Burlesque performer and fetish model Tana Louise surveying her collection of shoes back in the 1950s.
 
After enjoying success as a popular burlesque dancer and stripper, Tana Louise (not to be confused with actress Tina Louise, aka “Ginger” from Gilligan’s Island, though we’ll get to her later) would truly find her calling by becoming a fetish model and columnist for Exotique magazine.

Exotique followed in the dominatrix footsteps of cult fetish magazine Bizarre, though it didn’t really focus on BDSM and instead featured models clad in corsets and sky-high heels. Acquiring the moniker of the “Cincinnati Sinner” after she allegedly clubbed dancer Emerald Forest in the head while she was sitting in her dressing room, Louise’s bad-girl persona fit in perfectly with Exotique. The assault story was published by Billboard in 1950—Louise denied it ever happened—and this only helped enhance that aspect of her appeal. Exotique publisher Leonard Burtman, considered by some to be the father of the modern fetish business, was so impressed by Louise that he not only made her the primary model for Exotique during its short three-year run, he also married her. Later, and in accordance with his then wife and his magazine’s love of stilettos, Burtman would also produce the pioneering fetish film, 1962’s Satan in High Heels.

Often photographed by the great Irving Klaw, Louise’s column in Exotique “From Me to You” was essentially a primer for “readers” of the magazine for her photo shoots. Most revolved around the process of getting into her leather gear and insane fetish footwear. Though she bore a distinct resemblance to a woman who is arguably the most famous pinup model ever, Bettie Page, the similarity would end up working against Louise during her career. Another issue Tana faced was a lawsuit initiated by actress Tina Louise that accused the model of using the similarities of their names to help promote herself, though it is unclear if the case ever made it to court. It wouldn’t take long for Burtman to tire of the raven-haired model, and sadly, after they divorced sometime in the late 1950s, Louise faded into obscurity.

Later in the 1960s, Tana would briefly resurface along with another burlesque dancer, Mara Gaye. The girls claimed to be in charge of an exotic fashion mail order company called “Tana & Mara” that was rumored to only be a promotional scheme for the two models/dancers, as they allegedly didn’t actually have merchandise to sell, and were merely making money from the sale of the catalog itself which cost two bucks an issue. As there is no shortage of images of Tana Louise from the 1950s, below you’ll find several shots of the gorgeous, sometimes blonde model showing off her fierce fetish footwear below. Dig it.
 

 

 
More Tana Louise and her high, high heels after the jump…

Nothing creepy to see here. Just a pair of silicone feet chilling with a glass of vino and a pearl necklace.
 
Some nights I don’t get a lot of sleep thanks to the bizarre Internet rabbit holes that I am constantly digging through. For instance, just last night I decided to plug the words “foot fetish” into Google to see what might come from that, and of course I wasn’t disappointed, though I was thoroughly creeped out after discovering that you can buy terrifyingly realistic looking feet made of silicone. So now you never have to try to talk someone into letting you get kinky with their actual real feet, which was not what I was expecting. At all.

Don’t get me wrong—I fully support whatever your own personal idea of sexy time is as long as you’re not fucking with someone’s mind or body parts in a way that makes them unhappy. I also get that a lot of people don’t really get turned on by the idea of their feet being a desirable body part to put in someone else’s mouth, but hey, you be you and just do what gets you off without hurting anyone, including yourself. The end. That said, I honestly JUST CAN’T with these faux feet. I CAN’T. Perhaps it’s because they are so very lifelike and are photographed in a freaky (literally) disembodied fashion that just gets under my skin. It could also be the fact that they come in a variety of styles such as “long toe,” “big feet,” or a “ballerina/dancer” version which sees the fake flippers enhanced by the appearance of reddish-looking skin on the heels, and foot pad from wear and tear. Then there are the often disturbing pictorials taken by fake-foot vendors like a pair of feet chilling out alongside a glass of wine or perhaps enjoying a sudsy bath.

Maybe it’s due to a lack of quality zzz’s but this discovery was like Dr. Hannibal Lecter terror-level for me, and I honestly couldn’t believe that there was a market for them. This notion I also blame on sleep deprivation because of course there’s a market for real looking imitation feet. If you’re more of a leg man (or woman), you can also purchase the feet with legs attached if that’s something you’d be into. Anyway, if this is your kind of thing you can find plenty of real as fuck looking pairs of fake feet on eBay for anywhere from $100 to several hundred dollars. Loads of images follow, none of which are going to help you get any sleep tonight either, so be forewarned.

I don’t even know if I can legitimately say that these photos are NSFW because I’m so confused by this unsettling revelation, but I’m guessing that unless you work in some sort of kinky foot factory they probably aren’t that safe to let your co-workers in on.
 

 

 
More after the jump…

“Satan and the Devil’s agent in Russia.” This illustration by Danzig Baldaev was copied from the chest of a criminal named “White” in 1991 who had recently completed a 32-year bid in prison.
 
During his time as a prison guard in Russia, and then later as the warden of the notorious Kresty Prison in Leningrad, Danzig Baldaev would become the curator and historian of tattoos worn by the convicts he watched over for nearly 40 years.

Baldaev’s illustrations, 3,000 or so in all, have been compiled into a popular series of books—the first of which was published in 2004 under the title Russian Criminal Tattoo Encyclopaedia Volume I. Had it not been at the urging of his father—who was no friend of the infamous NKVD (the politically repressive Stalin-era “secret” police group, The People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs)—the stories behind the tattoos might never have been publicly chronicled. According to Baldaev, after he showed his father photographs of prisoners held in solitary confinement he advised him to start “collecting” images of the prisoner’s tattoos, for if he did not, the stories behind them would “all go to the grave with them.” The tattoos themselves served multiple purposes such as distinguishing a captive’s alignment within the prison population, what kind of crime they had committed or perhaps their affiliation with a specific Russian gang.

In 2009 the duo behind publishing house FUEL, Damon Murray, and Stephen Sorell purchased 750 illustrations done by Baldaev from his widow, which were then compiled in editions of the Russian Criminal Tattoo volumes. Here’s an example of the grim stories that would have gone undocumented by way of one heavily tattooed prisoner (who you can see here), who was photographed by Baldaev collaborator and fellow prison warden Sergei Vasiliev during a visit to the Strict Regime Forest Camp Vachel Settlement in the Penza Oblast Region of Russia.

This prisoner’s tattoos display his anger and bitterness towards Communist power; the tattoos on the face signify that he never expects to go free. He works as a stoker. Text under the eyes reads “Full / of Love;” on the chin “Danger of Death;” around the neck “To each his own;” above each head of the double-headed snake “Wife’ and ‘Mother-in-law;” on the chest “It is not for you whores, to dig in my soul;” on his arm “Communists, suck my dick for my ruined youth.”

Below is a selection of Baldaev’s illustrations, most of which, as you might have already figured out, are absolutely NSFW.
 

Top text reads “The Scary Dicks of the Land of Fools.” The text printed on the penises reads “Everything for the People!”
 

 
More after the jump…

Vanity canoodling with her pal ‘Lobo’ played by actor Richard Sargent from the 1980 film ‘Tanya’s Island.’
 
Last year I did a post that featured images of famous movie monsters carrying around pretty girls from notable films and lesser known B-movies like 1958’s Monster of the Campus that stars some sort of weird gorilla/monster/man hybrid. Anyway, since I’m always creeping around in the past for interesting things to entertain you with as well as to help provide a short distraction from the Trump shenanigans and other shitty news of the last few days, I revisited the topic, adjusting my search criteria to uncover images of charismatic apes cavorting around with hot chicks. And as you may already be aware, this strangely sexy mashup was a pretty popular trend back in the day, and burlesque performances would often feature an amorous gorilla on the prowl for poon. There were/are also a large number of films that fall into the generally campy “Beauty and the Beast” category. And then there are the many iterations of King Kong that continue to captivate filmgoers to this day. So let’s get to it, shall we?

I’ve posted several images of guys in gorilla suits and their female companions, or perhaps captives at times, below. And I have to tell you that I quite literally had to forcibly cut myself off from searching for them because the more I looked the more I found. There is even a website called Hollywood Gorilla Men that pays homage to the actors who wore the hulking ape suits throughout the years. It includes photos from films, print media and so much more that it makes one’s head spin. That said, you can be sure that this is the greatest, very best, most comprehensive post to showcase images of scantily clad chicks and beastly gorillas out there, including images of Wonder Woman Lynda Carter and Prince’s sexy muse Vanity (pictured at the top of this post) hanging out with their gorilla pals. Some are sort of NSFW.
 

Another shot of Vanity and “Lobo” from the 1980 film ‘Tanya’s Island.’
 

A shot of Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman, from ‘Wonder Woman vs Gargantua’ (season one, episode seven, 1976).
 

 

 
More monkey men with hot chicks, after the jump…

Kristina.
 
We reveal ourselves in unguarded moments. Those instances of joy, happiness, fear, and anger—when emotions burst forth uncontrollably. Photographer Alina Cara Oswald had been thinking about such times and thought of creating a photographic project that captured women and men at their most intimate, unfettered, and emotionally reflexive moment when reaching orgasm.

Oswald didn’t believe she would find any models willing to masturbate in front of her and the camera. However, after talking about the idea, she did photograph a good friend and then herself reaching climax.

I started talking to people about my project and asked them very open and directly if they want to take part. And more and more people said yes. So I started photographing them. The project became bigger and bigger. I put my whole energy and thoughts into it. I was organizing everything and made many appointments. Most of the time I went to the model’s home, I brought some wine and some relaxed energy with me. I talked a lot to the person and then I setup my equipment. Then it was time for a hand-job.  Mostly I was in the same room, sometimes I went out and just came in at the end to take the photo. Sometimes I had couples and they helped each other. Sometimes the people watched porn or looked at erotic pictures. Afterward, we laughed and talked about it.

What fascinated Alina was not the photograph of someone cumming but “the process of how it arises and how a content can be presented and communicated.”

How can a piece of paper, which has just two dimensions, influence the third dimension? Can I communicate emotions and content through pictures without you knowing what it is about?

Alina titled this series of portraits Moments.

Based in Munich, Germany, Oswald studied photography, screenprinting, digital animation and communication at the city’s art college. She graduated in 2016. You can see more of Alina’s work here and here.
 

Joel.
 

Sarah.
 
See more forthcoming attractions, after the jump….

 
A major element of the current rock n’ roll crisis we’re in is that contemporary bands have almost no willingness to provoke. It’s just not a Millennial impulse to shit themselves on stage or strut around arenas wearing Charles Manson t-shirts or brawl with the audience or carve their arms up with razor blades during press interviews. They just don’t wanna do it, man. And that’s a drag because every generation deserves their own Iggy, their own Lux, their own GG. How do you know where too far is unless somebody you know goes there?
 

They don’t make ‘em like they used to: Lux Interior letting it all hang out
 
We had a great run of truly berserk performers in the 80s and 90s, from the Dwarves to Suckdog, from the Genitorturers to Psychodrama, and I figured we’d reached our apex of onstage WTF when Karen Finley started shoving yams up her ass, but then Rockbitch hit the scene and blew up that notion completely.
 

Sex cult or rock band? Rockbitch were a little bot of both.
 
A (mostly) female commune/collective of like-minded British sexual warriors, Rockbitch formed in 1989. They played hardcore rock n’ roll, and they lived it, too. Their shows were a literal orgy of golden showers, scissor fights, fist-fucking, and every other extravagant live sex act you can imagine. And this was just during the guitar solos, dude. They turned the whole notion of the conquering male rock star on its head, proving female musicians were just as capable of initiating debauchery and free-flowing sexual mayhem both on and off-stage. At every show, they’d throw out a “golden condom” to the audience. The lucky recipient got to have group sex with the band backstage. You may not have started out as a libertine, but by the end of your first Rockbitch gig, you were basically Caligula. Rockbitch took it all the way.
 

Rockbitch in action
 
Naturally, they were banned just about everywhere, and mostly regulated their activities to the Netherlands, where the locals really “got” Rockbitch. The band broke up in 2002, leaving behind one album, 1999’s Motor Driven Bimbo, an eye-popping documentary, This is Rockbitch, an archival website featuring plenty of alarming photos, and a handful of pretty incredible videos. They might’ve been the last vestige of truly out-there rock n’ roll we’ll ever get unless Katy Perry or whoever starts peeing on her dancers.

See Rockbitch in action, after the jump…

One of the tamer covers of the vintage Italian fumetti series, ‘Wallestein il Mostro.’
 
Wallestein il Mostro was one of many horror-themed erotic comics put out by Renzo Barbieri and his publishing company Edifumetto. Known for their strikingly graphic covers, Edifumetto put out more than 140 issues of Wallestein il Mostro in five different runs over the course of nearly ten years.

If you’re a fan of Troma Films, you might notice that the monstrous vigilante Wallestein bears a distinct resemblance to Melvin, aka the Toxic Avenger—the deformed mop-wielding superhero who made his debut in the 1984 film The Toxic Avenger. Much like Toxie, Wallestein is always getting mixed up in some sort of caper gone wrong involving naked women with huge boobs. The “origin story” of how Wallestein came to be goes like this: after handsome Count Wallestein is killed, his identity is taken over by a vengeful swamp monster who dons a mask with human attributes covered in bulbous boils. In accordance with the style of Italian “fumetti,” the covers are stunningly lurid and over-the-top in every possible way, commonly featuring fun themes such as dismemberment, full-frontal nudity, and scenes involving sexual torture. As with other fumetti comics, the illustrations were designed by immensely talented artists such as Mario Cubbino and Giovanni Romanini who was a regular collaborator of Roberto Raviola—one of Italy’s most respected comic book artists who is better known under his singular moniker of Magnus. If you’re curious about what the comic looks like inside, you can flip through a few NSFW pages, here.

You’ve probably already surmised that the images I’ve posted below of the gloriously gory, sexually charged covers of Wallestein il Mostro are totally NSFW. Unless of course, you happen to work in an environment that endorses violence and explicit nudity like mine. If you are a fan of fumetti, it’s fairly easy to track down various copies of Wallestein il Mostro online.
 

 

 
More after the jump…

Boobroom, 2017
 
Much of Weijue Wang’s art is fluffy and pink and displays a strong emphasis on the mammaries of the female human, but underneath her seemingly fun and bouncy subject matter is a very dark subtext. Very dark.

Wang’s work was showcased at StARTup Art Fair in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. Here is the statement of purpose Wang submitted for the event, which was rather striking:
 

As an emerging Chinese female artist who lives in an age of consumerism in China, I am bombarded with the commodification of everything in every aspect of my daily life. I am interested especially in the commodification of the female bodies. Contemporary women are freer to think and act. With enhanced freedom, however, some threat their self-esteem by seeking painful cosmetic surgeries to modify their appearances. In the name of beauty, some women commoditize their bodies to fit into the sexualized beauty norms. These soft and fluffy female private part jewelries and sculptures are born in my needle’s sharp penetration through the felt. Underneath their harmless domesticity, I want to unveil the profound violence and irony in female commodification and mass-produced beauty. By showing my works in a hotel room setting, the sexual and domestic feeling of my works will be enhanced. Basically, I will create a room of fetish of female body parts. Some pieces will be lying on the bed (like the Airport Dream II ), while the sound that will be coming out of the piece will allow the audience to expand their imagination.

 
As you can see, Wang views her work, which would include a “room of fetish of female body parts,” as directly confronting the consumer culture that has arisen in China, which brings along with it inordinate stress and concern over the appearance of females. Wang has noticed that women in China are increasingly turning to breast enhancement, which in her eyes is equivalent to self-mutilation.
 

Process, 2017
 
In Kelsey Lannin’s article at Creators, she gestured at the two enormous “breasts” propped up on her pink bed and said, “I have huge boobs now! They might look cute and fluffy but they are borne out of violence. Of a needle penetrating through the felt.”

A work of hers called “Airport Dream” consists in part of round pink balls (yes, with “nipples”) suspended on pieces of string. The title is a reference to the fact that in China, the word airport is a common insult directed at flat-chested women!

“I definitely want to expand on it,” Wang told Lannin. “There are still a lot of women being called ‘airport’ in China.”
 

Boobroom, 2017
 

Airport Dream, 2017
 
via Creators
 

Two ‘Apache’ dancers hanging out in a cafe in Paris in 1938.
 
I’m going to roll the clock back to my earliest recollection of seeing what was essentially a version of the “Apache” dance that was featured on, of all things one of the original installments of the Popeye the Sailor cartoon series that I saw on TV as a child during the 1970s. The short in question was the seventeenth ever produced, in 1934, called “The Dance Contest.” In it Popeye and his gangly girlfriend Olive Oyl enter a dance contest which of course Popeye’s nemesis Bluto attempts to disrupt. When Bluto finally gets his chance dance with Olive he recklessly and abusively hurls her around—much in the style of an Apache dance. Naturally, Popeye is having none of that and after downing a can of his famous spinach, he takes over the lead dancer role with Bluto who he then essentially beats to a pulp while his famous theme plays out in the background. The cartoon itself, as you may recall, was already notoriously violent so it made perfect sense to incorporate one of the most popular and viciously aggressive dance crazes of the time into its storyline. But all of that would have gone over the head of pretty much any kid watching the show several decades later and it wasn’t until I was conducting my very important “research” for this post that I actually realized that the old-timey cartoon was riffing on what some referred to as the “Dance of Death” or the “Dance of the Underworld,” aka, “the Apache dance.”

If you are not familiar with this style of dance then it’s important to note that female dancers played a pivotal part in creating the savage scenarios in the dance by helping to develop its complicated choreography. The word “Apache” was derived from a name given to members of Parisian street gangs who were formerly known as “no goods.” After a particularly heinous crime involving the murder of a man who was found with his face, nose, and neck pierced with several women’s hat pins, the news reported the story with the headline “Crime Committed by the Apaches of Belleville.” From that point forward, the dance, its dancers, as well as teenage hooligans (who were often one and the same) became synonymous with the name. The earliest known appearance of the Apache was in the 1900s, perhaps as early as 1902. Like many dances, it is thematic in nature with storylines involving arguments between two lovers or perhaps a prostitute and a john. There were full-fledged stage productions involving complexly choreographed dance numbers. Dancers, especially amateurs, would often break bones and sustain other injuries during the heated and violent routines. Some routines were so egregious looking it was difficult to tell if something wasn’t actually going very fucking wrong while everyone sat back swilling booze, smoking cigarettes and watched. The craze dominated Paris for nearly 30 years and would also be featured in several films including one from the wildly popular Charlie Chan series, 1935’s Charlie Chan In Paris.

LIFE magazine wrote a rather extensive piece on the Apache dance craze/culture in 1946, and interviewed female dancers regarding their feelings about the dance. They said they “liked being thrown around,” which at face value appears to describe an act of domestic violence, only set to a jazz soundtrack. Which brings me to another important distinction about the Apache—it’s not just the ladies who get roughed up. No. In the Apache, the female dancers also get to gracefully kick the shit out of their male counterparts. So you see, everyone wins when they do the Apache dance at one point or another.

I’ve posted some gorgeous images of Apache dancers hanging out around Paris as well as some incredible footage from Charlie Chan in Paris featuring an Apache dance scene with actress Dorothy Appleby that you just have to see. I’ve also posted that Popeye the Sailor short I referenced at the beginning of this post because, well, why not?
 

 

 
More after the jump…

 
David Huggins is 72 years old. He lives in Hoboken with his wife and son and works in a delicatessen. In his early years he was trained as a painter at the Art Students League of New York. At some point, during his “perfectly normal life” he “started remembering things.”

Huggins’ suppressed memories have gotten very detailed indeed. He recalls being abducted by extraterrestrials on numerous occasions, although “abducted” might not be the right word—Huggins’ experiences have mostly been pleasurable and he is quite content to assist the aliens in whatever way they desire. He says that he lost his virginity to a female “alien hybrid” named Crescent when he was seventeen years old. Huggins claims they’ve have had “over fifty hybrid-alien children” together—the details of their mating and the births are rather remarkable.
 

The artist and his work
 
Huggins tried attending abductee meetings but disliked them, they were too depressing—his experiences were nothing like that. So he turned to his art as an expression of his vivid memories.

Crescent is by far the most important alien in Huggins’ narratives. As he tells it, he was walking through a forest in Georgia towards a lake. He saw her sitting next to a tree. Crescent had a perfectly normal human appearance except for her head—her pale, pointed face had large black eyes and she was wearing a wig. They both disrobed and he soon lost his virginity.

Of his children, Huggins has given the following account:
 

I was taken into a room and it was filled with babies and I had to touch every one. The human touch was really important. The first time I touched one of the babies static electricity jumped from my hand to the baby. This was right before I touched it and I pulled back and said to the Insect-being “Wow, did you see that?” So I reached over and touched the baby. I woke up the next morning spent, totally exhausted and slept all day. But that night the Insect-like Being takes me to this door; we are in front of this doorway and there is this brilliant light. It was like it was pushing its way out of the doorway — it had form. The Insect-Like Being said I had to go inside the room with the light, so I go inside and it was just incredible. The light was passing right through me. I was in there for a few minutes. The next morning when I woke up I had incredible energy and felt really energized for weeks afterwards.

 
Fortunately for us, Huggins has harnessed his artistic talent to capture his memories, whether of real or imagined events. They display very good draftsmanship and use of color, and they are pleasurable to look at. It almost amounts to a perfect painterly representation of the entire “Area 51” mythos that has been such a familiar trope since the middle of the last century.

In 2009 Farah Yurdozu published a coffee-table book about Huggins under the title Love in an Alien Purgatory that reproduced many of his paintings—it’s available at Amazon for a reasonable sum.

Huggins is the subject of a forthcoming documentary by Brad Abrahams called Love and Saucers, which looks very interesting.
 

First Meeting
 

Our Son
 
More after the jump…