Soon, therefore, a little grim and yet desperately excited as well, he decided that he would go low-tech and use magazines instead, like some kid from the 1970s looking at his dad’s stash of Playboy or Penthouse. The delights were not as varied or as instantaneously delivered as those of the internet, naturally, but here there would be no electronic trail, and no worries—the perfect crime. Steeling himself, he sneaked into a sleazy adult bookstore one day after work and, glancing quickly about to make sure he saw no one who knew him, began to browse nervously through aisle after aisle of garish magazines, explicit DVDs and Blu-rays, seductive costumes of leather and latex and lace, handcuffs and little whips and n****e clamps, blow-up dolls and dildos and c**k-rings and ass plugs and lube.
