Inasmuch as, like I told that Best Buy clerk, I'm not all that into bestiality (HA! I said it!), I must admit that as a young(er) whippersnapper, I did feel a certain something in my loins when Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer lifted his head up from that stream and had full-fledged antlers (you know - right after Burl Ives says, "Meanwhile, Rudolph was growing up...") I believe I was about 8 at the time.
I still remember my first romantic crush distinctly. I mean, I *loved* that boy. His name was Teddy, and he had the deepest, darkest, most delicious brown eyes I've ever seen. And half-inch-long eyelashes. And thick eyebrows to boot. I can still remember that face of his like I'm looking at it for the first time. I was 4.
Barb,
THANKSSS for coming on! You're killing me with the Rudolph thing and though I've never found Burl Ives to be a turn-on, you're making a pretty damn good case of it by using "loins" in the same sentence!
But good old Sylvester really did it for me. Something about his white chest (all right, stomach, whatever the hell you call it when he stands up erect--sorry). Forget that last sentence.
Though the first day of kindergarden I kissed a girl named Jill 14 times, that turned out for nought. I remember my first real crush too, and it took me over when I was in about 4th grade. The kid, who went to a neighboring Catholic school, was nicknamed "Beaver" of all things. I saw him when we played against him in Little League and someone dumped a water bucket over his head while he was laughing, on his knees by the dugout. It was dusk during one of those lazy childhood summers that went on forever. I thought of Beaver over and over and over again, waiting to see him and of course, the non-stop heartsickness that is so strong when you're that age. I still feel it right now even though I haven't thought of that for some time.
Beaver fever. Couldn't resist, but it's true.
rt