Blogbaby episode six: Jeff Kay on frantic teenage masturbation

[While I’m busy scrubbing poop from diapers and other articles of clothing, several friends have been kind enough to provide content for this site, through a program we’re calling Blogbaby. Today’s contribution comes from my old comedy writing partner, the world-famous blogger Jeff Kay.]

I recently overheard a couple of guys joking about how they used to “fantasize” about Wonder Woman, when they were younger. Of course this is a kinder, gentler way of saying “I used to beat-off to Lynda Carter,” and none of it rings true with me. They were both doing the ol’ nudge-nudge/wink-wink, and I would’ve had to resort to the hey, whatever. 

For one thing, I grew up in the 1970s, and guys never admitted to “fantasizing” back then. We spent a lot of time attempting to procure pornography, of course, but there was never a discussion of what happens next. It was simply out of the question. You could have walked into any high school in America in 1978, pressed a gun to a random boy’s head, and ordered him to admit that he masturbates. And he would’ve looked around at all the faces, turned to the gunman, and said, “Please tell my parents I loved them.” 

Of course everything is different now, and much more healthy and realistic, I know. But I’m a product of my environment, and still have some difficulty processing all this beat-off talk. I think Seinfeld was where it changed. I know there was the earlier Phoebe Cates pool scene in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, but we weren’t ready yet; nobody could make eye contact for a full half-hour, or listen to The Cars for a week.

But the two Wonder Woman guys (who were roughly my age) have apparently abandoned the code, and believe they’re George and Jerry now. 

Also, I was never a celebrity crush kind of guy. I mean, let’s be serious. I was an ugly teenager in Swamp Ass, West Virginia, with zits and Bert Convy hair. I possess a fairly good imagination, but I’m no Industrial Light and Magic. I knew that if scientists would have asked the NASA computers to develop a plausible scenario in which I might have ended up in a romantic relationship with, say, Valerie Bertinelli, there would have likely been a loud grinding noise, followed by a plume of black smoke from the back of the machine.

No, I secretly obsessed about local girls, only. At least there was a one percent chance of it actually coming true. OK, half a percent… Maybe. And those young lovelies in Playboy and Penthouse? They weren’t famous, they were just like the girls next door. Right? Right. 

At a nearby record store there was a cardboard stand-up of Debbie Harry, wearing shorts, bent forward, and looking back across her shoulder. A couple of my friends would stand in front of that thing – every single time – and practically work themselves into a sexual frenzy. But I’d see it, and think, “Somebody, NOT ME, is a lucky man. Wonder if they have the new Neil Young album in stock…?”

I could never suspend my sense of cold, hard reality. My friend Rocky, however, possessed a black belt in it. He covered the basement walls of his house with posters of almost-naked supermodels, and actresses. It was a 300 square foot jack-off chamber. How his mother and sister allowed it to happen, I’m not sure. This wasn’t his bedroom, mind you, but the finished family room downstairs.

One time I went over there and he had a magnifying glass, inspecting a Cheryl Tiegs poster for stray pubic hairs. “I’ll see you around,” I said, while climbing back up the steps from whence I’d come. “Yeah,” he answered, barely noticing another person was in the room.

Later Rocky wrote a pornographic “novel” about a man identified only as L. It was filthy, and featured scenes of mind-boggling depravity. Clearly, he was operating on a different plane than the rest of us. He had no problem whatsoever toggling back and forth between celebs, the locals, works of fiction, cartoon characters, suggestive tree shadows, or bean bag chairs in soft light.

But even Rocky, as ludicrous as it now seems, would never admit to “fantasizing.” Despite the fact he’d constructed an entire world designed to facilitate it… And, to be fair, I’m not sure he ever had any actual crushes on those women, or if he simply used their images as a jumping-off point.

In the comments section, please tell us about your celebrity crushes. I know guys who seemed to honestly believe there was an outside chance they’d someday “date” Pat Benatar(?!), or Bo Derek(!!). And it seems like most women, who are now in their 40s, used to carefully cultivate a fixation on at least one member of Duran Duran.

I have no personal stories to share on this subject. Low self-esteem causes a person to adjust their daydreams accordingly. But what about you? Please tell us about it.

 And I want to thank Mark for inviting me to submit this guest post. Of course, I also congratulate Linette and Mark on the birth of their son, Arlo. Love the name! And thank you guys, for reading.

I’ll see you around.

Those that find themselves needing more of Jeff can buy his first novel, Crossroads Road, here.

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  1. anonymous
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 12:51 am | Permalink

    I don’t want to go first, but I want to get dibs on Marcia Brady before someone else does.

  2. Posted January 2, 2012 at 1:20 am | Permalink

    Nellie Oleson: Half the time, you don’t even SMELL like a girl! You’re either sweaty, or you stink of fish!
    Laura: Well… I sweat a lot and I fish a lot!

  3. Eel
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 8:33 am | Permalink

    The fact that we all ran home from school and masturbated to Lynda Carter speaks to how few options we had at the time. Kids today have no fucking idea of just how easy they have it. For the record, I would also like to nominate Julie Numar as Cat Woman.

  4. Anonymous Mike
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 9:16 am | Permalink

    Marilyn Munster, if she were given more screen time, would have make the list. It’s not like you could pause and replay scenes back then, though. As soon as you’d get something going with Marilyn, Fred Gwynne would be staring you in the face. It wasn’t worth the risk. Wonder Woman was a much safer bet.

  5. tv kid
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 9:32 am | Permalink

    It had more to do with timing than with the individual woman. There was a tiny window of opportunity between when you could run home from the bus stop and when your mom would come home from work. So, as hot as Daisy Duke may have been, she just couldn’t do the job. It’s not like most of us could start whacking ourselves off in the living room with our parents looking on. So the job fell to Lynda Carter, and the visionary television executives who put her there for us as a public service. God bless them.

  6. double anonymous
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 10:09 am | Permalink

    Two words.
    The shame of my young adulthood.
    Bonnie Franklin.

  7. DC's Extended Taint
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 10:33 am | Permalink

    I’m sorry for the hard left turn I’m about to make here in this sure-to-be hilarious comment section, but this guest post just crystallized something about a fantasy of mine that I’ve known for a long time. Jeff Kay, I wish _you_ were my odd, abrasive yet lovalbe and often pitiable college roommate unexpectedly turned lifelong friend with a blog I read regularly.

    Mark, no offense, but Jeff’s writing is _so good_! Tight original narratives with  great comic timing. Every time you’ve mentioned Jeff or the WVSR and I’ve gone off to check out the blog, I just love it. I think, man this guy would be fun to hang out with! Like Jeff, however, I’m a realist when it comes to fantasies. I know I’ll never meet him or if I did, we’d have nothing in common.  I will never have the history I have with you, Mark;  no photos of him in college posing suggestively with a yam between his legs, no embarassing musical collaborations, no stories of cruel roommate pranks to reminisce about.

    So I’m sticking with you Mark. I’ll keep reading and commenting here. I might slip just a little and buy Jeff’s book, but I promise I’ll use your Amazon affiliate code, as usual.

  8. Posted January 2, 2012 at 12:46 pm | Permalink

    I want EOS to comment on this entry.

  9. Edward
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 3:41 pm | Permalink

    My guess, based upon the number of times that EOS has mentioned his “research” on NAMBLA, is that masturbated to ads for Toughskin jeans.

  10. Eel
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 4:23 pm | Permalink

    Pete, EOS can’t post right now. She’s busy.

  11. Ed
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 5:15 pm | Permalink

    When I was younger, I never masturbated to Lynda Carter. But now, looking at the above picture, I’m seriously considering it!

    It is funny that the whole subject of masturbation used to be the Act Which None Dare Speak Of. In a personal sense, that is. (At least in my crowd. I did hear tales of “circle jerks” and thought, How in the hell could anybody DO that?)

    Now it’s all right to talk about it, and I think that’s a good thing. Larry David, as the writer of that Seinfeld episode, should get some credit for that, and should have a statue erected in his honor.

  12. Joey Jo Jo
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 5:51 pm | Permalink

    I’m almost exactly ten years younger than you, and grew up in NJ, and I can assure you, I never, ever had a discussion with anyone about what we “did” with the porn we had. Never had the urge to beat off with my buddy Sean, either. The idea was just not even conceivable…

  13. Posted January 2, 2012 at 7:13 pm | Permalink

    I never really thought Lynda Carter was hot, but then, I was like 6 when this show was on. This picture is much hotter than Mark, though.

  14. Elvis Costello
    Posted January 2, 2012 at 9:46 pm | Permalink

    Yep. Bonnie Franklin…Original MILF

  15. Posted January 2, 2012 at 9:55 pm | Permalink

    If I’d known how much you guys were going to like talking about jacking off in front of the television, I would have started a thread about this a long time ago.

    As for One Day at a Time, and its use as a self-abuse motivator, I wonder if there’s anyone out there, either male or female, who would admit to masturbating to Pat “Snyder” Harington… How about it? If so, I think you should apply for a table at the next Shadow Art Fair. I think that would be incredible. People, I know, would love to meet you.

  16. Posted January 2, 2012 at 9:57 pm | Permalink

    And, thanks for sticking with me, Mr. Taint. Jeff has enough readers. Mine are few and precious.

  17. T. Farty McAppleass
    Posted January 3, 2012 at 1:52 pm | Permalink

    I got nothing on this. But I was always shocked that when Wonder Woman threw her golden lasso over some guy he didn’t say, “You have great tits.” I mean, the lasso was supposed to make them absurdly truthful, wasn’t it?

  18. anonymous
    Posted January 3, 2012 at 2:49 pm | Permalink

    Carter won’t like this thread one bit. Here’s a quote from an interview in US magazine:

    “I never meant to be a sexual object for anyone but my husband. I never thought a picture of my body would be tacked up in men’s bathrooms. I hate men looking at me and thinking what they think. And I know what they think. They write and tell me.”

    According to Wikipedia, she also played in a band called The Relatives with actor Gary Burghoff as a 17 year old.

  19. Jules
    Posted January 3, 2012 at 3:05 pm | Permalink

    Ed, you’re so right! Maybe we should put a statue of him by the water tower. But that IS phallo-centric. Hmmmm. Us womenz need to represent, too.

  20. x
    Posted January 3, 2012 at 3:36 pm | Permalink

    June 1974 Favorite author-Edgar Allen Poe

  21. Elvis costello
    Posted January 6, 2012 at 1:58 pm | Permalink

    FYI, Bonnie Franklin is 68 today!!!! Saw her pictures on Google, still looks great!

  22. time traveler
    Posted January 16, 2012 at 9:36 pm | Permalink

    I came from the future for one reason. To destroy evidence of this Lynda Carter cabaret performance.

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