I grew up long after men's pulp mags (or "The Sweats" as I've heard them called), but gawd do the covers still get me going. There's just something about the sexy precariousness of the depicted women and the male gaze that sexualizes their predicament without apology. And while I don't actually go for uber-feminine women in real life, there's something about the uber-femininity (or maybe "male ideal" is a better term) that's depicted on those covers that strikes some sort of evolutionary urge.
But I finally tracked down a few pulps online to read and the stories are nowhere near as interesting as the covers. I wasn't exactly expecting James Joyce or Hemmingway, but wow, they suck! I guess I was hoping for some sort of vintage version of what you'd read on Literotica or ASSTR...you know, not explicit/X rated but some sort of imagination-sparking erotica and detailed depiction of the damsels within, but that was not the case.
