Tag Archives: flea markets

Eve Meyer hosts Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin

I was talking with my writer friend Phil the other day–he’s another fervent aficionado of beauty, as I am myself– especially of the beauty of actresses and models past and present. I was telling him about the late cheesecake model and early Playboy centerfold Eve Meyer, who was married to glamour photographer Russ Meyer for awhile and had a big hand in helping build his career as a softcore erotic filmmaker. And then the next day I went to a record collector’s show, just on a whim because I don’t particularly collect records, and I found this wonderful example of a cheesecake album cover featuring Eve.

Click on the photo to see it larger.


No photo credit is given, but the picture was most probably taken by hubby Russ, who did so many great pictorials of Eve. Those pictorials I do collect, in the often frayed old girlie magazines I find at New York City flea markets. I’d never heard of the Philharmonia Orchestra performing the featured symphonic pieces, but I figured what the hell, I’m buying it for Eve on the cover, not the music. Still, when I listened to it the next day while writing some website porn copy, I was pleasantly surprised that the interpretations were vigorous, and even the scratchiness of the old vinyl sound added a certain pleasurable “oomph” to the listening experience. Really, holding the album, taking out the disc and placing it on my turntable, it almost felt as if Eve herself were hosting the performance, ushering me into the concert hall in my mind, and inviting me to enjoy the timeless sounds of George Gershwin, Franz Liszt, and George Enescu (spelled the variant French way as “Enesco” on the album).

A delightful purchase indeed!

Look up Eve Meyer online; she was a real beauty, a great model, and an accomplished businesswoman.


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Femdom noir fiction bonus!

Here for your enjoyment is a brand new short story, never before published. You might describe it as “femdom noir,” as I blend a tough babe with a submissive guy and let the fireworks explode in a taut and tingling scene!



Her collection of vintage pulp art was unsettling, to say the least…

SUREFIRE Detective Oct1957


Femdom noir fiction

by Irv O. Neil 

She said she was an actress, and a freelance writer, and she dug the 1950s paperbacks and enjoyed dressing up like the femmes fatale on the covers. “Cool,” I said, “the books on my table should give you lots of ideas for things to wear.” She was already fixed up vintage-style in a Fifties dress, purse, and ankle strap shoes. You see people like this at the flea market sometimes, spiffy like they stepped out of a time machine.

She told me her name was Myrna. Not the name she was born with, but another vintage thing she liked to wear. I started to wish I was dressed retro too, in a double-breasted suit with a pocket square, snappy tie and fedora. I would have liked to talk to her while dressed that way. But it wasn’t practical to wear stuff like that to stand behind a table at the flea for eight hours on a Saturday.

She chose two books with real dangerous dames on the covers, holding guns on guys. Tight skirts and sweaters, deadly curves, seamed stockings, and cigarettes dangling. “Are you gonna dress up like one of these gals and back some lucky guy into a corner tonight?” I said, after she gave me the money. She didn’t haggle on the price.

She laughed. “Sure, tiger. I can put one of these outfits together easy tonight. And the guy could be you.”

“Me? Really? Why me?” First, I had quite a few years on her, and second, we didn’t know each other in the least.

“Why not you?” She smiled and fished a cigarette out of her purse, slipped it between her lips, and handed her lighter to me. I got excited at the ridiculousness of it, I mean, she could have lit her smoke herself. But I did it.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said. I shook my head, but if I’d spoken, the words might have come out in a squeak.

She looked at all the books I had, quite a few. Not the biggest name authors, but that didn’t matter. The covers on the unknown guys can be just as good, and cheaper too. “Come over to my place tonight,” she said, “and bring these books.”

“All of ‘em?”

“I think you can manage that, tiger.” And she gave me a smile that would have melted an orange, handed me her card, and walked away on those ankle-strap heels.

*  *  *  *  *

It was crazy, I didn’t know anything about her. But I told myself that the fastest way to feel old–I mean, older than I already was–would be to look a gift dame in the mouth. So I left the flea market early, went home and took a shower, and then put my small but impressively colorful stack of 1950s paperback mysteries and thrillers into a satchel. Luckily I did have a vintage suit to wear, pure 50s with lapels like George Reeves used to wear on Superman, so if she wanted to roleplay “guys and dolls” I wouldn’t look out of place. I had no idea what the night would be, except that she was going to dress like one of the cover dames and look more closely at my books. I wondered if she’d wanted to buy all of ‘em back at the flea, but didn’t have the cash in her purse. Together they were worth maybe a hundred, hundred and a half at the most. Hey, I was ready to hand ‘em over real cheap to Myrna for an interesting evening. Haven’t had many of those lately, since I lost my magazine editing job and have been scrambling for bucks doing flea markets, trying to pay rent and health insurance by selling some of the stuff I’ve collected over the years. Too little money for social life these days, if you know what I mean.

*  *  *  *  *

Myrna lived on the second floor of a walkup near Tenth Avenue on 47th Street, a building out of one of the old noir movies. I rang the bell and went up the creaky carpeted steps, and she was waiting for me in the doorway of her place, as bright and painted as one of the paperback dames. She had on a snug red skirt with a tight gray sweater that scooped almost to her cleavage. And she had a black scarf tied in a bow around her throat. She’d changed her nylons, these looked sheer black with no seams, and I could see the little crimson jewels of her toenails in the peep toes of her black pumps. Her blonde hair was fluffy around her face, and she gave me that same powerful smile again.

“Hello, tiger.”

“Actually my name is Bill.”

“Hello, Bill. I see you dressed up for me for this time.”

“I thought maybe you’d wanna go someplace retro.”

“We’ll see, tiger. Meanwhile, we have all the retro we need right here. Come on in.”

The apartment was small, and it was decorated the way I’d expected and hoped. She had early Fifties furniture and curtains, and old copies of LIFE on a coffee table. There was a vintage television and radio too. But there was also something stranger and more surprising: she had framed covers of some of the sleaziest 1950s detective fiction digests hanging on the wall right behind her sofa.

OFF BEAT Detective Jan1960

These were some of the toughest collector’s items to find, with painted covers of violent women beating guys with guns or blackjacks or knives. There would always be lots of torn clothes on both the girl doing the beating and the guy getting beaten.

“My pride and joy, that display,” she said, coming up behind me as I put my satchel of paperbacks down on the coffee table. “Who said women weren’t strong back then?”

“Deadly dolls, all right,” I said, feeling a little weird with her standing right behind me as I looked at those sadistic pictures. These were really cruel covers, and I wasn’t sure what to make of Myrna for displaying them.

“These are the books, Bill?” she said, pointing at the satchel.


“I suppose you intend to charge me an arm and leg for ‘em?”


“You’re gonna give ‘em to me for nothin’, see?”


“Nothin’.” And with that she cracked me across the mouth with her beautifully manicured right hand. I fell on the couch. There was blood trickling from my lip that I wiped off with the back of my hand. Then I reached for the satchel and held it close.

“You think I invited you here so I’d get fleeced?” said Myrna. She stood in front of me with her hands on her hips, her blue eyes bright even with the lamplight behind her fluffy blonde hair. “You’re gonna give me all the books, tiger, just because I asked for ‘em.”

“Well, Myrna—”

She came close, grabbed me by the front of my shirt and my Countess Mara tie, and cracked me one across the mouth again. Tears came to my eyes and I let out an almost but not quite silent sob.

“No squawkin’, mister!” And she took the handle of the satchel right out of my fingers and hefted the haul away. She walked over to her small dining table. As she did, I watched her hips sway in the tight skirt…and I wanted her so bad I couldn’t think straight. It didn’t matter that she was maybe thirty years younger than me. I knew now we were really the same age at heart. The insane are always the same age. Maybe we had a chance together…

I heard her unzip the bag and dig into the paperbacks. “Beautiful, Bill. I want ‘em all. And now they’re mine.” She turned around and pointed a red-polished fingertip at me. “And no squawkin’!”

I felt it was my duty to stand up to her. “Hey, see here, Myrna—”

She dropped the books back into the satchel and hurried on her heels over the carpet with perfect balance, just like the gals in the old movies. In her shoes, she was as tall as I was, but she might as well have been taller, because she felt taller as she grabbed me by the shirt again and backhanded me and forehanded me, backhanded me and forehanded me, until I fell down on the sofa, in such a daze I almost could feel no pain. Almost…

“That’s better, you’ll be quiet now,” she said. She reached down to her coffee table and took a cigarette out of a tray, and picked up the lighter and handed it to me. “Obedience is a quality I respect in a man, Bill.” I lit her cigarette and she blew smoke in my face.

“Tiger, I think we might have the beginnings of something here. I’ll give you some iodine for your lip, and then we’ll go get some steaks and do a little dancing.”

I sat on the couch, and even though my lip hurt like hell, I couldn’t help but smile. As I said, I’d been ready to give her the books cheap from the git-go, just to have an interesting evening. But to be forced to give them for free and get a beating in return was much more than I’d hoped for. I gazed up at those violent old magazine covers and smiled. I liked the way she dressed, and I liked the way she decorated. It looked like Myrna was real relationship material.

the end!


SUREFIRE Detective Feb1958


If you enjoyed this short story, check out my much more sexually explicit adults-only femdom erotica Kindle ebooks, too! Click here for links to Amazon Kindle stores around the world.

I found the magazine covers which inspired this story here.


“Slap Me, Lovely!” © 2014 Irv O. Neil


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Submissive male meets his match in supernatural femdom ebook!

As I mentioned in my previous post, I have a new ebook up now, THE DOMINATRIX WHO COULDN’T DIE. It’s my second new publication in two weeks, coming on the heels of NAKED BEFORE HER, so you see I’ve been a busy little porn scribe.

THE DOMINATRIX WHO COULDN’T DIE is a femdom tale with a supernatural slant. It’s now available at Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon Germany, Amazon France, Amazon Italy, Amazon Spain, Amazon Canada, Amazon India, Amazon Japan, Amazon Brazil, and Amazon Mexico (for Mexico, you have to enter “Irv O. Neil” into the search at the Kindle store and then the page with my ebooks will pop up).


When I began writing it last February, the story was going to be set in the “real” world, in my usual style with no “weird fiction” angle. I put it aside, though, and returned when the Halloween season got me into the mood to do something else with it. There was an online contest going on for erotic fiction with a horror slant, held by Dr Sue of the In Bed With Dr Sue show on Blog Talk Radio, and Riverdale Avenue Books–see the info here with links to the stories–and I thought I might submit it to that, but the story went longer than required by the guidelines so I figured I’d just write it for myself and then publish it.

Although I usually write stories grounded in the “normal” world, I do enjoy horror, fantasy, and science fiction too as a reader. Since I was a kid, and as an adult, I’ve always been very impressed by the fantasy art of Virgil Finlay (1914-1971), who did illustrations in the sci-fi magazines I used to pick up when I was young. His magical visions of women in particular are part of my mental landscape. Many examples of them can be found online. Here are two:

VirgilFinlay Femme#1


When you read THE DOMINATRIX WHO COULDN’T DIE, you’ll see how I depict the mistress in the supernatural scenes in bright stark light much like the tones you see in the Finlay pictures above. He really had a big influence on my imagination.

As far as the storyline of this new, approximately 30-page tale, here is the description I wrote for the Amazon page. Excuse the self-induced hyperbole, but you gotta give a little sizzle to sell the steak! 😉

“From the ever-inventive mind of Irv O. Neil, author of Learning to Be Cruel, She Made A Cuckold on Black Friday, and many more, comes his most sensational femdom story yet! You’ll meet Alan Breshker, a fortyish office worker who has a very active fantasy life, yearning to serve beautiful dominatrixes. He lives out his hungers in dungeons, online, or watching videos…and he collects vintage erotic photos and daydreams about the gorgeous whip-wielding pinup model femmes fatale of the 1950s like Bettie Page and her boot-clad, corset-wearing friends. Then, at a flea market, Alan meets feisty eightysomething Myra Welso, where the lady sells the kinky photos she herself posed for back in 1953! Oh how Alan wishes he could have bowed before Mistress Myra when she was in her stiletto-heel hairbrush-spanking young womanhood back in the Eisenhower era! Well, little does he know he’s going to have a chance to explore that very desire in this bizarre excursion into the supernatural climaxed by scenes which will take Alan down deep into his most forbidden urges and desires for submission and gender transformation!”

And here is the way I described the story in my 11/5/13 column “Notes of a Rebel Subbie” at the Domme Dose website:

“The submissive protagonist is a cynical guy named Alan Breshker who collects vintage pinup photos and thinks he’s found the next Bettie Page in an elderly lady selling 1950s pix of herself at a flea market. He figures maybe she could become a pop cultural sensation and he could be in on the ground floor of the profits. When she invites him to her apartment to see some more things of a “disciplinary” nature, he gets a lot more than he bargained for…but perhaps he gets what he’s secretly sought all the time! I hope you’ll check it out, it’s a 6600 word tale inspired by my enjoyment of fantasy and horror writers like Robert ‘Psycho’ Bloch.”

So as you see from these two different descriptions I wrote, the story has a lot going on in it–sex and character mingled in a bizarre otherworldly brew of dominance and submission.

A reader on the Dose, Frank, asked about my process of writing the story. Well, without giving too much away about the plotline, I took a character who was originally going to be treated in a realistic fashion (Mistress Myra) and made her supernatural because I found it a challenge and something different. Perhaps I needed a change of pace from my usual approach to the dominas in my stories.

I knew the opening location for the story: a flea market in Manhattan in the middle of winter in 2013 (a setting I know well), and I had the basic situation: an elderly lady selling fetish photos taken of her in 1953 when she was young and beautiful and modeling as a dominatrix. A younger submissive male, who also collects such photos, would meet her at the flea market and as a result there would be some kind of erotic scene later. Originally, in the “real world” version, the man was going to have an encounter with a young woman wearing the antique lingerie that the old woman once posed in. In the version I completed and published, the sub has a tryst with somebody else who wears the lingerie…but I don’t want to give it away.

I didn’t know precisely what was going to occur in the femdom scene until I wrote it, because I enjoy watching what happens to my characters as I write; just as, hopefully, readers will enjoy reading and finding out what happens. I only had the certainty that there would be an erotic encounter. I didn’t know exactly how I would handle the supernatural twists and descriptions, although I think subconsciously I knew that the “dominatrix who couldn’t die” would be described in the same kind of vivid light that Virgil Finlay often used to depict women in his illustrations. As I’ve said, Finlay was a huge influence on my imagination when it comes to things supernatural.

I wonder if Finlay modeled this blonde after Sally Rand, the famous 1930s stripper?

I wonder if Finlay modeled this blonde after Sally Rand, the famous 1930s stripper?

I wrote the opening half of the story in a white heat. I took some elements of dialogue from the first “realistic” version, between the elderly lady and the sub, when they discuss the photos, but everything else was new. Then, due to the necessity to do other work (and the fact that I had just written 3000 words in about two hours and was tired), I put it aside for what I thought was going to be a day, but which turned out to be a week.

When I finally got back to writing, the second half–the sexual encounter–went quickly and was exciting to describe as I imagined the scene visually in my head and raced to put it down. I also discovered things about the character of the sub, Alan Breshker, seeing what was underneath his cynicism and detachment. He came alive and so did the story for me. I looked at it again the next day and added some stuff to the last page to tie up loose plot ends. Then I put the story aside for a few days; when I returned and re-read it again, I was unfortunately very sleepy and tired, and I thought, “Arghh, this is crap!” But talking with a writer friend who reminded me he often felt that “arghh this is crap” way but then reversed his impression on taking another look, I returned to read the story yet again, realized it did what it was supposed to do, and decided to publish it.

Frank asked how many hours it took to write from inception to completion; if I had to total all the time, it would probably be about twelve solid hours, broken up over three or four days in a two week period (plus the couple of hours in February when I wrote the original version that I got a few lines of dialogue from). Writing for magazines and websites, I have learned to write, edit, and revise efficiently. My best work is done quickly. When I brood and labor over something, it’s usually because it’s no good to begin with, alas. I am in the tradition of the pulp writers who got the job done and moved onto the next piece. Which doesn’t mean that I don’t take my work seriously; it just means I prefer to work rapidly. Frank also asked, how much is inspiration, how much perspiration? I would say without inspiration, there is no perspiration necessary; with inspiration, I’ll devote whatever perspiration is called for! Meaning it’s probably about 50-50. The inspiration comes first, the idea, the notion that I want to explore; then the perspiration follows. To get that inspiration, though, I am constantly thinking of ideas that I might like to write; so I guess that is a form of ongoing perspiration, too! (Does the brain sweat?) And I better quit now with this or it’s going to start sounding like something from the Marx Brothers. 😉

So that’s how I wrote THE DOMINATRIX WHO COULDN’T DIE. I hope you all read and enjoy it. Let me know what you think by leaving a comment here or a brief review on Amazon.


Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Erotica discoveries at NYC flea market…

Lately I’ve been practically chained to my laptop. It’s not good, I spent too much time on it. Between doing my freelance writing for porn magazines and websites, and blogging here about my erotica career and commenting on other erotica sites, as well as blogging and tweeting to promote my Kindle ebooks (partly also to attract more writing clients whether in erotica or other genres), I am living more in cyberspace lately than in reality.

So to “decompress” I force myself to go out and walk around and enjoy the weather like other humans. I went to a flea market today because browsing is one way I can always relax, and I found a dilapidated ex-library book edited by Thomas B. Hess and Linda Nochlin entitled Woman as Sex Object: Studies in Erotic Art 1730-1970. It’s full of illustrations of paintings and photographs and is catnip to my amateur sense of scholarship. Happily, it was only $2–a reasonable price, given that some of the pages were missing.

One thing I found in it is a reproduction of a stereoscopic slide from the 1850s showing a topless woman ironing her clothes:

The homey details of her hairdo and chemise really make this stereo photo a true time-travel experience.

I particularly like shots, from whatever time period, that show scantily clad women doing ordinary things. In fact, only a few days ago one of my favorite sites online, Erotic Amusements, posted vintage shots of a girl in the 1960s doing her ironing. You can see it here. I found it very stimulating!

Another image in the book is this reproduction of a lithograph from the 1830s. It was in a chapter discussing the eroticism of corsetry in the 18th and 19th centuries, and all the imagery it inspired. The caption was: “The Lover As Lady’s Maid,” which of course is a theme that is very popular nowadays in a somewhat different form in the “sissy maid” fantasy of the feminized man (sometimes a cuckold) who helps his mistress get dressed.

Is he really her lover, or is he getting her ready to go out with another man? We can almost hear the rustle of her petticoats.

I also found an 1940s anthology of articles and fiction about the theatrical profession called All-Star Cast, edited by Sally Deutsch, and read a 1940 piece called “Strip-Tease” by a writer named George Weller. It was about a Kansas City burlesque theater being harassed by detectives as a way to show how upstanding and moral the local government was. It really brought the sounds and atmosphere of an old burlycue venue to life, especially showing how the dancers and comedians had to alert each other to be on the lookout for the law. It was full of dialogue that wouldn’t have been out of place in an old Warner Brothers film. The kicker at the end of the piece was how the detectives were getting all stirred up because the star peeler was living with the comedian. Thinking they’d get her on some kind of immorality rap when they burst into her living quarters, they were disappointed to discover that the peeler was lawfully married to the comedian, and the comedian’s creaky old stage partner was actually the peeler’s father! What they thought was a sleazy illicit threesome turned out to be a wholesome domestic situation. But, as one of the theater personnel says, the detectives had “naturally blue” minds–meaning, in burlesque parlance, that they were dirty-minded.

Every time I see a “Neo Burlesque” show nowadays (not lately, but I used to go quite often) I think of how hard the old time strippers had it, unlike the modern day burlesque chicks who strut their postmodern routines in hip, socially acceptable venues. Back in the day, ecdysiasts lived and worked under the disdainful and disapproving eye of a society that considered burlesque a form of pornography…a society that was ready to toss them into jail for taking off their clothes onstage. George Weller’s article brought this point home vividly.

So it was good day at the flea market and I got some exercise. Nice to mingle among the crowds–and it was very crowded. But as you see, I’m back at the computer now! 😉



Why not give one of my Kindle stories a try if you have an ebook reader or a Kindle application on your computer? MOMMY’S LITTLE DUNCE is my latest release. It’s pretty kinky…definitely for advanced readers of fetish stories, although beginners will find it fuel for new fantasies!

She looks understanding...compassionate...but spanks a grown man fiercely!

Or why not try SPELL OF DOMINANCE which has five complete short stories and is more suitable to those of you who are dipping your toes into the femdom pool? Not that experienced kinksters won’t enjoy it, too.

She knew my every dirty thought as I wrote these stories! And her eyes followed me around the room!

Just go to my Amazon page here to see them all. Enjoy!


Posted by on April 7, 2012 in Burlesque, ebooks, Erotica, Kindle, New York City


Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Femme fatale mannequin…

I like to read 1950s noir fiction, those paperback books about shady women leading men down the path to hell. I like caper novels and certain psychological mysteries, especially if there is a beautiful “dame” or “doll” or “dish” on the cover.

This is the cover of a book I recently read, which I found at a flea market. It wasn’t a great book, but it was a good page turner about a psychopathic killer who pretends he’s a retired British army officer and stalks various females. The title was odd and didn’t quite seem to fit, except maybe for the fact that the officer isn’t on any official military records, because his career is a fake and he’s an impostor.

The cover artist was the great Robert A. Maguire.

I probably wouldn’t have bought the book if it didn’t have this striking, cold beauty on the cover, which was painted by Robert A. Maguire, one of my favorite paperback artists, and whose work can be seen here. I urge you to check out the link!

Nowadays people sometimes say that the femme fatale archetype is one of those stereotypical characters our “post-feminist” society has outgrown, now that women are empowered and have more choices besides being a madonna or a whore, a housewife or a floozy. But I recently saw a mannequin in a women’s clothing store window that reminded me of the Maguire girl above, and made me realize that the paperback villainess of yesterday has now been transformed into the icy shill for ladies garments of today. Because let’s face it–most of the women you see in clothing ads or fashion layouts all have this same vaguely sociopathic hard-edged look. Many of them look like they could be fierce dominatrixes if you got them in the right situation.

She looks as hard and deadly as any girl Robert A. Maguire ever painted.

Cold women for a cold world?


You can find copies of Murder Off the Record at Amazon here, where I found the cover scan. I could have scanned my copy, but I was just feeling too lazy…

1 Comment

Posted by on March 8, 2012 in Erotica


Tags: , , , , ,