I'm sitting on the couch in my living room, my bookbag at my feet, flipping through a fashion magazine. I bought it after saying goodbye to Kirsten at the mall; half-naked girls everywhere in this thing... fuck that's weird. There are almost no men, and the few that show up are all fully clothed. Nearly all women, all near undressed, dozens, page after page. There are hundreds of these magazines a month, they're obviously profitable, they're filling a need. Not a need, a desire. They're bought by women, this is something women want to constantly see, this is something they'll buy again and again. This is part of their routine, to buy magazines filled with attractive women.

I've never bought one before today, but the people who always buy them, who pick them up at the grocery store, at the drug store... what does that say about them? They don't buy magazines filled with half-naked men, that isn't their desire. Men buy magazines filled with women, women buy magazines filled with women – doesn't that mean that women are attracted to other women? What else could it mean? That's all it could possibly mean. Not in the same way that men are attracted, maybe most women don't want to sleep with other women, maybe they just like to look. But that's still something. There's some kind of cultural phenomenon going on here, and as generations pass it's got to have an eventual effect. If most women don't think sexually about other women yet, surely they will. Whatever defenses, whatever cultural stigmas are in place will eventually break down and the objectification will be complete. You can't spend every day staring at women's tits and not be affected.

But I don't know if that's really true. I thought maybe it was just a shift in mass sexuality and I was getting subconsciously caught up in it, but leafing through these pages it's just not hitting me. None of these women seem attractive to me in anything beyond a failed equation: All the parts are beautiful, they all fit together, but they add up to something less than beauty. They're missing that spark that makes them beautiful, everyone is except for one girl. Maybe that's the problem; I don't know any of these girls, they're just blank faces. After all, when you fall in love with someone, really fall in love with them, isn't it their brain that attracts you? Feeling a strong connection to their mind, wouldn't that help you look past whatever physical problems they might have?

That's stupid. This is different. It's not like I'm in love with a guy with a weird nose or an underbite. I'm in love with a beautiful girl. I notice it more than ever lately, her eyes, her lips, her breasts, the way her jeans wrap around her hips...

Argh.

I toss the magazine on the coffee table and lean against the arm of the couch. I realize there's a frown on my face as soon as I see my mother grinning at me. I guess she enjoys seeing me upset, I don't know. But with her it doesn't bother me, it just reminds me to chill out.

"What's the matter today, daughter?" she asks as she sits down in a chair beside the coffee table. I'd have to say that my mother is the only other person I'd really describe as beautiful. She's 49, but she doesn't give the impression of being old. Her hair is white with streaks of grey, and if you look closely enough you notice the wrinkles on her face, but people tend to miss them. She absolutely radiates calm and responsibility, I can't even imagine her raising her voice, and she doesn't seem run down or infirm or any of the qualities I associate with other old people. Then, I suppose that 49 isn't really that old anymore, but it's still more than old enough for most people to give in and act like they're ancient. Not my mom, though. She works all the time and just rakes in the cash – I don't think my dad even has a real job anymore. She's almost always in a suit, though today it's one of those skirt-suits. She sees the fashion magazine and says, "What the hell is that doing on my table?"

I grin. "I just wanted to check it out. Like an experiment. Research." I shift my leg a little and accidentally knock over my bookbag, and I nearly have a heart attack as a hardcore porn mag falls out and slides next to mom's chair.

She glances down, picks it up, then gives me an odd look like she's trying to suppress a grin. "Research?" she asks. "Were you planning on an adult film career without telling me?"

"No, it's just..." I'm blushing furiously, and when I glance at her I see that she's actually opening the magazine, so I look down at my knees. "I was looking at fashion magazines for twenty minutes and I couldn't find anyone attractive in them and then I noticed that girl on the cover-" Right on cue mom glances at the cover, then goes back to flipping the pages. "...And she was the only one who caught my interest. I spent so long looking that once I noticed her I had to buy it."

"You're not old enough to buy pornography."

I blush a little more. "The guy didn't seem too concerned."

"I bet." Mom keeps flipping through the pages and adds, "The quality of the girls certainly has improved."

"Mom, would you put that down?"

"Sorry." She tosses the magazine onto the coffee table next to the fashion magazine, in plain sight of anyone who might happen to walk in. "I didn't realize they'd gotten so hardcore, either." She watches me for a moment, then asks, "So why the sudden interest in the female form?"

"No reason, I'm just interested, I thought it was weird, you know, how women are everywhere, in men's magazines, in women's magazines... I'll probably just throw them out."

Mom's looking back at the cover of the porn mag and says, "You know, that girl looks a lot like-"

Don't say it don't say it don't say it

I don't know if she realized where her train of thought was going or if she caught some look on my face, but she doesn't finish her sentence. Instead she gets up and walks to the kitchen, but stops next to the couch to ruffle my hair a little. "Don't worry about it," she says. "I had a few friends in college who I thought of as a little more than friends. There's nothing unusual about it." She leans down and kisses me on the top of my head, then leaves.

I sit still for a moment, then gather up the magazines and slide them back into my bookbag as I head up to my room. I don't know exactly what mom meant about her friends, but I'm kinda glad she left when she did. There's some stuff about my mother I just don't wanna know.