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As my son has just hit 14 year’s of age – on his way to earning his Mancard – I’ve noticed his interest in girls getting more and more obvious. Each morning before school he hoses himself down with AXE body spray, and when mixed with Fritos for lunch it makes for an interesting middle-school aphrodisiac. Plus he’s doing a lot of Myspace messaging back and forth with the young ladies, which I say, “kudos little dude.”

I was trying to remember my earliest feelings for the opposite sex and it was probably in first grade where I sat in front of Kathy Werbin’s house one Saturday morning for about four hours waiting for her to come outside. I remember my heart pounding, wondering what I would say when we’d hook up. (It’s uncanny how woman make guys do brutally stupid shit – even at six years old.) Finally my patience paid off as she appeared from her garage – and man she was hot – even back then I was particular about looks. I remember she was into GI Joe’s and asked me to play. (It’s funny that GI Joe’s were actually dolls wrapped in testosterone so boys would be tricked into playing with them.) But my little heart was soon plucked from my ribcage as she had to go – a play date with Robert Sandler was scheduled and that was the first time I realized what cruel harlots the opposite sex can be.

It was definitely movies and TV that helped to arouse my nubile senses in the early years. I didn’t know why, but at ten years old I couldn’t take my eyes off of Barbara Eden’s stomach when she donned that genie costume. I used to get warm all over when she pranced around her Cocoa Beach habitat. And even at ten I wondered what the bloody hell was wrong with Major Nelson - I mean for crissakes, come on, man! Forget the fact that she was sizzling hot and was sworn to his every command – the bonehead could have anything he wanted – gold, jewels, cars, homes – but it was always, “Don’t use your powers, Jeannie.” What a friggin ass-tro-NOT.

Those cavorting cougars always had me more worked up more than Laurie Partridge or any of the Brady chicks. Girls my own age didn’t do it for me. I can’t explain it, but I always had a penchant for the older gals. Now I know most guys loved Dawn Wells as Mary Ann, but I was always a Ginger guy, and when Tina Louise strutted about in those slinky nightgowns, I was glued to the tube. (And it wasn’t until I was around 15 that I came to the conclusion that Gilligan, the Skipper, and the Professor were all raging poofters.) I’ve never really dug the “girl next door” type, but more the sultry, buxom bombshell. And as a lad, no one had me standing at full attention more than the incredible Raquel Welch. I was just a kid but I had an amazing appreciation for her killer body, complete with swollen appendages. You can blame God or nature, or the earth’s primal forces, but I was not in control of certain bodily reactions when Raquel appeared on a TV talk or game show. I used to scan the TV Guide when we got it to see if the starlet was appearing anywhere. That same era had the likes of Ursula Andress, Elke Somer and Gina Lolabridgada, Sophia Loren, Bridget Bardot, and Margaret Nolan - incredibly voluptuous goddesses I couldn’t take my eyes off!

The same unexplainable force that changes the tides and pulls plants towards the sun had me more jacked up than ten Milky Ways and a jug of Bosco. I vividly remember watching Goldie Hawn dance in a bikini on Rowan and Martin’s Laughin, and thinking, “Now that sure as hell beats playing with GI Joe’s.”

Even though she wasn’t provocative, I always dug Elizabeth Montgomery as Samantha Stevens on Bewitched. Again, at an early age I recognized her beauty and just being a witch carried a sexiness all of its own. And again, with the ability to have anything he wanted, her retarded husband Darrin suffered from Major Nelson syndrome: “Don’t use any witchcraft to get what we want or need, Sam.” Whether it was York or Sargent, both Darrin’s were most definitely a couple of real “Dicks” when it came to Samantha’s powers.

No doubt today’s TV is a hell of a lot more sex oriented and I realize that my son is subject to those same unexplainable forces that his daddy was driven by. Plus with the internet and its 12,000 naughty sites, my kid doesn’t have to go rooting around my bedroom for pop’s “half-assed” hidden Playboy magazines (sorry dad, but you’ve gotta know I would have found them even if you buried them two miles under the goddamned septic tank.)

Listen, my intent here wasn’t to write a sexist piece and I’m certainly not advocating my kid look at porn or anything like that. I just know at 14 what my son is feeling as I think back to my early days of youth. And there’s no doubt everyone of you guys have similar memories and stories of your own – hopefully to share in the comments section below (and please do so because I’ll most likely need to convince my mother, wife, and daughter that I’m not a raging perverted psychopath, after they read this.)

Glad I could share such nice mammaries.

And hey, if you love the chicks from the sixties and seventies, there’s no better magazine to get your nostalgic dander up than Cinema Retro, published by my good buddy and film (and James Bond) aficionado, Lee Pfeiffer @ www.cinemaretro.com

- Zman