Dirty Magazines

by

04/20/2008

135 Central Park West, 10023

Neighborhood: Upper West Side

When Doree Gottlieb, a girl in my second grade class at P.S. 87, invites me over to her house after school, I beg my mother to let me go. She finally says okay though my grandmother is still against it. Doree Gottlieb lives at 135 Central Park West. A big, impressive pre-war building between 74th and 75th Streets.

The maid opens the door when she rings the bell. No one else is at home in the large apartment. When the maid is out of earshot, Doree Gottlieb says, “I want to show you something.” We sneak past the maid into the master bedroom with windows overlooking the park. Once we’re inside, she locks the door and takes out a stash of magazines, hidden under her parents’ huge bed.

“Have you ever seen dirty magazines?” Doree Gottlieb asks, giggling.

“No!” I say, giggling, too. I can hardly believe it when I see the sexy lady on the cover.

We sit cross-legged on the bed and go through each magazine, page by page, giggling like crazy each time we see a new pair of boobies or another lady in sexy poses. My mother never lets me see her undressed so I’ve never seen nipples before. We laugh like mad at a lady sticking out her tongue and holding her enormous boobies in her hands. Some ladies have their legs wide open! Others stick out their tushies as well as their boobies. We laugh at each lady and touch her nipples on the page. We get hysterical each time we see a naked lady with what looks to me like a sexy sideways look. We each try to imitate the sexy poses. We stick out our tongues and pretend to have giant boobies. We pretend to squeeze them, thrust them forward, wiggle and shake them. We stick out our tushies. We wiggle and shake them too. We give each other sexy sideways looks and burst out laughing.

“What’s going on in there?” the maid says. “Doree, you’re not supposed to be in your parents’ bedroom.” She tries the door. “Unlock the door this minute!”

We try to stop laughing as we quickly pile the magazines together and Doree Gottlieb puts them back under her father’s side of the bed, exactly where she found them. She whispers, “I hope my dad won’t remember what order they were in.” She looks a little scared as she smoothes the bedspread.

“Unlock that door!” the maid says again.

Doree Gottlieb opens the door. We try to keep straight faces.

The maid looks around suspiciously, but everything seems to be in place. “I don’t know what you two were doing in here but I bet your parents wouldn’t approve!”

 

Roberta Allen is the author of eight books and a visual artist who has exhibited worldwide, with work in the collection of The Met.

Comments
Rate Story
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (No Ratings Yet)
Loading...

§ Leave a Reply

Other Stories You May Like

Nearby Upper West Side Stories

Guns Guns Guns

by

Kids in America are supposed to like guns. Our movie heroes majestically wield weapons on the silver screen and TV [...]

Larry’s Bench

by

Larry Polshansky, dead.I cannot believe this. He wasn’t that much older than my husband, Gregory, who died of melanoma at [...]

Dear Ms. Occupant

by

I am not a masher nor a peeping tom nor a stalker.

Doin’ the Pigeon

by

Next time you’re in Theodore Roosevelt Park, be sure to look out for Perihelios.

Big Fat Love

by Thomas Beller

It started in a house with a bunch of guys, and it turned into a rambling, on again off again musical adventure, with numerous i