I Blame It All On George Michael

Creativity’s an organic process; I know what I want to write for y’all, but I can’t help it if something flicks the switch and something else comes out. This morning, I was sweeping the kitchen, dancing around, listening to cheesy ’80s music, when this posting occurred to me. Remembering some of this fodder made me laugh out loud, and I’ve still got a grin on my face. So, hopefully you find the diversion fun. I’ll deliver on the Vixen thing.
When I was in Grade 4/5, Wham! took the world by storm. As always, I was a latebloomer, and I fell for them in Grade 7. George Michael made me swoon. Those lips, those eyes, and oh, my god, that ass.
I would dance around my pink bedroom with Freedom playing on full blast. I dreamed of nothing more than somehow encountering my idol and having an affair. Surely he liked 13-year-old girls, I thought. I mean, eight more months and I, too, would be 13. We would kiss. Madly. Sex wasn’t something I’d be considering much for at least another four or five years, but kissing…
A year or two after that, I saw him walking down the street in Vancouver with this Asian woman on his arms. A few months down the road, she’d come to fame as his lover from the video I Want Your Sex, the famed torso upon which the pop star would write, in lipstick, “Explore monogamy.” I clued in pretty fast, guys like exotic chicks, not 13 year olds, and they liked sex, not kissing, and they liked flat little torsos, it seemed.
But that didn’t faze me. I still loved my George. When I discovered masturbation, George was there with me, that sexy bare chest in those little shorts he used to wear. I didn’t even have to imagine George doing anything to me. The fantasy was an album signing. He looked up. Our eyes locked. I creamed my pants. One glance from George, it seemed, was enough to do me in. Oh, George! (gush) Naturally, masturbation then consisted of dry-humping an interesting pile of teddy bears and pillows contoured in, frankly, very strange places, while holding a little teen magazine with the latest male hottie with a perfect smile on the cover. (Oh, GEORGE!)
Honestly, when I was young, I missed the bus to Hipville. It took me a while to grow out of dorkness. My mom was a bit of a hippy, and my clothes were often homemade and things like that, or just badly chosen. It wasn’t until I left private school (Catholic… think kilts and knee-highs, boys… ooh, tartan) and did public school that I finally found a clue.
George kept me company in those dark years. Corey Hart kinda helped, too, and Michael J. Fox. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been a Johnny Depp girl since 1991.
The best thing I ever did for my sex life in my teens, though, was to buy a pair of Doc Martens. My first weekend in them, Josh. Oh, Joshie, Joshie, Joshie. German and Japanese. What a fucking studmuffin. (I always remember my friend having to explain what a studmuffin was to her confused father. “Why, Daddy, it’s a stud you can really sink your teeth into.”) Josh was built for lovin’ – he was 6’4, broad shoulders, and lips that made for smothering, baby.
Yep. One kiss from Josh and I figured, huh, these boots are something. See, he spots me at a party with all our mutual friends, me and my 13-hole docs, and beelines over, commenting that cherry was always the sexiest colour for him. “Oxblood,” I corrected him. Our lips locked shortly after that for the ultimate in gropefests on the back steps. It was the first time a boy ever grabbed my boobs and squeezed and groped, the first time I knew what it felt like for a boy to fumble as to tried to get under the bra and over the breast, and the first time I ever had the distinct feeling of being moist in public.
Naturally, Josh told the world that it had been us who was making the camper a-rockin’, and a classic teen “But I’m not a slut, that was SUZY!” drama unfolded. But I learned something important then. Image was everything, and George wasn’t doing me no favours. I started experimenting with music and quickly found U2 and Front 242, and learned that bad was good, and haven’t looked back since. These days, I’m a punk rock poser-girl some of the time, but usually just a nitty-gritty indie rock kinda gal. No, no Docs these days, but my Skechers are kinda cute.
Funny thing, though. A while back, I had this guy I was sorta wooin’ after dinner. We were interacting, on the cusp of sex, but the nerves were in the way, so instead we were standing too far apart, with that invisible awkwardness barrier repelling us. My iPOD developed a mind of its own and suddenly Wham! spun on.

“Wake me up, before you go-go
Don’t leave me hangin’ on like a yo-yo”

Next thing you know, the boy and I were bouncing around the kitchen, laughing and singing, washing dishes, cleaning up, and naturally, a spot of water on the floor yielded a well-placed slip, and we collided into each other, against the counter, collectively gasped, locked lips, fumbled about, and the rest unfolded exactly as it should, upon my bed.
I guess our liabilities aren’t always what they seem, and the past is never as far away as we’d like to think. But is that so bad? That night, it wasn’t.
PS: Incidentally, of all my teen idols, GM’s the only one I still find sexy. Not my type per se anymore, but still has “it”.

9 thoughts on “I Blame It All On George Michael

  1. scribe called steff

    I think I know who you are, Pervert.

    I see your giggle and raise you a snicker. 😉

    “Hee hee.”

  2. jazz

    i have to tell you that george michael was my very first crush too! i used to take the cover to my mom’s wham! record and hug and kiss the thing…

    ahh, those were the days…

    and for us, loving gay men, has never changed 😉

  3. scribe called steff

    Tee hee!

    I made a point of taping it when George was on Oprah last year.

    I got all sniffly when he announced he was retiring from music last fall. Sigh. GEORGE!

    I loved that Songs from the Last Century where he did neat covers of older tracks like Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime? Dude missed his fucking calling when he went back to pop after that. He’s more of a cabaret / jazzy singer who ought to have a big band behind him, methinks.

    Oh well. 🙂 (GEORGE!)

    hey, Jazz, were we separated at birth?

  4. Curvaceous Dee

    You know, I liked George, but it’s my Johnny Depp crush that never abated (I had a poster of him on my ceiling when I was 12. *sigh*). Cory Haim was pretty damn hot, too!

    xx Dee

  5. scribe called steff

    Dee — I still love Johnny Depp, though. The guy oozes sexuality. He’s gotten HOTTER for me with age, because he’s so incredibly cemented in who he is.

    A guy with that much self just sets me ablaze. Absolutely.

    Goose — Yes, the illustrious Andrew Ridgeley, who had no musical talent but was George’s first ever crush in high school, hah! Andrew went on to release a really bad album called “The Son of Albert,” that sounded like a bad rip-off of Michael Penn (“No Myth”) in the late ’80s, early ’90s, then quit and moved to Monaco to race cars. Heh. He got better looking with age for me.

  6. Linda

    Yes, George Michael IS still a fuckable studmuffin. The ones who made MY heart flutter and me dance around madly everyday after school were, of course, JOURNEY. Stevie Boy, Neal Schon, Steve Smith, Gregg Rolie, Jonathan Cain, Ross Valory….. SIGH….

  7. jeff

    Steff I discovered your site only 2 days ago. You have kept me intrigued for the last 3 days and I’m sure for many more to come. Thank You.
    Your new fan,

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