When I was growing up, my dad had a stack of Penthouse magazines stashed under my parent's bed. Of course I found them. And when I had the house to myself, of course I looked. How erotic it was then, even just a glimpse of a girl with a tank top and no shorts. A peek of a public patch. These were the older girls, the ones we Freshmen dreamed of dating--Seniors, cheerleaders, the girls who played tennis or swam. The girls who wore rugby shirts of their jock boyfriends. Girls who talked of boys at bathroom mirrors. The girls who were our counsellors at camp when we were 12 and they were 15--such a divide then. We were still kids; they were in the adult world of high school, with boyfriends. They had "made out." We could only dream of stealing a peek, in a shower room, like our favorite scene in "Porky's," or in a magazine.
Here's to those years of innocence, the desire before the experience. It is agonizing and awkward when you are going through it, but looking back, what any of us would give to look at a girl like this and feel that way again.
