Tim Allen: Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man

These were men's stories, full of furious, unshaven studs with huge pectoral muscles. If a dick could be a man, that's what it would look like. You could smell the sex and sweat coming off the pages. Of course, I didn't know what these guys did with women. I thought they just rubbed chests.

Isn't that what "Argosy" means: rubbing chests?

I think these magazines were actually where Hugh Hefner got his idea for Playboy. He saw these illustrated macho rags and he thought, "Ya know, I bet men would like to see real naked women instead of bears. And pay for it."

- -

After we'd overdosed on James Bond and other sources of sexual apocrypha, the boys in the clubhouse started coming up with some pretty weird ideas about what you do with girls once you "get them"-whatever "getting them" means.

You figure out that kissing is supposed to happen first. Kissing on the lips.

"Well, you kiss them. but not like you kiss your mom-like any of us still, uh. . kiss our moms."

Even those of us who did said, "No, I don't kiss her. She takes a shot, but I. . duck."

This is an honest but sorrowful indication of what men do. Our whole lives are about "getting them." And then ducking.

We used to go, "Girls, yuck." But once the stirrings hit, the transition for most of us was immediate. Some guys, of course, don't progress into this stage very quickly. There's always some kid with a weird name like Augie, going, "Come on guys, what are we talking about this for? Let's go make a fort!"

Even as adults some men would still rather hang out with other men and wonder what concentrating on women has to do with the realities of life, like business and war.

In the end, women are not much different from golf. With both, the mystery is never revealed. Right when you think you've got it, you suddenly feel like a beginner. However, the illusion that we can plumb the mystery of women remains.

- -

Kissing, at the time, was pretty much sex as we knew it.

I practiced kissing my hand. Sometimes I could go for hours. I kissed it in bed. I used to imagine that I was a wounded soldier, and a beautiful nurse had come to see that I was all right. I was hurt, so she had no excuse to refuse the kiss. I guess this was a natural extension of playing war. Then, the point was to escape injury. It still was, but if by some chance you took a hit, at least the day wasn't a total loss. About this time I began being sorry the girls weren't interested in Combat.

I stopped kissing my hand when my brother caught me doing it. We shared a bedroom. Even at that age you had to have some humility.

I should make it clear right now that I did not then, nor did I ever, put my tongue in my hand. No, no, no. We had no idea that even happened. Imagine the horror at the idea of merely putting your mouth against some girl's mouth. And then some kid just back from vacation in Europe tells you that the French do it differently. You almost want to go back to playing war. "No way. Uh, uh. I'd rather be shot in the neck than stick my tongue in someone else's mouth."

Oh, how wrong you can be.

I wonder if it's the same for women? It must be. The only apparent difference was that they often practiced kissing with and on each other. (I didn't miss a thing on those sixth‑grade field trips to the planetarium.) It's definitely something I would still pay to see. And why is that? Men liking women kissing women is so stupid. I don't think any woman fantasizes about two guys kissing. Once again, we're a very different species.

I don't think I'm wrong on this one.

Kissing your hand teaches you very quickly a most important lesson: the nose problem must be dealt with. It's unavoidable. You can't go right at the person you kiss. The standard kiss is direct. Straight on. No twisting. You pucker and squinch your face. Noses collide. It's inevitable. The only difference between kissing mom or grandma and a girl, is angling the nose. When you start thinking about nose placement, you know it's serious. Eventually, you figure out how to get your lips and a girl's lips together.

In fact, the whole sexual mess is about angles. You get way too much information as a kid. You figure out the kissing thing and then some older guy tells you where your penis goes during sex. What!?! When it takes this long to figure out the angles of kissing, you don't want to even bother visualizing how the rest of it works.

Not wanting to have actual sex at the time seemed a certainty, much like "I'll never eat broccoli." You should always be careful about saying "never." But at this point, confronted with all this information and, worse, misinformation, most guys just gave up. It was easier to blow up fish.

Not that we stopped obsessing about it day and night.

Some guys did forge ahead, and they were the lucky ones. All you had to do was get through that first kiss. And soon as the kiss can be performed with the slightest hint of confidence, you're saying, "Now what was that thing about the penis again?"

- -

Spin the Bottle was the game that was supposed to teach us about kissing. Unfortunately, someone would always chicken out. We'd get to the precipice and someone wouldn't play.

It's like welshing on a bet when you're playing poker. Suddenly the whole game is pointless. Any boy who ever experienced the disappointment of kiss welshing surely acquired immediate respect for the honorable tradition of paying off your bets. (Or is it because you know your legs will be broken?)

Spin the Bottle probably reminds guys of basements more than anything else. That's why guys still like them to this day. Eating in the basement is really something.

- -

Once a young man gets the stirrings, and a little bit of knowledge, he's dangerous. He's on a quest to discover what to do with the hormone soup bubbling inside him. And just how does the young man harness this carnal lust for all things female, make her bend to his will, and let him have his…? Hey, hey, hey! In typically male fashion, we're getting ahead of ourselves. No wonder women tell us to slow down.

For most guys there is one girl who will teach him a few of the basics. At this point, the basics don't amount to much: talking to the girl you like, then making physical contact through handholding and kissing. And most important, trying to disguise the awkwardness.

The most confusing part is figuring out which girl.

For most boys there are three types.

The first type knows something. She has something in her eyes, in her face, and you don't care or know what it is, only that you want her knowledge firsthand. That she makes the other girls mad only makes you like her more. When a guy makes other guys mad he's holding back something they want. This is the girl with a bit of experience who is also willing to keep going forward to get more. This is the one who wants to do things in the basement. She'll come over on Saturday to meet the folks and then play games with you, with the lights out. Eventually, she'll suffer the humiliation of seeing her name written on a wall with the word "slag" appended. It's the lunatic inside you that wants her. Not that she cares about you. She most likely has her eyes on an older guy; in order to know what to do with him, she practices on all her inexperienced volunteers. "Come over to my place because I want to touch that." Like panting dogs, they go.

The second girl you're in love with. She doesn't know about the yearnings, or at least she isn't telling. She delights in anniversary cards marking each week you've been together. It's okay to hold her hand. Maybe you even play war together. She makes a wonderfully chaste nurse. Unfortunately, this means you see her only when war breaks out. It's almost backward. This is what an old person's relationship is like.