A few weeks later-seeing the magazine lingering in the detritus of the backseat of her Chevy Impala-I discreetly flipped through it while I thought no one was paying attention, mentally cataloging the size and shape of the male genitalia on display and bemoaning the fact that there wasn’t more of it. I didn’t have a chance to actually look at a copy until one of my girlfriends was gifted an issue as a gag gift when we were in high school. Still, the magazine remained lodged in my imagination. Throughout my teens, I’d occasionally see Playgirl pop up in the back shelves of gas stations or head shops, but as a closeted gay boy in rural Oklahoma, I had learned well by that point to feign indifference to anything that might incriminate me as a burgeoning homosexual. A friend’s older sister had a copy in her room-a well-leafed issue from 1985 featuring John Travolta and Jamie Lee Curtis on the cover-which was dramatically revealed to us at a sleepover, though we were forbidden from actually looking at it. The first time I remember seeing an issue of Playgirl was sometime in the awkward middle of Junior High. Link to the essay coming soon, but in the meantime you can snag a copy here. I was very happy to write the intro essay for the newly-relaunched version of Playgirl magazine.
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