Head, Take two
Even after all of these years, I still can’t watch that titillating scene near the beginning of Head, without thinking, “You’re alone with all four Monkees and you walk out on them?! You fool!” This, then, is how I would have liked to have seen the scene progress.
She sat on Micky’s lap and they shared an extraordinary kiss. She rose and went to Mike, standing directly before him to bend at the waist to deliver her kiss, knowing full well that she must be giving Micky a magnificent view even as she kissed Mike. She straightened and sauntered to Peter, who seemed to be almost asleep in his chair. Like some backward Princess Charming, she awakened her Sleeping Beauty with a kiss that nearly devoured both kissers, before playfully spinning him in his chair. She strolled to Davy, the only one standing, and bestowed a kiss so romantic that both could have sworn that they heard violin music and saw doves flying into stunningly blue sky.
Awed almost beyond overload, in desperate need of fresh, head-clearing air, she hastily took up her jacket to hastily retreat before she could be overwhelmed into staying and losing herself amid the charismatic Monkees.
But Mike thwarted her intentions. To her alarm, he rose in front of her like an ominous specter, and demanded suggestively, “Well?”
She was breathlessly captivated by his dark, penetrating eyes, and try as she might, she couldn’t pull her own eyes away from his.
“Even,” she breathed, powerless to stop her own confession. “Even, because no one can beat perfection, not even someone else who’s perfect.” Her eyes searched his back and forth, back and forth hypnotically, captivated by his intense gaze.
Mike reached out to touch her, to take her into his arms, and she panicked. Wrenching her eyes from his by main force, she fled around him, nearly sprinting for the door, and safety.
But Mike was too fast for her. The apparition rose again before her, dream and nightmare colliding, and this time his arm blocked the door, cutting off her escape. Excruciatingly aware of his devastating effect on her, Mike dazzled her again with his overpowering gaze, and whispered provocatively into her ear, “Why don’t you come back later when the guys aren’t here?”
Her heart pounded in her ears and mind as she stood there quivering and thunderstruck. She was trapped by his mesmerizing eyes, even as she felt herself become imprisoned in a whole new way. She sensed, more than saw or heard, Micky, Peter, and Davy come up behind and around her. She was surrounded. By now she was shivering uncontrollably.
In response to Mike’s whisper, she blurted unthinkingly, “I have a better idea.” Realizing what she’d almost said, she slapped a hand over her mouth, to muffle what would’ve been her subsequent words, and consequently her undoing.
Mike may not have been able to perfectly guess what she’d not quite said, but he was certainly able to intuit the jist of it. He favored her with a smile that was nearly smug, and she felt her knees weaken dangerously.
She was instantly supported by strong arms that gripped her from behind and turned her. But there was an ulterior motive: Mike hadn’t been the only one capable of hypnotizing her with his eyes; Micky, the owner of the strong, supporting hands, demonstrated his own power over her. And as she irresistibly, obediently stared back into the dark depths of Micky’s eyes, she knew that she was suddenly, instantly in twice as much danger of being lost. These eyes held the same power of persuasion as the former, but they added a dimension of baser, more animalistic lust, whereas the previous eyes had been more aloof. Mike had governed her from atop a pedestal, a mountain; Micky ruled her from the least-evolved instincts of her most primitive, reptilian-based brain. Mike commanded her like the guru on the pinnacle; Micky demanded her from the million-year-ago jungle.
Electricity lanced through her digits, her limbs, her torso, her head; everything shook and short-circuited from a stunning contrast between need and dread. Her need was the positive charge of the ground; her dread was the negative ions of the cloud; and the lightning bolts lashed through her again and again.
Seeing his influence in her helpless, frightened eyes, Micky boldly demanded, “Now, let’s hear about that better idea.”
At first mindlessly surrendering, she intoned mechanically, “Why don’t we have a second contest, and…and…. Oh no! No, I can’t! Oh, please don’t! Don’t do this to me!” She actually struggled, trying to break free of Micky’s ironclad grip.
To her shock and amazement, Micky cooperatively let go, but that was only because Davy had taken over and already had her hand in his. With his other hand, he allowed the index finger to tilt her chin, and turn her face to the right, to inject his romantic brown eyes directly into hers. The smooth, heart-melting, impassioned eyes that gazed out from the covers of a million teen magazines expertly romanced her without effort; the nation’s heartthrob was forcing her heart to throb in time with that of every young girl in the country. She unsuccessfully tried to stifle a gasp as Cupid’s allegorical arrow stabbed her in her heart, and perversely forced it to beat faster, instead of stopping it as a real arrow would have done.
“Now,” Davy crooned in his perfectly romantic voice that rang of a dozen long-stemmed roses and a pastel array of soft, velvet heart-shaped pillows. “Let’s hear all about that second contest.”
Under his spell, she droned helplessly, “…to see which one of you is the b…bes…best….” She shuddered violently. “Oh don’t make me say it! Please don’t make me say it! Oh no, I’m so afraid!”
Davy’s gentle finger caressed the side of her face. “How could you possibly be afraid of me?”
“Because you’re so…. Because you’re too…. Because….” She nearly fainted into his arms.
Steadying, tender hands took mercifully hold of her, and she was gently turned to the left to look into Peter’s doe-soft, comforting eyes. She saw in the depths one of the kindest, most caring men she’d ever known, and she felt the consoling reassurance radiate through her like the warmth of the sun, melting her fear-frozen, vulnerable heart.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, one of his hands rising to caress her soft, long hair, as one would pet and calm a frightened kitten. “Easy, Honey. You have nothing to fear from us. Unless I’ve guessed wrong, I think you’ve said all but one word of your sentence. Come on, Honey, say it for me. Tell me your one last word. You can do it. I doubt you’ll surprise any of us anyway. Likely we all already know what you’re going to say.”
Keeping her eyes carefully on Peter’s, where she felt safer, not daring to face Mike’s charisma, Micky’s raw power, or Davy’s charm, she barely whispered, “Lover.” Immediately, she gasped at her own foolhardy daring. She couldn’t believe she’d found the nerve to say “lover” in front of the Monkees. Most of the songs they so beautifully crooned were about that very concept; saying it in front of them would’ve been like meeting Spock and Sarek from Star Trek and saying, “Logical.” It felt like invading their turf, somehow. Trembling violently, she seemed to collapse inward on herself, too embarrassed now to face even gentle Peter, her already shorter, inferior stature seemingly shrinking right before their eyes. Her entire diminutive form was now vibrating with terror and intimidation.
Desperate to comfort her, both of Peter’s hands enclosed her face, urging her eyes to look at him. “Why are you so afraid of us, Honey? What do you think we’re going to do? Surely you’ve heard the message in our songs, and you know that the last thing we would ever do is harm a girl. Tell me! What’s troubling you?”
Now, even Peter’s eyes were too intense, and hers closed in despair and fright, frantic for escape. Sentences and phrases eluded her; she could speak only in uncoordinated words. “Virgin!…I’m…! No!! Don’t hurt…! Please!! Can’t…! No!!!” Sobbing commenced and grew as shame, fear, and the humiliation and grief of impending lost opportunity all assailed her at once. “I can’t!! I can’t!!!”
But all four could hear in her voice just how desperately she did not want to walk away from them.
Peter pulled her into his arms at once, holding her tightly and rocking her, even managing not to appear awkward while doing so while standing. Fortunately, she couldn’t see how his tender eyes hardened in warning to his three companions, and even more fortunately, he protected her with his tight embrace from seeing the three causes of his stern looks. Peter glared at Mike’s superior smirk, at Micky’s now almost ravenous lust, and at Davy’s confident sparkle, all resulting from her confession.
“Sshhh,” he soothed her softly, slowly, his sweet tone to her in direct contrast to the firm, eye-flashing, almost dangerous glare aimed at the men. “We understand, now, why you’re afraid, Honey, but honestly you have nothing to fear from us. You’re a normal, healthy young lady; we can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice; we can also see and hear how much you love us. Trust me, you couldn’t be in better hands. We’ve all had virgins before, and we know what we’re doing. With the youth of a lot of our fans, of course a lot of them have been virgins. Trust me. Trust us.” Peter gave them another look, threatening how close they were to losing her if they said or did the wrong thing, and reminding them of just how trustworthy they must prove themselves to be with any such innocent beginner. She was panicking like an unbroken filly and would bolt if any of them failed to calm down and put on a patient, caring face.
Mike and Davy were quick to take his point, and promptly joined him in glaring at the lecherous fourth. Micky gathered his self-control with some difficulty, but then plastered on a face of quiet sympathy and dignity, as the others had done. Then began a gentle, persuasive barrage of reassurances and promises, which finished breaking down the barriers that she’d secretly, in her heart of hearts, wanted broken down from the beginning.
She glided through the subsequent blur of events: being led to a bedroom, being excitingly undressed by an irresistible committee of four, being enticingly caressed by eight talented hands, which left no inch of her untingling. And she was taken. A tender-hearted Peter deflowered her with little pain or blood, a romantic Davy wooed her to completion, a careful Mike wowed her with his prowess, and a subdued Micky favored her with his best bedside behavior. And for reasons previously revealed, she declared them even.
<Return to the Monkees page>