The other night on Twitter I got into a fun little back-and-forth of reminiscences with WR from the femdom site Domme Dose (http://dommedose dot com) about the old days in Times Square, recalling the Triple Treat Theater where they had porn stars and dominatrixes, and Show World Center with its fantasy booth girls. For the aficionado of commercial erotic adventure, the current 42nd Street and Times Square are a total bore compared to the old days of sleaze. I mean, to be fair, there are still a few strip clubs and adult bookstores here and there, but mostly on the fringes; and the area overall is “family-friendly,” in that phrase beloved of tourist guidebooks.
I got the above image from an article at the Gothamist website, where you can see several more great glimpses of the bygone glories of NY sleazitude. And go to a site called Bald Punk’s Paranormal NYC to see a funky video that gives you a nice feeling of Times Square in the 70s.
I knew most of the theaters, peep shows, bookstores, and strip clubs in the area. That’s what the area is missing today–places where men who enjoy the solitary culture of sleazitude can get their thrills cheaply, unpretentiously. I love the Internet, but sometimes you like to be alone amongst liked-minded strangers.
I remember the walk-in $10 massage parlors–the door was a curtain of beads, or sometimes there was no door at all–down on 42nd Street between 9th and 10th Avenues, which is now “Theater Row.” Girls would be sitting on folding chairs in loose summer frocks. “Hi, honey, wanna massage?” “Yes, ma’am!”
I got the above shot from a site called NYC Architecture. Go there for more amazing pix of the area, and edgy photos of ladies on the streets.
Now, do you remember the shoes that were so popular in the late 70s, Candies slides? Whenever I see pictures of them, I think of a girl I knew back in 1977 in an incall brothel apartment on the East Side in the 50s.
Not too long after I got back to New York following my father’s death that summer in Chicago (my hometown), I found this cute girl through an ad in Screw newspaper and visited her for six months for $25 a session. Although she was comparatively short, she had really nice legs and a round butt, and she often wore pantyhose which sexily accentuated her curvy shape. And she also always wore Candies’ slides, the same style as these vintage ones from 1978 that I found in this photo from the Esty site here.
She was one of the first girls I ever got into femdom scenarios with, even though all I basically did was kiss her legs, feet, and butt. She was a friendly little blonde Jewish gal in her early 20s from Queens. She never worked on Friday nights, because that’s when she had Sabbath dinner with her relatives. At least that’s what she told me, and I liked the idea of it so I believed her. Maybe it was true, or maybe she was playing me because I was then, still, a “nice” Jewish boy. Even if she was playing me, it doesn’t matter, because it was the right myth to please me at that time.
She got me through a lot of lonely months with nice conversation and roleplay when I was still thinking a lot about how awfully my father suffered (a quick, catastrophic neurological disease), and how young he died (forty-nine). Eventually I started thinking it would be nice to see her on the outside, but although she didn’t mind me calling her at the brothel just to say hello, dating wasn’t possible. Ruefully I said, “I wish I’d met you in a different place, like in a museum, coming up to you and giving you some corny line.” I usually tried to pick girls up at the Metropolitan Museum in front of the Dutch paintings, which in their homey humanism lent themselves readily to quips. “Yeah, that would’ve been different,” she said. But that wasn’t how we’d met, so we just continued as “trick and tart” until eventually I couldn’t seem get through to her anymore at the whorehouse just to say hello.
For a long time I liked to think it was like something out of the poem by Andrew Marvell, The Definition of Love:
Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.
I was a romantic fool then. Still have a touch of it today.
She called herself Kitty, and when I first saw her, she was sitting scrunched up in the corner of a couch, just like a kitten. “Who would you like?” the madam said. So I nodded to the kitten in Candies.