We’ve all seen those steamy letters published in a certain sort of “men’s magazine”—the stories that begin with “I’m a student at a small liberal arts college in the Northeast,” or, “My girlfriend Gidget is a knockout redhead with a body so aerobicized she can use her butt muscles to open walnuts.” Like you, we’ve often questioned the authenticity of such stories. Did the events they describe really happen? Were they really written by readers? Do the stories go through any kind of verification process? Where can we apply for that job? How come we didn’t go to a small liberal arts college in the Northeast? Can somebody please at least send us a catalog from one of those schools?
Endeavoring to discover the truth behind this type of literature, our intrepid investigative reporters* set about tracking down the author of one such letter, entitled “Jacuzzi Doozy.” The letter was allegedly written by an “A.W.” from “Derby Hills, Montana,” and originally appearing in the Spring ’97 issue of the men’s magazine Yankyer Dandy Doodle. As it turned out, Derby Hills, MT is a town of only 1,000 people, any number of whom were happy to point out where A.W. lived. Though wishing to remain anonymous Andy Winkling, the author, after much coaxing (and two Budweisers), was persuaded to reveal to us the true story behind “Jacuzzi Doozy.”
Below is the first half or so of Mr. W’s letter, broken down sentence by sentence. The top sentence of each pair of sentences (the ones marked first Letter, and then L) appeared in the published story. The second sentence (Reality/R) of each pair is what, in Mr. W’s own words, actually occurred.
Letter: I’m a student at a small liberal arts college in the Northeast.
Reality: I live in a utility shack in the back of my grandmother’s house in Derby Hills, MT.
Letter: While I enjoy an active, healthy sex life, nothing like what I’m about to tell you has ever happened to me before.
Reality: My idea of a really hot date is to dress up my bed pillow in red lingerie and call it “Angela.”
L: For the record, I’m six-feet, three inches tall, weigh 190 lbs., and, being on my college tennis team, have a pretty good body.
R: For the record, I’m five-feet, three inches tall, weigh 180 lbs., have size 16 feet, and wouldn’t know a tennis racquet from a fly swatter.
L: I’ve been told I look a lot like Elvis Presley.
R: I’ve been told I look like a pear with acne.
L: Anyway, last weekend me and a couple of my buddies from the tennis team were lying around in the jacuzzi at our friend Mike’s apartment complex.
R: Anyway, last weekend I was lolling around in a kiddie pool in my grandma’s backyard with my dog Mike, farting.
L: We were just kicking back, having a good time, when suddenly a group of stewardesses came around the corner of the building, giggling and pulling their suitcases behind them.
R: I was just lying there, trying to remain conscious, when suddenly a group of my grandmother’s cronies came around the corner of the house, yakking and dragging their card table behind them.
L: My eyes popped right out of my head!
R: I kept my eyes closed.
L: I’ve always loved stewardesses, with their blue and white uniforms, and those legs like long, smooth willows. Not to mention those great, sunny personalities!
R: I’ve always hated my grandmother’s friends, with their blue and white hair, and those legs like short, veiny bratwursts. Not to mention those troglodyte personalities!
L: These angels from heaven spotted us, and sashayed over to the side of the jacuzzi to say hello.
R: These creatures from Jurassic Park spotted me, and plodded over to the side of the pool to crab at me.
L: One of them, Cheryl, who had luxurious blonde hair, moist red lips, and a body to die for, told us that she lived in the complex, and that she and her friends were only staying over one night before flying out the next morning for Rio de Janeiro.
R: One of them, Agnes, whose has thin dingy gray hair, lips moist with slobber, and is as tall as she is wide, brayed at me that she and her friends where supposed to meet my grandmother there to play pinochle, but that my grandmother wasn’t home yet.
L: I can tell you, that kicked my imagination into high gear!
R: I can tell you, that made me wonder if it was possible to croak from boredom.
L: Then Cheryl asked if we would mind if she and her friends joined us in the jacuzzi, because, as she put it, “There’s no fun like hot, wet fun!”
R: Then Agnes announced that she and her friends were going inside the house, because, as she put it, “We’re sweating out here like hogs on a spit!”
L: I could barely believe my ears!
R: I could barely believe my ears!
L: Could this really be happening to me?
R: Could this really be happening to me?
L: “Please do!” I said enthusiastically. “Would you like us to help you change into your swimsuits, too?”
R: “Please do!” I said sarcastically. “Would you like me to come in and shuffle your cards for you, too?”
L: “My, aren’t you a nasty little boy?” said Cheryl, her playful, seductive voice having its intended effect upon my nether regions.
R: “My, ain’t you a big fat pain in the butt?” bleated Agnes, her grating, honking baritone having its intended effect upon my nervous system.
L: The girls turned and pranced off towards the apartments.
R: The old ladies turned and shuffled off towards the house.
L: In no time at all they were back, looking, in their thong bikinis and bare feet, like nymphs from an island paradise!
R: In no time at all they were back, looking, in their giant mu-mus and flip-flops, like something a volcano god had barfed back up.
L: It sure hadn’t taken them long to change!
R: It sure hadn’t taken them long to figure out the house was locked!
L: “Move your muscular bodies over, boys!” said Cheryl happily, stepping into the jacuzzi with one long leg.
R: “Get your scrawny ass out of that thing, ya bum!” bellowed Agnes, kicking the pool with one ham-like foot.
L: “And let the party begin!”
R: “And let us into goddamned house!”
L: I knew right then that I was about to have the time of my life.
R: I knew right then that I was going to have to move out of my grandmother’s house.
But that’s enough.
Trust us. It is.
*I wrote this piece a long time ago, when I was running a general interest magazine in downtown San Diego.