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“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
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• 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.