Funny story from Jermaine-s book

There were so many girls coming at me back then and my teenage self found the attention impossible to resist, but sneaking a girl by Bill Bray's door, and knowing when Joseph was not around, was a skill in itself. Because it was also 'forbidden' it felt like a homerun every time I managed to get a girl beyond checkpoints and beyond the threshold of the bedroom door. I had never been so grateful for exterior fire exits and back stairways. The awkward problem, of course, was sharing a room with Michael. What made this worse was that if he knew I was pursuing a certain girl, he'd deliberately attach himself to my hip. But once - one golden once - Michael was nowhere to be seen and I managed to sneak away from some hotel gathering to hook up with the prettiest of girls.

Back home, I had been seeing a lot of Hazel Gordy, but while we liked each other - and send endless love letters - puppy love had not advanced into anything serious, leaving me free to build my experience on the road. We older bothers had a way of describing how far we got with a girl: from 'first base' (the kiss) to 'second base' (touching/clothes off) to third base (the sex) and, in my hotel room, I was an LA Dodger running wild, eyes closed, on top of this girl, kissing and touching with a freedom I didn't think possible. "That feels really good..." she said. I was getting serious, she was groaning. Third base was in sight. I had one hand stroking her face, and the other on the mattress beside her head.

"I love how you stroke my thighs," she continued, "... you're real gentle..." I'm not stroking your thighs, I thought. "It feels good," she whispered. I peeked open my eyes and manoevered my head to take a sly look down the bed, and that's when I saw it - Michael's arm, reaching up and over from underneath the bed, his hand circling her thigh.

"MICHAEL!" I jumped up, the poor girl was mortified and Michael, chuckling, was already scrambling for the door. I could have killed him, not only because he was hiding there the whole time, but because he heard me whispering all these sensual, sweet nothings that he would tease me with for weeks after. I refused to speak to him that night. When we turned out the lights and he wished me goodnight, I said nothing. He waited a few minutes in the dark and then brokered the peace. "She got some real creamy thighs!" he said. And we both burst out laughing.




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HMMM

HAAA

We knew one thing was certain though: other kids didn't wake up to find two or three pretty chambermaids standing at the foot of their bed, taking photos and giggling... with a laughing Joseph standing alongside, endorsing it. Our father was an early bird; we liked to sleep in. With his access via our connecting door, we'd hear him in our half sleep brightly offering to introduce his sons. "Do you wanna see the boys?" Next thing we knew the bedclothes were being pulled off us, leaving us lying there in our pyjamas with squinting eyes and smashed up afros. For a man who was all about presenting the right image, it seemed an odd thing to do. But that was Joseph's joke- catching us

unawares. On the occasions when Michael got wise and locked the door, we'd be woken by an angry Joseph. "OPEN THIS DOOR NOW, BOY!" He didn't stop yelling until we did. When he brought the maids in, we got mad internally but we couldn't speak up because we had to respect him. That was just how he was.

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We talked ourselves to sleep about anything and everything, and we shared each other's fan mail - the racy, romantic, mushy stuff to me from 16 year olds, and the cutesy, you're adorable stuff to him from 10 year olds. He laughed at the marriage proposals I received and teased me about how 'cooool' I thought I was.

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On the road, Michael's other habit was room service; the most decadent perk of the music industry in his eyes. When he felt particularly mischievous at night, he'd ring up as someone else's child and place the biggest bogus order to a

different room. But his funniest ruse was calling one of the roadies and using his high voice to impersonate a girl fan. Jack Nance our road manager and Jack Richardson, our driver come right hand man, were always our favourite targets. When they picked up their room phone Michael spoke into the receiver and introduced himself as a girl fan: "I saw you tonight... I love the way you looked," he squeaked, and then detailed what Jack had been wearing that day for added authenticity, "... and I was a fan of Michael's but you stole my eye..." I was laughing so hard that I had to go to the bathroom, but Michael kept it going with a straight face: "What do I look like?" (cue the shy giggle) "Well, I'm tall, slim and very pretty... all my girls tell me so... How old am I? I'm almost sixteen," he'd say. He kept this going for a good ten minutes, teasing them and pumping their egos, but we never let on it was us. We just let them believe they had adoring fans. The next morning, wehn we saw either Jack in the hotel lobby, looking all dour and serious, Michael nudged me and whispered, "Old dogs - they're dirrrty.

Mike would stick to him like glue outside class and he'd try and shake Mike off and thought he had once...

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"It was after a photography class and I'd disappeared with a girl who had invited me into the dark room because she said she wanted to kiss me. With the door shut, we were awkwardly overcoming our teenage shyness in the red luminescence, reaching the point where our lips were about to touch, when - "I CAUGHT YA! I CAUGHT YA!" Michael burst in. He caused such a commotion that a teacher arrived to find out what all the fuss was about. As I explained my way out of being with a girl in the dark room, I heard Michael running down the hallway, laughing.

Jerm on Mike as a kid

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Michael also emerged as a prankster. If one of us fell asleep with our mouth open, he tore off a piece of paper, wrote something silly like, "My breath smells," dabbed it with a wet finger and affixed it to the sleeper's bottom lip. He found this stunt endlessly hilarious. If it wasn't notes on lips, it was itching powder down the pants or a whoopie cushion placed on a seat. Michael was carving out his role as the principal jester of the pack.

We brothers viewed such incidents differently. In my mind, a woman's body is hypnotic and beautiful, but Michael saw these women as degrading themselves to tease men, and men treating them like sexual objects. Yes, he gawped and giggled like the rest of us, but his lasting impression formed differently. He always remembered our regular stripper - her name was Rosie - tossing her panties into the crowd and jiggling her bits as men tried to touch her. Michael always hid his eyes, "Aww, man! That's awful. Why she do that?"


HEE HEE..DAR SE UITA, PUSTIU:))