Y'all only have one month and two days left to see the Mapplethorpes at the Henry. In this week's Stranger, I took a look at them in pairs—partly because that's the way they're hung in the galleries, and partly because it just makes sense. Every one, overtly erotic or not, feels like an erotic exchange. A coupling.

If you want ancillary reading, check out Susan Sontag's essay on being photographed by him, "Certain Mapplethorpes" (in the collection "Where the Stress Falls").