the lost expres-

I summarized, flavored condoms for oral sex on

sion on my face.

men, and flavored squares of latex for oral sex on


She took my hand and led me toward the

There went that wink again, and the voice

“So we have condoms for safe intercourse,”

toy selection. My heart skipped several beats. I

thought about how embarrassing it would be to

my sphincter constricted. She was being very sug-

get wheeled out of here on a stretcher. I decided

gestive now. I would have never went there. She

if I had a coronary I would still walk out of here on

smiled and stepped closer. I don’t think I was hid-

pure pride before collapsing in my van. They could

ing my arousal very well.

find me there.

with those hot descriptions? Do you research that

There was a small display for those artifi-

“And rimming,” she added. I felt a tingle as

“So how does a romance writer come up

cial vaginas on the shelf. I always wondered who


actually bought those things. If I did want one, I

couldn’t imagine this sexy cashier ringing it up.

ence,” I stammered, “but most comes from a very

active imagination.”

She took the piece of latex back and laid it

“Some of it comes from personal experi-

She took my hand and led me toward the toy selection. My heart skipped several beats. I thought about how embarrassing it would be to get wheeled out of here on a stretcher.

“Can you imagine using one of these now?”

wall, and put her feet on the other two sides, giv-

Her question was steeped in suggestion.

ing me a perfect view of her shaved puss. With-

out a word I knelt down on my knees before her. I

“I’m trying to,” I confessed. Our eyes were

locked on each others’.

would have liked for the top to come off as well, but

I wasn’t going to complain.

“Can I help you with anymore... research?

I don’t want you to leave without having it all very

clear in your mind.”

labia with it,” she directed. I complied, happily.

I was speechless. She had moved closer

“Now take the little square and cover my She had a really nice looking puss. The lips

until we were almost touching. My cock was press-

were already opening for me, she was wet. I wasn’t

ing hard against my slacks, aching to come out. I

reading it wrong, she was as worked up as I was.

didn’t know whether to take the hook and hit on

her or slip out embarrassed and never come back.

it in with my fingers. Her hot lips drew it in, her

I decided I could always fall back on slinking out,

moisture causing it to adhere to the pink flesh per-

if I was reading her wrong.

fectly. It covered her but left the contour of her lips

and clit available to teasing.

“I’m still trying to get it straight in my

I laid the sheet of latex on her and worked

head,” I said, trying to seduce her with my eyes. “I

guess it is something I’m going to have to try... so I

to play with my new toy. I moved in for the real

can describe it accurately.”

test, putting my lips softly on her clit. It felt a little

strange – the latex blocked her sweet juices. I tick-

“Mind if I take a break, Shelby?” she said,

Cass let out a sultry moan as I continued

without looking away.

led her clit with my tongue and the taste of vanilla

surprised me. Cass took a sharp breath, then let it

“Nah, Cass,” the younger girl said from

somewhere on the other side of the shop. “Go

out slow.


I began working away at her hot lips. Her

Cass brushed her hand across my bulging

heat transferred deliciously, and even though I

pants and turned away. “We can go into one of the

missed the musky nectar of her juices the vanilla

dressing rooms, if you want to try one out.”

was sweet. My own tongue soon had the whole

sheet wet and her puss felt more natural to my lips

I followed her to one of the dressing rooms

in the back of the shop. She handed me the latex

– a sweet vanilla treat.

square over her shoulder as she stepped in the

door. I followed eagerly.

gers twisting in my hair, and pulling my face tight-

Cass turned, as I closed the door behind

er against her. I remembered what she had said

me, and unbuttoned her jeans. She slid them down,

about the rubber blocking some of the feeling. I

along with her panties, and stepped out of them.

pressed harder than usual with my tongue, exag-

The room was small, like most dressing rooms.

gerating the action of my lips. She reacted.

There was a bench that ran along three walls and

the door was behind me.

buried my face in her, using my teeth to increase

the sensation on her swollen clit. I heard a muffled

Cass sat on the bench, against the back

Cass was soon jerking in her seat, her fin-

I could feel she was about to climax and I

cry, then her body jerked out of control. I just held

end of my cock, rolling it just over the head. She

on for the ride, sucking hard on her clit. I had to

leaned down seductively and kissed the shaft, tak-

chuckle in delight when she wrapped her thighs

ing my aching sack into her other hand. I started to

around my head, her back banging against the

joke and ask her if that was safe, but then I thought

wall. I wondered if her friend would come check

about it. As long as the business end was covered

on us.

I guess it was.

It took a few minutes for Cass to calm

Cass kissed and sucked up and down my

down. The pressure on the sides of my head loos-

shaft, teasing me. Her left hand still held the rub-

ened, and I softly tickled her lips with my tongue.

ber on the head of my cock while her other hand

“Okay, that’s enough,” she finally said in a

massaged my balls. After a few minutes her mouth

breathy whisper, and I looked up at her and smiled.

moved to the head of my cock and she slid it grace-

Cass lifted up on my shoulders and I stood, a little

fully over – taking me in – and rolling the condom

sad that my demonstration was over. My cock was

down my length with her lips.

really throbbing in my pants. She reached out and

unbuttoned my pants. “Your turn,” she smiled. I

brace myself, as a shiver of delight swept over me.

was okay with that.

She slid back off my cock, her hand rolling the con-

dom the rest of the way down. “Did that feel good,

My pants dropped to my ankles, freeing

I couldn’t help but grab her head, trying to

my cock to stand at full length. Cass fumbled in

honey?” she cooed.

the pocket of her jeans lying on the floor and came

“Oh, yea.” I managed, with a little difficulty.

out with a condom. It looked like one of those fla-

vored ones she showed me before. She tore the

shoulders. I obediently returned to my knees. Cass

package open with her teeth.

removed the latex shield from her wet puss and

tossed it aside. I was hoping she was going to let

“Wild cherry,” she laughed, “my favorite.”

She pulled it out of the package and put it on the

She reached up and pushed down on my

me put my cock inside her. A blow job was nice,

but I wanted to bury myself in her. She apparently had the same idea.

The bench was just the right height for me,

on my knees. Her feet, still propped up on both sides, put her sweet puss at a perfect angle. I slid my length into her waiting warmth. She grunted, wantonly, digging her nails into my shoulders.

She looked past me, watching in the mirror

behind me, as I began to work my hips. I imagined her watching before, when I gorged myself on her hot puss. There were mirrors to both sides as well. She could have any view she wanted.

My cock was pounding. I could go at any-

time, but I held back for her. I could see in her eyes that it wouldn’t take her long, not after already coming under my tongue. I quickened my pace. Her nails digging in deeper told me I made the right choice.

Cass was biting her lip, her hands had

moved to squeezing her breasts instead of my shoulders. She reached down and began stroking hard on her clit. Her eyes were beaming bright, she was on the edge of ecstasy. I felt her finger press inside, her nail bumping against the crown of my cock with my every stroke. Man that felt amazing. Then her whole body began to quiver and shake.

I was with her. My stokes were getting in-

tense, slamming her back against the wall behind her. The flimsy walls of the dressing room were shaking and creaking. There was no way her buddy out in the store, or anyone else who had come in, couldn’t guess what was going on now.

My cock felt like it was going to explode.

I could feel her hot flesh tightening around me. She was still shaking, and digging her nails into my ass cheeks - pulling me in tighter. I grabbed both of her hips and slammed all I had into her as I exploded – a torrent of hot cum pouring out of me. She leaned forward and bit hard into my shoulder, muffling a ecstatic scream. All I could do was laugh.

“That was amazing,” I whispered I her ear.

She kissed my neck, then leaned back

against the wall. Her eyes were closed and her face glowed with serene satisfaction. I expected a knock on the door any minute to see what was going on. It never came. My cock relaxed and I slid back out of her, making sure my condom stayed I place. I was a little surprised I hadn’t blown the end off.

I tossed the condom in the trash and pulled

my pants back up. Cass was still basking in the after-glow. I leaned down and kissed her cheek. She roused and reached for her jeans.

“That was great,” she beamed. “If you need

to do anymore research, I’m there.”

“You will definitely be the first one I call.” I

promised. “You know, as a romance writer, I’m always looking for new and exotic variations... For my stories.”

“Call me,” she smiled, handing me a card.

“Would you let me take you out to dinner?”

I pressed.

“That would be nice,” she said, putting her

hand on my cheek. “I have to ask, though,” she said, hesitantly. “Are you married?” “Divorced.”

“Me too.”

“What time do you get off work?”


“Can I pick you up. There’s a great little

restaurant right around the corner.”

“Sure,” she smiled. “See you around five.”

I walked out of the intimate apparel shop

with a spring in my step and a smile on my face. I didn’t even care that Shelby never took her eyes off me as a walked to the door. I can only imagine the conversation when Cass came out of the dressing room. I had learned something in my fact finding mission –

Safe-Sex can definitely be erotic, with the right instructor.

Interview with a Snuff Director

I’ m

lying in bed semi - conscious , my eyelids flickering in the

direction of the

T he

BBC F our N ietzsche documentary I’ d lef t on .

distant sound of

V isage ’ s F ade


G rey

seeps through

the ceiling as my upstairs neighbour pl ays his hits of the eighties album for the hundredth time . next .

// A I

will be on

tinkle sounds from the living room .

aware of it as my phone .

V ienna


fight to stay asleep but then


I’ m


realise it ’ s

grudgingly brave the cold of the dreaded world

outside my duvet .

C lutching


my hot water bot tle


out the bedroom and try to follow the ring of my phone .


coming from my sofa but


see no phone .

W renching


a cushion it l ays fl ashing and vibrating amongst a pile of crumbs and crumpled


missed calls .


R izl a

papers . I t stops and



pick it up and head back to bed .

a warm bubble of air

I’ ve



// I nside

created inside my duvet igloo


fumble with the highly uncooperative touch screen until


see the words

again and



missed calls :

C aleb ”. I t

suddenly rings

jump startled before answering , probably quite

aggressively .


Carmin? You ok? Uh…Yeah…Why? It took you ages to answer! That’s because it’s 4 in the morning. Yeah…. You want to meet up? Sure. I can come over Friday if that’s cool? I’m leaving for Zurich in 6 hours. Right………….I’ll call a taxi… About half an hour later I’ve bundled myself into a taxi after shovelling some toast into my face and spending all of 30 seconds brushing my teeth and splodging some mascara onto my tired eyes. I can’t stand early mornings where it’s still dark, I feel like I’ve somehow cheated the night. The carnage of a Saturday night has left its’ debris on the streets. As the taxi passes through the city centre I take note of the discarded Borat mankini in the gutter, the fake tan of the Jersey Shore wannabe that’s rubbing off on the trousers of the Topshop wearing reprobate as he pummels her against a cash machine.

Somewhere in the distance a siren wails as I watch a dishevelled hen party stagger across the street in a flurry of cellulite and pink, furry angel wings. I hate going out. I arrive at Caleb’s apartment block and decide for reasons unknown to take the stairs. Panting as I reach his door I hammer a deadbeat knock and wait shivering. He opens the door in a guarded almost hesitant manner and greets me with a mechanical pat on the arm. We sit down at the breakfast bar and maybe for the last time, I switch on my Dictaphone and place it next to the china teapot. I glance about his open plan apartment. What used to be a welcoming and stylish home is now a barren landscape of open white spaces, piled high with cardboard boxes. Caleb sits down next to me and pours some tea. So you’re moving away finally?

Yeah…It’s about time. ...

I got a transfer to our head office in Zurich.

How are you moving all your stuff to Switzerland? (I gesture wildly at the myriad of boxes.) Oh.. I’m getting my assistant to deposit all this at a charity shop… Well I have to say thank you for making time for me before your big move. Well.. I only remembered you briefly as I was packing away some biscuits. I remember you asked to see me before I left. Yeah… Still tired? Knackered… So…I guess you’ll want to know how business is going? Uh…Yeah! So Caleb. How is the murdering business going? Oh splendid. Oh that’s wonderful! Silence. So…You mentioned last time that you were thinking of retiring. Have you? Yes! Well…in a way. Which means….. The transient ladies of the night are safe. That’s excellent Caleb! But the homeless of Switzerland are not.

Deep sigh I see….So when was the last time you apparently ended the life of an innocent woman? Apparently? Why the word apparently? Well… I’m trying to stay objective and to be honest….. This is the last time we’ll see each other…. I don’t think it’s likely you’re a murderer. I’ve been doing some research and in the areas where you insist you have picked up girls, there has been no record of missing persons. You probably are a killer… in your head, in a roleplaying scenario but not in reality. I think you’re actually a very lovely gentleman who likes to play mind games. Hmmm… Well yes! Well done. You’ve caught me. That’s it? Yes. Teacake? Yeah awesome! But really? Uh yes…. Silence… You look sad. I am. Why? I dunno… Was any of it real?

Yes. The girls. I took their picture, sometimes we role played. So some were wannabe models? Yes. It’s a shame you never killed them. Why’s that? Because now they’ll never be famous… What do you mean? The chances of being famous from modeling are slim, but falling prey to a serial killer makes you immortal. No one ever remembers the victim. I do..sometimes… I always thought they were glamorous. Dumpsites always look so stylised, I think it’s the ring flash. Haha. You’re a strange one. Did you meet me in the hope of immortal glamour? Maybe… Sorry to disappoint you… It’s ok. I better get back to bed. Thanks for all you cooperation. We make a lame attempt at a hug goodbye and I head out the door.

I’m halfway to the lift when I hear a scurry of footsteps approaching. I turn around and see Caleb clutching a brown package. He shoves it at me before winking. It’s a rather odd wink with a hint of a smile that I’ve never seen before. It seems inappropriate and before I say thank you he heads back inside. Outside in the snow I hail a black cab and slump in the back. I rip open the brown paper to reveal an immaculate Tom Ford shoe box. I open it to find crumpled up newspaper articles of little significance. There’s a gap between the paper ruffles and I shove my hand in enthusiastically, maybe looking for some parting gift.

Something sharp pricks my finger and as I gaze in amongst the faded headlines I see the root of a large wisdom tooth, amidst a pile of many others.




Have you ever/would you ever let a man or woman indulge in some foot fetishism with you? Eg. Sucking your toes, licking your soles? -- Deni

Scanning the words “licking” and “soles” a cold shiver ran over me. I have nothing against foot fetishists, I find their worshipping of the foot and its attributes rather endearing but when it comes to myself an awkward geekiness takes hold. Have you ever watched that scene in 40 Year Old Virgin, where the girl sucks on Andy’s toe and he kicks her in the face, breaking her nose? That would be me, I’m ridiculously ticklish. Any romantic endeavour aimed at my trotters has resulted in myself squealing and squawking like a tropical rainforest creature, ending in my kicking and rolling around like a toddler forced to go to bed early. I can however, endure a foot rub, but only if there’s plenty of notice and it hasn’t been sprung on me. I still shriek and wriggle around though. Although I respect foot fetishism, I seldom understand it. I grasp it’s mainly a woman’s foot that is seen as attractive and it’s due to the curves of the arches being desirable as they mimic the curves of the female form. I think it also has something to do with it being somewhat submissive, caressing a lady’s tootsies being the utmost act of worship. However I once did a shoot for an adult website that involved my toes being bound in rope. Foot bondage was quite new to me and I lay on a futon with my hoofs in the air entangled in a variety of positions thinking “What the fuck is this all about?” I also get the odd request for pictures of my feet and I once got asked at a shoot to wear lots of different heels with dildos positioned nearby. The disembodied snaps seeming somewhat like a private collection of a serial killer. Jerry Brudos’ love for feet started at age 5 when

he rescued a pair of high heels from a rubbish pile. His love grew well into his teens and he ran rampant around the neighbourhood stealing ladies’ shoes. Eventually in his later years his crime escalated to murdering young women, cutting off their left foot so he could pose them in a variety of stolen shoes. A storyline from CSI also springs to mind where a murderer’s love for feet started when he was a young boy and his mother worked as a prostitute. While engaged in her sordid endeavours he was ordered to hide under the bed where the only part of his mother he saw was her feet. I’m in no way saying foot fetishists are deviant serial killers haha! My point being that in these instances it seems to be the shoes themselves that are the focal point of the adoration. I think this mainly comes down to the high heel being the utmost symbol of femininity and sexuality. Maybe I’m reading into it too much. I also recently got asked to partake in a rather peculiar interview where I was asked how many times I squash bugs, what my favourite bugs to squash are and other variations of bug squishing questions. The interview then ended with me being asked to include a photo of my foot next to a dead bug. I declined as I couldn’t fathom what was going on in the interviewers head. Whether the main focus of the interview was the bugs themselves or my feet stamping on bugs, I don’t know. However, I digress. Would I ever indulge in foot fetishism. I definitely wouldn’t rule it out as I see the sensual and caring nature to it. If only I wasn’t so ticklish!


I only vaguely knew of The Night Porter when I was younger because whenever Charlotte Rampling was on the TV my Dad would shout “Nazi!” before wondering off in a huff. I went on to discover that lovely Rampling merely played the character of a victim of a Nazi. Stupid bigoted parents. Regardless I’ve always had a penchant for the sexier side of the Third Reich and was excited to finally watch The Night Porter after years of drooling at the poster. First time round I was slightly distracted, so I found myself spending the first 10 minutes ogling Charlotte’s beautiful and fragile angelic being and wanting to brush her hair. I dithered into the kitchen for a moment and on returning discovered the spectacle of a naked, male ballerina cavorting around what looked like an abandoned hospital. His muscles bulging and his eyes staring wildly as every pirouette journeyed him around a parade of SS men as they slouched around watching with indifference. One of the most romantic films I’ve ever endured, the psychological manipulation was an emotional ride for myself as I loved and loathed Dirk Bogarde and gazed in splendour at the marvellous Rampling. All I want for my birthday is an SS cap and a set of braces.


Radiantly beautiful and button nosed Jessica is en route from New York in a hearse along with her husband and his best friend to a house (The Bishop House) they’ve newly purchased in the backwaters of bumpkinville. Plagued my mental illness, the road to recovery is an arduous one for Jessica but she ploughs headlong trying to revive her psyche. That is until the discovery of a squatter in the house. Fresh faced, free spirited Emily seems like little of a threat and feeling compassionate, Jessica invites her to stay. Little does she know of Emily’s telepathic Succubus skills as she beds her man and his best friend. Meanwhile things aren’t what they seem in the nearby village. Why are all the occupants old men covered in bandages? Are the stories of an infamous drowning at the Bishop House true? Is the drowned girl really still alive today, functioning as a vampire? And who is that quaint, mute girl who keeps following Jessica around? Are all these occurrences real or are they symptoms of Jessica’s descent back into the grips of insanity? Quite terrible but chilling and entertaining, that is until the anti-climactic ending. Surely one of the worst. After Jessica’s husband converts into a vampire and his best friend gets slaughtered on a tractor, Jessica runs headlong into the twilight in her nightie. Escaping the village on a tiny wooden dingy she is attacked from underwater by some random, highly irrelevant doctor who she kills by pricking him to death with an ineffective stick. Then she is free…

trainer, dietician, makeup artist,

[ 21 ] Adele

Adele, a boring, overweight London teenager who hasn’t been anywhere except maybe


to see Tottenham away against West Ham believing there was going to be free bacon sandwiches involved. Struggling through high school as an “outsider” in other words an under-educated, chubby, spotty, unfit, socially awkward bore. She finds herself a “man” more than likely some scally from a high rise blighted council estate, selling stolen mobile phones and knocked off Louie Viton purses to his “man’s’ n’ dem” to get himself a “likkle bag for weekend innit”. Almost certainly a dare more than love on his behalf.

Anyway she gets her

“heart” broken by her first teenage love, when he stays the night at the mother of his youngest child’s or some other Jeremy Kyle situation. This she manages to drone on about for an awe inspiring 11 songs. Whining on about how real women have curves or some other such neo-feminist propaganda, all the while taking full advantage of the personal

personal shopper, hair stylist, P.R manager, tanning salon etc… provided to her by some faceless company following MySpace chatter to sign acts.

All so she can become

the shallow talentless whore that her followers pretend they don’t want to be, because they bought into the bollocks her label told her to sing about. It really is incredible how far promoting social schizophrenia can get you. Effectively what Adele and her record label masters have done is to publicly lynch the Nazi leaders with their right hand while selling you copies of Mein Kampf with their left. The main message here is to tell fat, lonely mixed up females, that they don’t need to lose weight or have a man, or go outside, Ikea and Iceland is all you need to be happy. At the same time as taking somebody who you looked up to because you were so alike and doing a complete image 360, so in reality you have no fucking idea why you bought this drivel that says one thing but does another. Congratulations you are an individual just like all the rest.

richest record subsidiaries in the “urban” market. They in no


way became so rich by giving all their money to their artists.

[ Unapologetic ]

On average, in the USA

As somebody who has never

the label receives 47cents per

been shy of publicly and often

sale, this is divided at 19cent

loudly stating my opinion, I

for the label 19cent for the

often come across a certain

artist and 9cents for the song

argument when discussing

writer. This is more or less

mainstream music. This is

standard on most recording

that I’m just jealous because

contracts for major labels. So

up dancers, make-up artists,

an artist is making millions

let’s say Rihanna sells 20mil-

a choreographer. All of whom

and millions of dollars/pounds.

lion albums (which is a gross

more than likely have people

Normally when this argument

exaggeration) she will make

they also need to employ like

arises I let it slide. Who am I to

$380 000. This in theory

sound and lighting people, bus/

burst these peoples’ bubbles?

sounds like a lot but after taxes

limo drivers… All of this begins

However since you are read-

of 20% makes $3 610 000,

to eat away at those millions

ing this I assume you have the

this sounds like an awful lot of

eh? So now she is in debt from

intelligence to read and under-

money, but then consider that

record sales and has to eat

stand cold hard facts. Let us

Rihanna has had more than

into the money she gets from

take Rihanna as an example for

likely an at least $1 000 000

touring, just to pay for her

my point; Rihanna is signed to

record advance that she has

tour, spending 250 days on the

Def Jam records, one of the

to pay back before she can

road a year all to maybe make

make a penny. That takes her

a million that again is taxed. So

total down to $2 610 000, then

the argument that these art-

her manager takes 17.5% so

ists are talented because they

take £443 700 away from that,

make millions is nonsense!

an album sells for $16 of which

which leaves her with £2 166 300. That money she is making sure seems to be taking a hit huh? So now she has to set up a tour to promote her album, this means that she has to employ and therefore pay at the very least a tour manager, a road manager, back


BY Christopher Fowler When my friend first handed me Spanky I guffawed with an awkward sense of embarrassment. When I took it home my husband flung it in my wardrobe with a contemptuous hurl of having been polluted by a snotty hanky. The highly homoerotic depiction of a brawny jock in the tightest latex briefs imaginable accompanied with latex stockings, angel wings and stilettos is actually a far cry from the content of the book.

Martyn finds himself as a single twenty

something nobody in a run-down neighbourhood in London, sharing a mouldy apartment with a conspiracy nut. Working a mundane job in a bathroom shop he can only dream of a better life as his crippling low self-esteem holds him back from accomplishing his desires. That is until a chance encounter in a crowded nightclub with a much more charming, better looking, better dressed, richer version of himself, Spanky. Spanky promises him everything he’s ever dreamed of, but at what price?

Super violent, full of sex and slightly

entertaining in a light kind of way, Spanky the book, rather like the demon, promises the earth in the form of an occult odyssey but actually delivers only wasted time. Low brow and cringingly campy.


Following the theme of campy horrors, I found the Haunting of Hill House in a bag of discarded books outside my front door. Having seen the wonderful film adaptation I was eager to read it and delved in hoping for some fearsome tale of utmost ghoulishness.

Dr John Montague, paranormal re-

searcher invites four strangers to the notorious Hill House to investigate the strange events that have been taking place for over 80s years. Main character Eleanor is thrust into a social ordeal as she feels outcast from the rest of the team, but in search of her own fulfilment takes on the challenge in order to rid herself of the grief she faces after the death of her mother.

There are a couple chilling passages at

best but as you feel engaged by the characters, the quest for horror subsides as you feel pulled towards the relationships between the team. Not much investigation actually takes place as the majority of the team’s time is spent mocking the housekeeper over sherry and chess, but highly entertaining none the less. Although I initially set out to be scared by tales of revengeful ghosts, by the time I reached the end I was frightened by a more primeval presence, the human psyche.

Aries Aryans are renowned for their decision making skills which will come in handy when you have to decide whether to go to your wife’s funeral or head to that awesome naked housewives, DMT and cats wearing top hats party. Taurus Being the stubborn, insolent bulls that you are you’ll have difficulty in being persuaded to head to that STD clinic you’re in desperate need of attending, even though your blue waffle is taking on gargantuan proportions. Gemini You sly two faced cunt. Being nice to your boss’ face, even taking them pastries for breakfast….then pissing a homeless guy’s rectum blood on their beef wellington and calling it “jus”. Cancer You will die in a retro chill wave/squirrel related tragedy, only to be reincarnated as Jean Shrimpton thus taking on 19 nervous breakdowns and eventually becoming a decrepit moron who screams at cheese.

Leo Your hair is far too long and you must cease with this hideous hair growth nonsense forthwith, or your night time licking shenanigans will result in a hairball of Minnie Driver’s forehead proportions. Virgo You dirty virgin! Die immediately! You’re polluting this precious Earth with your disgusting purity making us all look like concubines of Pompeii. Joke’s on you as you contract aids by sharing the office teaspoon. Libra Being the well balanced individual that you are you’re great at playing umpire. Which will come in handy when you have to decide who wins the ultimate battle: Sergeant Syphilis Panda vs Nigella Lawson. Scorpio To come to terms with your inner Scorpion you’ll traverse many a desert in the quest for a perfect specimen. However, just at that precious moment when you’re about to place said scorpion in a “mason” jar, it grabs hold of your foreskin and swings for the heavens.

Sagittarius What is a Sagittarius? Some sort of steroid ingesting sheep? You will ingest steroids. Your personality will shrink to the size of your tiny balls but your self-esteem will reach the size of your freakish biceps. Swings and roundabouts. Capricorn Or maybe it’s a Capricorn that’s a mutant sheep. I forget. Have you seen that film The Dark with Sean Bean? Probably the only time Wales looked interesting. Kind of… Aquarius Ironically after trading places with a seal via Ouija board you will drown on your own vomit after consuming out of date alcopops. Is it even called alcopops anymore? Pisces Oh no wait, it’s Pisces’ that are into the whole water thing. You will contract gonorrhoea from a koala today.


THANKS AMW Conner, JG Foto, Rich Saunders,

Alan Pedroso, Brittany Ann Selditch, Brian Firth, Ed Fox, Betty and George Woodman, Julz Ramos, Lady Libertine Tristessa Scrabble Blackout, Jiri Ruzek, Larry Bradby, Maxwell Cynn, Mikhail, Caleb Colton, Sebastian Alexander-Stamatis,


Vincent Crowley.

June 1st

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