Sadly, I have to admit it does. About 2 seconds into the bass line of “Dr. Feelgood” buttons magically start popping off of my shirt and I want to find a pole to dance on. It must be a hormonal reaction, as these boys were the object of my misguided, uninformed, obsessive affections of my preteen years. Oh yes, dirty, drug addled, reckless hair bags-those are the things that my fantasies were made from.
Leather, spandex and hairspray-oh my. The spectrum of which was endless: if you liked em real pretty: Poison, Warrant, Bon Jovi and Cinderella would set your panties on fire. If you liked them pretty, but with a tad less lipstick: Skid Row, Winger, or Def Leopard would do. If dirty boys made your nipples twirl: Guns n’ Roses, Motley Crue, even Aerosmith could get ya there. I know none of them would like being lumped together, but that’s how they were plastered all over my walls, so therefore, they are of the same ilk to me. The uniform was fairly standard: leather or spandex pants, no shirt at all or some sort of vest type thing and black boots. Often those boots had 5 inch lifts because, unbeknownst to my 6 foot tall ass, the vast majority of them are short. Lots of bangle bracelets, clunky rings, multiple earrings and necklaces including, but not limited to: leather straps with pendants, dog collars and dog tags that dangled on their sweat laden chests. Even at the tender age of 14 all I could think about was running my tongue from their lips to their navels. But the fantasies stopped there as penises were still an enigma to me at that point.
Of course there is also the music. I defy you to listen to any of it and not flip your hair around like a stripper and move your hips like a swaying pendulum coaxing a hypnotic state. It was all so sexual. Some of the sexual innuendos were more blatant than others, but most of them were pretty hot. A lot of times you couldn’t tell what the fuck they were singing about, but the full on moaning dubbed onto the track was a dead give away to little ol me! It was brilliant. I look at Justin Bieber, 1 Direction and the shit that girls go bonkers for today and I know Sammy Hagar would’ve done wheelies over their faces with his “Bad Motor Scooter”. They haven’t even hit puberty yet. It’s vile. Who wants to see hairless boys dancing and singing? I like my boys a bit more depraved and playing fucking instruments for the love of God. Beating on their drum kits, ripping on low hanging guitars. That is sexy. Popping and locking? Freakish. Interesting, maybe? But, hot? Negatory.
Of course I had no idea at the time just how fucked up these boys actually were: smacked out junkies, unshowered for weeks at a time, drinking tetra fish bowl cleaner to combat venereal diseases. Yes, that shit actually happened. But ignorance is bliss, and I was in a constant state of bliss. To this day when I smell Poison perfume I am instantly transported to my 13 year old bedroom that was covered in band posters and blared 80′s “Metal” until my mother made me shut it off.
Although it was many years ago, and most of these boys are men in their 50′s and 60′s now, I still get the warm fuzzies when I see them in concert or embarrassing themselves on reality TV. I’m still rooting for them to do well and I am ever grateful for the for the good times we had together. Even if it was only in my twisted, precocious little head.
