Stohlen Treasure
Near the end of my sophomore year of high school, I found a treasure lying in the middle of the road. It was the July 1987 issue of Playboy. I spotted it while staring out the bus window as was my wont when not studying (AD&D hardcovers). After finally reaching home, I hopped on my bicycle and pedalled the two miles back to the intersection at which I had spotted my glossy quarry, knowing full well that someone must have stopped and picked it up in the interim. But lo and behold!
I had read a few Playboys in junior high, classics from the 70s on loan from a friend whose father maintained a collection in his basement. I had decided that Candy Loving, the 25th Anniversary Playmate, was not my type, though I did plenty of staring to be sure. February 1979 featured Lee Ann Michelle, a British brunette knockout, who shaped my earliest concept of sexy. But this lost or abandoned July '87 issue was the first copy that was all mine. I remember that my first impression upon rescuing it from its indignant resting place was a furrowed brow; the flat, perfect-bound volume was disappointingly thin in comparison with the curvy saddle-stitched 70s editions to which I had grown accustomed. Further, the cover was gaudy, splashy, commercial in that obnoxious 80s way.
But cracking open that treasured tome, a more perfect gem awaited me within. Ellen Stohl had been in a car accident which left her without the use of her legs. And those soft-focus photos of Ellen and the accompanying article, both simultaneously bold and unassuming, redefined sexy for me.
[Edit: Upon further rumination, I believe "redefined" is a bit disingenuous here. Perhaps "expanded" is more accurate. Expanded to include concepts such as subtlety, aspiration, and (being frank) vulnerability (in a quixotic sense, rather than predatory, though is it just as creepy?)]
I had read a few Playboys in junior high, classics from the 70s on loan from a friend whose father maintained a collection in his basement. I had decided that Candy Loving, the 25th Anniversary Playmate, was not my type, though I did plenty of staring to be sure. February 1979 featured Lee Ann Michelle, a British brunette knockout, who shaped my earliest concept of sexy. But this lost or abandoned July '87 issue was the first copy that was all mine. I remember that my first impression upon rescuing it from its indignant resting place was a furrowed brow; the flat, perfect-bound volume was disappointingly thin in comparison with the curvy saddle-stitched 70s editions to which I had grown accustomed. Further, the cover was gaudy, splashy, commercial in that obnoxious 80s way.
But cracking open that treasured tome, a more perfect gem awaited me within. Ellen Stohl had been in a car accident which left her without the use of her legs. And those soft-focus photos of Ellen and the accompanying article, both simultaneously bold and unassuming, redefined sexy for me.
[Edit: Upon further rumination, I believe "redefined" is a bit disingenuous here. Perhaps "expanded" is more accurate. Expanded to include concepts such as subtlety, aspiration, and (being frank) vulnerability (in a quixotic sense, rather than predatory, though is it just as creepy?)]