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Tag Archives: Ninth Avenue

Pasta and erotica in Hell’s Kitchen…

Like many writers, I spend probably way too much time sitting on my butt. The heat wave we recently had here in NYC only encouraged that, keeping me indoors more than usual. But tonight was lovely outside so I made sure I took a walk after I finished my day’s cranking, and when I saw a Ninth Avenue coffee shop had an open window seat, I thought I’d treat myself to a pasta dinner instead of my usual Chinese combo takeout eaten in front of the tv at home.

The street scene was noisy and lively while I ate my salad and angelhair primavera, but I didn’t mind the clamor at all. Sometimes the very racket that makes me apoplectic when I’m alone sitting in front of my computer trying to write is soothing when I’m out amongst the human race again.

After my entree, I got some coffee and made some notes for tomorrow’s story writing for an erotica website…

I tear a piece of typing paper into four strips & sketch out a week of storylines on each strip.

I tear a piece of typing paper into four strips & sketch out a week of storylines on each strip.

 

When I looked up from my scribbling, the evening light on Ninth Avenue was pleasant…

StreetScene AtDinner

But I got to thinking about the movie I saw last night on TCM, Turner Classic Movies: THE DARK CORNER, a 1946 film noir that not only took place in midtown Manhattan and Times Square, but had its gumshoe hero live at the corner of 52nd and Tenth Avenue, right in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen when it really WAS Hell’s Kitchen!

Although I believe it was shot on the 20th Century Fox lot, this film brilliantly evokes NYC, especially its sounds.

Although I believe it was shot on the 20th Century Fox lot, this film brilliantly evokes NYC, especially its sounds.

 

So I thought to myself, why don’t I take a walk over there to see what building he was supposed to have lived in!

After I finished my coffee, I strolled west. Lo and behold, the corner where Bradford Galt, Private Investigator, was said to have resided in 1946 looked pleasingly ungentrified in 2016, and the building seemed quite like one where the brooding Mr. Galt (well-played by Mark Stevens) could have tangled with a murderous William Bendix in the film’s most exciting scene. (I highly recommend this movie.)

Most everything around it is gentrified now, but this building could well have been the digs for a noir shamus!

Most everything around it is gentrified now, but this building could well have been the digs for a noir shamus!

 

True, Hell’s Kitchen—a moniker once a notorious symbol of the area’s gangs and violence—is now mostly used as a colorful name and real estate selling point for the neighborhood—more juicy sounding than what it’s also called, Clinton (after DeWitt, I presume, and not Hillary or Bill). But when you’re aware of the history of the area, it never feels fully gentrified…and of course, when you personally have a noirish point of view when it comes to life in general, the spirit of Hell’s Kitchen lives on wherever you are!

With the right lighting in my apartment, and my fave fedora, I could be waiting for a femme fatale to show up!

With the right lighting in my apartment, and my fave fedora, I look like I’m waiting for a femme fatale to show up. Come to think of it, judging by the femdom erotica I write, I probably am!

 

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Ninth Avenue’s Asian beauties take over my mind…

I had dinner on Ninth Avenue in midtown last night, sitting in an open-air restaurant, and oh boy did I enjoy the parade of beautiful Asian girls walking by.

I am thoroughly enamored of the allure of Asian women and have been for the last few years. When I ask my friends, “Where were these girls when I was younger?”–like in my twenties or thirties, they say–“in Asia, Uncle Irv. Or they weren’t born yet.”

It’s true. In the 70s and 80s when I was always trying to meet women and did a good bit of dating, I never met any Asians. I guess they were just being born, the ones I so fervently admire today…

It’s times like this that I wish I were good at sketching with a pencil, to capture some of the beauties I see on the boulevards…instead, I sketch with words.

Like, the Japanese cutie at the coffee shop on a Saturday morning, dressed in a white blouse buttoned to her throat, with black shorts and flat shoes. A chic, 1960s-style pageboy ‘do. Sipping her coffee and looking at a map of NYC. Demure, but very sexy in a quiet way.

The Chinese clerk in a department store with glossy black hair pulled into two ponytails, wearing a black dress with little pink flower prints. Olive complexion. Bright, challenging eyes even when she just rang up a sale.

Or the Pacific Island lovely in a fluttery baby doll top just coming down to the hems of her blue denim short-shorts, her brown hair piled high on her head, her long shapely legs delectable as she strode with girlish vigor down Ninth Avenue in her high heels.

I see them so clearly in memory. Perhaps they will be the inspirations for future stories. Ah, if only I had the sex life my characters enjoy! But I don’t think I’d have the emotional constitution for it.

I’ve had my share of adventures, mind you, but my fictional creations have far more enviable records of carnal accomplishment.

I don’t know where I found this picture on the Web, can’t remember, but oh this girl is a beauty…lookit those pins…

This image is supremely erotic to me. What's your take on it?

I went out to a strip club yesterday for the first time in quite a long while. Had to cut back in these tough times, as I’m sure you understand. But sometimes you just get the urge for some entertainment, and yesterday was such a time.

I was hoping there would be some Asian talent to catch my eye and compel me with their curves and delicious demeanors to open my wallet to tip and get a lapdance or two. I like to feel compelled to express my awe over a girl’s loveliness by giving her what I can, even if only a few dollars of heartfelt appreciation. Alas, I saw no Asian performers yesterday at this club. (I sure would love to go to a strip club exclusively featuring Asian dancers, but I know of none in New York City.) The waitress complained when I only tipped her $1 on an $11 beer, and the girls onstage were lethargic. Not an auspicious return to a milieu I used to spend quite a bit of time in. And not an Asian dancer in sight.

But the streets were full of delightful Asian ladies just like the doctor ordered (the erotic doctor in my mind, that is), and I was lucky to have a front row seat at the parade on Ninth Avenue as I ate my linguini primavera.

 
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Posted by on August 12, 2011 in Erotica

 

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