There comes a moment in life for some when the realization hits that you're way too fabulous for everyone else—more talented and fierce than all the nauseating kids in your class, and of course, you were destined to leave the monotony of your suburban existence behind and become the star you were meant to be. But there was one problem, that fierceness got suffocated by your parents, teachers, and anyone else that didn't "get it." What's a kid to do? For many the solution was: Divine. Hollywood's First Drag Superstar Harris Glenn Milstead, aka Divine, helped many live out their fantasies of living that outrageous life they had always dreamt of. He helped define and pave the way for a generation to come.
"I always say I can do without a man for about 24 hours. Then I go hunting." Such a statement, so openly and unhesitantly made, could only have come from Xaviera Hollander—deported madam, polysexual sensualist, and bestselling author of the autobiographical The Happy Hooker. Hollander operated, with a blend of business flair and sexual fervor, the most successful brothel in New York City. Observant and articulate, she also grew to see her two years of catering to customer's desires as a personal service, as well as a way to make money, and herself as an intimate therapist, as well as a prostitute. As she tells in her book, she readily acceded to demands of every kind, however way-out, enjoying making people happy and being paid for "something I'd have been doing anyway."
Long, long ago, when man was very young, and the moon was still mistress of the night skies, the earth was a wondrous place filled with gods, demons, sorcerers, and djinns. Miracles were real, and magicians accomplished stupendous feats. There was no pollution, no smog, no nuclear sword of Damocles dangling over the green fields and blue seas. Best of all, there were no Kremlins or Pentagons where sleep was forbidden to enter. Although darkness provided cover for terrors and evils, it also afforded protection for lovers, who did the same things by the dying embers of fires that they do now in centrally heated apartments.
It's time to pause and appreciate the style commonly referred to as a grindhouse or exploitation film. This is an informal label applied to any low budget film. The low cost of production is seen as an blatant attempt to gain financial success by exploiting a current trend or a niche genre. These films tend to celebrate lurid subject matter such as sex, violence, or romance. Although most movies follow this formula, the reliance upon the exploitation is generally larger in grindhouse style flicks. Amid all of the grindhouse films made over the years, a few deserve a nod. This is especially true for grindhouse biker films. These films were often a mix of sexploitation, sensational violence, and the celebration of bizarre rebellion, popular from the 1950s through the 1970s.
Language is one of the most inhibiting factors in love play. There comes a moment when every American or English male traveling abroad sees a girl to whom he wishes to say something to the following effect: "Mademoselle... Fräulen... Signorina, you are exquisite. Only the pre-Raphaelites could have caught your eyes, your lips, your hair. Your laughter is as that of distant cowbells on verdant hills, and the Georgian poets alone could have described you, oh moon of my delight that knows no wane…"
Vintage erotica evokes a unique blend of nostalgia and excitement. It transports us to a simpler time, when sex tapes were stored on VHS and the bodies in them looked more like flesh than plastic. Retro erotica gifs blend the new and old, using millennial technology to catch bite-sized pieces of old films and wrap them up for our viewing pleasure. These snippets allow us to project our own storylines onto them, intertwined with fantasy and reality. Of course, we know we are viewing these scenes through the rose-tinted glasses of a modern era, but the fantasy still persists.
Summer is hot. And summer activities can be even hotter. Whether you're hiking hard up that rocky mountain, skipping rope under the fire hydrant's spray in the hot city, or simply riding the train down to Coney island for a leisurely stroll with your baby on the boardwalk, it's important to make sure that you're wearing the right thing for the sweatiest time of the year! This Summer, less is more, and these beautiful women having fun in the sun know that summer activities mean minimal attire required.
More than half of communication is delivered through body language, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re all speaking the same language. The way you cross your legs, tilt your head, or even blink can give off a message that you may or may not be intending to give. Ever heard the phrase, "Women are from Venus, men are from mars?" Women and men are rarely on the same page, so it should come as no surprise to any of us that body language can be as tough to interpret as any other foreign language. Think she’s being coy? She’s probably just bored. Ladies, think you’re being confident? Surprise! You’re actually a frigid bitch! How do we level the playing field when men and women look at the world so differently? You tell both sides of the story. Men and women take note, we can all learn a little something about non-verbal communication and what exactly it is that we are saying.
With all of the new technology designed to make our lives easier, we have forgotten the art of the conversation. Long before cellular towers, strangers actually met each other in person. Old school pick up lines were the opening salvo before your personal profile was located on a plastic device in the pocket of an attractive stranger you wanted to meet. Your wit was more important than how many followers you had and your charm was defined in actual conversations, not Snapchat stories.
Before the dawn of civilization, man was little more than an animal, and he naturally had not even the tiniest part of a fraction of the knowledge which we moderns possess. But he did have a vast capacity for wonder—a capacity which, unfortunately, has drastically declined today. Early man was incessantly mystified, and given to pondering the mysteries. Things which are commonplace and explicable enough to us of today were uncomprehended, mysterious, and beyond exploration to him. All apparently complex phenomena filled our primitives with a kind of holy dread; and it was reasonable for them, in their ignorance, to ascribe all strange manifestations to supernatural forces. Sex was not immune to these superstitious beliefs. The origin of religion is uniquely linked to the sexuality of the culture it is attached to.
Some might think sexual censorship an antiquated topic, but it is alive and well, manifesting itself in the convoluted and often hypocritical perceptions of bureaucrats from Washington D.C. to Silicon Valley. Do not be fooled by the abundance of sexual content readily available to anybody with a wi-fi connection. Unlike its sibling graphic violence, sex has yet to be given a gaming platform like Xbox or Nintendo, who wrap bloody violence and often deviant imagery around trolls and unicorns. There is no middle ground for sex. An often binary decision to censor sexual content leads to rebellious undertones and social discord. The UK's Audiovisual Media Services Regulations 2014 banned spanking, aggressive whipping (light whipping ok), physical restraint, humiliation (that's not such a bad idea), female ejaculation (aka squirting), and playful strangulation. Bear in mind, nobody said you can't partake of these titillating escapades, you just can't professionally film it and distribute it under your own label. Censorship debates continue to be heard in the halls at the palace of Westminster and the floor of the US Senate. If history has taught us anything, it is it that they will continue to rage for the foreseeable future.
The Arab Sheikhs smelled of expensive cologne. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung off the low ceiling in the basement of a centuries-old Parisian building. The neon sign outside lit up the words Le Crazy Horse de Paris. There was little other indication that you had arrived at an iconic location. It was 1987, I was 19, and my father had just paid a small fortune for us to sit up close at one of the most erotic and oldest burlesque revues in existence. Plush red velour banquettes were filled with eccentric looking men and exotic looking women. The lights dimmed. For the next few moments, my eyes adjusted to the low lights and a single silhouette of a beautiful woman drenched in mist, almost enveloped by a revolving glass door on a stage. Black Russian in hand, my father grinning beside me, I settled in for what would be two hours of the most stylized, visceral experience of my young life.