By Mario Grillo

The time was the late 1970s and television was my girlfriend.

For years preceding my first contact with a breathing female who was actually in the same room with me, the entirety of my sexual relations played out before the cathode glow of vintage sitcoms and action series that were broadcast on the five -- count 'em! Five! -- channels you could get back then.

In addition, growing up in a crowded Italian-American home in Brooklyn wasn't easy on the gonads. Somebody was always around. It was only after one of my brothers was sent to reform school that I got my own room -- and then I formed a special relationship with that dusty, plastic, wood-toned box that turned my gym sock into a 100-percent cotton condom.

I might as well have had full-blown "relations" with that 16-inch, black-and-white wire hanger-antenna'd Zenith that rested majestically atop a dresser in the corner of my bedroom. And I actually would have, but my brother was studying to be an electrician and advised against it.

It all began with the tail-end of The Andy Griffith Show. That's when I knew, each evening, that I Dream of Jeannie would be seizing my sensibilities in just a few scant moments.

I'd rush to my room to adjust the old B&W, getting those white thighs white and that lime green mini-skirt ... well, gray.

Only then could I climb aboard my pillow and pump it like a soft, fat broad. I'll never know why my mother didn't realize I was making love to the damned thing. After a week or two, it achieved a stiffness akin to granite. It was like sleeping with a small boulder.

I still dream of Jeannie. She was supposedly from the Middle East (pre-9/11, when the scariest Arab was the Blue Gin), but she had a classic all-American look. A well-scrubbed, radiant Ivory girl glow that screamed Idaho or Nebraska or some other square, flat state. I used to picture her in the middle of a corn field playing with a vibrating cob. Oooh, that Jeannie! To be honest, I still whack off to her on TV Land.

My biggest and best loads (to date) were splooged during I Dream of Jeannie. If anything pissed me off while I was growing up, it wasn't the escalating tension of the Cold War or rising gasoline prices. It was that Anthony Nelson wasn't taking advantage of Jeannie! What a douche! Even Major Healy wanted to bang her.

If Barbara Eden were my genie, I would have used her like the little magical do-me doll that she was. I would have shrunk her down and put her in my pants! I would have awakened her every morning by cumming in her bottle! I would have had a threesome with her bitchy sister! Damn, I still love that belly buttonless, MC Hammer-pants wearing woman. I even whacked off to the disembodied Jeannie head cartoon during the opening credits.

So many shows from the swinging '70s were conducive to my new hormone-ravaged libido. Susan Dey (Picture: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5) from The Partridge Family gave me an instant boner. She could play my organ any time. The mother didn't look too bad after a couple shots of Nyquil, either. Keith was real cute too, but there was that "being a guy" thing.

While on the subject of Moms, I ran so many batches while drooling over Florence Henderson on The Brady Bunch that they kicked me out of the Cub Scouts for having hairy palms.

I shot the Mrs. Kotter from Welcome Back, Kotter load.

I shot the Mrs. Babbish from Laverne & Shirley load but, out of respect, I didn't shoot the Mrs.-Babbish's-Retarded-Daughter load.Then there was One Day at a Time. Forget about Valerie Bertinelli. Ms. Romano (Bonnie Franklin) never wore a bra and her nipples were always hard. Check the reruns if you don't believe me. When she said "Ahhhh, Jew-lee!", my balls would explode like Schneider barging in the front door.

Eight is Enough? I jerked off to four of them.

Elizabeth Montgomery (Picture: 1) from Bewitched was another beloved load-coaxer. Her little twitching nose was so adorable. In the first season she looked all of seventeen. And, like Jeannie, she was magic. She exuded a sexiness that only a spawn of Satan could. I would watch the show religiously and pretend I was eating her Lucifur-pie.

Of course, there was Gilligan's Island. I preferred Maryann, but that didn't stop me indulging my first "bathroom-play" fantasies while Ginger (Picture: 1) sang the "Poop-Poop-Pee-Doop" song during the episode where they competed to be "Miss Castaway."

That island had two gorgeous broads on it and those morons couldn't get up the balls to lay either of 'em! No one was getting any action on that island. Even Mr. and Mrs. Howell had separate beds. 'Lovey' nuthin'!

Sometimes the reception on the B&W would be so bad I'd have to hold the antenna with one hand while massaging my member with the other. I remember one particularly momentous eruption while watching Get Smart. Due to my reception-wrangling position, it splashed onto the face of Barbara Feldon, aka Agent 99!

In one episode, 99 wore a skin-tight diving suit and my hand worked overtime. She looked just like a giant, wet, pussy-eel! But as hot as she was -- with that demure smile and tight ass -- she was in love with Max. With Max! I could never understand what she saw in that bumbling fool. I'd have been her Secret-Agent-Man-of-Love! I'd have 69ed with 99! But as busy as she kept my wrist, the fact is, she was crazy annoying! It was always Max this and Max that! "Ohhh Max," "ohhh Max," Ohhh shut the fuck up and suck my dick.

Oh, how I magically jerked off to Nanny & The Professor. Nanny, not the professor. And The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Mrs. Muir, not the ghost. (Though there's something about a man in a uniform...)

One of the most underrated of all TV women was that polyester-clad, fiercely independent babe Mary Tyler Moore. I loved to watch her toss her hat in the air like a whirling dervish on Spanish fly. To this day, the theme music gets me stiff!

Oh, you're gonna make it after all!...I would sink into a sensual reverie whilst gazing at MTM's (Picture: 1 - 2) small, pert breasts gently heaving under her rayon-blend pantsuit. And just think of what she looked like on the The Dick Van Dyke Show! I always wanted to shoot my sticky spunk onto her head and really stiffen-up that bouffant hairdo! And yes, I also shot the Rhoda load.

On Batman, Catwoman was purr-fection -- and there were three to choose from: Eartha Kitt, Julie Newmar (Picture: 1 - 2) and Lee Merriwether. My personal favorite was Julie Newmar, stuffed into that rubber suit like a horny, pointy eared, feline slut. Every crease and crevice of her near perfect body became candy for my eyes_and not just any candy, but something real cool like Lemonheads or Smarties.

Catwoman's ass was Zen-like, but Batman -- that wet-noodle, rodent fuck never banged her. I think they kissed once, but it was her idea -- poison lipstick or something.

Don't misunderstand me, I shot the other Catwoman loads too. Eartha Kitt added an Afro-American vibe with her full lips and sexy accent, and Lee Merriwether was hot before she started cavorting with that shriveled, milk-drinking private dick, Barnaby Jones.

I loved shooting the super hero load. On Wonder Woman, Lynda Carter (Picture: - ) had a body that could stop The Hulk! The crotch of her costume was pulled as tight as the skin on Phyllis Dillers' face! I would fantasize about being tied up with her golden lasso and taken to her island, where hundreds of Amazons would make me their Fuck God! (But didn't everybody?)

I admit I may have actually crossed the line once. I jerked off to Henrietta Hippo on The New Zoo Review.

I remember the first time I thought about lesbianism. It was the debut of Charlie's Angels. I would have given my best Tonka truck and all my Planet of the Apes dolls to see those three get it on!

All my Farrah (Picture: - ) posters had the mouths worn away by our late night make-out sessions. Farrah's voice was sweet and child-like but her dick-sucking mouth was all woman!

Jaclyn Smith (Picture: - - ) was cool and slightly aloof in a cosmopolitan, big city sorta way, yet she exuded a raw sexuality that caused me to pretend I was Charlie. In my mind, I was the phantom boss and needed to see my favorite "angel" for some "special love." For those evenings I'd become Charlie-the-proctologist.

And yes, I even shot the Kate Jackson (the smart one) load.

No cartoon broad was safe from my dong-launched dispensation, either. I shot the Daphne from Scooby-Doo load. Penelope Pitstop was a real cocktease -- and I won't even start with Josie and/or the Pussycats!

When the holiday season rolled around I'd do a little dance in my living room because it was the only time of the year I could jerk off to Clarisse -- Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer's hot girlfriend, the one that thought his nose was adorable.

I would watch Alice and shoot the Linda Lavin load, but I couldn't bring myself to shoot the Vera load. She needed Prozac, not what I could spray her with.

And, oh yeah, I shot the Flo load. There was something about trailer-trash that turned me on as a boy. In Brooklyn, we had nothing resembling it -- although I had uncles that looked (and probably smelled) a lot like Mel. Flo was always horny, always out to seduce the young, inexperienced man. A guy just like me. I wanted to kiss her grits. I always wondered if it was coincidence that Flo rhymed with Ho'.

Ah, and then there was Happy Days. I shot the Pinky Tuscadaro load. That was one take-charge gal. Cool enough to hang with the Fonz, but hot enough to take on his Italian sausage!

And the Mrs. C from Happy Days load. I shot loads of Mrs. C loads.

Gloria from The Odd Couple-- finicky Felix's beard, I mean, wife -- had the best tits on television! Hands down (my pants)! The best showcase for Gloria's gob-stoppers was the centerfold episode, when she posed for a Playboy shoot, then changed her mind and got all the pictures back except one.

The riddle of the missing photo was answered when Oscar gave a sly smile to the camera. I would jerk off thinking of Oscar jerking off to a picture of Felix's wife.

Whoa ...deep.

Plus, my passion knew know color-lines. I had some great times pulling pud to Good Times. Thelma was my cocoa goddess! Her pants looked painted-on. I would go contrast-knob-nuts when I saw her. She flaunted her camel-toed fineness like only a proud Nubian princess could!

Weezie from The Jeffersons had great tits. Messed-up grill, great tits. And I loved the fact that that dopey white guy upstairs was humpin' a sista!

What's Happening!!! had Shirley, the two-ton waitress that would smother me with her acres of blobadocious breast-met in my dreams at night.

Soul Train was a little white man's dream come true, All those gyrating, luscious brown beauties! Mmmmmmmm! And you wonder why the ratings for Roots went through the roof?

In the interest of full disclosure, here is a list of loads that even I did not shoot:

The Ann B. Davis load.

The Jean Stapleton load.

The Bernice from Fish load.

The Hazel load.

The maid from The Courtship of Eddy's Father load.

The Run Joe, Run load.

The Boss Hog load.

The Mrs. Hathaway load.

The Aunt Esther Load.

The Sleestak load.

The Maude load although to this day even thinking the words "Adrienne Barbeau" gets me all hey, I gotta go!

Related Links: