{Originally Published in Cafe Philos.}

It occurs to me this morning you might be wondering how someone would have gone about buying a Playboy in a small American town in the early 1970s — and get away with it. Of course, that was back when buying a Playboy in a small backwards town could break your reputation, so getting away with it was key.

Now, I don’t recall how old I was when I bought my first Playboy. Older than 16, at least. So long ago some of the details that never mattered to me anyway now escape me.

I do, however, recall that I bought my first Playboy at Potter’s Drugstore, and that Old Man Potter himself rang up my purchase. Old Man Potter owned and operated one of two drugstores in my pathetically small town of 2,000 people where it seemed everyone knew everyone else. And here’s what I recall about buying that Playboy:

I recall I began sweating the moment I picked it out of the magazine rack, and I began blushing the moment I handed it to Old Man Potter at the check out counter. The only two people in the whole store at the time were Old Man Potter and me — I had carefully seen to that — but I nevertheless felt like the eyes of the entire community were upon me.

For a moment, everything seemed to go smoothly. I handed the Playboy to Old Man Potter; Old Man Potter took the Playboy; he looked at the price just like he would any other magazine: and then he entered the price into his cash register. Smooth. Normal. I was almost about to breath again when suddenly he said, “I’ll be right back. I have to make a phone call.” Then he dashed off to the back room with the Playboy still in his hands.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I didn’t stop blushing. I didn’t stop sweating…

Originally published in Cafe Philos: an internet cafe.

When Danielle was 22, she wanted to go to an erotic dance club. She
did not want to go alone, however, and instead, she thought it was a
good idea for me to take her.

The first time she brought it up with me, I was skeptical.

Erotic dance in this town is very much hit or miss. You are lucky to
find a dancer who can express her sexuality through dance. I feared
Danielle would encounter some poor dancers and consequently be hard
pressed to understand what good erotic dance is all about.

The second time she brought it up with me, I was reluctant.

I was only a little younger than Danielle the first time I saw an
erotic dance, and the dancer was so numbingly awful, I didn’t go back
for 27 years.

In hindsight, I understand what that dancer’s problem was: She
wasn’t dancing her own sexuality. Instead she was going through a
series of motions someone perhaps had mistakenly told her were sexy.
Most likely, she was pandering to the crowd for tips. Witnessing that
ugly farce was enough to put me off erotic dance for almost 30 years. I
certainly didn’t want Danielle’s first experience to be anything like
mine.

(click title for more)