Great story; I wish I’d found something that perverse. My mom had Playboys around for the interviews, and I used to stare at the pictures, though I was 8 and I didn’t feel anything…but why not?
A scrap of paper blew into the schoolyard and there was a picture of a hairy wide open vage on it, small and disembodied and about the size of a postage stamp. We all gaped, and it drew enough attention that an adult came and took it away. Hippie school , so no penalties.
It wasn’t until I was 13.5 that I really understood why people stared at pictures of naked ladies. Favorites were this Guinea-born Penthouse pet whose name escapes me, though she wasn’t that insanely distant from Vanessa del Rio, and Lana Wood and her traffic stopping cleavage tumbling the dice in Diamonds are Forever. (I bought a lobby card so I could study her closely).
Both Wood sisters, then, key in that Awakening. Every sixties film ever on the CBS 9pm movie had Natalie Wood traipsing around in her underwear.
My first dirty picture was probably a centerfold in Playboy or Penthouse. Through my youth, I'd scour the secondhand stores on Clinton Street for cheap used copies of those magazines in good condition.
My first hardcore scene, the one which taught me how heterosexual intercourse actually worked (well, approximately) was in a now-defunct adult bookstore, also on Clinton Street. It was via one of those machines that looked kind of like a jukebox, and had a screen at about eye level. You dropped a quarter in, and then you got to watch 3 minutes of a scratchy, silent 8 millimeter film. If you were lucky, you got to see the real action. Usually, you had to pump in quarter after quarter to get past the abundant filler footage.
Well, I must've gotten really lucky that day, because when I plopped in my 25 cents, I was treated to a close-up of a couple banging, with the woman on top. The film showed the couple from the waist down, so nothing was left to the imagination. The way in which the woman rode the man was kind of stiff and mechanical, which was probably a porn convention from that era. Of course, the scene concluded with a regulation money shot.
Dear Susie, first I got to say I was pleased you mentioned two of my heroes, Robert Crumb and Betty Dodson, in the same article. With regards to dirty pictures, I grew up in the 60s, when Playboy and mens magazines told us women did not have public hair. I had my doubts having seen classic art that proved the contrary--but those were women from hundreds of years ago. A turning point came when I was 16 and earning extra money moving furniture in a warehouse. On one Saturday, a group of us teens moved a couch and discovered a nudist camp magazine. There it was, all in black and white, women of all sizes, shapes and ages, all with public hair--in some cases lots of it. As the four of us huddled around the magazine, our supervisor, an older Black man who resembled Morgan Freeman, came up behind this. We showed him the magazine, which he thoroughly examined. He then looked at the four of us and said, ``Gentlemen, this is the real deal.'' We nodded in agreement. It would be years later when Penthouse made full frontal nudity with hair showing and no air brushing a regular feature.
Great story; I wish I’d found something that perverse. My mom had Playboys around for the interviews, and I used to stare at the pictures, though I was 8 and I didn’t feel anything…but why not?
A scrap of paper blew into the schoolyard and there was a picture of a hairy wide open vage on it, small and disembodied and about the size of a postage stamp. We all gaped, and it drew enough attention that an adult came and took it away. Hippie school , so no penalties.
It wasn’t until I was 13.5 that I really understood why people stared at pictures of naked ladies. Favorites were this Guinea-born Penthouse pet whose name escapes me, though she wasn’t that insanely distant from Vanessa del Rio, and Lana Wood and her traffic stopping cleavage tumbling the dice in Diamonds are Forever. (I bought a lobby card so I could study her closely).
Both Wood sisters, then, key in that Awakening. Every sixties film ever on the CBS 9pm movie had Natalie Wood traipsing around in her underwear.
Isobel Garcia Orobiyi! How soon I forget!
My first dirty picture was probably a centerfold in Playboy or Penthouse. Through my youth, I'd scour the secondhand stores on Clinton Street for cheap used copies of those magazines in good condition.
My first hardcore scene, the one which taught me how heterosexual intercourse actually worked (well, approximately) was in a now-defunct adult bookstore, also on Clinton Street. It was via one of those machines that looked kind of like a jukebox, and had a screen at about eye level. You dropped a quarter in, and then you got to watch 3 minutes of a scratchy, silent 8 millimeter film. If you were lucky, you got to see the real action. Usually, you had to pump in quarter after quarter to get past the abundant filler footage.
Well, I must've gotten really lucky that day, because when I plopped in my 25 cents, I was treated to a close-up of a couple banging, with the woman on top. The film showed the couple from the waist down, so nothing was left to the imagination. The way in which the woman rode the man was kind of stiff and mechanical, which was probably a porn convention from that era. Of course, the scene concluded with a regulation money shot.
Dear Susie, first I got to say I was pleased you mentioned two of my heroes, Robert Crumb and Betty Dodson, in the same article. With regards to dirty pictures, I grew up in the 60s, when Playboy and mens magazines told us women did not have public hair. I had my doubts having seen classic art that proved the contrary--but those were women from hundreds of years ago. A turning point came when I was 16 and earning extra money moving furniture in a warehouse. On one Saturday, a group of us teens moved a couch and discovered a nudist camp magazine. There it was, all in black and white, women of all sizes, shapes and ages, all with public hair--in some cases lots of it. As the four of us huddled around the magazine, our supervisor, an older Black man who resembled Morgan Freeman, came up behind this. We showed him the magazine, which he thoroughly examined. He then looked at the four of us and said, ``Gentlemen, this is the real deal.'' We nodded in agreement. It would be years later when Penthouse made full frontal nudity with hair showing and no air brushing a regular feature.