In 1972, the original edition of JOY OF SEX was published. In 1976, at age 10, it was my turn to borrow the copy one of my friends had taken from their parents’ room.

Growing up in the 70s, sex was everywhere and nowhere. Porn remained locked behind closed doors in the adult bookshop or in scary movie theaters in Times Square. So this was my introduction to the graphic details of sex. In retrospect, I could not have had a kinder introduction— even if it was overly hirsute.

In fact, for some years after, I worried over my inability to grow a beard, assuming my failure would disqualify me forever from the promised joys. I also wondered how exactly the man’s shirt made it onto the woman, and why that seemed important to the ritual. These and other questions would have to wait until the early 80s for an answer, and by then, the hirsute 70s had given way to the hairsprayed 80s, and “joy” replaced by the greed and acquisitive rapaciousness of the Reagan generation from which we have never recovered.

Maybe it is time to finally grow that beard.