The Joy of Sex (Pulpy Porn Style)

It's a sexual smorgasbord out there, with the emphasis on 'bored', I'm afraid. It's a deluge. We have graphic images. We have mountains of explicit pornography. We have machine gun-style fucking and sucking. It's all just a few mouse clicks away. 

Still, there is nothing quite like the written word. Nothing. And there's nothing like a lurid illustration to accompany it.

Roll up, roll up, brothers, sisters, and feast your eyes on these artifacts of a bygone era, these lost exhibits of the lavishly lurid.

The sex novels of the 60's, 70's, and 80's tackled subjects that are off-limits today -- 'politically incorrect' -- because some tit-sucking momma's  boy, some blubbering milquetoast with his wife's panties on his head and balls in her pocket, decided to become a 'victim' of them, decided he'd  'clean up' society by demonizing them... all the while taking bribes for political favors, and using his elevated station in life to  rob, rape, and Reverse Robin Hood the people who voted him in.

There was a time, not long ago, my friends, when there was a clear distinction between fantasy and reality, when 'victims' were the physically and mentally abused, when sex was a playground, and make-believe was just that.  It was a simpler time.   You knew where you stood.  The agendas were clearer.

Now, despite the propaganda that it's an 'anything-goes' world, the reality is that anything will offend somebody, and that somebody is gonna cash in.  

It's a sadder world today when a Wall Street banker cops a slap on Rolex for his mass destruction of middle class lives while prosecutors are aggressively busting children for trading 'naughty pictures' with each other on their cell phones.

Makes sense in a way: Sex has always been an easy target for those engaged in distracting us from their crimes of opportunity. It's become the indefensible, the accusation that turns the old 'innocent 'til proven guilty' mantra upside down. It may appear we have more freedoms, but we really have more rules, more policing of our thoughts, our fantasies, and our dreams.  

Hopefully, the world will turn full circle again, and the hysteria and hypocrisy associated with depictions of human sexuality will dissolve, and pulpy porn excellence, almost quaint now, will make a welcome return.

The Master, Gang-Bang Girls, and Hunchbacks

Just saw Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master, but do I want to write about it? Not really. Why should I when this piece of art (above) is one of the greatest things I've even seen.

Check out the hunchback! He'll be getting his end in any minute. And get a gander of the bloke with the cigarette in the back of the room. His name's on the list, too. He seems a tad overdressed for the occasion. Probably has to be up early to catch a fish, too.

Found The Master disappointing.

Looks like the lass in the picture has shaved or been shaved for the occasion.

"She got what she wanted," the cover tells us.

So, she wanted a hunchback to thrust his business into her? What a gal!

Oh, yeah, back to The Master. Great first hour with some good performances. Second hour and a bit a little too unfocused for my liking. Still, an audacious effort, even if it doesn't fully resonate dramatically.

Unlike the above, which resonates until the cows come home.

So did Anderson's There Will Be Blood, his masterpiece.

Speaking of which... there might be blood in the scenario up top, too.

Pulpy Porn Is Erect Again

In John McNaughton's superb Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, the titular anti-hero works part time as an exterminator. In one scene, he meets with his boss, an oily individual, and is told that work has dropped off due to the sluggish economy. When Henry makes a gesture to return his trusty spray can and pump, the boss tells him to keep it, not too concerned.

The cover of the lewdly titled 'Sharon's Slavery Sessions' (above) depicts Henry's oily boss (far right in sunglasses) in a sexually appropriate situation (approproate for him!) far removed from the bug spraying business.  He appears to be having a good time and seems unconcerned by his flagging fortunes.

Take another look at the film if you doubt my observation. It's Mr. Oily for sure.  Perhaps he took his eye off the bug business when slave training caught his interest.   Can you blame him?

As a card-carrying island lover, I'm quite partial to this scenario from the infamous 'Captive Women' series. The fella in the flannelette shirt appears to be the patient type and is quite alright about waiting for his turn. 

If someone can send the co-ordinates of Lust Island, I'd be mighty appreciative. A Google Earth link would be fine, too. 

 

Not only is the lady a 'tormented teaser', but she's an 'All American Tormented Teaser'. I'm not sure what difference it makes, but American culture has a strange obsession with placing the word 'American' before everything from pimps (American Pimp) to psychos (American Psycho) to werewolves (An American Werewolf in London).

Mr. Red Jacket (previously known as 'Peter Perfect') is one eager beaver, and he's combed his hair just right. The bloke in the middle is a little overdressed for the occasion, although he'll certainly keep warm once the Winter winds start beating the walls of the cabin. The punter on the right must have drawn the short straw because he's copped shibari duty.

Well Lubricated Pulpy Porn Slips Back In

This one gets everything right. Schoolgirl - check! Flash of panties - check! Simple, uncluttered layout: check!

Liverpool's eleventh year, and they were still producing great cover art.

I've always enjoyed their penchant for seedy, almost grotesque business types.

Long-running series. Cover prices for porno pulps were always more than twice that of regular literature.

At least they were cheaper than hookers! And much better value.

Not sure how Nancy Reagan got roped into posing for this cover, but it makes for a bizarre piece of anti-erotic art -- for me, at least. Nancy fetishists may violently disagree.

I guess Ronnie was cool with Nancy chasing Alfred E. Nueman-type schoolboys.

From the mid-70's to the late 80's, beasty porn was a genre that wouldn't lie down.

Inspired by European animal loops from the likes of Color Climax, Scandi Film, Gold Medal, and Chick (Holland), this 'last taboo' was thoroughly explored in porno pulps of the period.

Although bestiality media is now being produced in Brazil and Japan for an internet market, the world at large seems less comfortable with it.

Another terrific Liverpool cover with a military bent.

Pulpy Porn Can Go All Night

Yesteryear's yearnings remain the domain of porno pulp -- lest we forget.

Pompeii Press was not a high profile imprint, and they clearly skimped on their covers.

Still, it's nice to see a snake finding employment in the world of terror.

Bestiality was a profitable niche in 70's and 80's porno pulp, and it benefited (legally) from being text-based, not image-based.

As there is now a thriving Zoo video, underground thanks to the internet, so, too, is there a thriving Zoo fiction renaissance.

Another popular pulp niche.

It was important for the publishers to indicate "New Book January 1979", for example, because the industry was rife with illegal reprints of old material.

Authors of these were usually paid between $100 and $300.

Terrific artwork, and a classic set-up not often emulated by visual porn industry.

Most incest-based pornography has focused on mother/son and daddy/daughter pairings (Kirdy Stevens' Taboo series is a prime example).

I think she's more interested in having her portrait painted than giving her fill attention to the business at hand. He looks a little too old for high school.

Pulpy Porn Perfection

It was common practice to make the author of a porno paperback a woman. It excited men to think that a woman had come up with the hot scenarios. Very few actual women wrote these.

"Kathy Harris" was a prolific porno pulp writer whose fiction focused primarily on incest scenarios.

Films such as Taboo ('81), which spawned a series, and the first-ever hardcore miniseries, Taboo American Style ('85), cheerfully rode the fornicating family bandwagon.

By the 90's, however, the theme had become a no-no in the American hardcore business.

Fairly bland art for Mom Eyes the Kids when placed between the rich illustrations for Daughter's Oral Fun and Two Horny, Hot Teachers.

Ultimately, video killed the Porno Pulp, not the Radio Star (as the Buggles' song once claimed).

When X-rated films played in theaters only, they happily co-existed with the hardcore paperbacks. You could take the books home and read them at your leisure -- and pleasure. You couldn't do that with the movies.

When the movies became available on videotape, the pulps had direct competition. The success of pornography has always been about accessibility (same with most products, actually). Because porn carries an element of shame and embarrassment for a large segment of the market, a discreet way to access it became essential. So videotapes killed the theater experience. It was much easier to slip into a store and slip out the back door with a tape underarm that be spotted raincoating your way into the Pussycat Theater.

With the advent of on-line ordering, you could now fish that credit card out of your wallet and order a tape (totally discreetly) without leaving the house. For some, the only problem after that was hiding the tape somewhere.

Viola! On-line streaming solved that problem.

Unfortunately, when words were forced to compete with pictures in the same venue, pictures won out. Sad, really, because these classic porno paperbacks had a very different experience to offer.

The 70's and 80's porno pulps featured storylines and subjects that the movies (with some exceptions) rarely approached with the same gusto. It cost no more to write about one hundred people fucking than a niece being tormented by her psychopathic uncle. Not so with the movies.

No issues with amateur acting in prose, either. Surely that counts for something.

Liverpool Library Press kept their prices down with limited color covers.

In the 80's, $4.95 (the price of the full color books at the top of the page) was expensive for a paperback; $2.50 was definitely more wallet-friendly.

More specialist fetish material with poverty row illustrations (thus the cheaper price).

It was important to emphasize "New Book" because many publishers ripped off existing books and retitled them in this era.

Bon Appetit!

The Bride of Pulpy Porn

The righteous indignation of this caught-with-his-pants-down cop is golden.

"No ordinary necking party"?

That's no ordinary undergarment, either.

Where can I pick one up?

I like the color treatment here.

Is the filing cabinet always in front of the door?

And why does the door open outwards?

Back in the good old days, they stayed away from children, and channeled their energies into legal pursuits.

The old voyeurism chestnut never gets tired.

Not all porn cover art is equal.

And why is he painting her back?

This company specialized in captive-themed stories.

If you're going to get to this point, at least enjoy yourself.

Save the guilts for later.

Porn goes Oriental.

Is Roger Shaft a pseudonym?


Beautiful art by Robert "The Bishop" Bishop.

A long blog on The Bishop and FE Campbell is in the works.

Kathy Andrews strikes again.


International porn themes were not terribly prevalent, especially ones combining the Secret Agent genre.

A 2nd printing of an ageless classic!

Don't blame the stallion.

It takes two.