They always used to do this to you at the Iowa State Fair. The strippers’ tents at the back of the midway would be covered with wildly erotic paintings of the most beautiful, silky-haired, full-breasted, lithe-bodied women you ever saw—women whose moist and pouty lips seemed to be saying, “I want you—yes, you there, with the zits and glasses. Come and fulfill me, little man.” Aged fourteen and delirious with lust, you would believe these pictures with all your heart and many of the neighboring organs. You would hand over a crumpled dollar and go inside into a dusty tent that smelled of horse
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