Like A Virgin....EXACTLY like a virgin in fact...

As I lumbered into the hormone raging, tumultuously tantalising teenage years of titillation, with my spaff-tanks constantly on a hair trigger, I was lucky enough to watch a concert in Detroit* featuring none other then our favourite ‘adoption-addicted practitioner of hokey religions’…Ms Madonna Ciccone.

Note: I would like to add at this juncture that for a very brief stint in the 80’s Ms Ciccone was professionally yet delicately performing a skilful juggling act of balancing innocence, raw attractiveness, and confident sexuality – and was also sporting a fabulous, full breasted, scantily clad body that bore no resemblance to the withered, haggard, grizzled-and-chiseled East German shot-putter look that she currently favours.

I was entranced – but fwapping until my ears bled was a very private method of showing affection, so I had to find the right way of declaring my admiration to the world. This presented me with quite a tricky conundrum…How do I demonstrate my longing for this slutty, lacey-gloved-with-the-ends-of-her-fingers-poking-out goddess without making myself look like a mong-eriffic mutant?

And then the idea struck. I would buy a T-Shirt. What harm could that do? It was a gesture that was simple, yet potentially pointless…Just like me.

Now, although I was aware that it was not the ‘done thing’ for boys to wear Madonna T-shirts, my mind was made up, and I had decided that I was going to make a stand. After all, I had already been forced to keep my admiration for Duran Duran firmly locked in the closet of shame, knowing that all the explanations in the world about the 'skill of musicianship' and the 'groovy basslines' would still have had me condemned to the new-romantic wave of Culture-Clubbing Namby-Pambies, with the other boys who wore makeup on the sly and seemed desperate to ‘out’ themselves to the beatings and ridicule of the entire school bullying circle.

Children can be cruel.

But just a T-shirt?...Surely that could have no ramifications whatsoever? So with a fluttering heart, trembling hands, and a cock primed at ‘perma-semi’, I ventured to the record store to purchase a T-shirt featuring the resplendent face of the ‘Material Girl’ herself occupying the entire frontage. She was staring out to me from the shelf as if stating a direct message of intent; indicating that should we ever meet, then surely we would be together for one of the most intensive 12 seconds that I would ever experience before I crash my yogurt truck over her flimsy crop-top.

I paid my money, rushed out of the shop and ripped the packaging open. I felt awash with love as I popped my arms and head into the relevant holes and slipped the wonderful image over me. In a strange way it was as if…’two by two our bodies become one’.

(Actually, it was a little bit tight on me …but I wasn’t fussed).

Bursting with a mixture of pride, glee and rampant horniness I could not wait to go round my mate’s house so I could revel in his jealousy that I had this wonderful vision of sexehness emblazoned across my chest like a badge of lusty honour.

Beaming with joy and squirming to keep my trouser tent under control, I rang his doorbell and was soon confronted by my then best mate, Alex.

“What do you want Pooflake, you monumental spaz?” declared Alex.

I puffed out my chest, placed my hands on my hips and waited for the envious dribblings to flow as he clapped eyes on the creature of 80’s scutter perfection that I was displaying.

“Well…whaddaya think of THIS?” I bellowed, pointing at my T-shirt with my eyes bulging maniacally as I waited for the plaudits that were sure to follow.

"Ermmm….Who IS that?” he asked, squinting and looking genuinely confused.

“HA!” I laughed loudly, and scoffed at his ignorance – What a cretin! – How could he not recognise one of the most famous faces on the planet! I smirked at him with utmost disdain, and was about to verbally cut him to shreds…

When suddenly…out of the corner of my eye, in one of the full length windows of his porch I caught a brief glimpse of something that shook me to the very core with horror.

It was a reflection…of myself.

It is my unfortunate duty to admit that even in my early teens I was still struggling somewhat to shed my over-genorous portions of ‘puppy fat’ (that to be honest I’m still trying to get rid of *cough – 35 – cough*)

So in my haste to display my affection I had inadvertently allowed my combination of blind love, incomparable incompetence and considerable stomach-package to let me purchase a girl's skin tight T-shirt, and stretch it over my preposterously podgy young body, thus contorting the slappertastic songstress until she resembled a misshapen abomination that looked like the ungodly manifestation between a bull rhinoceros and that horrendous billionairess ‘Wildenstein’ woman.

Due to the stretching effect caused by my ample love handles, Madonna’s chin bulged down-and-outwards at such grotesque, disjointed angles that it would not look out of place if it had been nailed to the Rock of Gibraltar. My girthtastic gutbucket also provided the unfortunate added effect of pulling her cheeks out sideways, making her eyes slant ever-so-slightly southwards at the corners and turning her smouldering stare into a more quizzical ‘downsy’ look. To top it off, I had developed impressive specimens of whatever was the boy equivalent of ‘Moobs’ (What is the boy equivalent of ‘Moobs’?...erm…’Boobs’ I suppose)…anyway, my gargantuan, belly-button-worrying spaniel’s ears were thrust forward and had formed two huge lumps on Madonna’s already stretched-to-capacity forehead, just over her eyes, and it made her look as if she had contracted a severe, almost fatal case of the Mumps…and Elephantitis

My eyes filled with tears as I turned and sprinted home as fast as my wobbling bosom-boulders would allow…nearly giving myself two black eyes as my tits repeatedly pound me in the face with my own frantically flapping nipple action.

I knew from then on that I could never look at Madonna in the same way again – In all fairness I probably ruined her for Alex too – In fact I think he’s gay now.

I then realised I had no choice, and I did what any self-respecting teenage boy would do in the situation. I never wore the T-Shirt again, and instead decided to employ the garment as a quite frankly unnecessarily over-sized replacement for my standard-issue wank sock…and it was with sorrow that I was eventually forced to finally throw it away after it became so crustily rigid that it could have potentially been used to karate chop the Star of India diamond in half.

In hindsight, I suppose I’m quite lucky that she’s such a munter now. I don’t feel like I missed out that much.



*She was the one who was in Detroit - I was at home in Coventry watching it on the telly – I’m not fucking made of money you know.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 11 Nov 2009, 10:56, 6 replies)

Duran Duran too?
Thank fuck for the invention of gaffa tape, the cosh, and rohypnol - otherwise I fear you'd have never passed on your mighty genes and blessed the world with the next generation of wee-flakes.

Great post, of course. Genuinely hillarious. Madonna? Seriously? May I be the first to call you a big gay bear. What was wrong with the manly riffage and macho beats of Culture Club, ehh?
( SpankyHanky, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 11:13, closed)

Ah, it was all a very fleeting fancy...
That was quickly usurped by Makepeace from 'Demspey &...' fame

I was just reminded of this tale this morning after hearing something on the radio, so I thought I'd nip on and knock one this out
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 11 Nov 2009, 11:36, closed)

Delightful as always
You weirdo.
(TheColonel, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 11:48, closed)

Truely
wonderful. *click*
( speedyballbangpots, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 12:35, closed)

Delightful..
Post, same cant be said about the images in my head of you knocking one out into your abnormally streched Madge T-shirt...

Thanks..oh and clicks
(MudButton does not mean to offend but......, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 14:45, closed)

I only seem to come out of lurking to click your posts.
click
(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Wed 11 Nov 2009, 15:46, closed)