Let's Talk About Seck's: A Totally True Story

Yours truly was fortunate enough to grow up in a bucolic mountain town. Us kids from the neighborhood used to ride our bikes up and down Gigi Street (we know), a gently sloping dirt road with exactly nine houses on it, each a couple hundred yards apart. Our house was squarely in the middle and had a nice circular driveway so chez WAMster was the hangout. Back then, the bike made the boy, and the WAM-cycle was unbearably groovy. It was a metallic gold three-speed, with a sparkly silver banana seat. We'd pimped it out with rear-view mirrors, a handle bar-mounted AM radio (with a built in push-button horn), and a day-glo orange flag mounted on the back. Sometimes we'd play bike-swap and take each other's rides for a spin.

David Catterson and his older brother Ronnie had matching red banana bikes, Scott Montgomery's was yellow. Paul Phillips had one of those new-fangled 10-speeds (we disapproved of the awkward ram-horn handle bars), and Jimmy Hall's was a red-and-white Pee Wee Herman-esque number. We'd often construct a jump out of cinder blocks and plywood, and double dutch dare each other to perform the most ill-advised airborne stunts (under threat of having one's name entered in the "Chicken Book," an infamous registry of the faint-hearted which existed only in theory). Consequently, everyone had the pleasure of picking gravel from their bloody knees and elbows with alarming frequency (with the sad exception of Paul Phillips, whose name was entered repeatedly in the "Chicken Book").

We were always having a full-throttle blast, us kids, yet we also complained tirelessly of boredom. When ennui descended, the oldest kid (Ronnie Catterson, approaching puberty) reliably steered the conversation towards a subject he knew very little about: S-E-X. We listened attentively, for despite his sketchy expertise, he had far more than the rest of us combined. He talked of "boobs" and "popping boners." He talked about "Creamy." He talked about popping boners when he thought about Creamy's boobs. Jimmy Hall talked about a magazine called "Hustler" which he found in his father's garage, but was too scared to swipe. About this time, young WAM was browsing through Mom and Dad's library of musty boring books and struck gold: "Human Sexuality by Alfred Kinsey." It was illustrated. Holy crap.

We tiptoed from the house with that dusty tome under our shirt. The Gigi Street gang spent an afternoon gasping at the horrors and marvels contained in those yellowed pages. There were numbered drawings of nekkid men and women getting into the most awkward and inconvenient positions.  A few days after carefully returning the book to its place on the shelf we discovered that our parents had relocated it to the locked cabinet. The Gigi gang demanded more naughty diagrams. So we decided, as a group, to publish our own magazine filled with dirty drawings and erotic jokes. We were eight; rest assured both the drawings and the jokes were retarded and nonsensical. And we decided to name our fledgling periodical "Seck's" (a name we still consider flat-out brilliant).

We designed the cover; a charming illustration of a nekkid woman thrusting her titanic breasts skyward. The other kids submitted jokes about hoo-hoos and shame hoses, boobs and buttholes. Ronnie Catterson sketched a loving portrait of himself holding hands with Creamy whilst popping a boner. We thought we were onto something. For about a week, we took turns taking it home and hiding it under our pillows. Unfortch, only one copy of the first issue was ever produced.

One summer afternoon after a lovely peanut butter and jelly washed down with green Kool-Aid, Mother confronted us. She had found our premier issue of Seck's, and wasn't happy about it. A few days later, a book from the Evergreen Public Library appeared on our Charlie Brown bedspread. It was filled with horrifying illustrations and explanations. That goes THERE? Ew!! We were appalled, and not a little skeptical. Chapter One's opening line was particularly unpromising: "When a man and a woman love each other..."

Although it was years before WAM would bloom into a full-fledged homo, both the "woman" and the "love" parts of that first sentence felt entirely superfluous.

And that, dear readers, is how we learned the difference between Seck's and sex. 

WAM sez: "A subscription to this blog's feed is better than Seck's."

Comments

[Stephen Wertz]

Fabulous story. Brought back many of my own memories about that time in my life.

[lablu∞z]

1. Is the SECKS model using Q'bala lipstick?

2. Was Al Goldstein aware of the potential violation of intellectual (sic) property laws?

<3

~lb*/

[Jan]

OMG - you were normal as a child.

[Whup-Ass Master]

@wertz: we went to six flags on sunday and rode every damn rollercoaster in the park. That probably explains the trip down memory lane.

@lablu-z: 1) of course, and 2) "screw" goldstein :-)

@jan: shhhhh...you'll blow my cover

xox
WAM

[JWB3]

An auspicious start to your writing career! When is the next play? I'm ready for a road trip! After all this vacationing I need a vacation!

[Whup-Ass Master]

@JWBcubed: Alas, we are still working on re-writes of old shit. How was your vacay? Did you have all sorts of fabulous seck's?

[SiteInsights]

Secks is always better than sex... And the "Green Hornet" which my bad ass hunter green Schwinn three speed was affectionately known as could've given you all a run for your money!

[Whup-Ass Master]

@sightinsights: Your green hornet sounds spectacularly faggy and my silver/gold banana seat superbike would have made you weep with envy.

xox
WAM

[JWB3]

Had a great time! As to the secks... I've been celibate since the last relationship ended since about 1998. Or so. Who's counting?

[Whup-Ass Master]

@JWBcubed: You need to get biz-zay! Glad you had fun on the vay-cay. Glad to be homo?

xox
WAM

[Williampv]

hmm, my reply didn't save xD

the memories i get from this story :p

reminds me of the time i found a porn vid on the closet while being home alone, and just as i was about to press play fate had to intervene, as a towel hanging too close to the heater caught fire, making me run around panicking throwing the towel outside, pouring water over it to then quickly call my parents, take the vid out of the VCR, throw it back up the closet only to never ever see it again xD

yep, the memories... porn makes alot of things get "in heat" it seemed :p

[David]

@JWB3

Celibate for more than a decade???? Oh how sad. Get laid already.

[RamboSF]

I'm jealous. I'm a Navy Brat and moved around up until High School in LousyAnna. I don't remember anyone from my childhood, the color of a bike or any other "tragically quaint" memories. That being said, I would not trade it for anything.

I love reading stories like this though.

[winski]

Defintely one of your top three post. Maybe the best EVAH.

[Jim Hall]

I seem to remember tassels on the handlebars of the silver/gold banana seat superbike too.

[Jim Hall]

Thanks for a trip down memory lane.