Okay, my blog is entitled "Leesa's Stories," and it is becoming a bit of a misnomer. I started out posting some stories on here. Stories that your kids should not read. And then I started chatting about all sorts of things.
Well, I am not going to tell a story today. Not one of those stories. But I want to talk about something – self-image, and I think I can best talk about this through a story.
When I was growing up, to make some extra spending money, I babysat. [Now I can here some disappointment from the guys, not a story about a playmate babysitting your little ones. You come home by yourself, your children tucked in bed, the babysitter in a babydoll reading Tolstoy by the fire. Cue the porn music.]
And those who have babysitters and who have never babysat may learn something here. For the most part, children don't want to play with their babysitters. So what did I do? I ate their food – the ice cream hiding beside the frozen peas in the freezer. And I looked around to see what kinds of people my neighbors were. First place I looked was in the parent's room – after making sure the children were playing well and safely. I went in their dresser drawers – cigarettes in the panty drawer would mean that the wife was probably a closet smoker. And more often than not, I would find the husband's stash of Playboys. All of the fathers on the block that I babysat seemed to read this tomb. Before long, I assumed that all men were "reading" Playboy.
I would return to the children, get them ready for bed, look in the kitchen for more food, eat a bit more, and put them to bed. Then I would find the Playboy or stash of Playboys and leaf through them. I would look at the glossy pictures, immediately turning to the centerfold, and look at this young woman. I looked at her with awe – I was going to look like this in a few years. I could hardly believe it or for that matter wait for the metamorphosis to occur. And I could hardly believe that a couple of inches in the chest would transform my less curvy figure to what I was staring at.
And then I would look at the biography. The playmate stats sheet. It was written in the woman's handwriting (I assumed – but heck, they airbrush, so they could get a secretary with good penmanship to write the playmate's bio), and I wondered if these would be my likes, dislikes when I was older. There was a place for "favorite book," and I had normally not heard of the books they were reading. Or at least telling others they were reading.
In my mind, I guess I was forming how I was supposed to look as I matured. Each playmate had perfect skin, and most of them had wonderful legs and butts. Each playmate had two legs and one butt – that last sentence could be a little misleading. At the time, I knew nothing about airbrushing or professional makeup artists and what they can do. Also, these women looked better than the Barbie's I had played with – I had less of a chance of toppling over.
There are two playmates that I remember from one house – they had years of Playboys in the closet. It was a treasure trove of naked women. One was Debra Jo Fondren (I had to look her up on Google (so you get a link to her site as well). By the way, her website has the following message: "Due to personal and financial reasons, my website will be shutdown until further notice. Debra Jo Fondren (03-16-2004)." Okay, I did not know she was Playmate of the Year, but she was a very memorable playmate. When looking at her, you first looked at her hair, her beautiful hair. Her hair was nearly as long as she was – beautiful hair.
The other playmate for those of us in Georgia all probably remember is – well, crap, I don't remember her name. She married a tennis player- Jimmy Conners, and she is linked forever with Jimmy Carter.
"I try not to commit a deliberate sin. I recognize that I'm going to do it anyhow, because I'm human and I'm tempted. And Christ set some almost impossible standards for us. Christ said, 'I tell you that anyone who looks on a woman with lust has in his heart already committed adultery.'
"I've looked on a lot of women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times. This is something that God recognizes I will do--and I have done it--and God forgives me for it."
Okay, I looked for her name and I could not find it. Perhaps Jimmy was not linked with her, but with every playmate. But this post is not about Jimmy Carter with lust in his heart. It is about Playboy and self-image.
Sometimes I look at myself and see a gorgeous playmate, sometimes I see a woman who has seen better days. It all depends on my frame-of-mind. Think about it, women: after great sex, or when you get whistled at while filling up the car with gas, or even catching a guy stealing a second glance, you feel beautiful and sexy. You are a playmate. All you have to do is turn off that part of your brain that is thinking, "I have other assets, I am more than some man's play thing." Sometimes it is wonderful being a play thing.