80 MensHealth.com | December 2016
Arthur Belebeau/Trunk Archive (opener), Philipp Nemenz/Image Source/Offset (above)We’d been married for three
months, so yes, I’d already
decided she was the one. But
some of us don’t know with
certainty until that first trial
presents itself. Ours came one
night in 1996 after a Jackopierce
concert. My buddy drunkenly
suggested we streak back to our
downtown hotel. I handed my
clothes to my new bride, and
my friends and I busted cheeksdown the street. When my
wife got to our hotel, she found
me standing near its entrance,
bathed in flashing lights, wearing
only handcuffs. Someone had
apparently taken offense and
called the cops. My wife was not
amused. But the next morning,
there she was with bail. And what
I’ll remember is this: She didn’t
harangue or bitch or give me the
silent treatment. She just shook
her head and gave me a hug. I
knew right then that we’d make
it. That being my third arrest, I
thought it best to leave behind my
“life of crime.” She was—and still
is—worth it. —TIM R., DALLAS, TXErin is naked, she is in bed,
and we have just made love.
Her face is flushed. But her
body position is less conven-
tional, which perhaps partly
explains the redness. Her legs
and torso are high in the air.
Anyone who’s ever tried to get
a woman pregnant knows this
position; it’s a gravity assist for
the swimmers. I’d spent the
previous couple of years trying
to figure out if Erin truly wanted
to get pregnant. She was in grad
school and working on her first
novel. A child wasn’t the only
thing she wanted, or even the
first thing. But seeing her lovely
body in that curious position
left no doubt that some part of
her yearned for motherhood.
Two days later I proposed. Later
that week, she announced that
she was pregnant with our first
child. —STEVE A., BOSTON, MAOn July 14, 2006, I took the wit-
ness stand in a hearing room in
Philadelphia’s municipal court.
Three teenagers were on trial for
13 kidnappings and robberies,
and I was among their victims.
As I looked out, I caught sight
of my father and my girlfriend,
K. It was only the second time
they’d met. While I was on the
stand, my kidnappers snickered.
I eventually stepped down and
back into the rest of my life.
Over the next nine months, all
three pleaded guilty. Later on,
my dad told me a story. It was
about a 20-year-old woman in a
courtroom who quietly, without
eye contact, took the worn left
hand of a man she barely knew,
held it, and squeezed. It was
about a woman who calmed him
when the boys who’d kidnapped
his boy laughed. That’s when I
knew. —BRADFORD P., DALLAS, TX
Sex + Relationships
When I was 13, I found an
incredibly steep quarter-mile
grass hill in a rough East Cleve-
land neighborhood. It was
called, simply, “the hill.” For 11
years, it was the source of my
speed and conditioning work-
out. I’d spend an hour sprinting
up the hill and jogging down it.
I always struggled to get people
to run with me. Only three ever
did—and Mary was one. She was
cute, petite...and tough: She’d
made it to the NCAA National
Rugby Championship Tourna-
ment. At the base of the hill that
day, I assumed I’d crush her. We
accelerated into the first sprint.
She stayed close and we jogged
back down. Same thing the next
round and the one after that.
She was a champ while I was
dying. We did 15 rounds, but for
the first time I didn’t want to
quit. —JOSH S., CLEVELAND, OHWe’re visiting her family farm
in Rushville, Indiana, and all
hell is breaking loose. It’s 3 a.m.,
lights are going on, Uncle Chuck
is yelling, and the dogs are howl-
ing. Someone left the gate open
to the dairy parlor and 150 cows
have escaped into the cornfield.
Now let me tell you, there are
few things sexier than helping
a woman milk a cow (something
Heather had taught me to do
that afternoon), but running
through the corn at her side was
the be-mine-forever clincher.
Here was my Renaissance
woman: smart, funny, and sexy
in that all-American, all-natural,
tanned-lacrosse-legs kind of
way—but also spontaneous and
enraptured by the silly joy of
chasing Holsteins through the
mud in the black of night. We’re
still playing in the dirt 31 years
later. —JON D., BOULDER, CO
When the
Cows Got Out
of the BarnWhen She
Kicked My
Ass but GoodWhen She
Comforted
My FatherWhen She
Put Her Legs
Up in the AirWhen She
Showed Up to
Bail Me Out