When I was a kid, there was a family that lived up the street from me that had two beautiful daughters, about eight and ten years older than me.
When I was six years old or so, the older sister, Sharon, asked me to do something. "Linda is about to come out of the house, Jimmy," she began, "When she does, shout 'Hey Linda' and then turn around, pull your shorts down a little in the back and show her your butt."
Being a cooperative little lad, I did just as was requested. Upon seeing my bony little white rump, Linda flew into a rage.
"Jimmy McNeill, I'll kill you, you little bastard," she screamed, and proceed to run at me. Luckily, I've always been fleet of foot, and I quickly escaped, hearing Sharon's peals of laughter and Linda's cursing behind me.
Over the next couple of years, Sharon would periodically ask me to repeat the routine, and I always obliged. The result became predictable. Linda in a rage, Sharon howling with laughter and me running like the wind.
By the time Sharon went away to college, I no longer needed to be prompted. I just needed an opportunity.
"Hey Linda," I'd shout, and she always fell for it.
Eventually Linda got a boyfriend, David, who was (and still is) the greatest fife player in the U.S.A. He taught me how to play, and brought me into his band, and sadly for Linda, we've been friends ever since.
I say sadly for Linda because there was a fifteen year period of time between the first mooning and the last when she got mooned at least once a month. It was always the same routine. I'd wait until she looked like she was distracted, or in a hurry to get somewhere, or already mad about something, and then it would be, "Hey Linda," and my pale, scrawny ass.
Linda and David were married and had a daughter by the time I was a teenager, and when their daughter was six or seven years old I was still doing this. She probably thought my full name was Jimmy McNeill You Bastard until she was five.
Poor Linda. I mooned her on the street, in the park, in her house, out of car windows, even once from the stage during a concert. I even mooned her on her wedding day. Then I met my wife, and somehow my mooning days came to a close.
(Just kidding, honey!)
Many years went by, and though I still see them all a couple of times a year, I have moved about 500 miles from where I grew up, and they're still in the same place. Whenever we get together, there's always a story about my heiney to be told. On one visit, a couple of years ago, Sharon asked me if I could do her a favor.
Sharon is now a retired art teacher. She spent 35 years teaching in the public schools in Harlem. What she wanted was my help in creating a piece of art that she would give to Linda for her next birthday. She was planning a huge collage commemorating all the ways she has tormented her sister over the years. And it was to be called "Hey Linda!"
Several photos had already been found of me, at various ages, with my pants at half mast. Sharon wanted one more - a current one. Her husband was there, with a camera, and somehow they talked me into it. We went into the house, into one of the bedrooms, and shut the door. It felt like we were making a porno video, with Sharon acting as director of the shoot.
"Look back over your shoulder, so she knows it's really you," she ordered.
"That's great, but lower your pants a little more. Bend over more. I want to show that hairy crack."
Sufficiently humiliated, I raised my pants and went back outside. And tried to forget it ever happened.
I might have succeeded in forgetting, if it weren't for an e-mail I received from Linda a few weeks later. Attached to the e-mail was the photo of me that her brother-in-law had taken. The text of the e-mail consisted of exactly three words: "Nice sack, Grandpa!"
Yes, clearly visible in the picture, just below the hairy ass in question, was my dangling, gray-furred scrotum.
[Photo omitted out of pity for your eyeballs.]
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