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The Forest Book of Bedtime Stories was born in the hours which follow meetings, the hours of liquor and suggestiveness. The hours in which, under a thick cloak of Cockborn’s Reserve Port, we question what it is to be literary: whether we are not, perhaps, suited to something a little more upfront, a little more base.

There is a tendency among some of us to lean more towards the horizontal than the historic, particularly as the slump of winter comes upon us and we draw the curtains closed. As such, we requested from our friends they crawl into the filthier recesses of their imaginations and dredge up something which would tickle our fancies. This year, our Christmas present to you is some things we hope will warm your heart and get you out of your stockings.

What lies inside are tales that hang in the tricky balance of smut. These are not the cheap titillation of your newsprint-stained fingers working over Page 3. They are not content to hint, to nudge, to snicker behind palms at what is going on. We come to you honestly and say: this is what we think about.

Please: take your desires in hand and indulge…

I’m happy to have two kind of sexxxy poems in this fine anthology. One involves sex with Italian food and one is, essentially, an ode to a stranger’s bum. There’s also other great stuff including Ben Morris’ “Sextina”, stories about vampires (everyone loves vampires) and doing it with octopuses. A perfect coffee-table book or Valentine’s Day gift for that special someone. Let us know how you get on. xxl, R