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Namio Harukawa, great femdom artist, honored in Japan!

The amazing work of Namio Harukawa, about which I’ve written before on this blog here and here, was honored this year 2019 in Japan with a major gallery exhibit that had crowds lining up down the block!

“Venus Callipgye”–a term which I used frequently myself when editing CHEEKS magazine. It means “Aphrodite of the Beautiful Ass”

 

A book of Namio’s work was also published and is available on Amazon here:

Haven’t seen this volume yet, but it looks wonderful!

 

I learned all about this from a Japanese blog that, to my surprise and delight, showcased one of my own recent blog posts. In English the blog’s  title is rendered as Bouquet for Masochism! through Google Translate. You can find it here.  A few screenshots:

Dealing with a wide range of BDSM and femdom topics, the blog of “Homer” (as he calls himself) celebrates artists such as Sardax, Nanshakh, and of course Namio Harukawa. Homer got to meet Mr. Harukawa!

 

 

The blog celebrates the sweet and humorous side of femdom as well as the more intense.

 

 

Here is a screencap of the post where Homer discussed my blog. It was in reference to posts the British femdom artist Sardax and I had written, on our separate blogs, about searching for dominatrices back in the day.

 

I’m proud to say I wrote an appreciation of Namio Harukawa in 1989 when, as far as I could tell, he was still virtually unknown in the United States. It was in the second issue of CHEEKS, which I edited from 1988 to 2005.

As I’ve no doubt said elsewhere on this blog, Cheeks was a labor of love for me. It celebrated the beauty of the butt, but also had a good bit of femdom elements too.

 

Here is what the article looked like in the magazine, although I added the sepia tint to post it here. The original pages were just straight black-and-white.

At this time, I was editing the mag under one of my other noms de porn, “Lester Bloom,” and I signed this article with that byline too.

 

 

And if you want to read the article for yourself, just click on these high-resolution versions of the pages below. I just redacted some outdated ordering information from the scans.

 

In the succeeding years, Mr. Harukawa’s work has become even more beautiful. I’ve only become a bigger fan. It must have been quite a thrill to see a gallery covered with his works. When you go to Homer’s blog, you’ll be able to read here, either in Japanese or in translation (which is a bit iffy, as these Google translations can be), a post about his encounter with the artist. Be sure to check out Bouquet for Masochism! It’s quite lively and full of a wide range of art and information about femdom, BDSM, and other topics as well.

Thank you, Homer, for posting about my blog. I’ve been getting an increasing number of visitors to my blog from Japan, and this is probably the reason why!

 

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Would you lick the dirty bottom of a domme’s shoe?

It’s hard to believe I wrote this four years ago…a lot of it in a spiral notebook sitting outdoors at Lincoln Center and drinking coffee.

I thought about this story for a couple of years, had two false starts, and then finally it fell into place. I think in some ways it’s one of my most personal tales, even though it is a total piece of fiction, completely fabricated from out of my twisted mind.

The cover was posed by a professional model in a stock photo I purchased, yet over the years she has come to seem to me like the very embodiment of Darva Chan.

I mostly write on the computer, but I like to write by hand as well.

 

I’ve thought about doing a sequel but, although I have a cover picked out, I never seem to get around to it. Maybe I said all I had to say about Darva and her virtuoso methods of pain and piano in this novella. I’m not big on sequels anyway. I only wrote a sequel to LEARNING TO BE CRUEL because my British artist colleague Sardax did a painting of its domina character, Miss Meirong, that suggested a further direction for the story. Yet, maybe someday, I’ll see what Darva has been up to these last few years…

In any case, I love classical music as much as femdom and in DARVA CHAN I got to merge them both. And this cover is one of my favorites.

The story also addresses the question of whether her slave, otherwise devoted, will lick the dirty bottoms of her shoes. He is reluctant because it doesn’t seem too sanitary to him…well, Darva and her minion Jason come to a compromise on this. Read it and see what you think. Be sure to listen to Prokofiev’s 7th piano sonata as you do…or, as Darva calls it, “The Femdom Sonata”!  You can get the ebook here. And you can listen to the fabulous virtuoso Yuja Wang play the last movement of the sonata here. Savor the music and look at the Darva cover, letting yourself sink into the intense world of her eyes. See where the combination of image and music take you!

 
 

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Aspects of the “pinup lifestyle” ;)

Pinup culture is something I’ve been fascinated with since I bought my first vintage “silk stocking” magazines back in the 70s for three bucks apiece from a dusty used bookshop on Eighth Avenue that is now a Japanese noodle joint. Peter Driben was the cover artist for those magazines, like Beauty Parade, Titter, and Wink, and a few years ago I found a little case in an art shop which I thought would be perfect for carrying Altoid mints. It was decorated with a Driben pinup…

It’s always fun to fish the case out of my pocket and see one of Driben’s beauties as I pop a couple of mints into my pie hole. By the way, the antecedent of “pie hole,” American slang for mouth, was “cake hole,” British service slang in World War 2.

 

Another way I partake of the “pinup lifestyle,” so to speak, is reading paperbacks from the 40s and 50s when pinups were at their peak and “good girl art,” as it’s called by collectors, adorned the covers. There are some reprint editions which have great girl art covers too; this Stark House reprint of two superlative Gil Brewer novels, which I recently read, was done by artist Mel Crair, about whom you can read more here, and it certainly fills the pinup bill!

The intro to these two amazing novels is by Paul Bishop. If I wasn’t so distracted by those gams I might not have cut off that byline!

 

I spent a lot of time this summer reading some fantastic noir novels, and these Brewer books were among the best. In particular, A Killer is Loose is a chilling study of a how a normal guy deals with a totally out-of-control madman who has completely latched onto him. It was one of the most mesmerizing, suspenseful, yet tragic noir books I’ve ever read.

I hope to give a fuller round-up of all the titles I enjoyed in an upcoming post. Meantime, check out the Gil Brewer novels for yourself over at Amazon here.

 
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Posted by on August 30, 2019 in Erotica

 

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“KNOW WHERE YOU BELONG”…stern beauties help their slaves to never forget!

My latest femdom fiction ebook is available now…

 

You can read more about it here!

Available at Amazon Kindle stores worldwide. Read it on your phones, tablets, computers and Kindles.

It’s selling faster than any of my recent ebooks. So far readers in the U.S., the UK, Germany, Canada, and Australia have scooped ’em up. So get yourself a copy of this collection that’s like a box of chocolates for your erotica palate, kinky tales for femdom fun and pleasure!

It may have inspired someone to also pick up a copy of my earlier collection of short stories, SPELL OF DOMINANCE, here.

Enjoy! 🙂

 
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Posted by on July 25, 2019 in Amazon.com, ebooks, Erotica, Kindle

 

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The pornographic potency of pinups…

We tend to look on vintage pinups from the 40s through the 60s via a nostalgic rose-colored lens, but what is forgotten is that these charming and skillfully rendered images were regarded in many quarters as pornography in their day. Nobody talked about masturbation openly in the peak era of Gil Elvgren, George Petty, and Alberto Vargas, but these pictures undoubtedly inspired many a spurt of lust.

I was reminded of this by a beautiful Elvgren pinup posted on Twitter by GracePheesh here and here, who frequently posts the delightful work of this fantastic artist. At first glance this is classic Gil, leggy, flirty, and the colors beautifully balanced to give the most sensual and pleasing impression…

But I was reminded of the pornographic potency of this pinup by the coincidence of seeing a woman display herself just this way on July 4th, the day before I saw this pinup online. On Independence Day I was sitting in a park in midtown Manhattan, enjoying a cup of coffee, when a woman about thirty sat down at a table with her boyfriend or husband. I believe they were European tourists. They were about twenty-five feet away from me. The woman had honey blonde hair and tawny skin, and wore a colorful and flowing dress that looked as if it were a giant kerchief which had been designed as a garment. When she sat in her chair, she leaned over and it was hard to miss the deep cleavage of her breasts in the low-cut decollete.

She and her man were about to eat breakfast sandwiches. But before she began to eat, she hiked up the skirt of her dress very high, presumably (I figured) because it would drag on the ground when she was sitting. The revelation of her thighs was startlingly erotic: they were lush and golden, and her curvaceous legs tapered down to bare feet which were on tiptoes in her flip-flops as she sat.

What struck me immediately as a coincidence was that she wore pink nail polish on her toes and fingers, which was the same shade of light pink that I had used the day before (on July 3rd) in designing the logo for a new femdom erotica ebook cover.

The revelation of her thighs is exactly replicated in the pinup above, which I saw on July 5th on Twitter.

She didn’t keep her thighs uncovered long; perhaps no more than a minute. Then she lowered the skirt, perhaps deciding to tolerate the hem touching the asphalt. I don’t know if she’d seen me looking at her; our glances never met, for which I am glad. I was in no mood for her to see my admiration; her man was bulky, muscled, and heavily tattooed. Ogling, I sensed, could have been met with conflict, even though it was hard not to want to look at her.  I mostly returned to my newspaper with only an occasional glimmer of yearning surveillance out of the corner of my orbs, even as a few minutes later some friends joined them and, finishing their breakfast (the woman devouring her long sandwich wrap with gusto), they all wandered off further into the park.

But wow! The baring of her thighs was startlingly exciting, a moment of lush tease. Whether such tease was unintentional, merely the result of a utilitarian lifting of her skirt from the sidewalk, or a moment of conscious or unconscious flirtation (perhaps she had seen my gaze of appreciation and wanted to torture me—and any other nearby thigh-gazers—with her unavailability), it was instantly cemented into my memory bank, and was reinforced powerfully when I saw the Elvgren pinup.

As well as when I saw the pink logo of my upcoming erotica ebook, just like the color of her toenails…

The whole situation could be the beginning of a fictional story of erotic cuckolding: a woman tantalizing a solitary middle-aged stranger in the distance in the park and then going off with her own man, leaving the stranger to think…dream…and then write a blog post about it! 😉

No, only kidding; an actual piece of erotic fiction about such a cuckolding would require a little more action than the aching ogler just sitting at a laptop later and blogging away the frustration!

In any case, I’ve chosen to blog, this time, instead. Plenty of other opportunities for cuckolding tales, of which I’ve written a number…see my Amazon store here

 

…and is a theme touched upon in the new book as well. I’ll be announcing its title very soon.

Back to the pinup: note the perky nipples pressing against the blouse of the Elvgren girl, too—an unusually explicit detail for this artist, who was oftentimes a bit more subtle or didn’t allude to stiff nubs at all.

So the next time you hear someone talk about the “innocence” of vintage pinups…well, just remember that their potent pulchritude could inspire the most throbbing daydreams! Just like the things that happen in real life sometimes… 😮

 

 

 

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Remembrance of New York City dungeons past…

Folks were recently chatting on Twitter about the differences between the online femdom scene of today and the old days, back when dungeons and dommes had to be sought out in a more stealthy manner, when most mistresses made their money by doing real-time sessions rather than having the option of concentrating on filming clips and getting financial tributes via the Internet.

My British artist colleague Sardax just did an excellent post about seeking femdom experiences over in England back in the pre-Internet days. You can find it here.

For me, back in the 70s through the early 2000s, a femdom experience (and they were always commercial ones for me) could first start with a perusal of SCREW newspaper, which featured classified ads that tempted me into the ladies’ lairs. (Yes, I know the word “lair” is a melodramatic one, but that’s what they felt like to me in my nervous anticipation of my forays therein.)

 

 

Later I discovered the fetish-oriented femdom tabloids like DOMINANT MYSTIQUE and THE VAULT, which more specifically showcased the BDSM scene, often with large, tantalizing, and beautifully done photographs. I also looked at femdom magazines which very much got me into the mood for a real-time experience.

I never had these encounters when I was in an intimate relationship with someone, though. I kept them separate. There was a wide chasm between my attempts to have a “vanilla” existence and my expeditions into the kink world.


Once I was unattached again and decided to visit a mistress, it was then a matter of finding a phone booth from where I could call anonymously to get more information about her (nobody used the term “domme” then, as far as I knew) and where, approximately, to go for the scene and how much it would cost. I was paranoid about calling some total stranger from my home phone (there was still no *69 yet to block one’s own number); and of course there were no cellphones decades ago.

Once an appointment was agreed upon, the actual location of the dungeon or private studio would only be given to a first time visitor right before coming for the session, usually by calling the dungeon from a specified phone booth across the street, where the mistress could perhaps see you on the street from a window and, presumably, size you up. Once in the dungeon or studio, you’d get undressed, hand over the fee (over the years from mostly the 1980s to the early 2000s spanning $100-200, plus a tip afterward), then discuss the scene with the mistress and get down to it. It’s been quite a few years since I last went to a pro-domme, but that’s basically the routine that I recall following.

In the years afterward, I became more comfortable discussing some of my submissive fantasies with the dancers in strip clubs, and began to get my femdom thrills during the private $20-per-song dances instead. I also had some erotic femdom roleplay in the 80s and 90s in the “one-on-one” booths in Times Square, where the customer would be on one side, the performer on the other, and you’d watch her through glass and talk to her via a telephone. Actually, those were pretty hot experiences and I should really write an entire post about them sometime. Economical, too. Those booths used to cost only about $1 a minute (designed to use as tokens the one dollar coins with the image of feminist Susan B. Anthony on them). Since the scenes usually took about ten-fifteen minutes, the cost was around $20-$25, including a ten dollar tip. Not trying to reduce things to dollars and cents, but sex history is also economic history…

Anyway, going to professional dominatrices in dungeons was a mixed bag for me. As I came to realize, looking back over the years, I never enjoyed paying for erotic experiences very much; I did it (repeatedly, of course) because I was young, horny, and the women were so physically alluring and tantalizing to me (and usually much more glamorously attractive than those I could meet in my day-to-day life); but there was no way I could rationalize the ego-deflation I felt by being a “trick” —as I called myself in the spirit of being “realistic” about what I was actually doing.

You see, I never thought of myself as a “client” of a dominatrix but always as a “john.” I grew up in a conservative Midwest Jewish background (not overly religious, but sexually and psychologically uptight) and my erotic adventurousness was badly tempered by feelings of shame and guilt that I was not living up to the image of “being a good boy” with which I was indoctrinated. So I always felt there was something “wrong” with me because I had to “pay for it”–not to mention that I was paying for female domination (!), which was really considered beyond the pale thirty, forty years ago. I went to therapy for nine years and one of the topics I always brought up was how I could act more “normal.” Didn’t happen. 😉

Now, I’m not making a value judgment about pay-for-play; in fact I am grateful for the encounters which relieved many a lonely hour; and I believe in sex work decriminalization. I am simply expressing here what I felt about my personal experiences with it. So even though I did have fun now and then, the femdom sessions I had in dungeons or, earlier, New York’s apartment brothels and massage parlors, seemed to have very little resonance in my imagination or fantasies. Instead, I mostly fantasized about women whose pictures I saw in magazines, or in videos. I also liked written erotica; art (by everyone from Stanton to Bilbrew to Harukawa to Sardax); short stories; and audio files by femdom erotica creators ranging from Keri Pentauk (of WHAP Magazine fame) to Goddess Lycia; still do. Yes, I have always been partial to the erotic world stimulated between my two ears.

Some of the best femdom experiences I ever had in real-time, real-life, were with a beautiful and very intelligent Asian-American stripper in the early 2000s who came to understand my fantasies. In a friendly yet professional way, she asked me what I liked and then indulged those preferences in verbal roleplay while she gave me lapdances in a midtown club. I did not feel paying for lapdances or drinks was as hurtful to my wobbly self-esteem as going to dominatrices or, earlier, to those apartment brothels where I first explored some of my fetish and submissive desires; so for quite a few years the strip clubs became my venue of choice to explore my submissiveness. I only really stopped when the sex magazine business in which I worked began to crumble in the wake of the Internet, and my income declined. Simply, I could no longer afford the indulgence of spending money on twenty-dollar lapdances or on the dancers’ expensive drinks.

Often when I left a dungeon I would feel glad that I had gone; it was cathartic and I usually enjoyed the encounter with the mistress. Now and then a session wouldn’t be good, but generally the ladies were friendly and decent even if the chemistry was lacking in our session. But being playfully dominated in the strip club setting became more enjoyable for me, partly because I could spend less and I ended up preferring that. Also, in the strip club, I felt as if my desires were more integrated with the rest of my life—I just walked in, hung out for awhile, and left— whereas when I went to a pro-domme or a dungeon (or to vanilla hookers before that), I felt as if I were going into another, faraway zone (calling from a certain phone booth, etc.) and it was more stressful to me.

On trips to dungeons I only even took the bare minimum of identification in my wallet in case I was somehow going to be robbed during the session (which had happened to me in the 70s once). Maybe that was paranoid of me, but I thought I was being prudent too. And, even if the places were friendly and well-run, for me trips to dungeons or studios felt secretive and shameful; and, after I went to a couple of places that did not seem any too clean (including one very famous dungeon), possibly not all that hygienic either. And again, I don’t mean to sound judgmental; I am just describing my probably over-neurotic feelings for the sake of honesty and a sex history perspective. Looking back, I think I was overly fastidious—but returning to the subject of my background, I grew up with hypochondria and “germ-consciousness” in my family life. It’s a wonder, in fact, that I even could have even started going to hookers or mistresses at all, given my hang-ups; but one can never underestimate the horniness of the young, especially when gorgeous streetwalkers in hot pants and platform heels patrolled Eighth Avenue in its last fabled years of rich raunchiness, the ladies flaunting their wares to the lonely, the throbbing, and the susceptible.

I noticed in Sardax’s piece on this topic of bygone days (again, you can find that here)  that he discussed the idea of meeting people through contact ads. That was something I never tried to do; I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of writing a letter to a stranger about the fantasies of sexual submission I felt so ambivalent about. That’s undoubtedly why I just focused on commercial transactions with professional dominatrices. I did once go to a meeting of The Eulenspiegel Society, the well-known BDSM group, thinking perhaps I could meet a mistress that way; but I couldn’t get into joining or participating, I was still too unaccepting of my feelings and still wishing I could be “vanilla.”

This post was difficult for me to complete. I’ve been working on it since March 2019 and only finished it because Sardax’s post inspired me to finally get it done. I wish I could have struck a lighter tone, as he did. Anyway, forgive me if I went off on personal tangents possibly unrelated to the topic, but I decided to leave them in to give you a sense of what it was like for me, one person, to deal with the fulfillment of these submissive desires in the days before the easier-to-access pervy plenitude on the Worldwide Web.

 

 

 

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Elizabeth Taylor and The Cleavage of Cleopatra…

Elizabeth Taylor’s epic starring vehicle Cleopatra came out in June 1963, but I didn’t see it until 1964, for a fifty cent ticket on its third run in a small theater on the North Side of Chicago. I was almost thirteen years old. I remember thinking the movie was pretty good, even though people had said negative things about it. And I remember saying at the time that fifty cents was really a good price to pay for a four hour trip into the ancient world!

I hadn’t seen the whole film again since, so when Turner Classic Movies ran it the other night I gave it a watch from start to finish. I enjoyed it, although I didn’t think it was a great film. But its mix of politics, romance and spectacle was absorbing.

But what most struck me now was how it was quite a showcase for Taylor’s cleavage.

The admiring fellow is, of course, Richard Burton as Mark Antony.

I wonder now how that cleavage affected me back in 1964. Cleavage displayed like this was not something that I saw much of growing up in the sexually conservative Jewish middle class neighborhood of West Rogers Park. So the constant focus on boobie vistas in Cleopatra may well have blown my mind at that tender, impressionable age. As it also did in June 2019 when I watched the film again from beginning to end.

As Cleopatra gives Caesar daring political advice, Mark Antony (out of frame) falls for her hard.

Now I can’t help but think that Cleopatra may have had something to do with my utter fascination with cleavage in recent years, a fascination which really didn’t start until I was in my late forties/early fifties after I got an amazing lapdance from a stripper with two utterly beautiful large natural breasts. Until then, I think a fetish for cleavage existed “underground” in my subconscious, and I’m not sure of the reason(s) why. Perhaps the ubiquity of cleavage in the media and on the street nowadays is what brought it back to the surface for me, big time.

Cleopatra in her regal finery, cleavage dazzlingly displayed!

 

In any case, I therefore conclude that perhaps my long-ago viewing of Cleopatra on that fifty cent ticket (plus a dime for buttered popcorn) had something to do with my writing of femdom erotica ebooks like this one…available on Amazon here…try the free sample just by clicking…

One of my best femdom ebooks. Yolanda is charmingly merciless with her “boob for boobies,” the haplessly cleavage-addled Orwell Jarvis.

 

…and the imprinting of Cleopatra’s CleavageScope (oh, that’s just my silly invented word!) probably had something or other to do with my ever-burgeoning admiration for the gorgeous and b-b-busty Goddess Lycia, about whom you can learn m-m-more here. And I want to emphasize that her talents are by no means limited to her sharing tantalizing glimpses of her, um, her c-c-cleavage, but are but one aspect of her entrancing hypnodomme erotic powers as conveyed through her skillful writings, striking images, intoxicating videos, and especially her mind-enrapturing audio files. For adults only, of course.

Goddess Lycia is a true Mistress of the Selfie as well as of men’s minds.

 

Back in the early 2000s, there was a magazine entitled Cleavage put out by one of the publishers I worked for. It never seemed to hit big, perhaps because the magazine showed full bare breasts, instead of obsessively concentrating on the tease of cleavage alone. Although it probably wouldn’t have been practical on the marketplace to do an adult magazine without showing some bare tits and nipples, I would have photo-edited it very, very carefully to emphasize tease over exposure and nudity. And given the way I feel about cleavage, it might have been a success like the other fetish magazines I did for many years: the ass-crammed Cheeks (1988-2005), the toe-and-sole utopia of Leg World (2004-2010), and the mature ladies sexual paradise of Girls Over 40 (1988-2008).

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Images of Goddess Lycia are ©GoddessLycia and used by courtesy of Goddess Lycia. Screencaps of Cleopatra, 1963, by yours truly. And the photographer’s credit for my ebook Rule By Cleavage is prominently displayed right on the excellent cover above.

 

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