As a high school untouchable, the closest I ever came to a date was taking sideways, ultra quick glances at my fellow female classmates. I had to be subtle because if I was discovered looking at a hot girl, I would be verbally slammed by her and/or physically slammed by her boyfriend. And 9.9 times out of 10, in my high school anyway, the hot girls had boyfriends. A furtive appreciation was all my strict code of invisibility would allow. Above all, avoid detection.
But despite my lack of any chance for physical gratification (I’m not going there – at least not today), biology, that cruel mistress, sill thrust me into puberty. So I was just as horny as popular jock, but unlike him, I couldn’t do anything about it.
Instead of talking to girls, I would just hang out with the couple of friends I had. We would see movies and go to the mall and the comic book store. We never got into any real trouble. Our parents didn’t even give us curfews because we were such nerds that they knew all we were up to was playing video games or maybe seeing a midnight movie. Seriously, we could not have been more tame. Have you ever seen a house cat go outside. He treads around gingerly and there is all kinds of potential mischief around him: bugs, squirrels, mice, other cats, trees to climb. But what does this pampered pussy do? He lays down on the grass. His owner can just sit on the porch outside and enjoy their book without the slightest worry that Mr. Wrinklebottoms was gonna cause any trouble.
I read a LOT of comics in high school. Before comics became mainstream fare as they are today, the audience largely consisted of male teens and grown men who couldn’t get laid in a whorehouse. And most of them had long since given up trying . The comic book industry was also largely comprised of the same type of men. So they drew their female characters like any horny guy would: with extremely “stylized” (read impossible) physiques and perfect model faces. And because they were creating these fantasy women they could not only make them look unrealistic but they could also make them do unrealistic things. Like fall for dorks who were drawing them and the dorks who were reading them.
I’ll provide a few examples. Here’s a panel of Mary Jane Watson, wife of Peter Parker aka Spider-man (if you haven’t seen a movie in 20 years):
Now here’s a relatively common portrayal of her husband before Todd McFarlane gave him six pack abs (although it really depends what you think the radioactive spider bite would do to his physique – canon doesn’t infer her got ripped when the bug bit him but modern era comics do and so do the movies) and rock star hair:
See the difference between her and him. In the real world, unless he’s got a power up , him and her don’t get together. Period. End of discussion.
See, when I was a teenager, the Internet wasn’t available largely yet. It wouldn’t be until my final year of college (1996) that we got America Online. Porn was hard to come by (ALL of those puns were fully intended). It was just porno mags and waiting an hour to download a jpg file from a BBS (I’m not going there because it’s super boring – think of them like prehistoric pornhub.com’s).
The only hot stuff I had to look at was comic book ladies. I know it’s fucked up. I know I was (and am) a giant loser. Beggars can’t be choosers, brah.
So my first crush was MJ and you can see that’s an excellent body image to imprint on my male brain. That shouldn’t set me up for Incredible disappointment when I started trying to date actual human beings with physiologically possible bodies.
So yeah, I’d sit there and I’d linger on the pages that showcased the comic book uber ladies. I’d get, well, ahem, enthused, but my hands remained on the comic book and I kept my Catholic virtue intact.
I apologize for that detail but I tried to make it as vaguely euphemistic as possible. I didn’t say I did it well.
That’s it. That’s the climax to the whole pathetic ritual. Yes I intended that pun, too. Ever since I fell in love with Mary Jane Watson, I’ve had great appreciation for gingers. In fact, I couldn’t believe that Sam Raimi cast the following lovely lady as MJ:
I’m not saying she’s not pretty. I’m saying she’s NOT a Mary Jane. At least not the one that I have in my perverted heart.
Oddly I’ve been out with (literally) hundreds of women (that looks like a brag but it sadly is the opposite) and barely any of them have been redheads. I get they’re the most rare hair color in the states but I guess I’m just not lucky.
But just to proffer my diversity credentials, my other two huge comic book crushes were people of color.
There was Jim Lee’s Psylocke:
Betsy Braddock, a white English woman, actually had her consciousness swapped into an incredibly fit Japanese mutant lady’s body. So she really is probably the only legit example of transracial.
The third big crush for me in my unholy trinity of drawn goddesses is the lean, mean green chica:
(‘shameless because I went to Catholic school fetish’ style)
I don’t know why She-Hulk does it for me. Maybe it’s the exotic green skin. Maybe it’s her size. Maybe it’s her charmingly written personality (ha! Yeah right). But she does. She wasn’t my first crush but she remains my biggest. Much love.
My dream then (and now) is that I would be transformed into a comic book hero and teleported to the comic book dimension and that I would meet one or more of these ladies and they would fall in love with my terrible personality and comic book dude six pack abs. I’ve considered selling my soul to the devil to make this happen but I’m not sure I believe in him and the whole idea of eternal torture seems to be a high price to pay for a hot girlfriend.
BONUS HORRIFICALLY EMBARRASSING CONTENT;
One last thing. I was so horny as a teen (who wasn’t?) that the following highly cartoon styled ladieS even got me going:
That’s Chakaal. She is the polar opposite of Groo, a bumbling, big hearted version of the hero in the comic, drawn by the incomparable Sergio Aragonés , bearing his name. He was a delightful send up of the hero in the movie of the same name, Conan the Barbarian. Chakaal is smart and competent, completely unlike Groo. But she does have a good heart and she loves a good fray.
But my favorite Groo the Wanderer gal was:
Arba is an evil witch. Groo is often foiling her plans. And, yes, I get that she looks a lot like:
Yes, I also love Elvira. What can I say? I’m a breast man. Sue me.
One final final note: I hardly ever put photos in my posts – certainly not to this extent. Don’t get used to it.
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