I just can't get enough of those wacky 50s and 60s pulp novels. I wonder if the women who bought them were like me when I first began exploring kinky sex -- stealing into newstands trying to look casual but heading straight to the rack I knew so well from previous visits, pretending to thumb through a range of materials before selecting the one that I really came to purchase, avoiding the cashier's eyes as I paid, and then hurrying home to spend an hour or two closely perusing the fine literature for my private delectation. Yeah. That old closet really stank.
Two more after the jump.