As I had never, ever, heard of Dalle thingy, I googled. I know, I know, verboten, but I did. the first two results were Amazon.com, and the third was.... wait for it.... The Slap and Tickle! Fame, fame at last.Who is this fellow anyway? What is this Sisterhood? I think I prefer the Nutcracker Sweet.
@Sheila - There really IS a Dale Greggsen? I thought all these "authors" used made up names. Heck, I wrote the post and even I didn't bother to google. :)Incidentally, all the masterpieces in this genre that were published in the UK seem to have a price of "2/6" on them. What the heck it that? Two what? Six what? Two cocoanuts? I'm guessing the equivalent of 1959 50¢. Ah. Shillings. Pence. Old Money. Now I get it.Did you know (you seem pretty familiar with these kinds of things) that Victorian smut was mostly concerned with transvestite themes? You did? Ok, then.I'm still willing to bet you couldn't find a second book title by this Dale Greggsen fellow. Two names picked out of a hat and then let's go for Swedish.
That copy was not published in the UK. The picture includes a black woman and that would be unlikely in the 60's UK. Also the price of 50c would be laughed at as a daft Yankee thing. 2/6, half a crown? That was a lot of money then, it still is to me.....If you wrote pap like this would you use your own name?
Well I know this one wasn't published in the UK, you daft Scot! Anyone can see that! Heh. Well, I mean there were a lot on google to choose from, and the ones that were published in the UK were all marked 2/6. So ye're dumber than even 'mericans were if you paid THAT back then. You'll see. I gots plenty more where this come from. Hahahahaha!
So black women didn't arrive in the UK until 1970? Or you just couldn't take pictures of 'em?
I write pap every day. True, I don't use my own name. I use yours for the really bad stuff.
The Dark Triangle! Ha! Great title.There was indeed a whole genre of smutty paperbacks back then, usually not very thick. We kids used to laugh about them, they were always displayed in the window of the newsagent near my bus-stop in town. All the covers were full of innuendo, but of course they dared not be too explicit, or they'd not be permitted on public display. So, we teenage boys would joke about them, and pretend we had some idea of what they were about. I'll bet, if you were to read Dale Greggsen's racy prose it would seem quite innocent by modern day standards.Some towns here banned "The Graduate" as a degenerate movie.
"I gots plenty more where this come from."So it seems. What exactly are you googling?
@Soubriquet - so did you teenage boys not go in and read the good parts? How did you learn what was in them? Some of the older boys used to bring them to school and we would ask them to read the good parts to us. But I didn't understand a lot of the words. Or maybe they pronounced them wrong.@A. - Pulp fiction. Or dirty pulp fiction. I forgot.
Of course we went in. But the shopkeeper would tell us to get out and stop trying to read the 'adult' literature.Here's a little true story. Back when I was about fifteen, and my pal, Ted, was fourteen, we became porn barons. Ted went to a private school that had a lot of boarders, who were extremely repressed and extremely curious as to what, exactly, lay beneath the outer garments of young ladies. Ted was tall for his age, and either he looked older, or the man whose shop sold naughty magazines didn't care how old he was, as long as he paid cash for soft porn mags.We put all our money together, and bought as much glossy porn as we could, and sold it at a big mark-up to the older kids at his school, those who didn't dare to walk into a shop and buy it themselves. Our source was the barber's shop, which had a strange multiplicity of trades. It sold glossy magazines of naked ladies, it sold hair gels, shampoos, razors, badger-hair shaving brushes, aftershave, umbrellas... Oh yes, our barber also was an umbrella repairer....And condoms.In an earlier, time, these things were sold only by pharmacies and barbers, who would murmur "and something for the weekend, sir?" on finishing the haircut.Anyway, that was our next profitable venture. Older boys in his school would pay for one condom, to slip in their wallet, thus giving the impression, when it would 'accidentally' fall out, that they were young Casanovas, men of the world. When in fact, the closest they got to the mystery of women was the coy girls on the glossy pages, always strategically shadowed, or airbrushed.Oh my. For a couple of years we were tycoons. All those bosoms paid for my new bike.
You must be at least minimally sober to comment!