Thursday, April 30, 2009


When I was around 12, I think, we moved into my parent’s friend’s house. They were vacationing, and we needed a place to stay while our new house was being completed.

It was a charming home, with lots of character. There was a back room of the house, with great big windows and beautiful built in bookshelves. One whole section had perfectly lined up magazines. They were Playboy magazines: an entire collection, years of them, in chronological order, not a month missing. I couldn’t believe the treasure chest before me.

I started by just looking at the covers. I would take an issue out, one at a time, and mark the space by sliding a #2 pencil in the slot. I’d take a gander at the girl, get all warm down there, and replace it to the spot that the pencil had kept warm. One by one, I went through all of them. I couldn’t believe their huge beautiful bosoms. That’s what my mom always called them, bosoms. And back in the day they weren’t breasts, they were bosoms. Round, torpedo-esque, natural full bosoms. It took me a couple of days to get through them. I had to make sure the coast was clear, no mom, no dad, no siblings. But once I got through all the covers, I wanted to get inside.

I started to fake sick to my mom so I could stay home from school, be at home alone, for hours to pour through the pages of The Complete Works of Playboy. At first, I still employed the pencil placeholder technology, but as I got more intoxicated with all the breasts and mysterious big fuzzy bushes, I started to get sloppy. Before I knew it, I was on the floor surrounded by open magazines. So many pretty ladies, on horses, in bubble baths, on tree swings. There were little cartoons of them, too. I didn’t understand what made them funny, like Archie, or Betty and Veronica, but I didn’t care. The cartoons were sexy, too. The centerfolds were almost life size, they almost scared me, but they had stories on the back, so you could get to know a little more about the lady, I started to wonder which ones I had shared interests with. They all liked the beach, I lived in a beach town, so there was that. Beyond that, there wasn’t much common ground. None of them mentioned candle making, or jump rope, but it didn’t matter, I wanted them all to be my friends.

I started to develop preferences. There were so many blonds, a couple of red heads, but I liked the brunettes. They seemed darker, sexier, with more prominent nipples, which I liked. I was getting “sick” about twice a week, and had ample time to go through every issue page by page, lady by lady, but now I wanted more. I went to the kitchen to get the scissors, and I started to snip.

I knew that the collection was precious, so I was very careful to cut out my favorite ladies just so. I would make a straight line from the edge of the page, and meticulously cut around the edge of each photo, until I freed my favorite girl, and added her to my pile of favorite naked lady friends. I’m not sure how I picked them, it may have been hair color, or the curve of their bellies, or that “just so” bush. But I knew ‘em when I saw ‘em, and I cut them all out. After which I would carefully return the magazine to its proper spot.

Our new house on Fieldcrest Rd. was completed soon thereafter. We left that house, and all the naked ladies, save for the ones that I had safely stored in my suitcase. I never heard a word about the surgery I had performed on my parent’s friend’s Playboy Magazine collection. After a few months, I knew I was in the clear. But just to be safe I knew that I had to hide the evidence. I took one last look at all the creamy, soft focused Playboy ladies, folded them in half in manageable piles, and tucked them between the rocks of the 200 year old stone wall behind our new house, where they remain as dust, today.

I wonder about the man, my parent’s friend, when did he discover his compromised collection. Did he read them once, and just add them to the collection, my secret kept forever? Or did his 401K vanish, requiring him to sell his Playboys on Ebay, hoping to fetch thousands and thousands of dollars, now turned to dust after being shoved in a stonewall? It still remains a mystery, just like those girls as they were back in the day, shot through gauze, through Vaselined lenses. Big natural bosoms that defied gravity, baby bottle nipples, their bushes all full of wonder.


  1. I remember that 'Playboy period' as well...
    I was just a little older though.
    And a boy.
    But you nailed the joy and almost innocence, and- reverence even, that I felt, turning those pages.
    It probably had a more immediate impact on me at the time, (wink wink) but it was nice to experience all those feelings again-so well described by you.

  2. How nice to hear that this piece evoked similar feelings in you. Lovely comment, thank you.