Pervert’s Library

by Cliff Barrett, Ph.D.
Published in 1972 by Impact Library

Though the attention grabbing cover blurbs promise insight into a world of women who either “live and love by whip and pain and twisted torture” and “…females who attain amazing summit fulfillment by painful agony aberrations,” Whip Worship reads more like a series of random stories thrown together willy-nilly instead of a cohesive narrative of any form.

The first scene of the book is a rather standard case history of two teenage sisters. (Well, the tale they tell of turning tricks while hitchhiking isn’t exactly standard but the “case study” format of the concerned psychologist is.)

Next, we are then treated to a first person account of a group of soldiers enjoying the spoils of war. Even though the gangbang triple penetration described therein is arousing, the abrupt shift in writing styles is abrupt so much so that it proves distracting.

There’s little need to describe the rest of the scenes – they vacillate from tired third person narratives of sadistic prostitution rings to the confession of a depraved bisexual masochist – the sort of girl that fantasies are made of – to an upper class masochistic man who enjoys the charms of street urchins of both sexes. It’s the last vignette I mentioned that serves both as a crescendo of depravity and the books’ highlight. Despite the fact that it wasn’t at all arousing to me sexually, the vivid descriptions of enjoying cunnilingus with a VD sufferer and the glass table show made me feel a little morally superior. No matter how twisted or demented my fantasies might become, I can take solace in the fact that I haven’t sunk quite as low as Mr. Upper Crust.

In sum, this is a mess of a book. Readers who enjoy their smut straight, predictable, and internally consistent should stay away. However, sick fucks like me will find themselves happy.

by Joan Kelly
Published in 2006 by Carroll & Graf

The subtitle of this book is also a fine synopsis as Kelly documents her discovery of her kinkiness. In short order she goes from a novice sexual adventurer to a somewhat jaded professional submissive.

This book opened my eyes to the mere existence of professional submissives. No doubt I’m naïve, but while I’m familiar the concept of a professional Master/Mistress (I’ve met more several), being a professional submissive always seemed too risky a proposition for anyone to pursue. At least that’s certainly the impression I have gleaned from repeated reading of memoirs of ordinary hookers and true crime books. Also, I can’t help but wonder where professional submissives would fit in the pecking order of sex workers. My best guess is that, like with mainstream sex workers, independents have a higher status than agency girls in turn who have a higher status than street workers. But that’s just a guess. At any rate, they certainly are much less visible than other categories of sex workers. If Kelly’s book accomplishes nothing else, she single-handedly has raised the profile of professional submissives not just in my mind, but the alternative sexuality consciousness. And for that feat alone she deserves kudos.

Readers hoping for shocking descriptions of sexual depravity won’t be entirely disappointed, but for the most part the interests of Kelly’s clients are, even to a naïve pervert like me, fairly tame. The most shocking part for me was her admission that seeing an extremely well endowed man excited her immensely. You’ll have to read the book to learn the rest, but it did confirm what I’ve always both suspected: despite women’s protests to the contrary, size really does matter.

Why the book is short on the lurid, I don’t know. It does not seem likely that it was because her clients simply lacked any other outlet for their kinky explorations. Nor do I think they were simply too shy to share their more extreme desires (it’s curious the kinks that people feel comfortable and uncomfortable sharing.) What seems more likely is that in order to engage in edgier play one needs to have a more intimate relationship with their partner than one can have in a professional session (I’m sure those familiar with the requests made of professional Masters/Mistresses might quibble with that point, but the difference is that it requires much less commitment to have something done to you, than it does to do to someone else. The notable exception is your average psychopath, but they are notoriously poor negotiators.)

I suppose it’s also possible that lurid descriptions of scenes aren’t included because Kelly simply didn’t include them perhaps out of the fear it would hurt her credibility. The credibility of a memoir is always suspect. People’s recollections tend to paint themselves in the best (or occasionally worst) possible light. This is especially true when for memoirs about illicit activities. That said, Kelly’s account seems fairly credible to me with one exception: early in her career as a submissive she describes a humiliating encounter with a client who cancelled a session appointment to play with a more attractive colleague. Even though I’m familiar with the magic of photography and makeup, looking at Kelly on the cover and in pictures from her book tour, provers her to be attractive. I find it hard to believe that she would passed over because of her looks.

The only flaw in this book is its extremely abrupt ending. While it was refreshing that Kelly didn’t proffer any regrets about her career turning the book into a morality tale or try to eloquently defend the choices she made, when I got to the last page I couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t a final chapter that was omitted. That aside, The Pleasure’s All Mine is a great book that every kinky person should read.

by Anthony Parr, Ph. D.
Published in 1971 by The Dolphin Press

Reading this book left me with one unanswerable question: why are Danes so hairy? Don’t get me wrong, I like some hair down there. In fact, it creeps me out when there isn’t hair down there. The desire for hairlessness seems like the purview child molesters. Creepy.

I don’t know why, but I frankly never imagined the Danish as hirsute. Part of me is curious to search the internet for modern Danish porn to see if Danish women have discovered the necessity of pubic grooming. But the other part of me is scared nothing’s changed, so I’ll continue in blissful ignorance.

The hairy sex pictures were really the highlight of the Submissive Female. In this book, Parr sets out to trace the lowly social status of women throughout history. He begins with conjecturing about the status of females in pre-history assuming they were only valued for their ability to bring males pleasure. Subsequent chapters focus on the status of women in Greek and Roman societies, 17th century England, Russia, and France.

As he traces through these societies, Parr often focuses on women of high status and relates how they cruelly treat their slaves and servants. He credits this behavior to their identification with their own abusers, but shows no evidence to back up this claim.

There really isn’t much to recommend here. There are a few titillating passages which merit some interest. Unfortunately, I can’t help but think the original stories which Parr cites are vastly more entertaining and informative than his presentation of them.

by Anita Phillips

Published in 1998 by St. Martin’s Press

A scholarly survey of psychology, history, feminism, literature, and art, Anita Phillips attempts to rescue masochism from its negative popular understanding by asserting that masochism is a core component of the human experience.

While the dense and often tortured prose demonstrates that she worked very hard to prove to the reader how smart she is, she spends so much time doing so that she rarely manages to say anything of much substance. Often after finishing a passage in the book, I found a line from a Dead Kennedys song reverberating in my head, “Brain death, blind desk, school damage…”

As a dedicated fan of what is sometimes maligned as low culture, some of my disappointment with this book is the author’s near obsessive dedication to high culture. In discussing the relationship between art, expression, and masochism, Phillips frequently cites obscure canonical art and literature. Unfortunately, the appeal of such works is largely limited to the ivory tower inhabitants of academia. She then asserts that the “beauty” of the work stems from the creator’s keen understanding of masochism. If masochism truly is as universal as Phillips insists, one wonders why the she did not find its beauty in mainstream or popular art and literature? Curiously, when Phillips does stray from the classics she turns to then-current films of minimal cinematic, cultural, or artistic importance.

While I contemplated the prospect that a masochistic harmony with the world allowed for the creation of art and literature in touch with the essence of human experience, I wondered: do masochists create bad art? My struggle to answer this question led me to another of the book’s faults: whatever masochism might be is never concisely defined. While there is much discussion about what is and what is not masochism, pinning down a concise, consistent definition in this tome is impossible. My guess is that failing to truly pin down what a masochist is allows Phillips enough wiggle room to suggest that if one produced bad art they were not “truly” a masochist. The trouble is that if you never meaningfully define what masochism is, how can you evaluate its defense?

Another annoyance was her analysis of the word masochism itself. Tracing the term’s origin to Krafft-Ebing’s “Psychopathia Sexualis,” Phillips rightly takes issue with the earliest descriptions of masochism deftly pointing out Krafft-Ebing’s many misunderstandings. Yet, she wholly supports his explanation of sadism wholesale. The passage so thoroughly frustrated me that I wished Phillips were nearby so that I might throttle her and good (in a completely non-consensual, non-sensual way lest she enjoy it).

In the spirit of fairness, I lent this book to a friend and masochist. I refrained from telling her my opinion of the book lest it influence hers. Given that my friend is not only a masochist, but also a student of psychology and fan of literature, I thought that she might see some virtue in the book that I overlooked. To my profound amusement, her comments about the book were far more vitriolic than my own. She went so far as to accuse me of meanness for passing the book along.

Masochists are among my favorite people. While I don’t believe for a moment that they require any defense, they certainly deserve a much better one than Phillips provides.

Update: I wrote this review a while ago and is always the case in life things have changed. The aforementioned friend is now my slave and fiance. She, however, still thinks the book is crap.

by Sadie Cousins, Ph.D. with Hugh Jones, introduction by Harvey T. Leathem, M.D.
Published in 1968 by Classic Publications

Note: Well, at long last, I have finally gotten up off my ass and made a post. Whether or not anyone reads it or cares is hard to say. However, I can take solace in the fact that I finally have meaningful words on my site. Also, I will post a picture of the book cover as soon as I can.

This twisted tale claims three authors, but was in fact written by solely by Jones. The other two are his pseudonyms (see an excerpt from the Feral House book “Sin-A-Rama” at http://feralhouse.com/press/
sin-a-rama/excerpts/sin-a-rama–westcost.pdf, look for page 4 of the pdf, page 33 in the book).

“Confessions of a Pervert” follows the tormented perverted architect, Sam, as he receives treatment from Dr. Cousins. We begin with the introduction by Dr. Leathem. Unable to provide Sam treatment for his multiple sexual preoccupations, Dr. Leathem refers Sam to Dr. Cousins for intense psychoanalysis. Dr. Leathem warns the reader that while the treatment methods employed by Dr. Cousins seem extreme, the unedited tale is too important to censor. We are, after all, interested in the ever forward march of social science.

As Sam’s first session with Dr. Cousins begins, he confesses that he has the piles (hemorrhoids) hough he claims they are not the solely the result of his homosexual relationships but are also aggravated by his long hours sitting at a desk. She demands that he disrobe so she can inspect them and then fingers his anus until he comes just to put Sam at ease. Sam begins to relate that his job takes him to various cities and he has a different “kinky sexuality” for each. In Los Angeles, Sam explores his homosexuality. He further confesses that his analism is strictly limited to men.

Dr. Cousins recommends a radical experiment to observe Sam’s analism first hand. Following the doctor’s instructions, Sam disrobes and goes into an adjoining room to have an encounter with a fellow patient who is lying in the other room. Sam discovers the mystery patient completely covered by a sheet excepting a shapely ass sticking out proudly. Sam has a “fanny screw” with the mystery patient and afterwards while talking with Dr. Cousins he learns the truth about his encounter: it was Dr. Cousins herself under the sheet.

Before his first session concludes, Dr. Cousins brings Sam to yet another orgasm and he declares himself cured of his inverted sexuality. Unfortunately, that’s only the first of Sam’s six perversions and he has several more to tend to.

Eventually, Dr. Cousins’ assistant Carol enters the picture as she assists the good doctor in Sam’s treatment. Sam views Carol as little more than the trash with the abusive motorcycle riding boyfriend. Likewise Carol views same with an equal contempt. During the course of their interactions, their view of each other changes.

If it all sounds convoluted, it is, but I won’t spoil the twists and turns for you. This is such an exaggerated farce that one wonders how it could have ever been presented as a real case history. Still, if you can forgive the book’s excesses, it’s an entertaining fast paced read.