All Eyez on Me

This was long before I knew anything about women. A year of firsts. My first drink. My first kiss. My first girlfriend. And my first glimpse at a naked woman in a dirty magazine.

The culprit was Jack Jagger – the school principal’s delinquent son. He used to give me rides to class in his cobalt Chevy Corvair – the ‘Blue Wiz’ according to his vanity plates. (When he wasn’t out destroying mailboxes with baseball bats or brain cells with pot, he was actually a very responsible guy.) All I knew was, he kept me from riding the bus between the ages of 14 and16, and that was a good thing – whatever the cost to my burgeoning code of ethics.

Jack was the wise old age of 16 ½, and this particular evening, his astute acumen had led us to a game of jackass softball. (We were merely spectators, but, ‘yes’, it’s exactly what you may think – a game of softball between people riding donkeys). It was mildly entertaining, I guess, but it’s what happened on the way home that really marks this tale.

We had pulled over to gas up the Blue Wiz. But before leaving, Jack leaned over and grabbed a brown paper bag under my side of the worn, bucket seats. “I’ve got to show you something pretty amazing…” His words lingered in the air as he pulled out a beautiful, glossy magazine called Hustler. I was not at all familiar with Mr. Larry Flynt’s publication, but what I surveyed between those pages was life altering. (Of course, I was much too young to have formed an opinion about the objectification of women, sexism and misogyny. This would develop in me much later.) What I can tell you about that moment is this: What I saw, I liked.

There were pictures of naked couples (men and women), (women and women) engaged in a number of compromising scenarios. Many of which I didn’t fully understand, but they stirred me in ways yet uncharted. It was what I saw in the center of that magazine, however, that really sent me over the edge.

Jack lay out the centerfold of a playful, red-headed vixen named Veronica. She posed and pranced and spread across those vibrant, stapled pages without a stitch of clothing or inhibition. I was mesmerized. There is no question. But Jack made it all seem like an anatomy class on the knowledge of good and evil. He pointed at Veronica’s most vulnerable areas – the ones that seemed strangely dream-like – and gave me directives:

That is what you want to go for.
This is what she wants.
That is what you need to touch.
This is what will make her happy.

He emphasized each instruction with a gliding, lingering index finger. The pages were smudged with grease from the fries he had eaten at the jackass softball game. It was all so much to take in, but I knew in an instant, I was changed somehow.

My first kiss had come several months prior. Jennifer Hardaway was her name. She was no Veronica, but who is? My best friend, David, was her brother, so everything was very convenient. I had noticed her when I was over at David’s, and she always made me tingle. Helplessly. So, I told David to write her a note expressing my undying love. (As a joke, of course, he thought, and was all for it.) But that love note is what launched us as an official couple. An undeniable twosome. David was pissed initially, but he got over it. And here we were, 4 months later, with a hell of a lot of kissing under our belts. But little else.

So…it was a Sunday night. After a long and belabored church service. A Pro-teens event (don’t ask, because I have no idea), and the plan was to enjoy a little pizza and “fellowship”, with the other youth, at the Greek pizzeria down the street. There were only 9 of us – including the youth pastor Tommy Bates – so the restaurant staff set us down at a fairly secluded, giant round-topped booth. I quickly maneuvered in next to Jennifer, so as not to cause a scene later on, but I had one half of the Pike twins – little Stevie – on my other side. I prayed we’d get through the evening without one of his epileptic seizures, as he was known to have. Completely ruined the church carnival from the year before – that one.

It was around the time Mr. Bates was blessing the food that I noticed Jennifer’s leg. Her cute little gingham skirt had inched way up beyond knee length appropriateness, and she was revealing a significant amount of pink thigh. My mind flew away, like a fire-winged dove, from our prayer of thanksgiving, and crash-landed into the waiting pages of Veronica’s Hustler profile. Jack’s enthusiastic teaching was ringing in my ears: “This is what she wants. That is what you need to touch…”

I made the decision in an instant. Before either of us could make a consideration, my hand had found its way onto Jennifer. Just above her naked knee. Her eyes flashed demure surprise directly into mine. Then subtle embarrassment, as she cast them back to the slice of pepperoni in front of her. Jack had warned me about this look. It was not a deterrent. It was, in fact, an encouragement. I treated it as such.

Did Jennifer like this? Was she enjoying the warmth of my hand on her leg? The discussion at the table had turned to the planning of the next teen activity – a trip to Six Flags – which, normally, would have perked me right up. But in this moment, I was a million miles away, and moving towards the Holy Land, one millimeter at a time. Jennifer had stopped eating her pizza completely. She stared at my traveling hand as it roughly pushed at the fabric of her skirt. This is it, I remember thinking. I am actually going there. Some place magical and amazing. A foreign and unseen place I knew not of, save the education of Jack and Veronica. Then the question popped into my head: What will I do when I get to this great place?

I didn’t even get a chance to find out. Jennifer lifted her head, looked into my downcast eyes, and in a voice that was hardly discreet, she issued her command:

“Take your hand off my leg”.

The talks concerning who would survive a ride on The Great American Scream Machine came to a halt. I suddenly felt like that 2Pac song, “All Eyez on Me”. Mr. Bates asked me to come with him, and you can figure the rest. Conditions were disheartening at best. My hopes of becoming a true ‘hustler’ were quickly stifled. Jennifer didn’t talk to me for about a week, but by the time we went out again, she was all over me. Weird. Maybe there was some validity to all that Jack had taught me that night after the jackass softball game, but I guess I’ll never really know.

There is one thing I am absolutely sure of…There are some ways that seem right unto a man, but in the end…they’re just going to get you in trouble and you’ll probably be disgustingly embarrassed and you’ll probably be tempted to do a lot of other things you’ll have insane regrets about, because, let’s face it, guys are horny, (especially 16 year old guys), and everything is filtered though that, so, they’re going to encourage you to do a lot of stupid shit. Don’t do it. (Especially underneath a pile of pizza and the scrutiny of the church youth pastor.)