...When Burt Ward Made Me a Man
Burt Ward's Robin still gets me horny, even twenty years after my first run-in with puberty. I was watching Batman down the street with my friend Chandra Whitehead. Chandra lived with her grandfather and sometimes wet her pants. I liked playing with her, and I used to ask her to marry me every day. She would always say yes, and then I would drag her to a mirror so we could practice posing for our wedding photos for an hour. We were eating peaches and milk out of paper bowls and watching an episode where Julie Newmar sticks Robin in the neck with a venom-laced needle, transforming him from angelic do-gooding sidekick to lecherous sex-hungry lady-killer. He broke out this hip-swinging strut and started licking the tips of his front teeth. I had to slide the paper bowl over my crotch. Then it got worse. Batman came into the scene and Robin tried to fight him, but Batman knocked him out and slung him over his shoulders. I was hypnotized watching those nude boy wonder legs swinging back and forth, and at the same time totally embarrassed by what was going on in my pants. I told Chandra I had to go home and feed the dog. I doubt I ever proposed marriage to her again after that.
