anti-butt crack law: "Immoral self expression goes beyond free speech."

pdf, with thanks to the original sharer

The butt has always been more hardcore than the breast, which, while sexy, is also maternal, representing the nurturing nature of women. Even the Virgin Mary bares her breasts in classical paintings. Baring the butt sends an entirely different message, so opposite that of the breast that many religions regulate its exposure. You may, for instance, hold the Koran in your hand, press it to your bosom, or place it on your head, but you are forbidden to touch it to your buttocks. Rabbinic texts instruct men to undress facing north or south so that their bare buttocks will never face - and offend - God. The biblical apostle Paul declared the buttocks a "less honorable" part of the body which must not be shown in public.

before Vishnu, Yahweh, Jesus, or Allah, mankind worshipped pussy

pdf, with thanks to the original sharer

Paleolithic cave paintings found across Europe include triangular shapes with a central cleft that can only be interpreted as pussy. The Cave of Vulvas, found within the Tito Bustillo cave in Spanish Cantabria, is decorated with hundreds of crimson painted pussies. At Chufin Cave, in the same district, vulvas surround every hole in the rock. A half world away, the walls of Australia's Carnarvon Gorge are engraved with egg-shaped vulvas so numerous that the gorge has been named The Wall of One Thousand Vulvas. Prehistoric pussy is also found in the caves of India, Thailand, South Africa, and Patagonia - in short, on every continent except Antarctica - and even in such far-flung outposts as Easter Island, where vulvas are the second-most-common theme in rock art.

a considerable figure in London’s late night quest for kicks

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

AS I WALKED through the night I got to thinking about what I had seen… I got to thinking why things happen in London at night. For twenty-five years I had seen these topsy-turvy people come into clubs at the hour when respectable people are going to bed. For twenty-five years I had seen men and women do crazy and unlawful things in the hours between midnight and four or five o’clock in the morning… I thought, too, that maybe these queer and sometimes frightening hours were the cause of all the crazy things I had seen. Perhaps when midnight passes and you’re sitting in a club listening to the music, drinking too much, and watching sexy floor-shows while some painted harlot with her eye on your pocket-book is pressing her thighs against yours; perhaps at these times there’s a madness steals over you, a derangement of the brain that vanishes with the dawn.

The nightclub stank, old cigarettes and booze ground into the carpets

epub (76MB) or mobi (45MB), with thanks to the original sharer

The officer described Lili’s performance as being an “indecent exposure” of herself. Miss St. Cyr had “caressed her body while looking at a man’s picture and slid her hands over her thighs. Then she gave a couple of Mae West wiggles. She unzipped her dress to below her buttocks. Her rear was exposed. You could see through her black panties. She held her dress in front of her and walked sideways, leaving her rear exposed. She stripped to a flesh-colored net bra and panties. The bra and panties did not adhere too closely to her body.”   The captain saw the “outline of her privates” but “no pubic hair ... she was shaven.” Hannon related that while Lili bathed she “gave a couple of little bumps to the timing of the drums.”

When it was his turn with the witness, Giesler asked the captain to define a bump. “A movement wherein the muscles of the buttocks contract and [the] lower part of the spine bends forward sudden-like — throwing the front portion of the body forward.”

Next was a long discussion regarding French bathing suits and whether they were proper or not and whether what Lili wore was similar. Sutton stated that he didn’t know what a bikini was. A “French bathing suit” was a bra and panties. Giesler let the court know he found it hard to believe such an experienced cop would be shocked by Lili’s act. He led Sutton through attendance at the club, the location of the bar, the stage and other logistics. Then he inquired about reporter Florabel Muir. “You did talk to Miss Muir about arresting Miss St. Cyr?” Sutton concurred. “What did Miss Muir say?”

“She called me a silly bastard.”

“Was she mad at you?”

“Oh no. That’s the way she always talks to me.”

Characters up to no good from every slum within subway fare

 

pdf, with thanks to the original sharer

Times Square's most miserable, ghastly forms simmer in a witches' brew along Eighth Avenue from 39th to 43rd streets. Here are the official dregs of society, the scum of the earth, the lowlife's lowlives whom Mother Teresa wouldn't bother to save. A Puerto Rican pre-op transsexual stabs a trick in the eye with a sharp fingernail to grab his cabfare before he pays the driver. Brain-damaged evangelists rave aloud to themselves; 300-pound hookers flip out their hooters to stop traffic. Old shoeshine uncles give "spit shines" with more phlegmy bile than polish. Neardead human vegetation take root in their own excretion in condemned doorways — most of them have slit pockets from scavengers searching for their wine-bottle change. The drug-pitch skells would rather tear off with a wallet than transact an actual exchange, and they make the teenage chicken fags seem like the most discreet commodity on the street. Fifteen ghetto guerrillas wearing Pro-Keds (what transit cops call "felony sneakers") swoop down on a victim, then scatter back into subway oblivion.

"Hip chicks, exotic sounds, G-men, B-girls, stag parties, stogies ..."

pdf scan [new link 12/11/2015] (153 pages / 91MB)
 

What the hell was Dr. Kinsey really doing, hanging around Times Square, asking men to tell him about their sex lives, getting them to drop their drawers and measure their cocks for science? He told Herbert, "I'll tell you what, Mr. Huncke. You can help me greatly if you'd introduce me to some of your friends, so l can interview them as well. In fact, I'll give you two dollars for every subject you can bring me."

Herbert jumped at the chance. "I think I can help you, Dr. Kinsey. Why don't you come back to the Square some evening and I'll introduce you to some  good people I know."

Burroughs and Kinsey - and on occasion, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac and his wife, Edie Parker, Burroughs' wife Joan Adams, among others – would get together at one of several popular buckets-of-blood around the Square. Such dives as Gilroy's and The Angler. The good doctor Kinsey would remind his new friends of his study, and the Beats, having put on a glow, allowed that they were happy to "compile data."

It's interesting to speculate whether Kinsey's "facts," are weighted by the contacts Herbert Huncke provided him, the street hustlers, the excitable weekend queens confessing their transgressions.

Minsky didn’t invent strip. He just brought it out from the back room.

epub or mobi, with thanks to the original sharer

The 1950s were ready to shed the Lili St. Cyrs with their demure, ladylike scenes, and embrace Elvis Presley and rock n’ roll and the new breed of burlesque woman who embodied the changes happening in the country. “When Tempest came along, it changed the course of stardom. A different style. Wild,” said Dixie Evans. Tempest drove a red Cadillac convertible swathed in mink. Tempest was known for her “million-dollar chest,” the way she tossed her long red hair on stage as she bent forward and back, knees spread, thighs strong. Her moves were often bombastic, full-throttle sex — she convulsed, she crouched, she bent, she twisted. Her act was often accompanied by simulated thunder and rain. Her measurements were rumored to be anywhere from 41DD to 48DD.

This was definitely "kinky," but it fascinated me.

epub or mobi
 

"Now, watch your sister, silly. Grind your hips, real slow and sexy, in a circular motion. Then bump to one side of the audience and then to the other side, got it? Now, for a guaranteed super finale, close your act with a couple of 'full-face squat-bumps.' I can tell you from experience, Honey, it's guaranteed to get the men begging for more, the gorgeous animals! You've got to spread your legs wide and then, squat down until your fanny is practically caressing the floor and your shmuskie is facing them, blowing kisses! Now! Now, you bump - just a teeny bump, more like a shiver. First, you shiver to the right, then you shiver to the middle, and then to the left. Then back again to the right, only this time it's not a shiver, it's a sloooow grind up, then back down and then, with a vicious little bump, right at them! Do it nasty and you'll have them standing on their chairs for more!"

the screech of wild trumpets, the moaning and wailing of the tenor-men

epub or mobi

She ran out to the centre of the floor, amidst the yells and shouts of the crowd, and stood there shaking her body. Man what shakes! Everybody was yelling, "Work, Baby! Work!" "Do it, Honey, do it!" What a racket! I was blowing as loud as I could and hardly heard myself. The chick started to peel, shaking like crazy. She peeled down to a bra and pantie, then threw herself on the floor, lay on her back and started to grind, bump, grind, bump, Al standing up, following her with rolls and cymbal, catching her every move. She was spreading her legs wide, one arm over her eyes as though in pain. The joint was one howling mass of screams and wild shouts. Women with eyes wild, arms stretched high above their heads, snapping their fingers to the beat; others with their arms about their guys. She started to wiggle towards the band on her back. Then getting up, she shook her body a minute, then turned towards us and shouted "Out." We went into a mad scramble of notes, cutting the chorus, and held a long chord, with Al beating the hell out of a roll while she bowed. We cut and went into a fanfare. The crowd was giving out with ear-shattering screeches.

I'd sit with Ruthy and the kid watching TV. This is the life, I told myself: No pressure, No Boss, No music, Nothing, just work, work, work. Make that buck. Get that bank account up. I'd start to think, Is this the way I'm going to be for the rest of my years? Get fat? Bald? Lazy? No excitement like the old days; just an everyday routine.

I was in a new world of day time people. At first, these people and their conversations were boring because they didn't speak my jive. But after a year of forcing myself to listen, I learned all the problems that the average husband has to contend with, among them: "The grocery bill's too high; the pay's too low; the wife's getting another kid; the landlord wants to evict me, but he ain't fooling me - I got rights; Did you watch the fights the other night - my set broke down."

I'd just nod my head and agree to everything....