Sex in a Pandemic

a memory vault — a spank bank of sorts — of all the sexual things we’ve witnessed or experienced. Two of my most titillating memories were imprinted on my brain in the mid-aughts, while I was traveling out of New York City on a Peter Pan bus, my forehead pressed against the glass in search of something, anything, that might pique my interest. At a stoplight on the Upper West Side, I peered into the window of a well-lit brownstone where a topless older woman held a Champagne coupe in one hand while tending to the hardened needs of a much younger man with the other. A few months later and a few blocks north, I gaped with burning