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[Dear readers, here is the story that was just published in the July issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine (ENM, p. 38). We hope you enjoy it!]

We finally returned home after months in exile/paradise during COVID-19 lockdown. We returned to a dusty house, cars covered in pollen as if after a light snow, and springtime blossoms. With nowhere to go since work-from-home orders were still in place, we (that is, Lo) set herself to doing the spring cleaning in between Zoom meetings.

I, being an entrepreneur, resumed going to my office, though it was empty of Ms. Gale and my other employees.

One day, not long after our homecoming, after work I was greeted by Lo at the door. “What are you going to do with these?” Lo asked as I approached the threshold, holding four eight porno mags in her right hand.

“I was thinking about lining my coffin with them for the afterlife.”

“You can’t even get it up now — you think that you will be able to in death?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of rigor mortis?”

She let me inside to explain. She placed the porno mags on the dining room table, displayed prominently as ‘Exhibit A’ in the case against H.H.

“Lola, where did you find those?”

“The top shelf of our closet, buried under a pair of old shoes in an old, raggedy box.”

“That’s where you started your spring cleaning?”

“I’ll be asking the questions here.”

“I’m sorry Madam Prosecutor. What was it you wanted to know?”

“Why did I find porno mags in our closet?”

“Because that’s where I put them?” I asked more than answered.

“Begging the question!”

“OK, ok,” I said, raising my hands as if under arrest. “Lola, look at the dates on those.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I know, because they’re so freakin’ old. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just sentimental.”

“Sentimental?! What does that mean? Are each of those porn stars an ex-girlfriend?”

“No no no. I bought those when I was in my teens or twenties. I haven’t let go of them.”

“Because you’re a hoarder.”

“I am not a hoarder!”

“You have alumni magazines from fifteen years ago, newspaper clippings from twenty years ago. You even have a copy of the Sunday coupons from five years ago!”

“I’ve been meaning to redeem those.”

“Yeah, that’s my point! They don’t even sell those products anymore.”

“Maybe I have a slight problem. You’re right. But, if you’re going to clean, start with the coupons, leave the porn.”

“Why? You have all the porn you need right here,” she said, pushing her tits up, emphasizing her cleavage in the cutoff t-shirt she was wearing.


“Because why?”

“Just because.”

“When’s the last time you looked at those?”

“I don’t even know. Let me see. I need to refresh my memory here.” I began to flip through some of the magazines. “Oh yeah, Gili Sky. Wanda Curtis, and Gina Wild!”

She pulled the magazines out of my hands. “That’s enough of that. They’re going in the trash.”

“But Darling!”


“Those aren’t just any porno mags. They’re European. I got them when I was in Germany for grad school. They cost a fortune!”


“They’re collectables.”

“You have to learn to let go. What sort of Buddhist are you?”

“A bad Buddhist. A very very bad Buddhist.”

“You got that right.”

“But, Buddhism is beyond duality.”


“Good/bad, right/wrong. All that is in the realm of Samsara.”

“Samsara eh? Is she another porn star?”

“The best!”

“Good grief!”

“Those magazines are keepsakes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well. . .” I didn’t know how to explain. “You’re too young to understand.”

“Try me.”

“Back when I was growing up, we didn’t have the internet. I wasn’t exposed to all the adult content you had at your fingertips. In America we had Playboy and Hustler. If you wanted some really raunchy stuff there were cheap, rather disgusting knock-off magazines. But in Europe, well, this was great stuff and. . .”

“And what?”

“The first time I ever even heard of anal sex and so much more that really expanded my horizons. They were truly beyond anything we had in America.”

“So, you can have all that now, in the flesh, with me!”

“Actually, it’s not the porn, so much as it is the medium.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I mean, in today’s world of internet porn, it’s all pixels and binary code. There are no more material products that you can hold in your hand, touch, feel, see the glossy pages, and put on a shelf to age like a fine wine. It’s all instant gratification and disposable consumption.”

“You can hold me in your hand, touch me, feel me, see me. I’m a very material girl.”

“You’re like a mashup.”


“A mashup between The Who’s See Me, Feel Me and Madonna’s Material Girl.”

“Oh,” she said.

“And these, these are my ‘Pictures of Lily,’” I said, picking up one of the magazines.


“No, not our friend Lilly. The Who’s Pictures of Lily.”

“What’s that?”

“A song about a boy who can’t sleep at night because he’s hard-up so his dad gives him some nudie photos to jack it to, but the boy falls in love with the woman. Unfortunately, she’s been dead since 1929. The boy is heartbroken.”

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“So you jack it to these photos?”

“No no no! I’m just saying, all these women, they’re twenty-five years older now.”

“So, when I grow old, you won’t love me anymore? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, Darling! You’ll never grow old. You’re forever young — er younger than I am, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, maybe you should plan on lining that coffin with these, since you’re practically one foot in the grave already.”

She hates it when I point out our age difference.

Just then there was a noise at the front door.

Lo checked it out and then walked back to the scene of our skirmish. She held the mail in her hand.

“Look what just arrived,” she said, holding a package. She opened it. It was the June issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine. She gave it to me to peruse.

“I like it. Glossy. Centerfold. Lola.”

“I sometimes get the feeling you like me better in print than in real life,” she said as I read over our column.

“That’s not it at all, Darling. I like that I get to share you with so many people all at once.”

“It’s the most ‘non-monogamous’ I’ve been since this pandemic began!” she complained.

“Yes, the most ethical too.”

“Look, we’ll make a deal. You get to keep the magazines that I’m in. The others go in the trash.”

“At least put them in the recycling. We don’t want to be irresponsible.”

[For more fun stories, go to:]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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