'I Rescued Brigitte From Harem Torture'

You see, this is why I once seriously considered going to sea.  The youthful me really wanted to believe all the promises made on the covers of magazines like South Sea Stories.  I mean, what guy wouldn't want to believe that they could be traveling to such places as 'The Island of Violent Virgins' or visit 'The Island Where Sex Was Compulsory', (perhaps they were adjacent to each other in the same archipelago)?   Or even being able to boast 'I Saw the Forbidden Somali Sex Dance'?  Of course, all of this begs the question as to where, exactly, are the South Seas?  Historically, it is an amorphous term, sometimes used to describe the entire Pacific Ocean, although usually it is taken to mean the Southern part of the Pacific, where you can find islands like Tahiti, packed full, in popular, literature of attractive and willing, (not to mention, usually topless) native girls.

Which, for a pedant like me, brings us to the issue of some of those other story titles on the cover of the October 1960 issue.  'My Gem Jackpot in Honduras', for instance, is problematical.  I mean, is Honduras in the South Seas, however they are defined?  In popular culture it tends to be lumped in with the Caribbean, in tales of buccaneers and pirate treasures.  Then we have 'I Rescued Brigitte From Harem Torture' and 'Human Studs in Arabia'.  Anything involving harems is usually part of the popular pulp culture that concerns the mythical 'Arabia' or even the equally mythical 'Orient', neither of which can be said to fall within the usual idea of the 'South Seas'.  But the presence of such stories in this magazine emphasises the fact that 'South Seas' is used as shorthand for a particular type of male fantasy involving hot climates, palm trees and exotic women.  Certainly, in idle moments, I sometimes fantasise about living in some sunny South Seas idyll, spending my days wandering along palm tree fringed beaches and drinking in beach side bars. (I'm too old and knackered to deal with all those topless girls, so obviously in my fantasies I avoid 'The Island Where Sex Was Compulsory').  Perhaps I should have gone to sea, although I strongly suspect that, rather than sailing on a tramp steamer, trading around the South Pacific, I would have ended up working on a car ferry plying between Dover and Cherbourg.