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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (May 21, 1999)
r » Always Glamour and Giggles on the S n icke rs L a B a r r S lio w Paragon Cable Channel 21 TCI Cable Channel 11 Call (503) 727-2491 for current show times and channels. $tx “SUBURBS, SEX AND TEENAGE ANGST. AN OBVIOUS CROSSOVER COMEDY. Reminiscent of early Bill Forsythe, blended with a dash of John Hughes and a drop of Gregg Araki.” Æ ÊÊk WÈ -Michael Wilmington, FILM COMMENT “THUMBS UP.” Roger Ebert, SISKEL & EBERT SOUWOTHACH AVAILABLE ON H C A \ fc T O B | q q ia g ^ Opens May 21 at KOIN Cinemas www.paramounlclassics.com Drop by and pick up [ Portland's best selection of gay men's books, magazines, cards, videos, gifts and novelties (including hard to find titles) Registered book club members receive a special discount on their book of the month 2 5 4 4 O p e n D aily 11 am -8 p m NE B r o a d w a y (20th Qaissb,. *Cpíe¿ Orders and requests quickly answered at getreal@gcdpied.com (Fri. & Sat. till 9 pm, Sun. 7 pm) and NIL Broadway), Portland • 3 3 1 - 1 1 2 5 Pocket pool playboy One gay man offers an homage to the magazine that reached him with words, not bunnies ometimes I think Playboy saved my life. A t a young age, I discovered the boxes of old issues stacked in the extra closet in my bedroom. My parents used it to store all types of memories, none quite as sweet and suggestive as my fathers piles of glossy pom. Lacking the bodies 1 lusted after, Playboy nonetheless transformed my under standing of sex, sexuality and that naughty, shameful little thing that felt so good— mastur bation. Although 1 grew up in a secular household and avoided a great deal of religious indoctrination, I absorbed much of my mother’s residual guilt that plagued her as a recovering Catholic. As an 11- year-old, I thought my newfound nightly habit was damnable and danger- ^ j ous, not to mention ■" messy. Like many young men, 1 started mastur bating frequent ly as a child. 1 think my first GEOFFREY enjoyment of this rhythmic delicacy occurred when 1 was in the fourth grade. It terrified me. It was as if my penis were acting of its own accord without any guidance from my usual sense of social decorum. I didn’t know what I was doing. I stum bled upon my st iffy, touch led to touch, and soon I’d made a mess on my bed sheets. W hat would Mom say to me when she did the laundry on the week end? It was sure to stain. I was sure to get into trouble. Nothing that felt this good could be permissible. T hat didn’t stop me from doing it again. And again. And again. I knew the warts were going to start sprouting on my palms soon, or that I would wake up with failing eyesight within weeks. I found myself in the darkness of the late night, kneeling at my bed, post-climax, praying for help. Asking someone or some thing— was it God?— to help me control my urges. I was convinced 1 was up to no good. I was simply a little pervert who couldn’t keep his hands out of his underwear to save his life. And then I was saved. Not by Jesus or some other higher power, but by my father’s P hyboys. In May 1986, the regular column “M en” showed me the way. It was startling. It was shocking. It said it was O K to masturbate. Pounding your pud. Choking the chicken. Spanking the monkey. Rubbing one out. Bust ing a nut. W hacking and jacking and beating and jerking off. T he list went on and on, and the author triumphantly celebrated each nuance of masturbation, defending his and every other person’s right to the pursuit of self- serve happiness. I was stunned. To be sure, the writer was discussing the finer points of the straight male’s sexual imagination and the hard thumping enjoyment that flows from it. But that didn’t matter. I was OK. I was normal. I wasn’t a freak BY BATEM AN or a pervert for enjoying sex all by myself! It would take me a few years to realize that the objects of my fantasies were not necessarily considered appropriate. As a middle school stu dent, when I started noticing the hair in other boys’ armpits or tried to catch a glimpse of their crotches in the locker room, I struggled to reconcile my desires with everyone else’s expectations. But somewhere deep down, I knew it was O K to feel the way I did. A t the very least, I didn’t feel ashamed that I was attracted to men. Awkward, maybe. Embar rassed even. But not ashamed. T here was noth ing inherently wrong with me. It might mean that others wouldn’t like me, but I became aware of a strength and determination that would guide me through much of my sexual awakening in the years to come. I was saved. Not by Jesus or some other higher power, but by m y father’s Playboys. In May 1986, the regular column Men ” showed me the w ay It was startling. It was shocking. It said it was OK to masturbate. Having exorcised the demons from my mas turbating, I think I may have freed myself from other stigmas associated with my queer sexuali ty. T h a t’s not to say I haven’t struggled to accept being gay or to feel comfortable having sex with men. I have. But like many gay and bi men, I’ve overcome my butt-phobia and gag reflex with lots of practice. Fortunately, I’ve been able to untie those knots with relative ease and enjoyment. I can’t help but think the column in Play boy helped create a foundation within me as a teen-ager that afforded me an entirely new per spective about my sexuality. If I felt O K about doing it by myself, why not with someone else? Why not with someone else of the same sex? It released a terrible burden o f sex negativity, freeing me to be the sex-loving person I am today. So think twice before you laugh at someone who swears he reads magazines like P byboy “just for the articles.” ■ O ut W ord is written by m em bers o f Portland G ay M en Writing. W riters interested in contribut ing or joining should call A lan or G eoffrey at (5 03) 223-5907.
