This week’s
Sex Blog Roundup at
Fleshbot peels back the wrapping on novelty, for those who enjoy their smut with the scent of “new sex.”
Speaking of novelty, my ten-year-old son Collie got his first dose of softcore this week, courtesy of Time, Inc. His favorite magazine,
Sports Illustrated, went girly on him, and he didn’t like it, not one bit.
We returned home from school with the usual flurry of activity. It was freezing. I was carrying the two bags of games and stuffed animals that follow the children from one home to the other as they move from parent to parent. Collie and Lillie were bickering. They each had to go to the bathroom, and they argued about who would go first.
“I’m a girl and girls can’t wait,” Lillie complained.
“Boys can’t wait, either,” Collie countered. “That’s sexist.”
“Don’t say ‘sexist,’ I’m only seven,” Lillie admonished.
“Can you two hold it together?” I asked, dropping the bags. “Let me get the mail and you can each have a turn in the bathroom.” I took off a glove, unbuttoned my coat and reached one numb hand into a pocket. The keys were in another pocket, so I pulled off the other glove with my teeth and repeated the process.
“Dad, can you please hurry?” Collie whined.
“Jud a mibute,” I said, biting my glove. I reached into the mailbox and retrieved a stack of bills, circulars and two magazines. I shoved the gloves into my coat pocket. “Here, sweetie, your
Sports Illustrated has arrived—two issues this week.”
“Cool,” Collie smiled, taking the magazines.
“Anything for me?” Lillie asked.
“Nothing today, sweet.” I lifted my totes and we made our way to the elevator.
“Gross, what is this?” Collie said. He stared down at Beyoncé squatting on a beach in a bikini.
“Oh, it must be the swimsuit issue,” I said, taking off my hat. “It comes out every year.”
“Let me see,” Lillie asked.
“Lillie, it’s not appropriate,” Collie argued. The magazine shifted in his hand, and out fell an extended hairy leg. “Gross, there’s a naked man in here!”
“There is?” I asked, looking over. “Why would there be a naked man . . . ?”
“Let me see!” Lillie grabbed.
“No, Lillie, stop it!” Collie pulled away.
“Guys, guys, can we hold it together? We’re almost home.”
The elevator door opened. Lillie raced ahead, shouting. “Dad, hurry, I have to pee!”
“Honey, shhhh. The neighbors don’t need to know everything.”
Collie and Lillie shed their coats, hats, gloves and backpacks, and raced to the bathroom. Collie got there first, locking the door.
“Dad!” Lillie whined.
“Hurry up, Collie,” I called. “Your sister is waiting.”
I put away my hat, ran my scarf into the sleeve, and hung my winter gear in the closet. I unlaced my snow boots.
Lillie made her way into the bathroom as I put on hot chocolate and coffee.
With the children settled down with their cups, I made my way to the restroom before changing from my cold jeans.
That’s when the bickering resumed.
“No, Lillie, stop it!”
“I just want to see!”
“It’s not appropriate, Lillie! I’m throwing it away.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Dad is!”
“Put down the magazine,” I called from my bedroom, half undressed. “I need to look at the magazine before anyone does.”
“See?” I heard Collie say, satisfied.
“Drop it, Collie,” I called back.
I got the kids going on their homework. As Collie added fractions, I sipped coffee and flipped through the magazine.
It was the usual annual showing. Skinny young women in bikinis, some of them famous, all of them arching their backs, biting their lips and posing in the usual alluring ways.
Sure enough, Burt Reynolds was the nude male centerfold, in a reprint of his pose for
Cosmopolitan three decades ago.
Cosmopolitan, I mused, sipping slowly. I remember sixth grade, locked in my parents’ bathroom, masturbating to my mother’s
Cosmos . . .
“Dad, what’s one seventh plus four fifths?”
“Hmm?” I closed the magazine and put down my cup. “Right, can I look at that?”
Later that evening, Lillie snuck a peek at
Sports Illustrated. “Oooh, sexy . . . ,” she grinned.
“Yeah, it’s pictures of ladies in swimsuits,” I nodded. “Is it all that interesting?”
Lillie looked at me. “It’s so sexy, right?”
I shrugged. “What do you think?”
She dropped the magazine. “Do you want to watch ‘Full House?’”
“No, baby,” I said. “I need to do dishes. You go ahead.”
She picked up her stuffed animal and ran off.
I picked up the magazine and flipped through it once more. I tossed it on the coffee table, next to
National Geographic.
I wasn’t going to trash it just yet. After all, I’ve got a thirteen-year-old boy.
