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Hags…

We’ve been talking here about 1960s monster magazines of late. James Robert Smith, aka Bob Smith, asked about the following in his comment for the June 29th “Charlton Chills” introductory post.

Thanks to monster mag Michael Scott, I can pass along this answer that age-old question, “Which is the best horror hag?”

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A Danish Interlude with Reptilicus, Karen and Svend…

If you need an explanation for the following, see yesterday’s post.

In short, Charlton Comics — under their Monarch Books moniker — published licensed monster movie novelizations that were far, far spicier than even the sexiest horror movies of their era.

Picking up from yesterday, here’s the next steamy scene from Dean Owen’s masterful novelization of Reptilicus (1961, Monarch Books), the moving final passage from Chapter Four, pages 33-34.

Recap: Svend has recently returned from a drilling job in Lapland, where his team accidentally brought up a bloody chunk of Reptilicus tail. While there, Svend also spent three days in a seedy hotel room drilling his foreman’s wife. Once Svend returns to Copenhagen, svelt young Karen decides to bed Svend before her older sister Lise gets to him. She tells him so.

Thanks to the regenerative properties of that primordial tail fragment, Reptilicus is still congealing in the lab tank, so rest easy — he won’t be interrupting the action:

…she pushed her hands inside the elastic band of a wispy white girdle. This she slipped down over her hips, not bothering to unfasten her garters. She kicked off her shoes.

Then, hands on the gentle slope of her hips, she turned and faced him, her dark head tilted to one side. He stared open-mouthed at the rose-tipped breasts, the flat stomach, the perfectly formed thighs…

He flung down the blanket and dumped her on top of it. She giggled, drew up her knees and bit his ear, pretending to fight him desperately.

“You — you’re the most delightful female I ever met,” he panted.

She squirmed away and he forced her back, his desperate hands on her knees. All the time she laughed shrilly.

Suddenly she drew his face to her breasts, reveling in the touch of his lips. His mouth could not get enough of those hard, firm breasts and his fingers trailed all over her satin-smooth flesh, seeking and caressing, until desire was a hot blade in her insides and she pulled him closer.

Expertly she guided him, her body accommodating itself to the savage lance of his manhood while the world spun around them in a riot of sensation. After a long blissful moment, she whispered in his ear, “Have you ever been loved by a gypsy?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a new experience.” Her body slammed furiously against his, arching and straining, alive with passion, sweeping them both into a vortex of renewed feeling.

Later, he said, “I’ll find it hard to look your father in the eye.”

She only smiled. “You’d better drive. My knees are still shaky. You’re quite a man.”

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Joy…

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