Education begins in the home. Then it takes a detour through school (the classroom) and behind the school (the shelter shed).
It is behind the shelter shed where we should have learned that Satan was a lesbian. Unfortunately, I only learned this recently. It's a revelation, to be sure, but should we be surprised by it? For eons, the heterosexual male has been fascinated by the woman who shares his passion for women. Dare I say the heterosexual male has much in common with the lesbian, and enjoys something of an unspoken bond with her.
Satan is all about temptation, right, so it makes sense that Satan would be a lesbian in order to lure the hapless heterosexual male into a cauldron of burning-worthy sin?
The photo of Satan on the cover of Fred Haley's book is more butch than any lesbian I've had the fortune or misfortune to know. If you ask me, the mustache and extended goatee are pushing the masculine characteristics a little too far. A mustache isn't uncommon in lesbian or hetero women, but the beard is much too obvious. One can only surmise that if a lesbian is prepared to sport a beard, she ought to lose the title deed to her vagina.
I'm prepared to accept the fact that Satan "was" a lesbian, but I'm not prepared to let the issue slide until I'm informed when it was that Satan reverted back to heterosexuality. Recently? Eons ago? Last week? The book's not closed on this.
The cover blurb on this classic implies that lesbians are passionate creatures who live to molest the bodies of their sisters. They have no time for chit-chat, knitting, gossip, cooking, or riding horses? Is this a fact, or just marketing nonsense?
What about those lesbians who've been living and sleeping together for twenty-five years? Do they still wake up every morning and rip each other's clothes off? Are they constantly rubbing each other's vaginas together in order to achieve that obligatory daily orgasm? Just because they're lesbians?
Perhaps they're just like gay males. Most homophobia seems to be based around the hetero man's belief that every gay man does nothing but engage in anal sex. That's what makes him scary! If he's not earning a crust or cooking up a storm in his well-appointed kitchen, the gay man is sucking, fucking, groping, or thinking of groping any non-female within his immediate zip code. He has nothing on his mind but penetration. Nothing! How he finds time for arts appreciation or pet grooming is the greatest of mysteries. Perhaps there's a pulp classic that unlocks the mystery.
Here we go again. More lesbians, and more damn passion. Crikey, these gals don't come up for air, do they? Apparently, "primeval passions lured them to lust's outlands."
Pray tell, where are these outlands? Is it really safe to lie down there and canoodle without catching a dose of poison ivy? And if these passions are primeval, why have they waited so long to express themselves?
No doubt about it, sex in the great outdoors can be wonderful, but the cover of this expose suggests that outdoor lesbian sex is better than just wonderful. It's downright revolutionary. Note the pinkening nipples -- you can almost touch them! And try imagining the scent of fresh, country air as flesh meets flesh and vulva is pressed to vulva in a carnival of clitorial euphoria. This is primeval stuff, folks, not your standard youporn MILF gangbang. Hell, no!
The cover photo does suggest that the lass on the bed prefers the fairer sex. Maybe it's the direction of her gaze that gives it away. Or perhaps it's the unbuttoned top through which her heaving chest is visible?
The standing lass isn't exactly opposed to the idea of girl/girl fornicating, either. She appears to have dressed for the occasion, and her hairdo looks like something from a recent episode of Mad Men. You get the sense that when she goes down, she goes down elegantly.
The title doesn't imply that the reclining lass would kick a handsome man out of bed, but she wants you to know that her preference is women. With a gun to her head, you can safely assume that she will not pick a penis when a vagina is available.
Finally, John Christopher's "novel of pure terror" is before us. When you arrive at the conclusion that there are no good Nazi leprechaun novels left, along comes this classic.
There are no lesbians to be found here, but there's an awful lot of passion on display. Passion for murder, of course, which is probably not too far South of passion for pussy in terms of strength.
Actually, this '66 novel is a fascinating one about a couple who inherit an old house in Ireland that is the home of seven tiny people who don't speak England; German is their preferred mode of discourse. Much terrific drama ensues. Writer John Christopher wrote many a fascinating story.
Stick with the pulps. For a well-rounded education, they can't be beat.