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Category Archives: history of erotica

Oh those Leg World days!

On the fetish femdom scene there is more than a little nostalgia about the glory days of Leg Show magazine, primarily under the editorship of Dian Hanson, who has since gone on to work for Taschen Books and their line of historical erotica tomes. I wrote for Leg Show from about 1995 through around 2003 or 2004, so I got to participate in that fondly missed era with my fiction, often illustrated by the British master of femdom art, Sardax; and I did many interviews with everybody from leggy softcore horror movie scream queens to imperious dominatrices.

But from 2004 through the beginning of 2010, I was also the editor of Leg World, a much lower-budgeted magazine but one into which I poured my quarter century of experience in writing for and editing magazines, as well as my decades of fascination and personal experience with femdom and fetish.

 

To use a Hollywood analogy, budget-wise, if Leg Show was MGM, Leg World was Poverty Row. But I put my heart and soul into it, and I think you’ll see in the intensity of these typical covers–for which I selected the shots, wrote all the lines, and supervised the layout–that I gave the readers their money’s worth starting with the covers themselves. I always aimed to show enough to the readers on the covers so that, if they wished, they could have a good time with them before they even opened the magazines; and since these periodicals were puritanically shrink-wrapped for display on the newsstands, I felt duty-bound to let the customers know exactly what they would find inside…once they shot their first loads for the covers! 😉

With my art director and talented group of contributors, both writers and photographers, a memorable magazine came into being with each issue. I didn’t have enough budget for art, or I would have asked Sardax to work for Leg World too (see his fabulous work here). Instead I illustrated fiction with carefully chosen photos from the archives.

 

So if you run into Leg Worlds at flea markets or online, take a minute and check out these lovingly crafted collectors’ items. If you’re into legs and feet and femdom, I think you’ll enjoy the mix of amazing pictorials and evocative stories. I poured my passion for editing images–I’d originally moved to New York City to get into the film business–into editing and even occasionally directing the shoots of erotic pictorials. In recent years, I’ve transferred my coverline writing passion into the writing I do for my personal Twitter and the feed for the femdom website Domme Addiction. There I happily conjugate my nouns and verbs in the service of celebrating the dominant female much as I did in Leg World.  🙂

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January 29, 2018: the 45th anniversary of my moving to New York

I moved to New York City for keeps on January 29, 1973. That was the day I got in a U-Haul with a college girlfriend and drove from the Midwest to the Big Apple, as it was popularly known back then (I don’t hear that moniker used much anymore). We arrived the next day and checked into a residential hotel on the Upper West Side, but I always date my “New York Adventure” as starting on January 29th.

Actually I’d been here the two previous summers, working part-time jobs and living at the YMHA, and with my father’s side of the family in Brooklyn and New Jersey, the area was always part of my life even though I grew up in Chicago.

I came to NYC hoping to get into the film business but when that didn’t work out I shifted to writing. Sold my first porn novel in the fall of 1974 and the rest, as the saying goes, is “history”—the personal history described in many of the earlier posts on this blog.

Of course dotted throughout the city are the landmarks that have a personal meaning to me. For example, on the ever-changing 42nd Street, between Broadway and 6th Avenue, is the Bush Tower, squarely in the shadowy center of this picture…

That was the address from where such legendary “big boob” girlie magazines such as BUF and GEM were published back in the day. Circa 1978 I sent the company an article about collecting movie soundtracks, a “socially redeeming” feature as they used to be called in that era when sex magazines had to run non-erotic items to appease the censors. One day out of the blue the publisher sent me a check for $40 for the article, and I believe that was the only time in my writing career when I sold an unsolicited piece via the “slush pile.” The rest of the time I’ve written either on assignment or expressly for an editor who was favorably inclined to my work.

So every time I walk past Bush Tower I think of that lovely $40 and how nice it was to make that sale!

Nowadays of course. along with writing for porn websites and the occasional sex magazine that is still around, I’ve become a publisher of some of my own stuff, both of my femdom erotica here

 

…and of my full-length novel FATE OF A STRIPPER here. Although to my disappointment it has not sold well, I’m proud of the novel and keep promoting it, hoping it will eventually find an audience for its very New York story of the relationship between an unbalanced lonely stripper and her lonely lovestruck customer, a noir tale flavored with some passionate descriptions of Times Square and its remaining strip joints.

And as ever I continue to enjoy wandering about the city, taking pictures like the ones in this post, inspired by the surprising urban vistas just for their own sake and as possible backdrops for new fiction.

For example, I wonder what kind of an erotic story I can come up with from the picture below…as in, what fictional characters might I imagine living on this street, and how might they satisfy their lusty cravings? 😉

 

 

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Vincent Price and his Laughing Woman…

I am always fascinated to find instances of femdom and femmes fatale in the past…from the obvious examples of stories like those of Jezebel or Judith in the Bible, to the exploits of 19th century Wanda in Venus in Furs by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, and onto other lesser known items…

I recently saw the not-very-good 1963 Vincent Price movie Diary of a Madman, based on stories by Guy de Maupassant.  Despite Price giving his usual good performance…

…the film is a kind of graceless affair; but it features lovely Nancy Kovack as the irresistible femme fatale who seduces poor upstanding Vincent (he plays a righteous judge) and I must confess I primarily watched the movie to see her (although I like Price, I’m not a huge fan).

Kovack of course is a fanboy favorite for her role as Medea in Ray Harryhausen’s Jason and the Argonauts. But here she is below in my lovingly snapped screencap from Diary of a Madman (I sit in front of my tv with my cellphone, lol):

Price is also an amateur sculptor in the story, and in one scene, as he models Nancy in clay, he tells her how she reminds him of a piece by the German Romantic poet Heinrich Heine (1797-1856). This of course sent me scurrying to Google. Price remembers the title as “The Laughing Woman” but in the translations I found, the German title is given as “Ein Weib” which is then translated into English either as “A Woman” or, at the site lyricstranslate.com,  “A Broad.”

A Broad

They loved each other with love so deep
She was a tramp and he was a thief
While he was plying his naughty craft
She just lay on the bed and laughed

The days went by in pleasure and joy
At night in the sheets she hugged her boy
When they dragged him off to jail at last
She just stood at the window and laughed

He wrote to her saying: ‘O come to me
I long for you, so badly, you see
I’m weeping: I’m fading fast
She shook her sweet head and laughed

At six in the morning they hung him high
At seven they buried him under the sky
But as eight o’clock went past
She drank red wine and laughed

Heartless, right?

In the original German the rhythm works better at the end, has more of a grim punch, so if you can read Deutsch, go to this page where I found the translation and check it out. Here is also another translation that works well, but likewise the final stanza just doesn’t have the same aural oomph of the German. I’m no expert in German, though I studied it in high school and college, but I do read poetry aloud a lot, and I can tell where a rhythm needs more force.

As it turns out in Diary of a Madman, Price’s laughing woman turns into both his tormentor and victim, the typical trajectory for very naughty ladies in such fictions.

For more of Heine’s femme fatalistic poetry, check out also the translation of “Ich glaub nicht an den Himmel” (“I don’t believe in Heaven”) here. The poem’s narrator believes in nothing but her eyes and…well, read it and see. The translator A.S. Kline also did the one I reproduced above, although he didn’t call it “A Broad.”

Finally, this post is dedicated to Goddess Lycia. A brief discussion I had with her the other day on Twitter about German and French and poetry finally got me off my butt to write and post after thinking about it for several weeks. 😉 Check out her site and journal at LipstickDomme too, as she is a most fascinating femme fatale herself…

 

 


I found the shot of Vincent Price here at the Doc Horror blog.

The photo of Goddess Lycia is from her Twitter and ©Goddess Lycia.

And if you’d like to read the classic novel of femdom translated from German and illustrated by the amazing British artist Sardax, his edition of Venus in Furs is readily available in a Kindle ebook here.

 
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Posted by on December 23, 2017 in Erotica, Femmes Fatale, history of erotica

 

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The world of HBO’s “The Deuce,” as a NYC porn writer knew it…

I’m absorbed by this new HBO show, as it’s interesting to see the 1970s New York City sex business depicted in a continuing tv drama. The production is well-done with some good acting, writing, and clever production design, and for me it’s an entertaining supplement to the movie of personal memories that I carry in my head from my own experiences in Times Square over the years both as a fan and as a writer/editor for porn magazines and films.

Maggie Gyllenhaal as the hooker Candy on the stroll

 

The recreation of 42nd Street marquees is well-done, but…

 

…as far as I remember, the streetwalkers looked for customers on Eighth and Ninth Avenues, not on the Deuce. But the marquees definitely make for more vivid cinema.

 

Every inch of the neighborhood has some resonance for me. For example, the doorway shown below, on Broadway near 50th Street (I took this pic a couple of weeks ago) was in the 70s the entrance of one of the few “dime-a-dance halls” remaining in Times Square, where you bought strips of tickets to dance (and grind) with ladies…the tickets were no longer a dime then (that was the 1930s price), but if I recall correctly, around 1974 they were $29 a strip. Why $29, I never found out. I used the experience of going to that place in one of my porn novels which wasn’t very good except for the section set in the dance hall.

I can’t remember what the ballroom was called, though…the Diamond, perhaps? The Tango Palace and Satin Ballrooms were a couple of blocks down.

 

The Deuce helps me clarify my relationship with my own past. Unlike the characters in the show, I did not socialize in a bar with pimps, prostitutes, gangsters, or 8mm hardcore movie makers. I did patronize hookers, yes, on the street or in apartment brothels, but didn’t hang out with them otherwise; I would have, however, as I occasionally asked them to go have a bite or a drink–but they were only interested in making money from me as a john, alas. So my relationship to Times Square was largely as a customer and spectator; like a theatergoer who may see lots of plays on Broadway, but doesn’t hang out with the actors, playwrights and producers afterward.

Scenes on The Deuce where girls get in cars with strangers make my skin crawl. I feel frightened for them. In fact, when I went with a few prostitutes to cheap hotels back in the 70s, I was afraid that I would get hurt, or robbed, or beaten up. Loneliness as much as horniness drove me into their arms in those seedy rooms…and I always felt guilty about it. Oh how many unnecessary VD tests did I take to allay my neurotic fear that I would “punished” for my dalliances!! I always turned out to be okay.

The dirt, the garbage of the streets, the violence depicted on the show, and The Deuce‘s constant flow of “the-fuck-you-say” New York tough guy dialogue: these were not especially part of my experience there. Although while by now after 43 years as a Gotham denizen I have my own New Yorkese patter down pretty well, in the 1970s I was still mostly just a too-nice-for-my-own-good Jewish boy from Chicago and had only mastered one East Coast phrase: “Fuckin-A”. 😉 Does anybody still use that one? Haven’t heard it in ages.

My Deuce (or 42nd Street as I always called it then) was instead a kind of Smithsonian Institute of erotica, where I found mint-condition issues of John Willie’s original late-1940s Bizarre magazines for $3 each…

The clerk who sold it to me for THREE DOLLARS (very cheap even in the 70s) clearly had no idea what it was, and until I got it home & opened it, neither did I. The gorgeous cover got me buying it. And once I looked inside and perused its stylishly fabulous fetish contents, I became a lifelong John Willie admirer.

I also found copies of the fetish digest Exotique, and black and white photo pamphlets of models like Bettie Page or Tee Tee Red or Lynne Carter…and a lurid $1 novel called Growing Up in Pain which I studied assiduously to learn the structure of the cheap bottom-of-the-barrel porn fiction put out by Star Distributors so I could get a job writing the stuff myself.

42nd Street was my grade-Z movie source long before I got a VCR, a place where I could see triple bills of crazy schlock movies and enjoy wild audience commentary unlike anything I’d ever heard or probably will ever hear again.

For example, seeing The Thing With Two Heads at the Anco Theater, the venue furthest west on the south side of 42nd near Eighth Avenue, was the most hilarious ninety minutes ever…the audience was hysterically funny, talking back to the screen as the head of a racist doctor played by Ray Milland is grafted onto the body of a black death row convict played by Rosey Grier. Unfortunately, I also remember how smelly that decrepit old theater could be, too…

I picked up streetwalkers—and some of them were beautiful, knockouts, stunners. They peddled their wares on Eighth Avenue’s “Minnesota Strip” (so-called because of all the Midwestern-bred hookers who strolled there). As I worked up courage to select a pro, I ate souvlaki in the Greek joints and cheap chow mein in the Chinese joints and low-cost spaghetti in an Italian place on 42nd. I also went to massage parlors along Eighth Avenue and even as far east as 47th St. and 6th Avenue, on the edge of the Diamond District.

I found copies of my own porn novels on the racks for the first time in the bookstore next to the National Hotel at 42nd and Seventh, just a stone’s throw from the Golden Dollar topless bar, one of the bleakest clubs in the area. The titles of my books were The Screaming Virgins, The Punk Stud and His Women, Young Michael’s Seductress (wherein I wrote about the dime-a-dance halls), and Teasing Teenage Daughter.

I went to Show World Center at 42nd and Eighth, and Show Center at 47th and Seventh, and Show Plaza at 42nd between Broadway and Sixth, and indulged in fantasies with the one-on-one “booth babies,” the peep show girls who gave private shows in two-person booths separated by a glass panel and connected by a telephone for the exchange of all essential dialogue… 😉 . I still remember some of those ladies’ stage names: Blondie, Annie, Brandi, Olivia, and China. Upstairs at Show World, when I was in my “porn scribe” mode (as opposed to my looking-for-cheap-thrills mode), I interviewed X-rated movie stars backstage at the Triple Treat Theater and sometimes also photographed them there to illustrate my articles.

I went to the barmaids-in-leotard bars recreated in The Deuce which were on 48th between Seventh and Eighth Avenues: a joint like Club International (which ironically later was the title of a magazine I prolifically wrote for) and another one called Al Lang’s where, if I recall correctly, the suave-looking manager was always nicely dressed in a double-breasted suit. Up on 49th between Seventh and Eighth Avenues, I went to Tin Pan Alley (which I’ve read is the model for the Hi-Hat on The Deuce), and chatted with the barmaids there but I didn’t become friends with any of them although I tried to date one or two. I remember Nan Goldin, the famous photographer, briefly worked behind the bar at Tin Pan Alley in the early 80s. Somewhere around that time I was dating a girl who looked a lot like the character of Lori on The Deuce, I mean a REAL lot, as played by Emily Meade. In fact when Lori comes on-screen I feel kinda weird, because even her boobs (seen extensively in the second episode) look the same as I remember my girlfriend’s did…

Lori (Emily Meade) not only resembles my old girlfriend but her character even comes from the same Midwestern state, Minnesota…

On 42nd Street I went to the Roxy Burlesk to see strippers and watch hardcore Rene Bond movies like Diary of a Schizo wherein she played the titular role and made up her face to look like Raggedy Ann when she flipped out after too much sex. She was and is one of my favorite porn stars ever…check out this link, where I found her photo,  to learn more about her (NSFW, though, there are explicit pix there).

Her performance in the film Teenage Fantasies is legendary, as she cheerfully gives head & talks to the audience about oral sex.

 

I went to the Harem Theater on the north side of the Deuce toward Eighth Avenue for porn movies (as opposed to the bigger theaters where I went for kung fu, blaxploitation, horror, Harryhausen, and westerns) but stopped patronizing the Harem after some dude with a Derringer shot another guy in the audience. In the old big theaters I learned from experience to sit far enough under the mezzanine and balcony so that I wouldn’t get hit by flying cigarettes tossed down from above. Nobody ever put their hand on my knee or trying to blow me in a theater, but I also knew enough never to go to the men’s rooms in those places. I had a stronger bladder then.

I went to see burlesque both at the Follies at 46th and Seventh and the Melody (later the Harmony) Theater, watching dancers like Joey Karson and Therasita San Juan and Sonia Tokyo and Crystal Blue and Maria Krupa and Susie Nero and even the legendary striptease superstar Blaze Starr once. The Melody/Harmony was a whole world unto itself, too much to go into here…worthy of its own book or tv show. Check out this link to the adult industry history site The Rialto Report to learn lots more about it.

Through all those years, most of my friends were my fellow editors and writers, with some actors and artists too, often cynical about porn even as it fascinated us. We were all talented in our respective fields and many hoped for the main chance of opportunities outside of smut with more mainstream accomplishments. Some did, indeed, move on.

So, to sum up, in many ways, although I did mountains of magazine stuff related to the area and its workers, I was also always a fanboy and customer down on “The Deuce.”

The reality is my life is still basically on “The Deuce”, though…but rather the Deuce that exists in a different form, the Internet, instead of on a street. It’s the “The Deuce” as a way of thinking, you might say. With my writing about femdom and kink and webcam sites, for example, I’m still on the beat of the sleaze and the twists and turns of la vie psychosexualis.

What a tour I could give of Times Square! In fact, in one of the better porn films I wrote for Vivid Entertainment, 1997’s Masseuse 3, I created a character named Burt Lazarus who stands in front of the Show World Center as a kind of barker, talking about the area’s former tawdry glory. Unfortunately, in the way things sometimes don’t work out in the translation of screenplays to film, Burt’s scenes weren’t done the way I’d hoped, and the effect of his elegiac oratory didn’t have a chance to come across properly.

I could’ve done it better. So if some night you see me holding forth at 42nd Street and Eighth Avenue about the vanished and vanquished splendors of smut, don’t be surprised! 😉

 


I made the screencaps above from the first episode of The Deuce.

 

 

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My teacher wrote naughty books…

Well, I’m exaggerating a little in the title to get your attention…I do have elements in my personality of the carnival sideshow barker, which came in handy when writing cover lines for porn mags! 😉  In any case, the late novelist and creative writing teacher R.V. Cassill, who was long associated with the famed Writers’ Workshop at the University of Iowa, was never directly my instructor–I never met him or physically took a class from him–but I learned many fiction skills from him. You see, besides writing several paperback novels in the 50s and 60s like 1959’s fascinatingly lurid and utterly absorbing The Wife Next Door (a Gold Medal book that would have been classified as pretty naughty in its time), he also wrote an influential instructional text entitled Writing Fiction that I picked up freshman year in college (1969-70) and studied carefully to learn the craft of writing short stories.

Cassill recommended the study of several stories included in his book, among which were Anton Chekhov’s “The Lady with the Pet Dog”, the tale of a nineteenth century married Russian man and his affair with an equally married woman; and its structure became, I’ve long thought, somewhat of a template for the many stories I’ve written over forty years of one man and one woman and what happens when they meet, especially in a kind of “pick-up” situation as in Chekhov’s tale. My stories, of course, are explicit whereas Chekhov’s was subtle (and believe me, I am in no way comparing our levels of achievement), but the idea of “life lessons learned” through erotic encounters is frequently the undercurrent in my work as well as in this great story by Master Anton.

I was delighted to see that “The Lady with the Pet Dog” was recently included in Rowan Pelling’s collection Erotic Stories from Britain’s Everyman’s Pocket Classics. I’ve always considered it an erotic tale in a genteel, quiet way, and it seems finally I’m not alone in that estimation. Ms. Pelling is also the editor of the new British print magazine The Amorist, dedicated to literary erotica and arts. You can visit their site here.

But getting back to Cassill: my original copy of Writing Fiction was full of my scribbled reactions and thoughts from when I studied it back in the early 70s. A few years ago I picked up another copy of the same edition at a paperback collector’s show, and perhaps someday I will fill it with new markings if and when I give myself a refresher course. Not that I’ve ever stopped being a “writing student”–many, many of the books I’ve enjoyed over the years are filled with jottings and notes in my “osmosis” method of soaking up technique to keep my “job skills” sharp while having fun reading.

Right now I’m into another one of Cassill’s paperback originals, Naked Morning. Like The Wife Next Door, it’s set at the Midwestern “Blackhawk University” which was Cassill’s fictional stand-in for the University of Iowa.

Ironically, long before I read any of Cassill’s novels or knew of his transmutation of the University of Iowa U into Blackhawk U, when I wrote porn novels in 1974-75 I fictionalized my own alma mater in Ohio as “Hindenburg College” for my book Teasing Teenage Daughter (the publishers’ slightly amended version of my original title, The Professor’s Lustful Daughter). Inevitable, I suppose, since we’re often taught to write from our own experiences…I still pay that imaginary campus a visit every now and then, too, as one of my Twitter friends, Fast Pauly, will attest! 😉  The latest example is OBEY YOUR TUTOR, one of my Kindle femdom erotica ebooks, available on Amazon here. For adults only, of course.

R.V. Cassill died several years ago, but his skilled teaching through Writing Fiction, and his ability to mix thoughtful and insightful prose with sensational plot elements in his paperbacks, guarantee that I’ll have much more entertainment to enjoy from his pen. Look for his books on Amazon too, especially Writing Fiction. There are plenty of reading copies available for just a few bucks, so you can make your own notes and jottings as you study the lovely art of telling stories.


 

By the way, there’s an interesting review of The Wife Next Door at a site called NeglectedBooks.com here, dedicated to worthy yet unjustly forgotten literature. There’s a review of Naked Morning as well but I haven’t read that one yet since I’m still in the middle of the novel.

 

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Erotic phantoms of NYC’s Eighth Avenue…

One thing that fascinates me is what existed in certain spaces before what is there now. I always remember the previous tenants, especially if they have some erotic or sleazy context… 😉

For example, the northeast stretch of Eighth Avenue between 45th and 46th Streets:

This used to have three notorious porn theaters: the Capri (where the parking lot is now on the left); and the gay-themed Eros and the hetero-themed Venus. I can’t help but see in my mind the facades of those vanished edifices superimposed over the hordes of tourists who now stroll by and patronize the restaurants and bar and open-air market that now inhabit those urban footprints.

A block up to 47th and Eighth, across the street on the northwest side, is a marquee for what is now a sightseeing business:

Previously in the 1980s this space housed the Hollywood Twin Cinemas, but even before that in the 1970s the mezzanine was utilized for part of a massage parlor. Back in the 70s (not now!!) the entrance way on the left (painted red now) led to an elevator that took you up to the mezzanine and the girls who were sitting there. But BEFORE that mezzanine was used, and even before the theater showed porn films, not the mainstream Hollywood fare that came in the 80s, the massage parlor was just a street-level storefront on the left where the glass windows of the Duane Reade drugstore now are in 2017.

The very space where those donuts now lay placidly in their display case was, around 1975, the entrance alcove of the massage parlor, where I met one blonde girl named Lydia with whom I first acted out femdom roleplay fantasies (foot and butt worship) and visited several times; and another blonde named Goldie who, on one particularly cold winter night, gave my lonely bones a friendly hug and rubdown, and warm interesting conversation in which she told me she was a descendant of an early American president! I re-created some of that dialogue in the first porn film I wrote, 1987’s Adultery.

This stretch of street was immortalized in the poster for the 1976 film Taxi Driver. Recognize that marquee?

Finally, across the street, where there now stands a Starbucks, a Staples, a medical clinic, a preschool, and apartments, there used to be low-rise buildings that had a fantastically sleazy porn shop, a used comic book shop, an infamous gay bar called the Haymarket, and perhaps most important for the history of pornography, in the center of the block at 776 Eighth Avenue there were located offices of fetish digest publishers back in the 1950s, which showcased the work of such legendary artists such as Gene Bilbrew. I don’t remember the titles offhand right now, but I remember seeing the address on the copyright pages of some vintage issues. If and when I stumble on them again, I’ll amend this post and add the titles. This is the block now…

Look closely, though, and perhaps you’ll be able to imagine, as I do, infamous 50s femdom fetish models like Tana Louise walking down the street in sexy 50s couture and maybe going up the long-vanished steps to editorial offices at 776 Eighth Avenue!

By the way, Tana Louise (as opposed to the actress Tina Louise, an entirely different performer) was one of the very first fetish models I personally ever saw in a magazine. In today’s over-saturated kink environment, it may seem incredible that she really blew me away with her witchy dominant aura, but back in the early 70s I don’t think I’d ever come across anybody quite like her, and I think I noticed her before I even saw Bettie Page, who never looked quite as ferocious to me in any case. I got this image from the cool site Java’s Bachelor Pad, so go here to see and read more about Mistress Tana too.

 

 

 

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The wonderfully erotic face of Deborah Kerr in Black Narcissus

At least there are some certainties left in this world. For me, one is the timeless eternal beauty of the face of the late Deborah Kerr in Black Narcissus, which is on tonight 6/14/17 at 10 p.m. EST on Turner Classic Movies. I took this screen shot from the trailer. If you haven’t seen this movie, I highly recommend it. A wondrous mix of the spiritual, the erotic, and the dramatic.

Whether in this film, or The Hucksters, or From Here to Eternity, I find her one of the sexiest women in movies. Oh yes!

 

 
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Posted by on June 14, 2017 in Erotica, history of erotica

 

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