I grew up fairly sheltered. My parents didn’t let me watch rated “R” movies, we didn’t have television, I wore two pairs of underwear, we didn’t believe in Pee Wee Herman and the only music resonating within the walls of our house was mostly Christian music.
My house certainly wasn’t like those of my (limited number of) friends whose parents let them watch “A Nightmare On Elm Street” while the scariest thing I was reduced to watching was “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang”. Or while some of my friends had complete access to their fathers “hidden” stash of Playboy magazines, I was reduced to bookmarking my Archie Comics where Betty or Veronica might happen to be wearing a bikini.
Yes… I had this issue.
As a homeschooled, hormone enriched tween with testosterone coursing through my body at a frightening pace… Archie Comics honestly introduced me on a regular basis into what exactly the female body looked like in a bikini.
That is… until I discovered one of my mothers Victoria’s Secret magazines.
Now, I have no idea who Victoria was or what secret she was keeping from me because quite frankly… there were chicks in their underwear in this magazine! The only underwear I’d ever seen anyone wearing was myself… in the mirror. If my eyebrows could have gone any higher while looking bra and panties (I just said panties… tee hee) they’d be levitating a good six inches from the top of my forehead.
As a result of my newfound love for Victoria and her absolutely awesome secret, my first crush in amidst my courtship with puberty who wasn’t a cartoon character was Stephanie Seymour:
She was no Betty and Veronica
You may remember her as being the other part of Axl Rose for a little while:
We broke up after I found out she was dating Axl who was a satan worshiper from the one band he was in for a while. What was it called? Guns and Sacrificed Baby Kittens or something like that… I don’t remember. My heart was forever broken.
Stupid Victoria’s Secret model.
Anyway… I grew up and I married my own Victoria’s Secret model named Bunny.
I have pictures… but if you think I’m going to show you then you’re crazy.
Do you have a testosterone-enriched OR estrogen-enriched puberty story you want to tell the world about? I just did… that means you have to too.