A coupla nights back, my gal invited me to paruse her pornography collection. Four or five boxes of magazines, ranging from hokey 1980s Hustler to classy 1960s Playboy, to some strange nudist magazines from the 1950s.

This experience taught me that pornography is supposed to be a solitary thing. It's linked to your imagination, something introverted, and not designed to be cooperative. Mostly all we did was make snide comments about the women and men, point out horribly crude cartoons, and gaze in wonder at the poorly airbrush-obscured gentials in the nudist mags.

On my own, I'da probably gotten turned on by the pics -- but with Gracie there, it's doesn't compare. Right there's a woman who I can actually touch, kiss, fuck, and hold - no imagination required. How can porn beat that? We had our laugh, sorted them into "keep" and "sell on eBay," and went into the bedroom to give ourselves a hardcore pornographic experience of our very own. No imagination required!