I wish there was a way to not blame my parents for my TV addiction but I just haven't been able to find one. My earliest memory is of watching TV through the bars of my crib. I remember the safe feeling I got every afternoon at two o'clock when the brilliant glow from the lighthouse announced the beginning of the soap opera
, Guiding Light
. Come to think of it, I probably actually got hooked while still in the womb. Looking back, an in utero heroin addiction might have been better. And really, the only good thing about a TV addiction at age one is that you never have to worry about missing anything while you go to the bathroom; you just go right there on the spot, someone will deal with it during a commercial or when the smell gets bad enough.
Along with my sex life, which I'll get to in a second, it severely hampered my ability to hold a job, rather, a good job. I always sought out positions where I could watch TV. It didn't even have to be regular TV per se, whatever it was, just had to be on one. I took jobs in video stores or electronic stores, anywhere there was a TV. Hell, even my job at the fucking 7-11 had security monitors. I went to college and studied, you guessed it, TV production. That led me into jobs in master control, the part of the TV station where the job is to watch TV. Problem with that, though, is that not only is it the lowest paid and least respected job in a station, but it's also the first one to get hit with cutbacks. Needless to say, I was unemployed more than I wasn't.
I grew up in Austin, Texas, which is a huge music town. So captivating the tube was to me, that whenever I had backstage passes to a big concert, which was all the time, I would always watch the show on the closed circuit system rather than from the side of the stage or wherever. Sad, huh?
Guiding Light
kept me hooked well into my twenties. In 1982, my first summer as a high school post-grad, however, was the year TV fucked up my sex life just as it should have been getting rolling. I place the blame squarely on
Guiding Light
for this although if it hadn't been that show, certainly another one would have done just as much damage. Summers in Austin were Africa-hot and Caribbean-sticky. Thank God we had a pool. And thank God most of my friends didn't. That meant that every summer there was a steady stream of nubile young ladies hanging out at my place. My parents worked long, fucked up hours so they weren't around much and my sister decided to spend the summer in California where she had just finished her junior year at Occidental College. I basically had the community pool and TV – life was good.
I was one of those guys that made friends easily (no, it wasn't just because I had a pool) and I found it particularly easy to make friends with the best looking girls, I just could never take it to the next level. I was into this girl, Mary, one of the hottest girls in school. To this day, she still ranks as the best hardbody I've ever seen. With a teardrop- shaped ass, ample breasts and long, dark hair, there wasn't a single thing I'd change about her. The thing that was interesting, though, were the stories I'd heard about her. This one not-particularly-good-looking jock-type told about the time he almost fucked her but she was so tight he couldn't get it in. He was the one who dubbed her "Hairy Mary".
There was the rumor about the time she deep-throated, Johnny "Huge" Johnson, the legendary quarterback from UT. Reports had Johnny Huge at a hair over eleven inches. No small feat for a five-foot-two girl with an average-sized mouth. Then there was the time she got drunk and passed out at Joe Craiger's ten-kegger and wound up getting her pussy shaved by the baseball team. "Hairy Mary" briefly became "Bare-y Mary". Of course I missed the whole fucking thing because I had to leave early. Why? It was the season finale of
Dallas
.
Mary and I knew each other but didn't really hang around the same people. When I ran into her at the grocery store that sweltering Friday morning, pleasantries were exchanged and small talk ensued. I can't remember what she was buying but I was getting Pop Tarts and watermelon, my daily menu for
Guiding Light
viewing. It was close to a hundred fucking degrees at 10 am and would only get worse as the day wore on. For some reason it never occurred to me to invite her over for a swim but after she dropped a few not-so-subtle hints, I finally got it and gladly extended an invitation, as I tried to hold back a shit-eating grin.
"Great," she said sweetly. "Noon okay?"
My heart sank a little. "Oh... that late?" The ideal situation for me would have been for her to come over now, hang about three hours or so then get the fuck out by the time the show came on at 2.
"Yeah, I gotta take my little sister somewhere at 11:30 but then I'm free the rest of the day. Why, you got something else to do?"
"Actually, I have to be somewhere at 2."
The look on her face was one of confusion. "Okay, that's like two hours, that's plenty of time for a dip."
Fuck, first, that was a stupid comment on my part and second, that's half the time I could have spent with this half-naked girl alone in my yard. I tried to cover my idiocy. "Yeah, yeah, that's cool. See you at twelve then?"
On the way home I wondered what my chances of having sex with this girl would be. I'm not a bad looking guy, I'm smart and funny, why not me? Then I suddenly remembered that all of her wild sex stories involved jocks. I was just a guy who worked in a video store. I'd never played a sport in my life. Is that what the secret was? Being a fucking pumped up meathead? I didn't think I had a prayer. Besides, even if something were going to happen, it would have to be over by 2. I was going to have to settle for stealing looks and using my imagination later. Damn it. Why did she have to take her stupid little sister to wherever-the-fuck? It just wasn't fair.
It was 12:20 by the time she finally showed up. I was just starting to get annoyed as the clock drew further away from 12 and nearer to 2. She was apologetic and I played it off like it was no big deal. I pointed her to my sister's room to change. I went outside and jumped in the pool. Now it was like a hundred-and-fucking-ten outside. The water felt great.
She emerged from the house in the tiniest, unbelievably sexy string bikini I'd ever seen. I got hard instantly. She took her time descending the three steps into the pool and allowed me a nice long gaze at her perfect body. She bent over backward to soak her hair, and I got an extended look at her breasts as they sat perched just above the water line.
The next hour was spent soaking and talking. It was the most time I'd ever spent with her and I was pleased to find out that she was down to earth and funny. The conversation eventually drifted toward sex and somehow settled on pornography. In 1982 VCR's hadn't yet exploded on the scene so porn was a lot less accessible than it is now. It was pretty much limited to movie theaters and magazines. Feeling kind of gutsy, I mentioned that I had a small collection of Playboy's but it was actually dwarfed in size by my sister's Playgirl collection.
"Really?" she said, perking up.
