I grew up in a gritty former mill town in the northeast, and my first memories of women were the tough, sexy broads that worked with my mom at the church.

Yes, the church. Those nice Christian ladies who’d do stuff like cook for the priests, type the church bulletin, and occasionally go shopping for the nuns. You’d think they’d all be dowdy and mean-looking, but they were hot.

My favorite “old lady” — she must have been all of 28 at the time — was Rhonda. Rhonda was sexy but proper. She didn’t wear miniskirts like the teen girls did. Instead, she wore these form-hugging dresses to church. I had the most impossible crush on her daughter, Amy, who was three years older than me and really starting to look like her mom, who was a knockout.

When our families... Read More