“Policewoman - Gay City” an adult themed comic from Italy, 1970s/1980s

I love to blog about topics that are popular with the crowd on the wrong side of the tracks, and the unsettling, strange and straight up bizarre covers of the following vintage Italian comics that you are about to see, fall into that very category.
 

“Vital Energy” the cover of an adult Italian comic from the 1970s/1980s
 
According to the book, Drawn and Dangerous: Italian Comics of the 1970s and 1980s, adult-themed Italian comics comics began to find their way to France, where they were translated and published starting in the very early 70s, which, before I’m schooled by our astute readers that some of the covers pictured here are not written in Italian, explains why some of the magazines in this post are in French.

Known in Italy as “fumetto” or its plural “fumetti,” the grown-up comics generally featured scantily-clad women being subjected to all kinds of manhandling and mayhem. Such as sexual assaults by super-buff men with monkey heads (and other horny man/animal hybrids), bad guys with bestiality issues, as well as a little good-old-fashioned BDSM. In other words, anything goes as long as it involves a hot chick with large breasts, in some sort of sexy peril. That said, please assume that all of what follows is strictly NSFW.
 

“The Razor’s Edge”
 

“Musketeer” (printed in Italian)
 

Jambes Et Attitudes or “Legs and Attitudes” a French leg fetish magazine from that was published in Paris around 1930
 
Fetish magazines started popping up around Paris in the late 1920s and some of these very first titillating publications glorified women’s “jambes” or legs.
 

A leg fetish model from Jambes Et Attitudes
 
One of these magazines was called Jambes Et Attitudes which when translated to English is the equally super-hot sounding, “Legs and Attitudes.” The magazine was published in Paris for about a year starting around 1930, and contained photos that were supposed to give you the impression that the images you were looking were candid - which they clearly are not. But they are incredible to look at (and slightly NSFW), which is what you should do right now. If this subject interests you, vintage copies of Jambes Et Attitudes can be found out there for anywhere from a hundred to a few hundred dollars a pop.
 

“Penning a Friend” from Jambes Et Attitudes
 
More legs and additional attitudes after the jump…

 
The Snorkel O Vibrating Muff Dive Gear is a real actual thing that exists, ostensibly for those out there who are literally drowning in pussy.
 

 
The disposable device, sold through Amazon and other online adult novelty shops, contains two plugs for the nostrils which, theortically, allow for ease of air-flow as the user’s face is smashed up against the mons pubis of their partner. But this isn’t just any snatch-snorkel. This is a vibrating snatch-snorkel. The front end of the device includes a mechanism which can be switched on during use, and will supposedly vibrate for 30 minutes on the installed battery. My guess is that a vibrating device pressed up against one’s nose could get a little sneezy, but then again, some people might be into that.
 

 
This device should not be confused with the Glow N Dark Pussy Snorkel which is a cheaper product and does not come outfitted with a vibrating device. The glow-in-the-dark factor could, however come in handy in low-light situations. If you are using the Snorkel O in a low-light spelunking session, you might consider the addition of a Smrroy Zoomable Headlamp Head torch Light.
 

 
Properly outfitted, you’ll be prepared for marathon depth plumbing. Just don’t do that thing with spelling the alphabet with your tongue. No one’s actually into that.

Continues after the jump…

 
Paris 1968: While students riot on the streets and fight pitched battles with the police, journalist, filmmaker and writer Jean-Pierre Bouyxou was making an improvised short film—Satan bouche un coin—in collaboration with Raphael Marongiu and a group of their friends. It was a bit of fun—a surrealist home movie for their own entertainment, to be watched over a bottle of wine and a joint or two.

The pair had filmed in Bordeaux, Paris and Belgium and had even enlisted the involvement of the infamous fetishistic artist Pierre Molinier to perform in front of the camera.

The 68-year-old Molinier was a member of the surrealists, who had gained considered notoriety for his artworks and through the stories of his scandalous personal life—for example he once admitted to masturbating over the corpse of his sister. More recently, Molinier had started a highly personal and explicit photographic investigation into his auto-erotic transvestite and transsexual fantasies.
 

Pierre Molinier.
 
In Satan bouche un coin Molinier appears as Androgyne. Bouyxou filmed one of Molinier’s auto-erotic performance pieces, which he used as the opening sequence to his film. Bouyxou’s intention was to put together a series of short unconnected sequences—or as he called them “stories”—editing them into a series of rhythmic patterns dictated by the music—Camille Saint-Saëns Danse macabre.
 

 
While owing much to the work of Kenneth Anger, Bouyxou does invest Satan bouche un coin with some devilish charm and a little humor.

Bouyxou—who celebrates his 70th birthday this week—went on to become an actor and screenwriter, and making movies with such legendary filmmakers as Jean Rollin and Jesus Franco. 

Satan bouche un coin is a mesmerizing twelve minutes—one to watch before it’s pulled.
 

 
Previously on Dangerous Minds
The auto-erotic art of Pierre Molinier
 
Thanks to Brian Beadie!
 

 
I couldn’t find much about 19th century German artist Heinrich Lossow’s “smutty” alaphabet. In fact, I could only find one single online source that had all of Lossow’s dirty typeface together on one page. Perhaps there’s a reason why: these illustrations are also credited to a French artist namedJoseph Apoux. According to Apoux’s brief Wikipedia page, the series is called Erotic Alphabet and date back to 1880.

Heinrich Lossow (1843-1897) was known for his Rococo-style paintings and pushing the envelope when it came to inserting pornographic details into his paintings. The most notable one being The Sin, circa 1880. French artist Joseph Apoux had the same reputation as Lossow.

In the end, I’m going with Joseph Apoux as the one responsible. There’s slightly more information pointing towards him concerning these naughty letters.

 

 

 
More after the jump…
 

Mr. Freedom satin jacket designed by Muriel Carter and Pam Keats with art by Mike Rogers (from Nova magazine, 1970)

For a few short years back in the late 60s and early 70s, a clothing boutique called Mr. Freedom ruled the streets of London with its cheeky styles and glammy duds that were worn by everyone from Twiggy and Mick Jagger to Elizabeth Taylor. 
 

Kleptomania storefront
 

Mr. Freedom t-shirts designed by Roger Lunn
 
Before opening Mr. Freedom, Tommy Roberts ran a shop called “Kleptomania.” It was an eclectic space not unlike a consignment store that carried non-wearables and collectables like vintage photographs and eroitica. It was a hit and quickly, Roberts enlisted his designer friend Roger Lunn to create a line of logo t-shirts (pictured above) that would go on to be wildly popular with the young London fashionistas.

It wasn’t long after that Lunn convinced Roberts that lining the walls of Kleptomania with Victorian-style military themed clothing was a good idea - and he was right. Kleptomania’s clientele soon included rock and roll fashion icons like Jimi Hendrix, members of The Who and Jimmy Page. This bit of luck inspired Roberts to start making and selling Mr. Freedom-branded clothing created by the hottest young designers in London. Like the “Bumster” jeans (below) designed by one of Mr. Freedom’s first in-house designers, Diane Cranshaw.
 

The “Bumster” jeans for Mr. Freedom designed by Diana Cranshaw
 

Mr. Freedom design by Diane Crawshaw
 

Mr. Freedom designer, Diana Crawshaw
 

“Mr. Freedom” Tommy Roberts (L) and his business partner, John Paul (R)
 
The grand opening of Mr. Freedom in Chelsea took place during the summer of 1969. Roberts had been inspired to curate a clothing line thanks to the visuals in the bizarre 1969 film, Mr. Freedom and with the help of another business partner and friend, Trevor Myles, soon the boutique was full of glammy satin jackets, statement beltbuckles and clothing with colorful pop culture details like rocket ships and stars. Roberts also obtained a licence to create a line of t-shirts adorned with Disney characters. Interestingly, it was t-shirts that helped finance the shop itself after Mick Jagger was photographed in one of Mr. Freedom’s “Zodiac” t-shirts that Roberts and Myles were selling at the Chelsea Antique Market.
 

Mick Jagger wearing a Mr. Freedom “Zodiac” t-shirt
 

Marc Bolan’s jacket (designed by Tommy Roberts) worn in the 1972 concert film, Born to Boogie
 
Roberts would go on to gain fans such as David Bowie and Bryan Ferry, and in 2011, a jacket designed by Roberts himself and worn by the mythical Marc Bolan in the 1972 concert film, Born to Boogie (pictured above) sold at an auction at Christie’s for a cool $15,375.  If all of this sounds fantastic to you as it does to me, I highly recommend that you check out the 2012 book that details Roberts incredible contributions to glam rock fashion and beyond, Tommy Roberts: Mr. Freedom: British Design Hero. Loads of photos (some that are delightfully NSFW) detailing the history and evolution of Mr. Freedom’s glamtastic fashion follow.
 

Mr. Freedom fashion spread in Nova Magazine, 1970s
 

Design by Diana Crawshaw for Mr. Freedom
 

A few pages from the book, Tommy Roberts: Mr. Freedom: British Design Hero
 

1972 magazine article featuring clothing from the Mr. Freedom boutique
 
More Mr. Freedom, after the jump…

 
With her coy smile hiding as many secrets as the Mona Lisa and her iconic bangs which are still emulated by wanna-be pin-up queens the world over, Bettie Page was and is America’s Sweetheart.

Here’s a Christmas treat, just like Grandpa used to peep out in the shed on a cold Winter’s day: a gallery of lowbrow art photographs from the mid-20th Century depicting Bettie, celebrating the most wonderful time of the year.

God bless us, each and every one.
 

 
More after the jump…

 
You may have read last week about the young man who ‘fessed up to having spent his “entire life” masturbating the wrong way—an unfortunate experience that left him unable to have sex without severe and debilitating pain. If only this poor kid had consulted one of the many sex guides available online or at his local library, or even spent a few hours browsing Tumblr for all the gifs of people wanking then he may have avoided considerable inconvenience and discomfort.

I am generally of the mind that sex guides hinder rather than enhance what should be an intuitive and mutually pleasurable experience—one ideally where individuals tell their partners what they want and share the enjoyment of sex together. But I know this isn’t how things pan out, as in the case of Twerking Seahorse’s alleged masturbatory misfortune—so maybe it’s for the best that people do have handy guides to help them on the way to pleasuring themselves and others.

Yet sometimes sex guides can seem strange and slightly off putting—like those creepy illustrations of hirsute men enjoying the missionary position in Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex—or even cold and scientific, like a technical drawing from Popular Mechanics. This Young Person’s Guide to Sex from the 1960s is a case in point. It starts off practical enough with courtship rituals and hints about handholding and flirtation, before suddenly switching into a kind of Ballardian handbook on sex—with test tubes for cocks, and artist mannequins attempting to straddle a young woman. From what I can figure out, this handy little guide was pretty popular in its day—so it did help youngsters scratch that itch—though I’m not sure if Twerky Seahorse would have been any the wiser from reading it.
 

Handholding for beginners.
 

 

 

Hair combing or shoe-shining is a practical way to show interest in someone of the opposite sex.
 
More handy sex tips after the jump, some of them highly confusing…

 
“Stickball” is an improbably strange—and very NSFW—adult novelty record from the early ‘70s, apparently the work of singer Tony Bruno working under the pseudonym “P.Vert.” I found my copy at Downstairs Records in New York (which was actually upstairs) at some point in the mid-80s and I still have it. It’s a 45rpm single backed with another song—a pretty-sounding ballad—called “Fuck Me Forever” by Connie Lingus.

Wouldn’t you buy that? Well I did.

About a week later I was in the same store with my old friend Nate Cimmino and he scored a copy of “Stickball,” too. Nate worked part-time behind the counter of the legendary New York record store Bleecker Bob’s, which was owned by the notorious Bob Plotnik, a man who was not afraid to tell you exactly what he thought of you, let’s just say. A cantankerous fellow. Some might—charitably—describe him as an “obnoxious asshole.” (Like the real life “Soup Nazi,” he was even parodied on Seinfeld.)

One day I went into the shop to say hi to Nate and Bleecker Bob was there. He said “Metzger, you’re so fuckin’ smug, you think you know everything, but YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT. I am the mogul of moguls. Name me any record title and I will tell you the artist. Name me any artist and I will tell you at least one of their song titles.”

Nate and I looked at each other, each knowing what the other was thinking.

“Stickball,” I replied confidently. It was the single most obscure thing I could think of, sure to stop him dead in his tracks.

Bleecker Bob laughed his loudmouthed Brooklyn wiseguy laugh.

“YOU FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE!! I PRODUCED FUCKIN’ P.VERT! YOU TRIED TO STUMP ME BY NAMING MY OWN FUCKIN’ RECORD! HAHAHAHAHAHA….”

He spun around and pulled a copy right off the shelf. The producer’s credit he pointed to on the label read “D.Ment.”

What were the odds?

He gloated, but I thought that it was extremely funny and so did Nate. I mean seriously, what were the odds of that occurring? And to be bested by an asshole like Bleecker Bob in such a manner of my own choosing, ultimately? Well, try having that experience in a New York record store these days, kids! Priceless!
 

 
So I had posted the above text on Dangerous Minds back in 2010. We’ve changed content management systems since then, but not long after I originally posted it, Tony Bruno himself left a comment saying that he’d never even heard of Bob Plotnik and that he didn’t produce that single or to his knowledge have anything whatsoever to do with it, which to my mind makes the story even better.

“Stickball” by P.Vert

 
“Fuck Me Forever” by Connie Lingus:

 
The architect and designer Carlo Mollino had a secret life—one that only came to light after his death in 1973.

Born in Turin in 1905, Mollino first established himself as an architect designing a house in Forte dei Marmi–a seaside resort and commune enjoyed by Thomas Mann and Aldous Huxley. By the 1930s, he was acclaimed for his Fascist House in Voghera and the Art Deco concrete and glass Farmers Association Building in Cuneos. His most famous work was the Equestrian Centre in Torinese, which was demolished in 1960.

Mollino was also a designer of furniture—one of his tables sold for $3.8 million in 2005—and described himself as an adventurer, a racing driver, an athlete, a skier (he designed two ski lodges in Aosta Valley and Piedmont), a poet, a writer, a student of the occult, occasional drug addict, professor, artist, photographer and bachelor. Surprisingly for such an enterprising life, Mollino lived nearly all of his days at his father’s house, who considered his son a “fantasist,” a “dangerous erotomaniac” and “feckless.”

In the early 1960s, Mollino bought his first Polaroid camera and developed a secret passion for creating erotic photographs. On certain evenings he would be driven down to Turin’s red light district where his driver negotiated to hire “ladies of the night” for a brief photographic session at his small city apartment—a villa he actually never lived in which was designed to be a “house for the warrior’s rest,” now the Casa Mollino by the Po River. Mollino dressed the women in clothes he had bought, then posed them against specially constructed backdrops filled with his furniture designs. The portraits range from Pirelli calendar titillation through lingerie catalog to the more painterly and artfully contrived. These images were supposed to be his idea of what a “warrior” would appreciate—however, the photographs remained secret until after his death.
 

 

 
More of Mollino’s erotic Polaroids, after the jump…