My Michael Jackson memory

Warning:  This blog mentions the word "sex" and acknowledges that I know what sex is and is not. It also briefly mentions childhood shenanigans involving me and the neighbor boy at age 8 that initially sound A LOT worse than they are...until you read what we did, and then it usually just makes people roll their eyes. It doesn't describe sex at all, but I wanted to give you a heads up in case you're squeamish, but half of you probably already know this story, because I tell it a lot. And don't laugh because the first words right after this warning about sex are "Michael Jackson." I noticed that already.

Michael Jackson will always be a part of one of my defining childhood memories.

In 1993 I was 9 years old. I had a baby brother, an ugly permed hairstyle and a neighbor named Stephen. He was 9, too. 

The movie Free Willy had come out that year, and I had it on VHS, which is how people watched videos before DVDs. I went over to Stephen's house one day and we watched it together. 

Now, Stephen and I...we had a history of *ahem* exploration together. In particular, one day we made a deal that if I peed once and let him watch that he would pee and let me watch. (For the record, I had a baby brother and I'd read several of those medical books people keep around their houses, so I already knew what to expect, more or less, but I still agreed.) 

We ended up going through with the deal outside, on the side of my house where the AC unit whirred constantly in the summer time.

On the day we watched Free Willy, we decided to pretend to have sex. I don't know whose idea it was. I remember thinking that it was somehow wrong, but I wanted to do it anyway.

So, as the credits rolled and the movie's theme song--Michael Jackson's "Will You Be There"--played, Stephen and I held hands and walked to his mom's bedroom...where we lay on our backs, my head on one pillow and his head on another pillow, and held hands and shook our bodies like we were being electrocuted. The only parts of our bodies that touched were my right hand and his very sweaty left hand.

Now, I'd known the basic idea of sex since kindergarten, and I knew we weren't even close to the actual thing, but I was content with lots of hand-holding and shaking. I knew I couldn't get in *too* much trouble for hand-holding and shaking.

So now every time I think of Michael Jackson or Free Willy, I think of pretending to have sex with Stephen.