Monthly Archives: February 2012

Bare-breasted slavegirl flings mud at mighty Moses!

We all have images in our lives that are touchstones for who we are, what we become. In my case, I became a writer and editor of erotica, with a specialty in female domination fiction (also known as “femdom”).

I don’t think an image causes an obsession, necessarily, but rather can be a crystallization of the feelings already in a person.

Growing up in the 1950s as an impressionable child, I was constantly witnessing the paradoxical spectacle of the so-called “weaker” female sex humbling the “stronger” male sex. I believe I was deeply fascinated by how women, supposedly “below” men, could craftily overwhelm them despite the superior position of men in our society. And so when I saw the cover of this novel about Moses, a book which was one of the foundations for the screenplay of the 1956 film The Ten Commandments, I became subconsciously hooked on the allure of the female domination scenario where a woman rules over a man…

From below, she humbles the strong man above...

A beautiful BARE-BREASTED girl (that alone must have made my heart pound in the repressive 50s) is obviously angry (you can see the lividness of her expression from the skillful way artist Robert Douglass drew only the very side of her face) and is about to toss mud (gross, gooey dirt that looks like something far more disgusting) at a regal, powerfully-built Moses standing above her on a chariot (a veritable symbol of male power for me since 1959 when I saw Ben-Hur). His face is contorted in dismay and what looks like fear, and his hand has a softness in the way it cowers at what he sees. It’s almost as if the violent act of the rebellious female is softening, or feminizing, the male…

This paperback edition of the 1949 hardcover novel was published in 1951, the year I was born. I believe I saw this paperback sometime in the late 50s or early 60s. It actually belonged to my maternal grandmother, or at least it was at her apartment, along with a hardcover edition of the book–if memory serves me right. My grandmother was a demure, ladylike, religious woman, a seamstress originally from Russia, but somehow or other she had this lurid paperback on her shelf. I can’t recall any other English books; she usually seemed to read the Yiddish newspapers.

Anyway, although I found this image online at Amazon here, I have a copy of the book somewhere in my own archives; I remember buying one in recent years at a flea market. I collect things that affected me profoundly in my past, however trivial they may seem to others.

This amazing piece of art is really like a summary of the femdom fiction I write: an essentially strong man (his strength in my stories usually symbolized by his intellect and wit) is humbled by a brash woman (not always his intellectual equal, but almost always more attractive than him) who on some level he really does not think is superior to him, but to whom he feels a need to submit. Hence he is startled by both her strength (in flinging her mud, real or symbolic) and the efficacy of her fury in making him completely discombobulated and submissive.

Seeing this paperback brought my femdom fantasies closer to my consciousness. By the time I was in my mid-teens, I was writing short stories and novellas with femme fatale types leading guys over the abyss…

I just want to add parenthetically that Cecil B. DeMille, who used this book as the basis of his final film The Ten Commandments, had a foot fetish. I read an article once that claimed actress Paulette Goddard impressed him during an audition for a new role (or a discussion in his office about it) by propping her bare feet up on his desk! And I think it can be said that this paperback cover–done several years before DeMille’s film–certainly embodies some of the same sadomasochistic elements of the movie, which had Anne Baxter’s Egyptian princess vamping Charlton Heston’s Moses and later laughing at him as he wallowed in mud when he returned to his people as a Hebrew slave.


Posted by on February 19, 2012 in Erotica


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Kate Upton gives everybody a va-va-voom Valentine’s Day!

I said it here months ago…Kate Upton is a goddess who walks among us! See “Take a moment to worship Kate Upton” here complete with my exclusive photo of a Times Square billboard of her Guess ads!

And to think that she’s an equestrian too, a horse-riding goddess! Halfway to being a female centaur! (Centauress? Centaurix?)

Don't mind me; it's hard to type on my laptop when I'm wearing a bib.

And she’s also pretty well-spoken, too, with a nice slightly throaty edge to her voice. I tried to embed an interview she did on morning tv, but I couldn’t quite get it right. But I’m sure you’ll hear her for yourself in the media sometime in the next few days…or hours…or minutes…

If the 1950s were the Age of the Bountiful Bust, the 2000s are the Era of the Gorgeous Tummy.

And now that I’ve let it all out (or at least the portion of my enthusiasm that is expressed verbally), let me get back to my regularly scheduled freelance work…

But I must add that if the federal government bought her cover bikini and auctioned it off on ebay, they could probably make enough to pay off half the national debt!!!  😉



To read a little more about why Kate Upton has struck such a chord in ye ole Uncle Irv’s psyche, check out “Femdom & Findom: Cutting Edge of Feminism?” It’s the new, Valentine’s Day installment of my column “Notes of a Rebel Subbie” at the female domination/financial domination website Domme Dose. For adults only 18 and over, or 21 and over depending on your location. You can find the column here.


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Posted by on February 14, 2012 in Erotica


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“Good girl” Jessica Simpson in “bad girl” spiked heels…

I like to take photographs on the street. Two of my favorite subjects are interesting buildings of all kinds, and billboards that feature images of pretty women.

Here’s what I came up with today, even though it was freezing out in NYC and my fingers were so cold as I held the camera and tried to get just the right shots.

Don’t the girls in the Ugg billboards have gorgeous gams?

I like how the bus with the "Find Out" sign popped into view. That added something to the pic, I think.

Back in the 1970s, the building’s floor underneath those billboards was a “taxi dance” hall where you paid $29 to get a roll of tickets to dance with a sleazy chick. Then when the time ran out for which you bought the tickets, the girl tried to get you to buy more tickets. I recounted an experience I had there in a porn novel I wrote in 1975 called Young Michael’s Seductress. I can’t remember the name of the dance hall now; it might have been the Satin Ballroom, or another name.

Anyway, enough reminiscence. Let’s get back to pictures. I went around the corner and saw this display of Jessica Simpson billboards:

...but those spiked heels don't seem too innocent to me!

I guess I’m of the generation that associates dangerously spiked heels with “bad girls.” So these pictures send a mixed message to me. She looks like a nice girl who wouldn’t mind seeing a guy getting down on the ground and kissing her feet in those shoes. And maybe she would stick her heels into him, too… we little humans scurry about underneath their towering bodies, and especially legs.

And speaking of towering, here’s a bonus shot that I took some months ago right at 42nd Street and 7th Avenue. I think it was an billboard for Target, but it might as well have been for Foot Fetish Monthly…

Somebody should write a scholarly dissertation on the use of bare female feet in American advertising.

Come to think of it, I guess a girl can be “bad” with bare feet too. Or with Ugg brand shoes…

It’s all in the attitude. You gotta watch the attitude…


Posted by on February 13, 2012 in Erotica


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NYC Fashion Week models in a long lovely row…

I’m going to experiment with shorter posts here. I think I haven’t been blogging as much as I could for the simple reason that it takes me quite awhile sometimes to find pictures to illustrate my ponderings. But maybe pictures aren’t always necessary.

Tonight I went out to dinner. It’s Fashion Week in New York, and as I walked past a dance school there was a huge party in one of the rehearsal studios, visible at street level. There were about forty beautiful models standing in all sorts of interesting garments, but they were all wearing the same wedgie high heels. Damn! I thought. Why didn’t I have my camera along?? I often do carry my camera to capture things I see on the street, but I was more concerned with getting some chow. I could have gotten an incredible shot through the huge picture window from an angle that would have shown all the girls from top to toe, culminating in those legs on identical wedgies. Damn! Well, I consigned it to memory, and I stood with some other gawkers in front of the display window and looked at the gals, who were of many ethnicities and each one extraordinarily beautiful. It was cool.

When I was eating my pasta I read an advance copy of an article about Hitchcock in this Sunday’s New York Times. There was a picture of Ingrid Bergman in 1945’s Spellbound. When I was in my last year of college, really studying film structure and history (I wanted to direct films after I graduated, like a million other dreamers), I watched Spellbound over and over on a 16mm projector (no VHS or DVDs in 1973). I practically fell in love with Bergman looking at the luminous closeups Hitchcock gave her, which expressed his own passion for that remarkable actress and beauty. So when I saw a picture of Ingrid in the paper this evening, I had the strangest feeling I was looking at somebody I once knew…of course I didn’t, but the way old movies were shot, they enabled you to fall in love with the stars through their closeups, and that certainly happened over the ten or twelve times I watched Spellbound.

Well, I guess I can dig up a picture of Ingrid Bergman pretty quickly…

The collage is attributed to Neil Smith on the site I link to below.

I found this beautiful collage at Meredy’s Place, a site with trivia questions about Ingrid Bergman and other movie info.

That shot on the bottom, second from the left, is from a scene in the movie where she did a little certain cute something with her mouth when she was talking. I watched that scene over and over, it drove me nuts. And I was involved with a girl at the time too, somebody in reality, not fantasy…a very pretty Midwestern girl who looked kind of like the British actress Susannah York, so I was doing pretty well in the romance department in the actual world…she was somebody I ended up moving to New York with in early 1973. But obviously I still had room in my heart for Ingrid Bergman…

Here’s one more shot to whet your appetite to visit the site. And boy, her expression brings out the considerable romantic in me–usually hidden now, but never far from the surface of my personality.

I'm not sure what movie this is from--maybe Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, with Spencer Tracy?

My passion for Ingrid Bergman dates from a time in my life before I worked in porn. Sometimes it seems hard to believe that I was once a civilian (which is what some of us in the biz call non-porn people)…

How did a romantic like me end up writing raunchy stories? That’s food for more posts in the future.


Posted by on February 11, 2012 in Erotica


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The gangster inside the porn scribe…

When I first worked as a freelance writer for porn magazines, it felt like a rebellious and “gangsterish” thing to do. In college I got acquainted with movies starring Jimmy Cagney, John Garfield, Humphrey Bogart, and Edward G. Robinson, and there was a part of me that strongly identified with the criminal characters they played. I wasn’t a tough guy, but I wanted to feel like one. And so, after I’d get a nice big check from one of the higher-paying markets, I would go out and buy myself some new shirts or a spiffy suit, just like Cagney did as he worked his way up in the rackets in The Public Enemy.

Jimmy Cagney in his great era of the 1930s...

I wasn’t delusional–I knew I was just a smut scribe, but it was fun to pretend. On the other hand, being a porn writer in the 70s was a genuinely fringe kind of thing to do, and the feeling of being an outsider and somehow not “legit” was real. In those days of aggressive feminism, many women were poisoned against the idea that erotica could be a good or fun thing, and there were many times gals would stop talking to me at bars or parties once I told them that I wrote for adult magazines.

Unidentified player, Edward G. Robinson, and Jimmy again...

As a kid, I did pretty well in my studies–I was eighth in my high school graduating class out of about six hundred students–but there was always a part of me that wanted to be a “bad boy,” and so sometimes I’d do stuff that would get me thrown out of class or get negative deportment grades on my report cards. I’d sword-fight on top of the desks with yardsticks, and one time I loudly compared a grade school teacher to Hitler–undoubtedly the most odious comparison that could be made in the North Side Chicago Jewish neighborhood in which I grew up. I was familiar with standing detention in the school corridor cooling my heels, or paying a visit to a school psychologist where I learned I was exhibiting “asocial” behavior. It was this same kind of impulse that gave me a perverse joy in being a porn writer for trashy nude mags instead of submitting stories to respectable literary “periodicals.”

As Cagney said with a devilish gleam in his eye in Angels with Dirty Faces, “Whaddaya hear, whaddaya say?” I wanted to be like Cagney, that Yorkville wiseacre, except with a typewriter. (This was before computers, so I’m talking inky ribbons, and Wite-Out, and carbon paper so I’d have copies of my immortal works for my ever-growing personal archives.)

A movie that really influenced me was Borsalino, a 1970 French gangster film starring Jean-Paul Belmondo and Alain Delon. It was very stylish, and after I saw it (around 1975 at the now-shuttered Bleecker Street Cinema in Greenwich Village) I went out and bought myself a very natty double-breasted black wide-pinstripe suit, gray fedora and black topcoat, and actually walked around like that on the streets of New York. Oh yeah, and of course I wore it with a black shirt and white tie. I once picked up a pretty blonde on West 4th Street in the Village while strutting around in this movie gangster gear and we happily ended up in the sack. (This was rivaled perhaps only by the time I dressed up as a priest one Halloween, which got me laid too.)

Jean-Paul Belmondo on the left, Alain Delon on the right...

Delon's character was named Roch Siffredi. I've always wondered if the porn star Rocco Siffredi got his "nom de porn" from this movie.

But besides feeding my image of myself as a movie thug wannabe, writing porn also got me writing. A lot. I have been a very prolific bad boy. When I go to flea markets now, I have the satisfaction of seeing almost four decades of my stuff popping up here and there on the tables of dealers. The various works of Irv O. Neil…also known as Lester Bloom, Norbert Klinger, Mickey Briscoe, Dr. Hyman Goff and other various one-shot names lost to memory…are out there to be perused and, I hope, enjoyed by curious collectors and aficionados of the erotic, the outré, the outlandish, and the humorous. Stories like “Sex and the Single Werewolf,” “The Slut of Frankenstein,” “Feminist in Spiked Heels,” “The Mummy’s Cock,” and “The Spaceman Cometh,”  which all appeared under another of my erstwhile noms de porn, “Leo Berman,” in Eros magazine…issues of which can be found at, where I got the cover images below.

The covergirl is Brit beauty Debbie Linden, who tragically died at 35 in 1997, wasted by drugs. When I started editing in 1981, I ran a beautiful pictorial of her in Game magazine. She was my favorite at the time.

There are many reasons why I work in porn, and one of them is that it’s been fun.


Posted by on February 1, 2012 in Erotica


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