I drove past a porn shop today. In its window stood a headless, armless, nearly legless male mannequin barely hiding an enormous bulge in a tiny red g-string, the passion-red of Valentine's Day chocolate boxes and heart-shaped cards. He stood there proudly like Michelangelo's David, beheaded, be-armed, and be-legged, but still somehow aroused, sporting a huge erection. I couldn't help but wonder if a man might buy the g-string to wear, or if a woman (or man), smitten with lust, might walk into the shop and ask to buy the entire thing. It could happen.
Porn shop clerks have some real stories to tell...