Wanting smut, I checked out a backpackful of Gordon Merrick novels (munchious bon-bons--amazing that a public library would treasure up such delicious filth), and Full Circle by Michael Thomas Ford, which turned out to be so bitterly, beautifully true (and only just barely pornographic enough) that I've been weeping about it all day--in the way that men do, sniffling and tearing up every time I think about it. The Club Baths, as it happens were also my first experience of the infamous pre-condom, pre-AIDS steambaths: March 1966. Ejaculated five times (I was twenty-three), although I've forgotten almost entirely how and with whom. Those were the days.