Issue One
The Sex Issue
HELLO THERE!
Welcome to Topless Envoi, a little magazine about everything and anything. We're so glad you could be here. In this issue we take a long hard look at SEX and its beautiful and sometimes painful side. See what I did there? I'm so clever. Sometimes.
We all -- each of us, is a master of our craft and that is on full display here, an amazing series of erotic photographs by Bill Wolak, Poetry by Nolcha Fox and Pete Mladinic, and a cute memoir / story by Francis David.
This is our first time in this format but not our first rodeo. So we know what we want and how to deliver. We hope you enjoy. Feel free to share, which we'd be grateful for. Thanks.
-Misty
IN THE EROTIC MODE BY BILL WOLAK
As a poet, my early influences included the Surrealists and the Beats. So I have always been a bit of an outsider when it comes to the kind of poetry and art that I create. I was especially drawn to the love poems of such poets as Paul Eluard, Andre Breton, Garcia Lorca, and Kenneth Patchen. From the very beginning, I was writing in the erotic mode, and my collages and photographs developed out of the same deliriously sensual imagery.
When I was a young poet, I was deeply influenced by one book entitled Facile, which was a collaboration between the love poems of Paul Eluard and the photographs of Man Ray. Man Ray’s photographs for this book, by the way, were all nudes of Eluard’s wife Nausch, and these photographs were juxtaposed in such a fascinating way with the poetry on every page that this book became a kind of model for what I was striving to achieve. Therefore, when it came time to publish my own poetry books, I always attempted to collaborate with an artist. Throughout the years, many of my books were designed and illustrated by the English collage artist John Digby. In addition, I have worked with other erotic artists to Illustrate my poetry books such as the Indian painter Tushar Shinde, the Nepalese artist Ratna Kaji Shankya, the Romanian artists Dan Cioca and Corina Chirila, and the American artist Cheryl De Ciantis.
As I started making collages, many of them were erotic, and from time to time, I was lucky enough to have some of them accepted in various erotic art festivals. At one such erotic art festival, I was walking around with a digital camera that I had bought used at a camera shop to take photos of my work hanging in the show. There, I ran into my first model. I asked her if she would be interested in a quick photo shoot, and she agreed. Since that time, I have concentrated on photographing female nudes. Some of my photographs are simple nudes, others are more complicated juxtapositions of bodies with strange backgrounds or other effects.
Perhaps the best example of my poetry and photography presented together has recently been published in Italy entitled A Pearl That Can Only Taste the Sea. This is a bilingual English/Italian edition translated by Laura Garavaglia: UNA PERLA CHE PUÒ SOLO ASSAPORARE IL MARE: A PEARL THAT CAN ONLY TASTE THE SEA (Collana Scritture Incontri a cura di Laura Garavaglia per iQdB ed.) (Italian Edition) April 21, 2023.
https://www.amazon.com/UNA-PERLA-SOLO-ASSAPORARE-MARE/dp/B0C2SMCPKR
At the Dream's Imperceptible Threshold
At the Dream's Imperceptible Threshold
Every Tongue Waiting Near a Nipple's Tiny Shadow
Every Tongue Waiting Near a Nipple's Tiny Shadow
Intimate As Delirium
Intimate As Delirium
The Astonishing Readiness of Desire
The Astonishing Readiness of Desire
The Irresistible Beckoning of Pleasure
The Irresistible Beckoning of Pleasure
With a Touch So Gentle That the Shadows Sigh
With a Touch So Gentle That the Shadows Sigh
The Mirror of Another's Hands
The Mirror of Another's Hands
And Hipbones Arching Dreamward
And Hipbones Arching Dreamward
Startling As a Wildflower's Enticing Smile
Startling As a Wildflower's Enticing Smile
Smoother Than the First Touch of Dawn
Smoother Than the First Touch of Dawn
Enigmatic Surrender To the One Who Bites Your Hair
Enigmatic Surrender To the One Who Bites Your Hair
With Lips Numb From Kisses
With Lips Numb From Kisses
POETRY BY NOLCHA FOX
Bling
I wear a sequined day
of lowcut sparkly dress or shirt,
with shiny jewels and spiked high heels
to advertise the slut I am
beneath the dazzle I exude.
Come get me, be my
brilliant boy.
I’m worth it.
FLASH FICTION BY FRANCIS DAVID
A Blonde Blew My Mind
I saw her in the student center reading Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and I couldn’t resist.
“I write poetry too,” I said sounding lamely desperate.
“You have to know the poet to get the poetry,” she said, “and I don’t know you.”
“You know Ovid?” I asked.
“No, not really,” she said. “But I’d like to.”
Normally I go for big brunette women but there was something about this blonde: Nicoletta was her name.
“I could fuck you if I wanted to,” she said. “But I don’t know if I want to.”
“I can honestly say I wouldn’t if I were you,” I said.
“Definitely want to drain your balls now,” she said.
“They need a good draining,” I said.
“Sorry I’m not good at this dialogue thing,” she said.
“You’re doing fine,” I said.
“I’m not a real blonde,” she said.
“I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t think anyone really is.”
“That’s true,” she said.
We just smiled at one another. It wasn’t really going anywhere, although I enjoyed the banter.
“See you around,” I said.
“Will you?” she asked.
POETRY BY PETE MLADINIC
Why You Left Her for Me
With two good arms I could’ve stepped in
and broken her jaw. Instead
I made her cry. Normally
I don’t like making anyone cry
but I liked it, I took perverse delight
because it was you,
and me taking you from her.
I felt totally alive, and larger,
having gained twenty pounds
because you told me to.
That night, I drove you to my home
and told you to wait out in the dark
and look through my lighted window.
In everyday clothes I took a sweater
from a bed. I shelved it in a bureau
drawer. You looked and looked
and saw nothing else. Then
I invited you into a room
that had only a lit lamp on a table.
In the corner an easy chair.
Sit, while I go in the other room,
just a closest a bed, around a corner
a small bath. I took off my make up.
Brushed back my hair, pulled it up
tight. I came back to you.
I was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt
button up to the collar, a red string tie
in a bow, dark horn-rimmed glasses
and a black vest, buttoned, a tad
snug. My black boots went up to my knees.
I looked at you. Call me Mrs Cocke.
You did. I told you to stand.
I brought my giggling flesh very close
to you. You asked to touch me.
No, don’t, I said. Strands of my cunt hair
stuck out from under my giggling belly.
You ached to caress it, I could feel
you wanting to. I’m glad, elated really
I made her cry. Call me Mrs. Cocke,
again, I said to you.
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