You should not give canines chocolate; similarly, human dawgs should thus be teased.
Both illustrations by A. K. MacDonald appeared in the February 28 1934 issue of The Sketch and are titled Delikatessen!
The Sketch, one of Ingram's "Illustrated Newspapers" was published in London from 1893-1959. The publication was "entertainment for the masses," focusing on music hall, vaudeville, early cinema, pin-up, high society, sporting occasions and light gossip. Just our cup of tea! It began as a weekly publication & then was published fortnightly from mid-WW2 onwards.
Katherine Heigl Under Siege From Celebrity Sleuth Magazine, 1996
Two pages of chatter about Katherine Heigl -- with photos, of course -- found in a 1996 issue of Celebrity Sleuth (Ingenudes 9, "Issue #69!")
Billed as a "Beauty To B-Hold" and promising to deliver talk of Under Siege 2 (where Heigl appeared with Steven Seagal), most of the article is spent dishing like gossipy school girls, turning nothing into a risque giggle-fest.
For all the underage innocence Katherine exudes {like in this hands-on candid from a Seventeen magazine bash in '94, facing top left}, there's also been a dark territory hidden behind her squeaky-clean surface {like the dark cleavage, bottom left}. And isn't that Sandra Taylor with her hands up next to Katherine in a scene from Seige? (middle right) -- Taylor used to be Penthouse Centerfold Sandi Korn.
Seriously?
Seriously.
The majority of the film-focused talk is on the 1993 Disney flick, My Father, the Hero, Heigl made with Gerard Depardieu. From the blue box on the second scan, titled Ingenews:
"The smirkiest touch in My Father, the Hero involves parading naughty little Nicole {Heigl's character} in a thong swimsuit (below right)," fumed one critic, while another angrily wrote, "Some Americans in the audience might well cluck their tongues at the way the skimpily attired 14-year-old Heigl's body is exploited by {director Steve} Miner's camera." Now add to that the twisted incest plot-twist, and we discover Disney's real definition of "family" entertainment: "When Nicole falls for a hunky local, she concocts a jealousy-making scheme to rope him in. She pretends {dad} Gerard Depardieu is actually her lover and an international spy. The vacationers all think he's a child molester and give him scorching stares." ____________
Disney was nervous about the film before its release, as evidenced by the post-production makeover Katherine's costume received for previews. Bottom right: "Disney wanted to market My Father by showing its trailer along with G-rated movies. Unfortunately, Heigl's outfit didn't quite have the, um, material to play the lion King crowd {as opposed to the Loin King crowd!}. A quick digital paint job meant the Mouse could have its cheesecake and eat it too."
___________
THE SCENE: "I'm going to the beach," Katherine tells her protective papa. "Aah," Gerard gasps, grabbing her discarded towel. "What are you wearing?" he stammers. "My bathing suit," Katherine responds. "Are you sure you didn't leave part of it in the box?" he demands. "Get real, Andre," Katherine crows, flaunting her cheeks to the poolsiders. "Everybody's wearing them." "Everybody's staring at you," he blithers -- following after her bouncing buns with the towel.
I'm rushing to post this because hubby, who regularly reads at the A.V. Club and Metafilter, told me there's been some heavy panting over Oh mighty Isis! and we both knew that I had recently bought at auction a magazine with The Secret of Isis: JoAnna Cameron.
The trouble was, which one? Well, I took the time to page through the stack of vintage & retro mags just for you -- and those Metafilter and Onion folks. Oh, the things I do for you...
But I found it: Inside Celebrity Sleuth's Network Nudes Volume 2, 1986 by Trianon Publications, Inc. (pages 44-45), photos from Cameron's topless and other scanty appearances in Peeled, B.S. I Love You, and Pretty Maids All in a Row.
Slip of a Girl has been sharing photos from the Fall 1951 issue of Photography Workshop (#3). The photos are from, and most of the issue devoted to, "Assignment in Studio 61", an artistic experiment in which 12 photographers photograph the same items. Here's a more precise description from the publication itself:
Each photographer was shown into a studio room that contained an assortment of interesting props. Each was also given a dozen sheets of test pictures for selecting one to three models. Working within the confines of this one studio room and with these particular props and subjects, the photographer was then to let his imagination loose and make any sort of photographs that came into his mind -- portraits, still lifes, figure studies, abstractions or fashion pictures.
The most recent photo she's shared comes from photo-journalist W. Eugene Smith, who was at the time a staff photographer for Life magazine. There are 20 more photos, little 2 & 1/2 inch squares, which I'm showing here -- not just because of their nudity, but because of the text published along with the photos.
We begin with the first paragraph (of four), written as an introduction by the publication:
W. Eugene Smith, an intense, congenial, 33-year-old photographer whose work we have admired for the past decade, approached the Studio 61 project with some reluctance. To Gene, a photograph is no simple matter of tripping a shutter. It is a profound personal experience. He insists on becoming, through his camera, intimately involved in his subject. He approaches the scene of picture making with a "desperate terror" that he will fail to record the perfect picture. The perfect picture, he explains with passionate vagueness, is a "three-dimensional, or mental essay" on the subject, and anything less than this is a humiliation just short of death.
The text continues to say that the photographer spent from dusk to dawn at the studio and still, "as usual, he was not satisfied with the results."
He only allowed the prints to be seen and published "after getting our promise to run his testimony that the pictures were to be considered only as 'finger exercises' for limbering up a subject."
And then Gene's own words were printed -- I find them fascinating:
I had just returned from Spain and a story that had involved my emotions to the exhaustion point, when it was suggested that I do this trick for the Workshop. All right, I thought, for once I would do pictures in which there was no need to be emotionally involved.
In that night of work, the nearer I got to shooting, the more upset I got. I soon realized that I couldn't compromise my integrity. I had no definite statement to make with a subject brought illogically into an assortment of props. I was trying to compose nothing into nothing. What I am interested in, as a photo-journalist, is truth. You would not ask Arthur Miller to write an Olsen and Johnsen musical. Nor would you ask William Faulkner to write an advertisement for Maidenform brassieres.
I objected to the layout treatment given my pictures. There were arbitrarily cut into twenty small squares by the editors. I never compose in squares, and when I do compose with the camera that I used that night -- a Contax -- I compose to the edge. Most of the time that night, I was searching and operating the camera for the sole purpose of relaxing my subject. I started taking pictures to build to something in the same way that a play is rehearsed; you allow the the thing to grow. (How many times have I taken a three rolls of of pictures as fast as I could! Just to get the subject to bored and unaware of of the camera.) Sometimes I wouldn't even have bothered to focus.
I feel that these odd scraps of pictures should not be published. No one would think of playing all the disconnected musical fragments Beethoven wrote in the construction of a symphony.
I aim to devote my camera to sincere presentation of character. I want to express this character accurately. Recently, I withdrew a print from an exhibition of mine -- a print that several critics had called one of my best photographs. I withdrew it because, since taking the the picture, I had come to know the subject better. My understanding of that person had changed; I had lost respect for this person and did not believe that he deserved the dignity that the portrait conveyed. To me, then, the picture was a fraud.
I would like to take my Studio 61 subject, study her for weeks, and then photograph her again. Perhaps, then, I could show in pictures what she truly is, who she is, why she is.
At the risk of sounding like your Art 101 instructor, here's what fascinates me about Smith's words and work...
I can't help but wonder what the photos looked like before the editor cropped them to those small squares... For example, #15 is the cropped version of the latest one at Slip's blog; there's certainly a huge difference in the appeal to me.
And after reading Smith's words, I cringe at the obviously non-linear order the photos are presented in (yes, they are shown in the order presented on the page); it seems more insult to injury to have destroyed any attempt to show the growing story.
I also cringed every single time Smith used the word "pictures" rather than photographs (and then again when I typed it). This due to former my art instructors who insisted we use the word "photograph"; like "painting", it separated art from doodles, graphics & other visual things, and also distinguished one form of art from another. Perhaps this is not necessary to the conversation today; but, hey, it's my blog.
Speaking of art...
I would have enjoyed the photographs more (or at least most of them -- certainly some are 'better' than others to me) had I not read Smith's words. But knowing what I know now, I must say it begs the question that I once threw at my art instructor when she showed us images of a Venus statue buried deep in a garbage pit, found by archaeologists, then proffered as "art": Is it really art if the artist himself is dissatisfied? If art is expression & communication, and the artist is unhappy with his result, then can it really be called art?
If not, then Smith's displeasure at the photographs renders them what... pornography? Maybe not, because while I like many of the photos, I don't find them arousing. (Hmm, well, maybe #6; but that's because I have breasts and I can feel the coldness emanating off of the metal headboard finger my bare -- not touching the headboard, but merely near it -- breast.) Then again, I don't get aroused by much of what is called "pornography." But as the photos were cropped, adjusted by an editor, would that make the editor the pornographer? Similarly, if I like them in any way, does that make the editor the artist?
And if the photos had both pleased Smith and aroused me, could they really be porn at all -- because Smith himself defines his work as pictures that show "what she truly is, who she is, why she is" and, since no one is "all arousing all the time" (no matter what your lover says!), doesn't that remove all possibility of his nude photographs being porn at all?
Maybe then the photos are indeed just 'pictures' or snaps like anyone with a camera would take. But they were not taken by just anyone; they are photos by W. Eugene Smith.
Does his credibility change, do his words change in meaning -- or your interpretation thereof -- when you learn that Smith was institutionalized at Bellevue a year or so prior to his taking the photos?
"Her Legs Aren't Legs, They're Dramatic Exclamation Points!"
More from Tip Top magazine, this a bit of gossip about Jill St. John from Notes On The Leg Line, "News and comments from the leg-watching world", a column by Goodwin Stephens:
I only remembered Jill St. John as a Bond Girl (she played Tiffany Case opposite Sean Connery in Diamonds Are Forever) when I watched Bond Girls Are Forever. That was released in 2002 and Jill looked fabulous.
Oddly enough, I do remember her as being in Hart To Hart with hubby Robert Wagner -- and Jill was only in the pilot episode.
Since the Tip Top bit features a photo of Jill St. John stripping in The Oscar (a film I've yet to see), here's the scene:
Tip Top magazine billed itself as a "cultural, scientific, and sociological publication produced and distributed as adult educational material aimed at illuminating on-going changes in contemporary patterns of societal behavior" -- but that was just to be allowed to sell & distribute smut. The magazine's tagline, "From the Tip of the Toes to the Top of the Hose," tells a better story of its true nature as a mag for nylon, pantyhose and stockings fetishists.
It's not a teasing peek-a-boo type of men's magazine but an explicit retro publication, with lots of natural (i.e. hairy) pussies shown spread wide open above those stockings, garters, & high heels. Not only does this magazine clearly remove any notions that "old porn was always classier", but I couldn't resist saying that this woman with glasses was no Tina Fey.
Not only do the babes wear hosiery, but they love it so much the lick it -- and of course, that leads to licking and screwing one another.
Tip Top, a Parliament Publication, Volume 10, Number 1 (August, September, October, 1970)' published by Jaybird Enterprises, Inc.
Having fallen in love with Queen Marie, I was thrilled to discover in the February 22, 1941 issue of Liberty magazine "Madame Pompadour Of Rumania: The Story of Magda Lupescu and King Carol" by Frederick L. Collins.
Billed as a "new drama in the vivid chronicle of a red-haired woman who ruled a monarch", the story reads like fiction -- an exploitative fictionalized biography with a huge emphasis on lurid depictions of Magda, "the beautiful half-Jewess."
I don't own this magazine; Pop Tart does (she let me read it and sent me these scans) and as I still owe her some magic beans for the Pink Pussycat goodies I can't dare dream of it (yet). However, as this is part four of the serialized story, I'd have at least five more issues to get anyway. (The soap-opera styled teaser at the end promises the next chapter, not the last chapter.) Saved eBay search, here I come.
A limited number of classic original art works from Playboy's legendary archives are being via Heritage Auction Galleries on October 15.
Playboy—The Art of Beauty is a "selected group of 16 sexy, humorous artworks represents some of Playboy’s most renowned contributors, including Alberto Vargas, LeRoy Neiman and Gahan Wilson, as well as four full-length, full-color Little Annie Fannie strips by Harvey Kurtzman."
Should your pockets be deeper than mine, you can view the offerings and bid here -- and if your pockets are deeper than mine, please consider donating winnings to me.
The Beloved Brat, by James Street, an article on Fannie Brice as published in Radio Guide, week ending Sept 22, 1939. (Many thanks to Pop Tart for scanning & sending!) Along with photos of Fannie as Baby Snooks, there are photos of Fannie with her children, Frances & Bill, from her marriage to Nicky Arnstein -- including one of Fannie helping Frances "don 'sock and buskin'" for Frances' debut, at the age of 17, in Ziegfeld's "Follies" in 1936.
Sadly, this is just part one of The Beloved Brat, but the article ends on a rather whimsical note (links added for reader assistance):
The character [Baby Snooks] was created eighteen years ago, quite by accident. There was a song called "Poor Pauline" going the rounds. It was a take-off on the "Perils of Pauline," the old movie thriller. Fannie was at a friend's house one night and sang the song as a child might. It clicked, and Moss Hart and Dave Freedman wrote lines for Fannie and she used "Snooks" in the Follies. Today Miss Brice is "Baby Snooks," not the wife who sang "My Man." The giddy era has passed.
At the top of the heap, she married Billy Rose, but that one didn't take. Mr. Rose and Eleanor Holm are betrothed. Miss Holm is working for Mr. Rose at the New York Fair and recently she was late for a cue. Mr. Rose asked how come, and his sweetheart told him she had been laughing so much at a radio program that she forgot the time. The program was "Baby Snooks" singing "The Little Fishes."
And so the woman who made the world cry with "My Man" now plays a brat who amuses the woman who won one of Brice's men.
3)Foundation garments inspired by the fashions of Queen Victoria and King Edward.
4)Just Like Us?: "What's the point of a portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire with the politics left out? The new film version works well as a study in misogyny, argues Amanda Vickery, but spare us the cod psychologising and allusions to Princess Di."
A center-fold presentation of what radio and movie talent-scouts looked for... I guess a gal really had to measure-up for radio too.
(Click to read the huge scan.)
Posed by Lillian Cornell, NBC singer, who typifies those qualities sought by the alert talent-scout. Photographs by Maurice Seymour.
From Radio Guide, week ending Sept 22, 1939 -- thanks to Pop Tart (who also put up a quiz from this issue, along with answers at CQ) for sending it to me!
It's not just the seemingly strangeness of the fishnet being such a common prop throughout the years (I can only surmise such themes in nude art photography are the continuing exploration of the "catch a mermaid" fantasy), but the text itself which made these images memorable enough to warrant me lugging that box & folder out to the couch again for another sorting.
These few pages were torn from Figurette, Figure File For Artists, No.3; so along with the photos there is helpful text for the wanna-be artist -- text which legitimized and protected publications with nude women too. So the text, while you may wish to dismiss it in your quest to see more vintage naked boobies, is key here.
Figurette presents a handy, inexpensive guide to the anatomy and constructions of the female figure. The photographs are designed to aid and encourage the reader in the study of art and photography, being of special advantage to the amateur artist in enabling him to further his study of art through the medium of photography. Because it is impossible to draw, accurately, from memory, the artist is encouraged to work from the photographs. Both artist and photographer, in achieving success, must develop dexterity in depicting the human form. Figurette supplies invaluable, authentic copy on proportions, lighting, posing, composition and other facets of figure art as an aid in this comprehensive study.
On the flip side:
Twisting, turning, ever wending curves are the artistic result of the pose achieved in the study above. The netting used in both of these pictures illustrates the point that such props lose validity unless they serve to highlight contours or mood. In these cases they do neither. Photographs by Glamourarts.
In case you weren't reading for comprehension -- and I suspect that's quite a few here as well as the majority of original owners of Figurette magazine -- let me point out that the (at least) three photos, including the full page one inside the front cover, are published as examples of what not to do.
I would think such exploitative use of nudes as the "bad examples" would, if done often enough, have been enough to undermine the very "artistic guide status" Figurette boasted of and likely used to beat the censors.
However, censors themselves were likely to be distracted by the "twisting, turning, ever wending curves" in the photographs & so mistake the wording of the second line as a "to do". The last line (if read at all), the: "In these cases they do neither," became an irony lost.
If husbands only knew how much they are missing they would not wait another moment to read "Sex Fulfillment In Marriage." Many men (even those who have been married a long time) don't get half the delight because they don't know the knack of sexual intercourse!
The ad boasts of "Sex Charts and Explanations", including the female sex organs, "front and side views... The Internal Sex Organs... The External Sex Organs... Entrance to Female Genital Parts..." (Click to read the large scan.)
Playgirl, it is rumored -- but not confirmed, officially bites the dust, or at least will have the sheet pulled over it's non-seeing eyes.
I feel badly about it, actually. I know Playgirl wasn't really, effectively, a women's mag, and as a gay man's mag, it certainly had a lot to learn; proving that Hefner's (especially later-day, modern Playboy) cookie-cutter approach of selling mags to men couldn't translate to any real knowledge of sex. Sorry, Hef, but that's the damn truth of it. (And, if I may say so, the last seven times I've seen you, you didn't just look tired &/or old; you looked miserably unhappy -- are you sick & tired of playing the corporate icon role?)
Gracie (of many, many sites) & I spent an hour or more on the phone discussing the comatose status of Playgirl a few weeks ago -- before we knew the life support was pulled. Perhaps we'll have to elaborate on the many ways Playgirl missed it's mark (hetero women) and any other mark (gay men) with their poor aim and bland Marks. Its failure is rather complicated in the details.
And for the record, yeah, I've bought copies. Gracie too. And we've read them. They just didn't inspire much of anything, let alone to purchase issues more than a handful of times. Mainly we just mocked it, page by page. (Best when done with your gal-pals, by the way; otherwise, you just get angry that you bought it & that they published such a bad magazine.) It also made a great gag gift; right up there with inflatable penis hats, crossword puzzle toilet paper, and blow-up sheep dolls... Come to think of it, I've given more of those sheep away than any other novelty. But I digress.
With all that is wrong with Playgirl, I sill feel a loss at it's (probable) passing.
It's not just "one less dirty magazine", but an example of how the business of arousal requires some sense of intelligence -- something I'd been wishing Playgirl would have matured into, finally offering a real publication for women. Or at least admitting they were for men, and going for that. Either way, some smarts would be nice -- and likely ensure its survival. More smut, to me, is a good thing; more intelligent smut is a great thing.
Maybe Playgirl's death is just a mean rumor. In that case, I hope they're reading here and learning something.
Bodies all over the place, everywhere you looked, stumbling over each other trying to be next in line. Where do they all come from?
There was a while, back during the late 1960s and on into the '70s, when I was buying people by the ton. It sure seemed that way, at least. After Greenleaf Classics began buying magazines filled with photos of naked people packaged by outside contractors, I began growing annoyed with the types of people they were using as models. Somehow, they were doing things all wrong, I contended. They should be paying attention to what those people look like at least, and cleaning up some of them considerably ahead of time.
Naturally, I figured I could pick desirable people out as well as the next guy, and hopefully a little bit better while I was at it. I had no sooner begun contacting Los Angeles area modeling agencies when they started barraging me with telephone calls themselves. I had no idea there were so many modeling agencies in the entire state, much less in Hollywood alone. Each one of those agencies had loose leaf notebooks filled with Polaroid photos of naked people for me to look at…lots and lots of loose leaf notebooks. It was much easier that way, flipping the pages, looking at the naked people trying to smile up at me from within those loose leaves.
Earl Kemp also, literally, exposes himself...
And others too...
Occasionally, and just for fun, I would insert photographs of personal friends without their knowledge, in the nude, into some of our various publications. Then, after the publication appeared, give them copies of it and point them out inside the issue. Without exception, every one of them was pleased with the surprise and passed copies of them around among their friends.
In a similar jest, I would also insert close-up photos of myself without showing my face into those books or magazines. At one time, most of the black cork wall on one side of my office was pinned with tear sheets of just me, and not one person working there knew it was me. I recall taking my cue for this from Alfred Hitchcock, who always inserted himself into each of his productions. I figured I could easily outcock Hitchcock, and I did.
Continue reading this issue of Kemp's fanzine for more on Song of the Loon, the work "that started a mini revolution in sleaze book publishing," the film Adultery for Fun and Profit, and the film's aftermath too -- featuring lots of great old ephemera and lurking federal government guys.
Dorm Room Rabbit Doll For College Men Who Went On Panty Raids & Read Playboy
Zine Girls is offering this vintage 24" plush "Collegiate Rabbit Doll", which is said to be a mail order only official Playboy item offered in the 50's & 60's.
These are the details:
- White cloth doll with Plush head and hands - Rabbit wears a College Letterman Sweater with white "P" - White corduroy pants with Plastic Shoes - Glossy Button eyes, black yarn Mouth, pink felt Nose
Every Man Thinks He Can Handle Two Pussies, But...
This man's face says that more than one pussy is rather perplexing.
Found in a 1957 (January, Nr 1) issue of Tidlösa, a vintage Swedish nudist publication. (Remember, that's "nudist publication" not "sexy men's magazine".)
I snapped this at a gas station which has high trucker use. It's a crappy photo, taken quickly for fear a man would enter or exit the restroom, but in case you've never seen such a rest stop...
The display of men's mags is placed right outside the men's room, covering part of the doorway, to inspire an impulse purchase. However, it is accompanied by a sign reading, "Magazines must be purchased before taken in the restrooms. Thank You."
I was digging through that Paramount folder again, looking at all the bits of paper & wondering why this or that was cut, torn or otherwise selected out of publications & designated as "keep". One bit that intrigues me is this bit of a page titled Hollywood Hurly Burly.
Host Conrad Hilton, hotel tycoon, flanked by Ann Miller, left, and Esther Williams.
Never at a loss on ways for having a party, Hollywood stars found an ideal cause for having a shindig and high-priced slapstick floor show -- with receipts going to charity.
Lana Turner, Debbie Reynolds, Ben Gage and Carleton Carpenter start off the hurly burly.
I believe there was more to the article but so far have only found this page. It appears to be intact because the flip-side, of Japanese Sumo wrestlers, has a page number (17) along the bottom. I show that to you now because A) some folks find sumo wrestlers sexy &/or B) you are a highly suspicious person (and with our current administration, who isn't?)
LUMBERING
Lumbering mountains of flesh collide as these two 400-pound Japanese Sumo wrestlers exhibit a mammoth display of brute strength. They look like Egyptian belly dancers as they try to heave each other over the rope.
About Jack: From 1988 to 2000 Jack Hafferkamp published/edited Libido: The Journal of Sex and Sensibility with Marianna Beck. Since then he has operated Libido Films, which specializes in gender-equal explicit erotica. Libido films have been honored at the annual Erotic Awards in London and featured at New York's Cinekink festival. Jack holds a Ph.D. in Human Sexuality, specializing in Erotology, which is the material culture of sex.
Call in with questions & comments will be taken at 1 (646) 200-3136.
Prostitutes in Lyons, France sent a fax to the government to complain that they are losing business to Eastern European women who are protected by the Albanian mafia.
Okay, first of all, how rough-looking are these French prostitutes that all their customers are running to the Albanians? Secondly, why did they send a fax, and from whence? Do they have a fax machine in the whorehouse, or did they all trundle down to Kinko's - "You fax these, I'll let you shave me." Thirdly, how come French whores know how to work a fax machine, but every time I try to use it, I hit Power Save, or I forget to dial 9.. This just proves what my boyfriend always says - that I am dumber than a French whore.
Sometimes I find making up my own stories more fun than the set-up vignettes used by porn mags; especially when they are as cheesy as this one.
Meet the poor pilot who, because he's flying the plane, cannot join the mile high club.
Meet the bimbo flying trailer trash class.
She can't resist a man in uniform. Or any man, really.
So it's off to the men's room for some quick sex.
Hey, wait; I think that's just the actual story.
Oh well, sometimes fantasy porn really is just that simple -- and that cheesy.
For me, this rates higher for silly giggle factor than any actual arousal; but sometimes we all just want the old slap & tickle and when it's slap & tickle for one, this retro Rodox gallery could do it.
Slip of a Girl sent in these scans of pages presumed to be from a men's magazine and asks if anyone here knows where they came from. This is the problem with scans posted without information &/or "taken & sent along" without information... No one knows how to find the actual publication etc. It's frustrating for collectors. And why I have the "Help" tag/label -- so please, use it.
The only text reads:
Gwen knows that she's guilty of many sins. Her young soul is already burdened with the karma of the hundreds of anonymous male hearts she's callously broken -- simply by walking down the street.
She's also guilty of impure thoughts, forbidden fantasies that would make her dear pastor flush with shame -- and of touching herself in a lewd, indecent manner. Her ripe, hormone-crazed body invites the most wickedly sensual urges to well up within this curvy girl's mind, and many times Gwen has found herself pitiably unable to resist.
Those nights, this pale, pneumatic creature squeezes her big thighs together in a vain attempt to quell the cravings that are too strong to deny. Her sheer white panties
I'm pretty sure Slip sent this in because she's dying to know more about Gwen's panties; but who does like a story interrupted like that?
Anyone with info on the model, publication etc., and additional scans from this pictorial &/or story, please share your dirty information.
In Figuring Out Feminism ~ The First Time, Gracie discusses the cognitive dissonance of growing up in the 70's, comparing feminism to a faith by saying, "Equality was as much a belief and faith as any religion back then, for as much as you heard, there was little to actually see."
Just one example:
I didn't go to any of the meetings, but Phil Donahue and copies of Cosmo (magazines left lying around in everyone's home, while the Playboys were hidden) told me of such groups. Some women gathered with mirrors to look at their vaginas and tell themselves how beautiful they were ~ a grown-up version of Free to Be... You and Me. Others, who presumably had already done the mirror thing, met to discuss sex as power, how women had it and that it was OK to use it ~ and if he didn't respond to it, he was likely gay. And that was OK too. As was the fact that you might not only find women succumbing to your sexual power, but you might prefer it. All of this likely sent more than a few women back to the mirror with questions.
But while Donahue wore a skirt (further developing my crush on him), I didn't see any other men following suit. (But three-piece suits were definitely dwindling.) And while Cosmo told us that it was OK to go to an orgy, they did so while telling women what to wear ~ which really seemed to send the message of dressing for others, not of the freedom portended.
Being of a similar age, I agree with the confusion... And the fact that even today, Cosmo mags, with all their sex talk & images, can lay 'round the house -- but for gawd's sake, hide the Playboys!
Gracie credits the Cosmo image from Cosmopolitan & Me: 40 Years Old, a post from which I will be pulling lots of future posts myself. (Just a friendly warning.)
Of Happy Madmen & Radio covers a story in a 1938 issue of Radio Guide on how the "modern miracle" of radio is working wonders for "America's 400,000 mentally ill." In it we meet the delightful Mrs. Diggs:
Take a look at Mrs. Diggs. Mrs. Diggs is a Negro, a man, who considers himself the most beautiful white woman in the world. He says he has letters from President Roosevelt, Will Hayes, Lindbergh and Joe Louis telling him so. What's more, he's the mother of all the white people in the world.
"Most of the patients like Gracie Allen, all right -- but not because they feel any strange bonds of sympathy or understanding. They think she's nuts, and very, very funny."
The clinically insane of 1938 may have thought Gracie was nuts and loved her for it, but they weren't alone. George Burns felt that way himself.
Once, in the middle of the night, Gracie elbowed George and asked him to make her laugh. Half-asleep, he mumbled, "Googie, googie, googie." It became his pet name for her...
...True, their marriage did have its rough spots. One oft-repeated story has it that whenever Gracie suspected George of philandering, he would buy her an expensive gift. "I wish George would find another girlfriend," she once told a friend. "I could use a silver-fox jacket."
However they managed -- and they did manage for 38 showbiz years -- Googie and Natty did so with humor and love. Right up until the end:
Burns never made a secret of the tough time he had dealing with his loss. "When I miss her a great deal, I crawl in on her side of the bed, in the middle of the day even," he told Carol Channing. "I stay there until I feel warm and good, and then I go on about my business." He also became somewhat of a fixture at Hollywood's Forest Lawn Cemetery, where every month he would go to the mausoleum to talk to Gracie. "I don't know if she hears me," he said. "But after speaking to her, I feel better."
That their chats should continue beyond the grave didn't really seem so odd. Throughout his life, whenever people asked Burns how to make a marriage work, he had a standard response: "I tell them the answer's easy--marry Gracie." Taking his own advice, he never married again.
The mad doctor is a popular horror theme for enforced sex. I find it to be one of the most comical of the erotic themes, however it does expose societal fear of medicine (in a sort of science fiction "what if" way) and power (in a classic Gothic style), resulting in a "natural" setting for submitting to an authority you are at the mercy of, both intellectually and financially.
Bernie Delinski writes Just Ask, which runs Wednesdays in the TimesDaily. Recently he was Trying to uncover the naked truth when a reader asked, "Where did the saying, 'naked as a jaybird' come from?" Delinski's (partial) reply was:
Yep, I'm having trouble uncovering the truth. I'm going to have to get down to the bare essentials to find this answer.
If I fail, I might be exposed as a fraud, and have the Just Ask column stripped from me.
This question does, however, remind me of one of my favorite Lewis Grizzard theories: There's a difference between being naked and "nekkid."
Grizzard used to say that, if you're naked, you don't have clothes on. But, if you're "nekkid," you don't have clothes on and are up to something.
Anyway, the Word Detective (word-detective.com) says "naked as a jaybird" has been used since at least the mid-1900s, and seems to have originated in America. In England, they say "naked as a robin."
Granted, blue jays and robins have feathers, so the phrase doesn't seem to make sense either way. Although, technically, they aren't wearing clothes. Still though, why pick on these poor birds. I mean, humans are the only animals that wear clothes. Other than humans, we can pick on any animal. So that does it, I'm coining a phrase: "naked as a duckbill platypus."
And from there he basically just tries to be pithy. However, had he spent just a little time at Taschen...
Modern nudism began in Germany with the Wandervögel, or wandering birds, young men and women who took to the countryside, hiking, singing and shedding their clothes in protest against Europe's dehumanizing industrialization. The year was 1900. Modern nudism nearly ended in California with the Jaybirds, young men and women who took to the beaches, spreading peace, love and limbs in protest against Puritanical prohibition of doing their own thing. The year was 1965. Both Wandervögel and Jaybirds failed in the end to change the world, but unlike the Wandervögel, Jaybirds left a paper trail, the pseudo- nudist magazines full of hippy-speak and the happy, healthy, hairy bodies you find in this book.
As captured in ING (International Nudistour Guide), Vol 1 No 1 (copyrighted 1962), nudes wearing papier-mache heads (and, occasionally, feet, hands, and tails too). This was part of the Mardi Gras celebration for the 10 year anniversary of the Olive Dell Ranch (near Colton, California).
Something Old, Something New: Barbi Benton For You
Tonight, relaxing from a day of hunting, we are listening to records.
Yes, good old vinyl.
Last week, when out and about, I bought a Barbi Benton album, Something New (Playboy Records). I bought it not for the musicality (and having listened to it, there's nothing really to comment on), but for the giggle factor; I just wanted to call my sister and tell her I had a Boobie Benton LP.
Yes, my sister and I called her Boobie Benton.
I'm not proud of it, or anything.
But let's face it, back then our knowledge of Ms. Benton came from her appearances on Hee Haw, and while we knew nothing of her link to Hugh Hefner, Playboy After Dark, or even that Hef and Playboy existed (yet), we weren't blind. At first, Barbi's corny sexualized costumes may have not meant much to we wee girls, but as we grew (and feared further growth) into puberty, we became more than a bit self-conscious...
What do immature humans do in uncomfortable situations or with uncomfortable feelings? Mock the thing that brings them to mind, duh. (Note: This is normal & find for kids, but adults really should mature their minds along with their bodies.)
So, Barbi Benton became Boobie Benton. And Adrienne Barbeau was -- you guessed it -- Adrienne Barboob. (You don't want to know what we called Connecticut Avenue when we played Monopoly without our parents around.)
Ironically, while sis and I were often too naive to appropiately deal with our feelings about boobs, or know that Hee Haw was inspired by Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In, we both were sophisticated enough to realize that Laugh-In was the far more biting & better show.
Back to Boobi...
Barbi Benton was published in Playboy, including covers, but she was never a centerfold... Do you think that has to do with the relationship with Hef? Like he either felt territorial or feared accusations of cronyism? Of course, it could just have been her choice.
But I am struck by how fresh, cute and innocent Barbi's look is compared to Hef's current type (and by that I mean the same plastic blonde bimbo look his girls have had for decades). Barbi Benton more exemplifies the original Playboy magazine ideals of sex not being dirty, that it's something everyone does, including the girl next door.
How far Playboy has drifted in that regard... Much to my personal disappointment.
Today Benton is still beautiful, if blonde, apparently a pottery loving interior decorator, and while her bangs live on, some think she hasn't aged well on the inside, saying, "Some women can age gracefully, trading physical beauty for inner strength. I wanted Barbi to be one of those. Instead, she is a black hole of bitterness, disconnected from reality, obsessed with the few short years she felt alive."
Yikes. (I couldn't get the video to play, so I can't comment.)
But the real burning question on my mind is: Where's the Internet Homage to Sugar Time!
Sugar Time! was the short-lived television series which starred Benton (Maxx), Marianne Black (Maggie) and Didi Carr (Diane -- shown at left on Match Game, via), as a girl band ready to make it big.
Where are the 70's TV fans who should be making pages and posts, if not an entire site, to the show? I vaguely remember it... It's sort of fuzzy -- and bouncy in my recollection. But then I must be on the right track, as it was the show which caused the term "jiggle TV" to be coined. Certainly that merits some actual archival interest, right?
The May 1967 issue of Pageant magazine (though apparently by this time a Macfadden-Bartell publication rather than a Hillman Periodicals one) examines sex in advertising.
"Ads are sexier than ever, whether they're selling cars, champagne, perfume, lingerie, movies, or even typewriters. What -- and who -- is behind this trend toward sugar-coated spice?" asks Claire Williams.
Naturally, the 10-page spread includes examples of ads filled with "erotic promises". (As usual, click to read the larger scans.)
On page 23, the article concludes:
So, it seems, sex in advertising is here to stay -- that is at least for awhile.
One thing the general public does not realize is that, until recently, advertisers were a powerful force for sexual restraint. But they were sensitive to the growing freedom of expression, the trend toward uninhibited communication. They recognized that times were changing and made adjustments so that they could talk to people in the language they could understand.
Thus, bright, saucy ads started to appear, and it is logical to assume that this risque spirit will catch on with the people writing the articles, too. The sexual revolution is infectious and seems to be spreading.
Meantime, stay tuned for a word from the sponsor; it may be the sauciest part of the show.
Get used to the covers; as you can see there is much more worthy of sharing from this issue. (Over time.)
In 1963, the nudist vs. men or skin magazines debate was a matter of censorship and obscenity, and when it came to publication, distribution and delivery, a matter of profit and survival. Nudist publications pushed themselves (and obscenity laws to the side) with principals of natural innocence and an anti-erotic stance. While this gave them acceptability, other issues arose.
Interestingly, the issue was not always 'art v. porn' but those of 'lifestyle', 'aesthetics' and 'self-esteem'. The August 1963 issue of Nude Living (a nudist publication by Elysium, Inc.) discussed such matters with a several page-long rebuttal to Thomas Ives' "Why Great Ladies Pose Without Clothes" which appeared in the May 1963 issue of SAGA, "the magazine for men".
Admittedly the subject of sexual freedom is touchy and open to interpretations. Other authorities, for instance, might find Dr. Hoffman a bit stuffy and pedantic in some of his conclusions, especially that displaying a lovely body is necessarily a "cheap vanity." Appearing in the nude does not always mean that character is cheapened. Along with maturity should come an enlightened attitude about sex. It is sophistry to say that the woman who enjoys for many reasons (among them being admired) appearing in the nude under controlled conditions is perforce cheap, vulgar, or immoral.
The image of Diane Webber (from International Nudist) is included as Diane is mentioned and interviewed in the article -- and because you like to see nude chicks.
Saucier was the publicist for the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel for nearly four decades, and this was likely all the authority needed to author a book of cocktail recipes for the elite -- and which appear to be, at least in part, credited to the elite.
For example, Bottoms Up is the first known reference of a vodka martini in the United States, a recipe credited to celebrity photographer Jerome Zerbe. (Zerbe was a long-time companion of the society columnist and writer Lucius Beebe. Beebe reportedly made so many flattering references to Zerbe in his newspaper column, "This New York," that rival columnist Walter Winchell suggested that the column name should be changed to "Jerome Never Looked Lovelier." Together, Zerbe and Beebe created El Morocco's Family Album.)
As a side-trip, some info on the Waldorf-Astoria -- and certainly such a grand old hotel deserves it's due at a sex history blog. (If only to see that our fascination with celeb watching isn't all that new.; perhaps at a later date we'll dish on the more sordid happenings of bedrooms.)
The hyphenated name caught the public's fancy: a great hotel—a name big enough to apply. The comedians and humorous writers of the day took it up and played upon it—a sure sign of popularity.
"Meet me at the hyphen," said one wag.
"Where is that?"
"Between the Waldorf and the Astoria," was the reply, That joke immediately traveled to Kalamazoo, jumped to Des Moines, leaped to San Francisco, and was soon told in the Hong-Kong Club. Going the other way, within a few weeks it was served as a relish at the Sphinx bar in Cairo with the newest American cocktail. By the spring of 1899 somebody was singing on the stage a song called "The Waldorf-Hyphen-Astoria," whose words various New York papers printed.
Here's a scan of Waldorf "Hyphen" Astoria, words and music by E.C. Center and Jackson Gouraud (via NYPL Digital Gallery).
Here are the lyrics:
We have all met those guys who affect to patronize The hotel with the hyphenated name But if it should befall that on them we'd try to call, It would be hard to find them just the same. After hunting long and well through each separate hotel, Without result, a fellow must decide, They may be on the square, but if they are living there, It must be on the "hyphen" they reside.
Chrous: At the Waldorf "Hyphen" Astoria, No matter who or what you are, Be sure you not to Oscar as you enter. Just speak to him by name, And for "ten" he'll do the same-- That's the proper thing at the Waldorf "Hyphen" Astoria.
The 'Oscar' mentioned, according to Nancy Groce in New York: Songs of the City, is "Oscar Tschirky, the Waldorf-Astoria's powerful and punctilious headwaiter". And the song may have mocked the name, but was more about the who's who which stayed there -- and resulting gawkers:
Of course, like today, not everybody seen there was actually a guest or a patron of the hotel's extremely expensive restaurant, the Palm Garden. Many, like the poseur in the 1897 song "Waldorf 'Hyphen' Astoria," simply hung around for a glimpse of the rich and famous.
The song was sung by John Parr in A Reign of Error, a musical farce featuring The Rogers Brothers.
It seems the production had been around earlier, and the song added later (March 19, 1899, The New York Times)
The same allure & authority Saucier & the Waldorf-Astoria held for publishers captured the attention of Hefner and Bottoms Up received a dandy review in the second issue of Playboy -- sure the nude illustrations helped *wink*
Nor can she help (nor be stopped) from noting this little piece of irony discovered during her research...
In 1931 some clever person (known only by the initials M.C.) 'respectfully' suggested that "the militant suffrage movement, now on the rampage in England, be referred to as 'The Reign of Error'."
It would seem that M.C. was unaware of both theatre & popular music to feel they had coined such a phrase. (Unless they were just 13 years of age at the time the letter to the editor was penned.)
So we begin with an illustration of a naked lady using ice tongs to select men she'll consume and end with a person wishing women would remain less than equals in the eyes of the law.
Girlfriend & creation of the late Paul Raymond, Fiona Richmond became a columnist & a porn star (model and film), recorded an album, worked 'in the fashion industry' (how vague) &, eventually, became the owner of hotels -- with a former pig farmer.
Paul Raymond Presents Frankly Fiona, the LP, is a scarce recording -- which Richmond, in her autobiography, says she didn't even sing on. (Adding to the mystery, some places refer to the LP as a 'spoken word' record.)
The small photo at left is from the record's cover, via Trunk Records (scroll) who adores it. However, whatever, the record makes the #11 spot on the 20 Most Bizarre Albums Ever in Q Magazine's 150 Greatest Rock Lists Ever (2004).
According to the Crystal Palace Football Club forum, pictures of Fiona Richmond and the players appeared in an article in Men Only magazine in either the May or June 1976 issue.
If that's true, then it looks like they'll be found in May issue (vol 41, issue 5, 1976), which proclaims "Fiona's Illustrated Big Mal".
Along with columns in Men Only, Richmond also wrote columns and was featured in other magazines, like Club, aka Club International, published -- surprise! -- by Paul Raymond Publications.
Gwen's Leather/BDSM/Fetish History Scrapbook has lots of information of interest to collectors. Look by years for landmark publications, issues & publishers, as well as clubs, persons and events -- including censorship actions.
Note: There are more female covers/images at the site, but few larger than thumbnails; hence the male & gay focused erotic works here.
"Fix-up files" are made by Midwest girls to simplify arranging blind dates... they're wallet albums of their girl friends' pictures with statistics and interests listed on the back for the benefit of inquiring boys...
As a collector, I'd love to find one of those wallet albums.
See more dating oddities (such as girls begging for the chin straps of football players) and teen language deciphered here.
Today's Sexual Harassment; Yesterday's Employment Plan
This would be a WTF moment, if you didn't have the proper context. In this case, the context is WWII women's publication, with the humor playing up how desirable women -- as employees -- were, & the lengths an employer might go to depicted as similar to good old fashioned woo-ing.
Many thanks to Will at Hang Fire Books for sending me to Vintage Girly Mags. Not only are the covers (presumed to be) lovingly scanned, but each single page of the magazine is too. The only draw-back is that there is little text, so you have to 'turn' each thumbnail to get an idea of what is inside. (As a collector I am forever bitching there is not enough text on vintage smut sites. :sigh:)
However, 'paging' through Vintage Girly Mags is worth the effort. For example, you'd otherwise miss this gem in a 1962 issue of Wench.
Inside, on pages 16-17 (and continued on page 68) there's an article by Jay Taylor called The Fine Art of Wenching? which, as expected, is all about how to woo babes.
Here's an excellent passage:
Don't blame a girl for her flaws. Time's a great healer. If she's blacker than tar, tanned is the word to use. If she's cross-eyed, tell her she's like Venus. Thin as a stick? She's willowy. If she's a runt, call her cute. If fat, a full-bodied woman. And don't pass up women past thirty, Ovid says. You're crazy if you do. They're much more skillful in love-making. They don't have to be teased, worked up to a frenzy. They're the kind, he says wistfully, that can keep up with a man. "What I like is the deal that leaves both partners exhausted," he adds confidentially, "What I hate is the girl who gives with a feeling she has too. Dry in the bed with her mind somewhere else gathering wool.
"Duty's very well, but let's not confuse it with pleasure; I do not want any girl doing her duty for me.
"What I like to hear are the words of utter abandon.
But of course all this would make sense to me -- and not just because I'm one of those over 30 women either. This article is based on Ovid's Art of Love.
So not only is 'nothing new' in seduction, but magazines haven't changed much either -- they're still recycling content.
Another slide found in a box of vintage men's magazines, this one is clearly a snap of a magazine page (Body Beautiful, 1955).
At first I thought the idea of photographing a magazine page rather odd... After all, if you have the magazine, why make a copy of it -- and one which isn't exactly subtle viewing?
I imagined a man, alone in his bachelor pad, preferring to project copies of naked photos on his screen (or wall) rather than turning the pages of the magazines; and it didn't make much sense. Neither did images of him inviting his buddies over for a night of naughty slide shows -- even if such commercial slide sets were available.
Well, OK, maybe this was like stag films; a private party event with semi-public viewing of risque & nude slides... Perhaps this magazine photo was a favorite and needed to be included in the show?
But the idea of such naughty boys' nights 'in' just seems strange to me.
Perhaps it's our current closeted ideas of sex which render the idea so unfamiliar... Even strip clubs seem less popular than ever, with more and more city ordinances (in all the cities and states I've lived in for the past decade) cracking down, removing licenses, and generally just saying 'no' to adult entertainment. So wrapping my mind about such lurid group viewing seems odd...
And then it hit me.
Like any collector -- like this collector -- the original owner produced this content for public viewing, for sharing. This vintage slide, a copy of a magazine page, was produced with the intent to be shown off, with pride, to anyone who'd care to see it. Just as I do with this blog.
Playboy's Playmate for May, 1954 was Joanne Arnold. Her pictorial is deemed noteworthy (by me, anyway) as Arnold had a superfluous third nipple on her left breast which can be seen in several of the photos.
I do not mock Arnold and the photographs are exquisite. I am just impressed that Playboy opted to use the photos and not equate supernumerary with imperfection.
Of course, it could also have had something to do with the fact that prior to the June 1955 issue, Playboy purchased photos rather than took their own (at least for centerfolds).
I believe the centerfold photo of Arnold for the May 1954 issue was taken by John Baumgarth Company (the calendar company who had taken Monroe's famous nude), but I'm not certain who took the gorgeous pictorial. As I don't own any Playboy magazines with Joanne Arnold, I'm not even certain which, or if any, issues these photos are from. Any info is appreciated as I'm completely smitten with the underwater shots!
Not that I could afford the actual photos; eleven black and white photographs of Joanne Arnold, circa 1955, some by Lee Friedlander, sold for $3231.25 at auction in 2002. But I'd like the info anyway. (Makes one re-think the high prices of vintage Playboys, doesn't it? *wink*)
Anyway, for more on supernumerary nipples -- in the 'magic number' of three -- see The Superfluous Nipple. Otherwise, just enjoy more photos.
Will Straw, PhD, Department of Art History and Communications Studies professor spotted my Hollywood Follies post and sent me an email requesting some information.
While I dig around in my collection (I have a system, but it's not very friendly to research requests like this), Will has allowed me to share his email so that any here with info can help.
Hi -- I was googling "Wayne Sabbath" and, after five pages of references to religious books, found your site, with the scans from Hollywood Follies. Thanks for those. I've been trying to reconstruct the career of Wayne and of his partner (who may, in fact, be him) "Cap'n Joey"/Jo Burten, who published spicy magazines from the 1920s onwards. Burten's Follies was the best known of these, and "Follies" turns up in many of his titles. The last record of any of them I can find is a reference to Joe getting busted c. 1959 for obscenity. Do you know any more about these guys?
In any case, thanks for the interesting read, Will
If you have any info please post it here and/or contact Will via contact info on his webpage.
The details of what the viewer could do, would do if given the chance, was all inside their own heads; viewers were therefore their own directors. But with porn and video the action was no longer inside our own heads, others directed it. All we had to do was add lube and work our hands.
Sometimes I am convinced that what most people are complaining about when they say they hate porn, even wanting to restrict it further, is not that they are against publications or films which are solely for sexual arousal and release but rather that they are unmoved by it. Porn has in many cases removed the imagination of the viewer, directed us not as we desire, but forced us to see things which remove the mystery. We no longer have time to be seduced by the people before us before we are tossed into the action; graphic images of genitalia spread across our screens before we've even decided we'd take him or her home.
I'd love to hear what you have to say, so if you promise to go read it & comment, I promise to post more images later today...
I've loved this photo for a long time -- the image of the waspie waist woman as she tries to inhale off the fancy cigarette was etched into my mind the first time I saw it years ago. However, being posted in a forum, no one knew who it was a photo of; it was just an image which circulated in the kink & vintage erotica communities I've visited through the years. Each time I inquired for info, but even the image name was just a bunch of numbers.
Eventually someone knew this was a photo of Cora; I now had something to work with.
I wasn't the only one searching... Andrea Johnson, before I, was searching for the woman too. She had spotted this photo in a copy of a 1972 Domination Annual and became smitten:
Xavier Cugat: Creative Cool-Cat With All The Kittens
Xavier Cugat, the Rhumba King, is as known for his love life as he is his Latin rhythms.
A notorious womanizer, he married five times:
#1 Rita Montaner #2 Carmen Castillo #3 Lorraine Allen #4 Abbe Lane (In his bands for many years, until their divorce.) #5 Charo (She & Cugat were the first couple to marry at Caesars Palace when it opened in Las Vegas in 1966.)
Cugat also has many film credits, mainly for playing himself.
From Stage Door Canteen (1943) here's Lina Romay (not this Lina Romay) with Cugat & orchestra, performing She's a Bombshell from Brooklyn:
Lina Romay sings Antonio in the motion picture The Heat's On (1944)with the Xavier Cugat Orchestra.
Cugat supposedly gave Rita Hayworth one of her first jobs, and so later appeared with her in You Were Never Lovelier, but I remember him from so many of Esther Williams films, including the remake of Annette Kellerman's Neptune's Daughter.
Via A Damn Find Product's post we learn that Xavier Cugat was also a talented illustrator. Exhibit A, cover of Game & Gossip, 1932:
Exhibit B, Fandango - Dance Rhythms - IV (from Game & Gossip, 1932):
For more names, see the list of names and the key; but note the following: Dietrich could not even pose in Cugat's imagination with Garbo, and note how powerful women were -- their names & personalities still awe.
That Cugat would was an illustrator shouldn't be shocking. Golden Age of illustration notwithstanding, Cugat was a bit of a money-grubbing sell-out jack-of-all-trades who's been quoted as saying, "I would rather play Chiquita Banana and have my swimming pool than play Bach and starve." According to Solid!:
Cugat was often depicted in publicity photos holding a chihuahua and a pipe, even though he didn't smoke. He was never the one to miss out on a good business opportunity, however. He cashed in on this image and began selling his own line of pipes. He also started a chihuahua breeding business which featured documentation certifying that the dogs were Cugat dogs. Cugat never met a marketing deal he didn't like. Over the years he hawked a diverse line of products, including cigarette lighters and shirts, and also owned several Los Angeles-area restaurants. In addition Cugat was a talented caricaturist. His work appeared in newspapers, magazines and galleries around the world. During the 1920s he worked as a cartoonist for the Los Angeles Times newspaper while playing music at night.
Perhaps this is why Cugat was never without beautiful women.
...while Playboy was naughty, most advertisers played up the suaveness rather than the nudity aspect of the magazine. Vivitar ran with it and worked some female objectification into their ad.
As A Collector, I Could Make A Lot Of Money Off Celebrities
As news of poor Heather Mills' 'more pornographic' photos hits the tabloids and the blogosphere, I am reminded of a few points. However, let's cover the story first...
Heather Mills, aka Lady Macca, was known to be a model and in 2006 the first photographic proof was put on display for all the world to see. These photos came from a 1988 German sex book, Die Freuden Der Liebe (The Joys Of Love), which featured naked images of her performing sex acts on/with a male porn model. Mills 'escaped' that time, claiming the book was a "sex educational manual".
Apparently this how-to was for the illiterate as well as the sexually ignorant as, "The filthy volume features 112 pages filled with pictures — and contains NO accompanying words." (No need to know German to enjoy the book!)
The newly-found photos, clearly from the same shoot as they feature the same lacy red corset and stockings -- and ill-conceived pink glossy lipstick, show more than naked boobies.
These photos are said to come from a magazine (so far unnamed & dated) and this time it's the use of text which is damning. The photo caption reads, "I'm gonna drive you crazy with my body..." which surely sounds less like a sex ed manual and more like an invitation to masturbation.
Or maybe that's just me.
The media feeding frenzy is all about the horrible lies -- how Mills denied & denounced that she's ever done porn, or been a prostitute. (Apparently she's also faking being blonde, but we can forgive that, I suppose.) I would say that it's more about pushing pulp (and digital ad sales). But in either case, the bottom line is that the public is fascinated. "We" must be; or the money wouldn't be made.
Which brings me to my points.
A) As a collector I could make a lot of money off celebrities. I could sit home all day digging through my boxes of porn, sex ed manuals, calendars, postcards, et all, looking for faces, names and identifying characteristics of celebrities, then phoning my info in to publications & reaping big financial rewards as I provide scanned evidence. But I don't.
It's not that I have more fun things to do, and providing scans means I don't even need to damage my stash; it's just that I don't like the idea.
In fact, I don't understand it.
(That's point B.)
Why are we so freaked out that people, especially beautiful people, powerful people, desirable people, have sex lives? That they were models, actors, & sex facilitators? Why, for that matter, are we surprised that they were some how compensated for this?
Sex isn't horrible. Being paid for it, especially in a performance (really equal to that of an actor playing any role, including some atrocious character), isn't either.
But lots of folks think it's bad. The shocking scandals couldn't push profits if it wasn't. So no wonder Mills denied such things.
However, even if I own enough proof to sink a thousand celebrity careers (and for the most part, I am not into celebs, gossip, and those which trade in such things), I have no desire to do so.
Another example of how taking the higher road and following your principals, leaves you with less financially? Perhaps. But in the end, sex will remain. (If it doesn't, we as a species die.)
And I, for one, am hoping the universe or gods of smut will honor me, not with 1,000 virgins, but with some sort of smutty afterlife. Maybe even let me keep my smut collection.
I must have been about 10 years old or so when I found my parents stash of porn. My sister and I were home alone, playing hide-and-seek in the house. I went to hide in the one space I knew she'd never find me -- the one space I'd also be afraid to seek in for fear of a person jumping out at me -- our crawlspace.
...After a few heart-pounding minutes in the arid space, I turned on the light (which could never shine through to the other side as the door fit tightly and it was daytime anyway) and looked for something to occupy myself. I poked in the box closest to the door. That's where I found the then-current porn magazines.
I flipped through them, saw all the photos. Mostly women with their come-hither stares, big and wild hair (both on their heads and covering their genitals), and glossy lips. I didn't feel much of anything at first. Certainly not uncomfortable, for I continued to flip through the pages of first one magazine, then another and another. Until I hit an illustration.
I think it was an advertisement for a bondage swing, but I can't really recall... This paper-white woman with ink-black hair was set against a vivid purple square. Her fascinating red lips were pursed around a ridiculously large black circle, its black lines drawn against that white-white skin, holding the ball in place in her mouth. Her body was also bound in the leather strips, providing more black lines against white skin -- lines to read between. This woman was bound, apparently suspended from what I could only imagine was a ceiling painted as grape as the walls, and naked she sat, or swung, on display in a position similar to my sit-squat against the wall. Splayed. Bound. Gagged.
Instead of being disgusted, or even confused, I was mesmerized.
Searching for additional photos for the Mahu post I ran into this cover of Le Crapouillot. Found here, along with several other issues of the old magazine, I struggled with the ambiguous table of contents in French and even if Tahiti, the cover photo, and the issue's theme of sexuality strongly suggest that a feature of the Mahu, it wasn't clearly stated enough for me to feel comfortable to use it then.
But (too) like many things, the cover & possible contents intrigued me.
High school French suddenly seems more important, and my deepest apologies to Mademoiselles Pfieffer & Glass who both did their best to instill a love of the language.
Jean Galtier-Boissière founded Crapouillot (name of a small trench cannon) in 1915, at first distributed it only to his fellow soldiers. After the War he branched out, took a partner, began to make journalistic history with a brand of fearless muckraking which caused French citizens' eyes to pop, French officials' hair to rise. With stark facts and photographs Crapouillot took out such disagreeable subjects as the origins and secret causes of the War; French mutinies of 1917; Wartime homosexuality and prostitution in the Army; false Wartime propaganda. It sandwiched learned, readable issues on automobiles, cinema, wines, books between explosive exposures of "The Truth About the Saar," ''Mysterious Deaths," "The Masters of the Wrorld." Greatest Crapouillot beats were on Wartime censorship, on munitions makers in general and sales of French munitions to Germany in particular.
OK, so the few issues I had seen were perhaps a bit less typical, with post war years seeing a deviation from the original intents and purposes -- broadening and growth, if you will. Or it could just be my salacious-sweet-tooth.
This article explores the origins of late twentieth-century reactionary political culture through an analysis of Jean Galtier-Boissière and his magazine Le Crapouillot, founded in 1915, which finally ceased publication in 1996. Deriving from both the avant-garde of the belle époque and libertarian politics, the magazine, re-launched in 1919, played a major role in the shaping and expression of political and artistic `non-conformism' in the inter-war years. However, this `non-conformism' began to present certain reactionary characteristics which were accentuated in the immediate post-Liberation period by Le Crapouillot 's fellow-feeling with dissident right-wing political and artistic currents, with which it shared a particular tone, `insolence'. Throughout the Fourth and early Fifth Republics, until Galtier-Boissière's death in 1966, Le Crapouillot presented increasingly recognizable reactionary characteristics, culminating logically in the final phase of the magazine, when it had an explicitly right-wing, and even extreme right-wing, management. An exploration of the history of the journal, together with a discussion of the role of its founding editor, provides a useful insight into the long-term origins, both political and cultural, of late twentieth-century reactionary culture.
With this article, it's not the ability to read French I am lacking, but a membership to the site. :sigh: Well, there's two things to work on: French lessons and a higher income bracket.
But find out more I must because nearly any publication featuring the Profumo Scandal is my kind of publication. Well, that and anti-censorship sentiments, of course.
It made me think of several things, including how our sexuality is stamped by seemingly small events, how we currently freak out over the sight of a bra when bikinis bare more, and yes, of my customers in bookstores.
I hadn’t much done porn or erotic magazines for a few years and wasn’t really aware how things had moved on, so I was surprised, maybe even shocked at what I saw. It wasn’t the nude male body that made me jump, it was the erect cocks, some shown close up. I didn’t want to look at it too interestedly at that stage, but I was seriously intrigued.
Many of us hung around in a trendy and alternative bookshop near the campus. The next week I noticed they stocked the magazine. I’ve never been someone that doesn’t have the nerve to do things like that. Once I’ve made my mind up, I go for it. The female assistant got it down from the shelf, looking as if she felt right-on that she was so OK with gay men. I didn’t try to explain.
All the way home the magazine burned a hole in my jacket. I felt this way when I first bought a mainstream porn magazine from a station newsagent at the age of about 14 and on the way to stay with relatives. I had the same concerns then about being knocked over by a bus on the way home and being found carrying the magazine, and took extra care to avoid this. If the government really wanted a novel way to improve road safety, I’d suggest making everyone carry a shameful magazine.
We like to imagine that the stars of our erotic dreams, as they pose with such poise and promise, are, if not blissfully happy, then some sort of underground rebels, pushing past the limits and norms to just do what comes naturally.
This phenomenon, wherein we view the act of creating porn as escapist as our viewing it, is a normal part of porn purveyance. And it's one that often finds us under attack.
Such frivolous behavior is bad enough, but when involving erotic images and ideas it is even far more dangerous. It's as if, somehow, that imagining her photographed gaze is just for us, and that envisioning she is as equally pleased 'seeing us' as she is delighted knowing why we gaze back at her, that all of this is somehow at once both dissimilar and more dangerously out of touch with reality than it is with any interaction with mainstream media.
(If I were to begin to undertake the pro-porn argument today, I would surely remind women of soap operas, both daytime and prime time version; girls of boy bands, boys of comic book & anime characters; and men -- those heterosexual men who deny use of female imagery -- of their lopsided obsession with sports figures -- any of which is equally as warped in its idolisation and fantasy... Yet somehow still deemed less offensive and risky than porn. But I won't get into all of that argument today.)
While porn in general presents these potential problems, at least in theory, porn from the past has additional pitfalls. For example, we have a tendency to romanticize the past.
We like to remember the past as those less complicated times "when a man was a man, and a woman was a woman," and no place is this more true than with our vintage erotica. But I'm here to tell ya, porn, even vintage porn, is not always pretty.
Sure, there is porn that's less-than attractive (down-right weird, even); and yup, like in any business, organization or group of people, there are always a few bad apples which make things scary. But I'm talking more about what the adult industry reveals about the rest of our culture...
Flip through the pages of any "man's publication" and you'll find not just nude photos, but there, in those printed pages, a stripped down picture of the culture & the times in which it was produced.
Like a portable men's room, the 'talk' that occurs in men's magazines is as au natural as the status of the models. It's not that these publications are necessarily less than literate; it's not that their minds are simply in the gutter. But most of these magazines shoot from the hip. They are direct, frank, and don't pussy-foot about. It makes sense, for how can you expect pages of naked broads not to be surrounded by equally revealing stories?
The term 'explicit' is normally reserved for erotic stories (and directions, we hope), but this matter of leaving nothing to be implied or hinted at is a common tone in sex magazines. Sure, there's playful innuendo, dirty puns, and other word play for nimble tongues, but the mere fact that all this sex talk can go on means the publication is censor-free. Every day matters, like the politics of the times, cannot be forbidden in a place (publication) which wishes to convey to its members (subscribers) that there are no holds barred here. How can they invite -- nay, propel -- readers to undress the models and caress themselves if there are indeed taboos? If free liquor cannot be sent along with the publication to loosen inhibitions, then the articles and other content must convey, "Speak freely, brother; it's OK here. Anything goes!"
Case in point, this copy of Hollywood Follies (Greenwich Feature Syndicate, NY, Wayne Sabbath, Managing Editor), scans of which have been placed throughout this post.
From 1943, this issue clearly embraces the wartime mentality with the images of sailors and females with sailor caps, sending a military message. But it's the cover tag lines, "Follies for Victory" and "Jokes to Jerk the Japs," which really announces it supports our American troops.
I don't post the racist, sexist and dehumanising bits here to proclaim them 'good' or to condone them; nor to embarrass or dirty the image of our troops today. But the (supposed) humor in this old publication provides much insight into our American culture at that time. The jokes and tone may be are in bad taste, but this was 1943 and we were at war. Something more than mom, apple pie and the flag were needed to rally and replenish the troops, so gash and trash-talk it was.
Perhaps the most shocking thing I found flipping through the pages of this rather small bi-monthly vintage magazine was this cartoon of what appears to be officers at a cocktail party talking about a woman. She is wearing a near backless black dress which reveals number on her back and the caption reads, "Darn subtle, these Nazis."
How shocking and horrific to see the Nazi practice of ID numbers tattooed on Jews and forced prostitution made into a sex joke. It's enough to make bile rise in my throat, make me want to rip the publication to shreds.
But as a collector, an amateur historian, this dreadful comic is one link to the past. And while I too would much rather prefer to think of days gone by as more simple and pure, this copy of Hollywood Follies makes it clear that the good old days were neither simple nor pure.
There were good times, good days, but there were also bad things and bad ways. Just like today. So perhaps it's better to think of them just as the old days. Or at least force a reality check on ourselves now and then by reading the trash-talking articles as well as looking at the gash photos.
You may know Jaime Pressly from the sitcom My Name Is Earl, where she stars as Joy, but she's appeared in several Playboy publications, including nudes:
Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 58 November 1997 - Michael Bisco, pages 56-59 Playboy's Book of Lingerie Vol. 62 July 1998 - pages 32-33 Playboy's Nudes December 1998 - pages 16-17 Playboy's Sexy 100 February 2003
She even made the cover of Playboy in February, 2004.
Her film debut was in 1997's cable-friendly erotic thriller "Poison Ivy: The New Seduction" and posing for Playboy that same year made Pressly's body far more famous than her body of work. Still, those who looked past the film's disproportionate amount of nudity would find that Pressly made the most of her role and brought an eerie coolness to the part of Violet that proved she had more to offer.
Unlike some girls, Presley was able to take nude photos and spread them into a career instead of ending one. A career that in 2001 even Playboy remarked upon -- without mentioning that she'd appeared nude in their publications. Which seems odd, but what do I know?
Recently Pressly had a baby and apparently she was clueless about the 'joys' of pregnancy. However, Jamie clearly isn't an idiot. Along with her celebrity status she's started a clothing line, J'aime, to continue to make her hay when that sunshine fades. It seems a bit ironic for a gal who turned taking her clothes off into a career to start whoring clothes, but well, if we could all buy a body like hers, then Playboy wouldn't be in business would it.
It takes a savvy woman to realize she can make a fortune off dressing those of us who wish we could look like her naked.
She may play white-trash on TV, play it in photos, but she's certainly anything but.
As you vibe collectors know, the Hello Kitty vibe is one of those rare modern must-haves in your collection. It hasn't been available for years, but there's a new one now.
(I hate to possibly jinx this release by calling it a vibe, but as we all know, many innocent personal massagers have been shown with shoulders or simply labeled such to avoid regulations.)
As a collector, I prefer the hunt for old magazine copies -- but I do welcome this trend. Like The New Yorker's DVD set of archived issues, this is a boon for those enough with pockets too shallow to really get the elusive issues in paper. Now I can at least research -- and from home, with no nasty library limits (or fines). These DVDs also provide a catalog list, helping collectors identify old or missing issues by offering a visual record (much easier to snap up a copy when you know what it looks like!).
Does This Film Come With A Vibrator? I Sure Need One...
Thom at Fabulon has posted this lovely video for me, so I'm sharing it here -- but don't just watch it and run away, please stay for the notes at the end! (I wish you could hear me narrating as I view it, but since you can't, notes at the end will have to do.)
And do watch all the way to the end -- the way it's been edited, the narrator's face is priceless!
SPS commentary:
Why block the eyes of the wanton fleshpots? Oh, the added mystery only makes me want them more!
This whole piece makes me want to fuck! Seriously, you should have heard me begging for more photos, larger photos, color photos -- especially with the small b/w bdsm images.
Georgey-boy is right; seeing these images, I've never been the same...
Oh, lordy, he mentions the images on slick pages -- oh, the love lust I have for slick pages. (Surely he makes this remark because he knows that novices will use the pages -- but I beg of thee, please don't! This will ruin your magazine!)
Good old George Putnam is horrified that the nudist publications have, dare I say it?! -- Oh, yes, I will! -- "paid professional models!" (Can you see me sitting here, hand wrist at my forehead in shock and horror?!)
Redundancy aside, George, what of your own "paid professional" status as anti-smut monger? If the models have been paid to pose and spread, is getting paid to pose as a narrator and spread your propaganda somehow more moral?
Think I'm being a bit harsh on ol' Georgy? Here's his bio as a paid "reporter, broadcaster and commentator" (at "92 years young" -- insert chuckle here). Note how Georgey has "had more than a passing relationship with the four great silver screen vamps - Theda Bera, Clara Bow, Tallulah Bankhead and Mae West."
Yeah, that's a man who is anti "Perversion for Profit". I bet those ladies have or would have hit him upside the head.
I know I want to.
Double the irony points: Putnam is from Breckenridge, Minnesota -- as in Myra Breckenridge, the fabulous and controversial film which starred Mae West.
PS This 1965 propaganda film was financed by Charles Keating, the felon.
The cover features a clearly recognizable Candy Barr, which is important because while the contents page has a pink-colorized photo of the same model with a rose, I didn't recognize her, nor was she credited.
This is why it's so hard for a collector to see magazines cut up like this -- you can't verify models. Even if the publication didn't credit the models, a good collector can research to find verification of what models were in what issues, but when pages are found loose, you can't even tell what publication they were from. (The contents page only lists Candy Barr on page 15 -- but if I have that page, so far I have not discovered it.)
Back to what I do have and what I discovered...
In November of 1956, Body Beautiful Publications birthed a new baby, Jem magazine. I say "birthed" because publisher Danny Ross compared the starting of the new magazine to having a baby in this, the first issue, under the heading "Diamond Dust" which seems to be the publisher notes section. Here's an excerpt:
Like a baby, a new magazine must be named. And friends and relatives of the Mother-Publisher will come forth with beauts. Among those suggested for this publication were Suave, Debonair, Jewel, Gala, Fiesta, Carnival, Circus and a number of equally eye- and ear-catching titles. The Publisher, however, liked Gem and since it is a time-honored custom to defer to the wishes of those who have just presented the world with a new offsrping it was decided Mother Knows Best, and Gem it was. Until the matter came to the attention of a female member of the staff. She came up with that little touch that would occur only to a woman.
"Why not spell it JEM?" she suggested.
And so JEM it is. Which proves you should never underestimate the power of a woman, or the devastating effect of her touch.
***
At first it was planned to JEM a slogan by which it could readily be identified. Something like "LS/MFT," "It Floats," "Even Your Best Friends Won't Tell You," or "They Satsify." But the best thing we could think of was "All The Nudes That's Fit To Print," so that phase of the project was dropped.
***
Anyway, the new baby is home from the hospital and safely in the hands of you -- its foster parents. We hope you like it. As for the staff, their attitude toward the new baby can best be summed up by what the hen told the square egg: "You were an awful pain, but I finally laid you."
Things to note are:
Of the seven suggested titles, nearly all of them went on to become actual magazine titles with one publisher or another.
By the time this issue hit the stands, Jem had a slogan: Jem, A Treaser Chest Of Rare Spice.
One of the suggested slogans was "LS/MFT," which I had to look up, but didn't explain completely why this would be a good slogan. Perhaps another euphimism lost to time... It's sure been played with, even today.
Also in the "Diamond Dust" section was a "Daffy Dictionary" entry, which I mentioned to Gracie and she quickly made a post about -- beating me to this article myself.
In my excerpt there's clearly a condescending attitute toward women, but it is also delicately clothed in words of worship. However it's important to note Gracie's post because Jem, while a vintage men's mag, definitely pushed the boundaries of condesention into blatent sexist behavior.
In fact, Jem was rather well known for such a sexist editorial policy. This cover of the 1958 March issue is an example of that. Here a topless French maid scrubs the floor while a dapper gent lords above her.
(Image from a private collector who allowed me to share the scan -- thanks DB!)
This editorial slant remained with the magazine (some claiming it even increased over time). Most collectors do agree, however, that the very best issues of Jem were the first few years. During these years Jem had high production standards with wonderful photography and an imaginative, playful design.
One of the reasons Jem was/is a favorite is that it has lots of photos -- and color photos.
Lovely photos of Jayne Mansfield and Anita Ekberg, each "A Jewel From The Jem Box."
In the first issue, the poster babe (two pages, but not in the center like a true 'centerfold') Betty Brosmer is featured as the official welcome to Jem.
Posing in a lovely sheet peignoir, Betty profers a come-hither gaze and champaign for two. The text reads, "WELCOME to JEM with a toast To Gaiety, Beauty, Entertainment from Betty Brosmer."
Note how Betty's face has transformed. The photo used in the magazine seems to have been airbrushed as the copy I have shows less lines on her face and more defined cheekbones. (I'm not saying Brosmer needed such things -- on the contrary, I find it interesting how even the slightest things in such a beautiful woman are 'imperfections' to be corrected.)
In keeping with the birthing metaphore, let's look at bit at the Jem family.
Jem was one of the Body Beautiful Publications, part of the Joe Weider family of magazines and the body building empire.
Betty Brosmer herself married Joe and became Betty Weider in the 60's.
From that point on, Betty, who had been the highest paid pin-up model in the 50's, became a real Weider and virtually stopped modeling and became an active participant in Joe's health and fitness empire.
When most folks think of Joe Weider they think of all his male muscle magazines.
These vintage muscle mags were controversial and even were tested by US censorship laws. From the New York Times dated April 29, 1957:
Magazines Indicted for Indeceny
The Union County grand jury today returned indictments against the publishers and distributors of seven national magazines on charges of conspiracy to sell indecent literature. The true bills are the first of their kind in New Jersey, according to Prosecutor H. Russell Morss, Jr.
Consiracy is a misdemeanor punishable by up to three years in state prison and a $1,000 fine. Among the publishers indicted was Body Beautiful Publications, Inc. (Wonderful Weedy)
(I wonder what Betty thought of this? She herself had refused to pose for Playboy because she of her self-imposed rule to only do chaste cheesecake shots.)
Wonderful Weedy, a not-so-affectionate nick name for Joe Weider, and his publications upset the suposed 'real keepers of the sport of body building,' including Harry B. Paschall, managing editor of Stength and Health. Here's how Harry responded to the news of Body Beautiful Publications indictments:
We are not in favor of censorship as a rule, and we believe in the fundamental freedom of the press, but there are certain cheap publishers who will stoop to anything to make money, even the perversion of children. It is about time some action is taken to stop this sort of indecency.
It is an odd twist of fate that at practically the same time the York Chamber of Commerce was honoring the York Barbell Club and Bob Hoffman with a testimonial plaque, the Union County Grand Jury (where the Weedy enterprises are located) was indicting Mr. Wonderful for consiracy to sell indecent literature. Perhaps the Mills of the Gods grind slowly but they grind exceeding small.
Weedy and his group of unscrupulous hirelings have been spouting for a long time about their idealism and how they were martyrs to the cause of pure, unsullied bodybuilding. They write letters to credulous columnists like Dan Parker (who should know better), of the N.Y. Mirror, telling how Bob Hoffman is the big, bad wolf who runs A.A.U. weightlifting to suit himself. They fail to bring into the open the fact that they themselves are mainly engaged in the business of selling dirty pictures and dirty magazines.
Anyone who takes one look at their current publications, such as Jem, and their small, dirty homo books Body Beautiful, and Adonis, cannot fail to see the category into which such literature falls. Indecency is a mild word for it. Pornography is better.
The Weedy books cannot be sold in their own home city. They have been banned by the League of Decency. Yet thousands of credulous lads, not yet dry behind the ears, take for truth the wild mouthings of these imitation experts, when they read the sensational articles in their trashy magazines.
Perhaps their long career of fooling some of the people some of the time is drawing to a close. Perhaps the Great Imitator (he has recently copied the labels of Hoffman's Hi-Proteen products so closely they can almost be sold as the real McCoy) may be forced by public opinion and the law to go back to his original slum hideway, where he and his pals can still make a living peddling French postcards. Apparently you can take a kike out of the slums, but you can never take the slums out of the kike.
Well, well, wel... If Weider's muscle men mags were dirty and obscene, what should we make of the racism of Paschall?
This is a record sleeve, which I suppose is a kind of advertising. The album, by that most uncompromisingly British of veteran rock bands, The Kinks, dates from 1975. This cartoon image (credited to one Mickey Finn) was already the height of retro when it first appeared, and the era alluded to is probably really the late 1950s, when Kinks leader/songwriter Ray Davies and his brother Dave were at school in suburban north London. The lyrics of one song on the disc, Headmaster, clearly refer to getting the cane. From a cultural historian's point of view, it's extremely interesting that there is such a clear reference -- in the lyrics and in the drawing -- to bare-bottom canings, since even in the 1950s that was not at all the norm for ordinary local secondary schools:
Headmaster, this is my confession, I've been such a little fool. I've dishonoured one who trusted me, I have broken all the rules. I've been such a little fool. Don't tell all my friends I bent over, Don't tell them you made me cry. Don't tell them I've been sacrificed, Don't tell all my friends or I'll die. Headmaster don't beat me I beg you, I know that I've let you down. Headmaster please spare me I beg you, Don't make me take my trousers down.
I love it when a unique item on eBay makes me do a search and I discover pieces of a puzzle...
This old German porcelain (or ceramic) piece features three figures: a woman in bed, and two men who, as the seller says, appear to be "in the process of deciding who will be the first to "visit" the young lady in her bed for whatever pleasure may result from such visit."
The seller also says, "I dont ever remember having a similar piece in all the years I have spent in the Antique business." While one can be skeptical with seller statements -- they are at least relative to their own experience -- I'd have to agree. (Hence my researching.)
Introduced in 1901, they remained part of the Sunday comics for years. In this strip, two French characters are so polite they are stymied when they reach a door, each offering the other entry first with what would become, at the time, quite famous lines:
"After you, my dear Alphonse."
"No, after you, my dear Gaston."
The strip pretty much vanished after 1910, but the characters continued to live on in Happy Hooligan, where they ran their bit best as a sideline rather than the lead through the 40's.
You can find remnants of Alphonse and Gaston in the Chip and Dale Mack and Tosh*, aka the Goofy Gophers, politeness, as well as other standards bits, like like two baseball outfielders each deferring to the other and letting the ball fall between them. Which brings us back to our German figurine.
Two men who likely will be so polite to defer to one another, while the lady falls asleep. *wink*
The seller says this is an "OLD VICTORIAN era GERMAN group figurine," which is rather close to the time frame -- give or take a handful of years.
As part time Walden Books seller (from the mid 80's to early 90's) I often worked the Friday night shift. Even in bookstores there are the cool kids who have parties and dates to attend, but really, most folks didn't like working Friday nights because of the clientele. Friday nights meant customers with weekly paychecks and those who made a bee-line for the mall bookstore were the male geeks.
Well, I shouldn't say they made a bee-line. It was more like they cashed their checks, had a meal out and then headed to the bookstore. It was an event for most of them. You'd think with the number of them it was an organized event, but it wasn't. It was a crowd of individuals, a date-night for one if you will, with the crowd consisting of socially awkward individuals who didn't speak to each other. (Again, I should point out this phenomena was seen in the male of the geek species; women are an entire other story.)
So the store is full of single men, with a penchant for computer and tech magazines, who all manage to merge at the magazine rack but never, ever mingle. There's no talking. No boasting of equipment. No eye rolling over who would pick that pc magazine. No talking at all because that would mean human connection, and clearly these boys weren't up for it.
My first Friday night, I saw the busy store with its well behaved customers (these guys waited patiently in line and never sighed impatiently or did most of the other annoying things I experienced on other busy sales days) and I wondered what the fuss was all about. Why did the other workers not want to work Fridays? It was just me, the manager who sat in back doing her weekly reports and only came on the floor to close the register, and Gary, the only male employee. So at my first opportunity, I asked Gary what the problem with Fridays was. Gary just mumbled something about other employees having plans -- but I did notice he blushed. Something wasn't quite right here...
It wasn't until my second Friday night shift that I figured it all out.
Gary had worked the register the previous Friday and he began the shift there as well. At one point he left to help a (non-geek) customer find a book, and I, seeing a line begin to form, jumped to pitch in and ring sales. As soon as I appeared at the register the first geek in line seemed reluctant to have me process the sale. He stood uncomfortably, even looked towards the back of the store where Gary had disappeared, as I stood with my hands out waiting to receive his magazines -- a huge friendly smile on my face. It was an awkward moment. But eventually he accepted that Gary's return wasn't going to save him so he handed his items to me and I saw him flush as he lowered his head.
I scanned the first pc magazine and set it to the side. Then the next pc magazine, and set that to the side. That's when I saw it. A copy of Penthouse. It all clicked then.
These guys came in to buy their computer & tech magazines and their porn.
I know I blushed a bit during this first sale. Not because of the porn shocking me, but because I wasn't expecting it. Most of the porn buyers I'd seen were men who boldly strode in weekdays, typically on their lunch breaks, and purposefully walked to the adult magazine section of the rack and still walking, used one hand to grab the nudie mag as they walked to the counter. It was more like a relay event, with a porn mag hand-off. They used speed and a bit of testosterone aggression to get the process over with as quickly as possible. They may have been embarrassed, but they seemed more like they wanted to get to the centerfolds during their lunch break and stopping to purchase was a necessary inconvenience. The geeks, on the other hand, were clearly embarrassed. They hid their porn beneath their other magazines and apparently were more comfortable with Gary checking them out than me.
With the next sale, I was prepared and I didn't blush. Now I knew the Friday Night Secret.
I stayed at the register all night. Gary seemed a bit flustered upon his return, but I wasn't moving. (It was faster work and just staying on the sales floor I had had little else to do -- these guys didn't need help finding what they wanted.)
That night when we closed Gary asked me how it was. I told him it was fine. He was clearly uncomfortable for me, so I told him not to worry, it didn't creep me out. They were just lonely guys who wanted porn, no biggie. And despite how busy we were, the store was impeccably clean. These guys were well-behaved shoppers all around.
The word got out that I liked working Friday nights and some of the full-time ladies teased me. They talked about how I must thrill the shy boys with my big bust line, and how they'd likely start lining up on Fridays just to see me. "Better they dream of you than buy porn," they'd say. Which then creeped out the other ladies who said that's what they feared most. I laughed it all off, but felt bad for these geeks who heaven forbid should ever have one of these ladies meet them at the register.
These guys were nice. Shy, but nice. Over the years I got a few of them (all regulars you know) to even exchange small talk at the register. A few had given me the old palm stroke as money was exchanged, so I was careful not to give them any indication I was flirting or interested, but I felt badly about how lonely these guys were. I figured that maybe knowing I was comfortable with them -- geek stuff, porn and all -- that they'd see that others could be too. And if any masturbated to the busty book girl whose palm they'd dared to stroke, well, who cares? You never know who is going to masturbate to mental images of you anyway.
I often wonder about the Friday Night Geeks of past years... Do they have stacks of neatly preserved porn? Boxes of pristine retro pc magazines? Do they remember the book seller who smiled and chatted with them?
And with the ease of the Internet, does this still occur?
Erich von Götha (aka Erich von Götha de la Rosière) is the pseudonym of the British illustrator and comic book artist Robin Ray. (Ray has also worked under the pseudonyms Janssens, Baldur Grimm and Robbins.) Robin Ray or Erich vonGotha, the artist has gained fame with his erotic works most of all that with sadomasochist themes.
As Gotha, he contributed to early editions of Dr. Tuppy Owens' The Sex Maniac's Diary. And then he went on to produce his own ground-breaking magazine, Torrid.
There were only 16 issues of Torrid (circa 1980's), but they not only had a cult-like following but have become hot collectibles today.
Erich Von Gotha's show, Twenty Chastis'd, May 5 - June 5 2007, is at the Mondo Bizzarro gallery in Rome. Here's what the gallery has to say about the artist:
Erich Von Gotha belongs firmly to the second category. Despite having worked as an artist for well over twenty years he has only just begun to give interviews.
However, besides taking delight in mistery (for many years he was obsessed by the treasures hidden by the Templar Knights) it is also important to point out that he lives in puritan England, a country with censorship laws so strict that they do not allow any of his books to be published. His works are translated and read throughout the world, apart from in his country. Erich Von Gotha is one of the greatest erotic and English comic strip artists ever.
A mystery cult or mystery religion is what might be called a boutique religion. Instead of being a total institution one is born into, people are voluntarily and optionally initiated into them. It was also possible to be a member or even an officiant of multiple cults.
Mystery cults have initiation rituals, and initiation seems to be the main point of them, for their own sake. Victor Turner distinguished between liminal rituals, which result in significant and permanent changes in status (e.g. weddings, graduations), and liminoid rituals, which don't have a permanent change in status (e.g. BDSM scenes, in my opinion).
A kneeling girl, keeping her head in the lap of a seated woman and shutting her eyes, the seated woman grasping her hands and drawing back the garment from the kneeling girl's bare back, while a sinister-looking female behind is raising a rod -- these are all quite realistic details of caning. But the threatening figure wielding the rode has black wings; she is not from this world but rather an allegorical personality.
Image of Weird Tales via Gloria Brame, and one of her readers comments, "The cover illustration is by Margret Brundage, who did most of the vintage Weird Tales covers of the 'thirties. Her covers often featured naked or nearly nude women in bondage."
Usually I try to bring you information regarding the images I show you. I feel the important context of most of these objects, artists and icons is the historical information. But sometimes in all of this history we lose site of the desire. None of our sexual history would matter, would exist, if we didn't desire sex and want to arouse ourselves.
So today I'm going to focus more on images for the sake of themselves; after all, it is National Masturbation Month!
Plus, these images are scans of pages found in that old Paramount Pictures 'folder,' so I don't know more than shown. (But if you don't know about these babes... Well, you must be under a rock some place.)
The lovely Bettie Page photographed by (the also yummy) Bunny Yeager. Bettie isn't credited (again) in this photo, but it's clearly her.
Also not credited, those infamous early nude photos of Marilyn Monroe taken by Robert M. Miles.
Again, Marilyn the model is not credited, but she's clearly recognizable.
In one of my auction lots, a box of vintage pornographic magazines, there was this old cover to Paramount Pictures, 1937-1938. (I do not have the publication, but I cannot get rid of it either -- like old empty boxes, there is always the possibility of finding the contents needing a cover, or a collector who does and will trade me for something I must have.)
This cover was now like a folder, holding loose pages cut out from many other vintage men's magazines and other publications with artistic nudes, risque articles and pinups, as well as some newspaper clippings and even a few nude sketches as well.
As I paged through this folder of vintage smut, article by article, I came upon this note:
You're suppose to be studying -- Not reading dirty books!
(As written, not a typo on my part.)
Clearly this young man (or woman) was left a note by mom, who didn't want to directly confront him (or was tired of not being heard for the umpteenth time) and so she left him a note where he'd be sure to find it.
Somethings never change, hm?
I'm not sure this qualifies as a "Dirty Found" item based on its location... But it sure made my day. *wink*
And yes, I'll be posting more of the pages/images from this folder of cut out goodies -- with better scans for you too. (I just wanted to show you quickly!)
In the U.S., by contrast, the government still tries to draw a line between mere sexual explicitness, which is protected by the First Amendment, and obscenity, which is not. Because this distinction is based on “community standards,” which are influenced by what publishers manage to get away with, the line is constantly moving. By running pictures of topless women along with serious articles by well-known writers, Hugh Hefner inspired a horde of imitators (including Duke, a short-lived Playboy for black men with a button-eyed mannequin instead of a rabbit as a mascot) and helped make sexual content acceptable, if not respectable. By 1970, 17 years after Playboy’s premiere issue featuring a nude but discreetly posed Marilyn Monroe, community standards were accommodating enough to allow what Hanson identifies as “the very first pubic hair to appear on the American newsstand.” It belonged to a snorkeler photographed on a beach for Penthouse, a publication that embodied Bob Guccione’s vision of a magazine for men who thought Playboy was too hoity-toity (which makes his title choice a little puzzling).
Because you've seen so much of June, you may think you know all about her. But I didn't.
I did not know that June Wilkinson toured as a singer with comedy legend Spike Jones, or that late in the '70s she started the June Wilkinson Aerobic Workout Studios in Canada, or that she dated Elvis, or that she was the columnist (at least in name & photo) behind "Girl Watching Problems" for Girl Watcher magazine.
I inherited my grandparents' house. Over the years I have been slowly going through things left behind. When I first moved in everything was just shoved in boxes and stored in the basement. Lately I have actually started going through things and what I have found is a treasure trove of vintage stuff of a sexual nature.
Read more about (& see more) of what this lucky girl has found in It's in the Genes.
On a related note, have I shown you Estate Sales and Women's Lives? Even if I did, here's a back-to-back look at what's left to find when you die...
Ancient Abortion, a point of view which I do not share, presented here as an example of context. Our times and their threats shape our thoughts and our fears, and allow for the call to control sexuality.
This kind of advertisement featured five distinct categories : body improvement, wacky products, money making schemes, Hostess fruit pies, and individuals selling other comics (often interspersed with the comic publishers selling their own branded accessories). As the decade came to a close, ad space was taken over by full-color ads for video games, candy and Saturday morning cartoons, but a page or two of black-and-white untruths lingered on.
Body improvement and Hostess fruit pies. What a pairing.
I'm looking forward to part two and will alert you as well.
We were not free sexually empowered women but rather we were scantily clad babes who existed to fulfill male fantasies, no matter if we liked it, knew it, or not. That's Victoria's Real Secret.
Her piece is interesting though; can't argue with her points on the demise of lingerie.
In that guide I was surprised to read that Roy Raymond, the founder of the Original Victoria's Secret, committed suicide by jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge in 1993, after several failed attempts to start a new business. So I guess if you have a signed Raymond catalog, you've got a good collectible there.
Also interesting to see that the catalog covers went from classy (if a bit 'under wraps'), to cuddly, to skimpy-sexy.
Reading over at Slip of a Girl, I found this post about a Wilco Fashions booklet. A trip to the listing and I discovered that it contains an ad for the "Vibra Finger".
The listing says: We are told this is to stimulate tired aching gums, tendons, muscles and joints of the face and head. It reads further "The probing finger creates tingling sensastions any beauty conscious woman will appreciate. Use it on the face, scalp, anywhere."
Well, believe it or not, I have that page for you, right out of the Wilco book. (Click to enlarge the image -- it is readable!)
I don't know about you, but a single finger vibrator doesn't scream 'oral health' to me. I doubt it did to anyone then either.
Vintage vibes are one of my passions. Finding one of these would be most cool.
Because I have quite the digital & paper library of things I have not managed to find or acquire, here's another ad for the same product.
A fellow collector is looking for information on &/or a copy of Focus on London After Dark, Vol 1 No 2, 1963.
Shown here is the front cover and an image presumably from the inside -- all he has are these digital images.
Of most importance is the cover story in the lower right corner: The Sex Scandal That Rocked Britain. (Regarding Profumo scandal in England.)
This is the information he has provided to help folks trace this publication:
It's the cover of an American mag. I have a contact in GB who says these pictures are taken at a house called Ewhurst in Elstree, north London. As with Harrison Marks' house it was extensively used by fashion and porno photographers.
The guy painting (in the second image) is the owner of the car and the house, not Harrison Marks; he is also the guy in the pic on the lower right. Identity not known yet (can be checked, but will take months to access the archives).
It is believed that Stephen Ward took the pictures. Behind her, walking up to the car (it was THAT close!) ....is ME. I recall him being annoyed at me, he didn't see me coming back from opening the gate and I stepped into the frame as he pressed the button. It was the last frame on the reel. So if you find the original film-roll it will show the garden scene first, then some heavy sex, then the car picture. I, we, are not entirely sure of the year these pictures were taken, but we would guess around '62 as Terry began working for HM in '62, but she might have been on the scene before then. The car is a Bentley Continental S Park Ward Drophead, made from '54-'57.
The same girls in both pics, it is thought. So this is probably '62, the spring perhaps, or the previous autumn? My contact has good pics of a lot of HM's girls and thinks the brunette Terry Peters (she looks a bit like Palmer - my guess - but has much smaller nipples) the redhead in the big picture is not Pamela Green, definite, but probably Maxine Miller, and thus she's the girl in the car picture too (both names are probably only model-names, not their real ones).
He's looking specifically for this issue, but any related materials may also be wanted. These include other photos, publications, films, documents, archives and articles pertaining to the individuals mentioned.
Since he's one of the men in the photo, he's provided other photos of himself taken about that time to help you identify other photos from that period or that very roll of film.
This collector also adds the following:
The press were heavily censored in Britain at the time, but seemingly you Yanks were able to dig deep. How deep? And what else did they have in their archives that didn't make the magazine?
If you do find a magazine and it's not for sale a Xerox copy would surfice. Forget the money, I'll pay for good stuff. But I would just love to get the negs, even copies of them.
Any information &/or leads are appreciated!
Send information to him at sverre_helgesen@hotmail.com.
You may also post in the comments section or email me as I am also researching this.
Peter Arno perfected the single speaker captioned cartoon, is the father of the gag cartoon, and is a master illustrator.
His cartoons may not be what you think of as far as the Golden Age of Comics, but his use of humor to make editorial statements about society certainly gives him a place in the Golden Age of satirical art. And let's not forget that his depictions of voluptuous women being pursued by lecherous men are not only a wonderful treat for the eyes, but broke ground for the cartoons and illustrations seen in Playboy today.
As a huge fan of Peter Arno's work, I naturally collect his works as I can.
In the mid-1930s cartoons and comic strips briefly dominated advertising. So, the work of Peter Arno appeared not only in The New Yorker as 'content', but also in the ads as well. This includes advertising in other magazines in the 1930s.
Arno even appeared in an ad for Angus Scotch whiskey.
Along with ads, his work appeared in anthologies, playbills etc. So there are plenty of places to look for Arno besides his books.
His books though, are gems. Here's a list of Peter Arno's books:
Whoops, Dearie (1927) Parade (1929) Hullabaloo (1930) Circus (1931) Circus (London: The Bodley Head 1933) Favorites (1932) For Members Only (1935) Cartoon Revue (1941) Man in the Shower (1944) The Bedside Tales (1945) The Peter Arno Pocket Book (1946) Sizzling Platter (1949) Crepes Suzettes (1950) Ladies and Gentlemen (1951) The New Peter Arno Pocket Book (1955) Hell of a Way to Run a Railroad (1956) The Penguin (1957) Lady in the Shower (1967) Peter Arno (1979)
A note to collectors: as usual, books with dust jackets are rare, but this is especially true for 'Favorites'.
I recommend looking for Peter Arno's books at ABE; book dealers know what they are talking about as far as conditions.
