After college she earned her master’s in Arabic language studies from Texas A amp; M and, after hours, snagged a Ph. D. in MdS-Marquis de Sade. She liked to be dominated and humiliated, something Tony didn’t know till later.

Although it was against military rules and regs they fraternized in the most intimate way. At first in his car and later in motels near the base in Sacramento. As they came to know each other better, she became more open about her desires.

At first Tony went along with the “game,” as he called it, by tying her up and telling her she was a “dirty girl.” But he-and his anatomy-quickly tired of the sport because he wasn’t wired for it. He decided to self-prescribe Levitra. He took it with a Coke from the vending machine outside their favorite cheap motel. When they got back to the room, Tony slipped into the bathroom. As he undressed he looked at his old friend in the mirror and was shocked to see it standing at the same angle as his seventeen-year-old self. And he didn’t even have to squint.

In the months to come he would jokingly tell his friends about his experience, noting that, “I took that little orange tablet, looked at myself, and fell in love.” It never failed to get a laugh.

The Levitra worked all right, except where it counted most: inside his head. This wasn’t lovemaking, it was psychodrama. After a couple of months he found the sight and feel of the clothesline she carried in her bag to be a turnoff. It had the smell of the recent past but the less tangible odor of the distant past, a lack of attention from daddy. That was something he didn’t want to be a part of.

The night he told her wasn’t fun for either of them. Beth dropped her bag on the bed, crawled toward the pillows, and when he sat beside her she curled into a tight, fetuslike ball, covered her face with her hands, and began to sob, “Tell me I’m a bad girl… tell me I’m a whore!”