In honor of that date, here's an excerpt from Josh Alan Friedman's new book When Sex Was Dirty:
Fred had recently turned 30 and was set to marry a brunette anthropologist whose parents had survived Auschwitz. "I see a long, parched desert before me," Fred would moan, envisioning the rest of his sex life. "Judy and I are so familiar after living together five years. I love her, but sex with her is like having sex with a family member. I'm a starving man."
Indeed, Fred's most indignant complaint about the folly of mankind was his inability to resist temptation. His-swaggering harlotry, a cleavage thrust in his direction, even the slight overt female wiggle - these sights sent him careening off to relieve himself into a Kleenex in Times Square... But when particularly aroused by some sexy temp in the office, wantonly gyrating her hips while listening to a Sony Walkman, he would sneak off to the streetwalkers that night, cursing under his breath about the power women hold over men's libidos. "It's not fair," he said, pounding a fist on the table, unable to relax until he boffed a whore. And God forbid Judy should find out; it would crush her beyond repair. "Not that she'd react violently, but those doe-like eyes would swell with tears, she'd stare at me with disbelief... It's the camps," said Fred, referring to her parents incarceration, which loomed over their relationship like a poltergeist. "You can't cheat on the daughter of concentration camp victims."
"Surely," I ventured, "you could explain your cravings for a meaningless one-nighter." I suggested she may become bored too, and someday, after gentle prodding, might allow a girlfriend to slip under the covers with both of them.
"Are you crazy?" screamed Fred, whose maddest desire was for several of Judy's associate anthropologists.
"Why not try?" I asked.
"The camps, the camps."
