As an impressionable (and virginal) teen Stanley Morgan's Russ Tobin books were a softcore, smutty delight. Re-reading them many decades later the outdated stereotypes and mostly-mild mysogyny grates, even in the context of the times, though Morgan goes to great efforts to ensure that his female protagonists mostly are strong and independent women who choose their casual relationships. There's certainly very little evidence of exploitation from our lead characters, despite walking a fine line here and there.
If anything, I would suggest that the worst that can be said of this series is that it gave naive me an unrealistic expectation of the fairer sex, one that was certainly not met in my real life experiences (despite my best efforts, not that I did too badly back in the Bad Old Days). But then, I'm not Russ Tobin, extraordinarily well-endowed and handsome man about town. Oh, and the smoking is relentless and off-putting, but then, I've never smoked and have always found it off-putting.
I am, once again, enjoying the series, though I wonder if I would even bother reading something like this if it weren't for reminiscing about my youth?