A couple of years ago, my friend’s husband came home from his first tour in Iraq. He’d been telling her, over the phone, that he had something special to show her when he got home, a surprise. They’d been married for a little more than a year—the ceremony, held shortly after high-school graduation, was followed by a dinner at McDonald’s—and he’d been gone for most of it.

Now returned, he showed her a tattoo he’d gotten just above his heart. It was of a nun, who was holding up the skirt of her habit to reveal a large, purple, strap-on dildo.