Those pesky daughters of Sappho are at it again, beating down guys and picking up tricks, before graduating to robbing a bank. The kinky NYC late 1960's roughie in a nutshell, featuring b/w photography...noisy out of copyright classical music gang-banging in your ear holes...people hiding out under fake names ('Gay Lamour', 'Roman Hans') in order to bring lifelong fetishes to the screen...a narrative that is big on female on male sadism, but goes nowhere other than a succession of explicit sex scenes that impatiently anticipate the arrival of hardcore a few years later. Settings are the skeevy couches and floors of skeevy rooms, with the occasional exterior cutaway to streets so mean that you fear for cast members' safety (especially the seemingly unscripted moment where an actress gets checked out and hit upon by two non-actor passersby).
All acted out by pussycats dishing out dirty book dialogue ("I'll get my boots to take care of him") in the direction of men who wear dark glasses, keep their socks on, and aren't remotely convincing as heterosexuals. A wonderfully evocative, dirty skin flick, all too obviously made by a man who longed for the day when he'd be tied up, whipped and lose his gal to a bull dyke.