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This is a question My first experience of porn

So there I am, aged 11, crawling through the woods with the Scouts when we come upon a big pile of magazines stuck into a tree. Risking losing the game by being seen, we stand up to knock them down.

They flutter down in a big heap - and behold, they are full of nudey ladies!

Crawling through the woods suddenly lost its appeal...

What was your first experience of porn?

(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 15:29)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Operation: Buy Porn
Buying porn mags from newsagents was one of the scariest things a young man had to go through. You internet-generation kids will never understand. It had to be planned meticulously, and executed to perfection.

When I was about 16 I grew tired of waiting for the raggedy second-hand porn mag currently doing the rounds at school to finally reach me. It would cost about £6 by then, half the pages would be missing, and I didn't even want to think about all the spermy fingerprints. It wasn't acceptable. I wanted my own. I wanted a fresh copy. A virgin copy. And I didn't want to give it to anyone else afterwards. I needed to plan the operation. Here I will try to break down the process of buying porn from a newsagent:


CHANCE OF BEING SERVED:
I was a big lad and I looked 18, so there was a good chance of being served, but it was still a gamble. Should I try to act big and manly when I walk in? Do certain shopkeepers have a reputation for being tough about such matters? I had to plan my reaction if challenged about my age. These techniques apply equally well to the purchase of alcohol.

CHOICE OF NEWSAGENT:
Perhaps the biggest single choice in the operation. Large chain stores were out of the question for two main reasons: they were always occupied by customers, and had only a small selection of pornography. Small corner-shop newsagents were by far the better choice. They had a much wider selection of magazines and smaller customer traffic. So which shop to choose? You had to use a newsagent where you couldn't be recognised, but within walking distance. I compromised on this issue due to physical laziness. I chose a nearby newsagent where customers could have recognised me. It was a risk.

Secret Spies were a big problem. Often a complete stranger would stop me in the street to say, "Hey, you're [SqueakyG]! I know your mum! I can see the family resemblance." Then the next day my mum would say, "Oooh, so-and-so from work said she saw you in town..." As you can imagine, my paranoia over these Secret Spies threatened to destroy the entire operation. They could be anyone. They would know me and I would be completely unaware. Therefore, the newsagent would have to be completely empty of customers when I made my purchase, just to be safe.

RECONNAISSANCE AND TEST-RUNS:
I visited the newsagent several times to purchase other items, such as sweets and the NME. This was valuable for checking out the following factors: The layout of the shop; the placement of porn magazines on the top shelf (quick glances, no staring); the members of staff, their general shift patterns, and a quick assessment of their peronalities (likely to question my age? etc); customer traffic at different times of day, how often the shop is empty of customers.

MALE OR FEMALE STAFF?
This question went though my mind. Obviously I would ABORT if it was the young girl behind the counter. She would have had ties to my secondary school, perhaps even know my sister, and the whole concept was disturbing. So it was a choice between the middle-aged gentleman or the middle-aged lady. Would one or the other judge me badly? Was it better to let the man serve me, because he'd understand male needs and not judge me? Or perhaps it was more intimidating for the man to serve me? I decided that I could be served by either of them equally.

PLAN OF ACTION:
By analysing these things I devised my plan of action. I would go to the newsagent on a weekday daytime, my day off school (A-levels by then). 2pm was the sweet timeslot, when kids are back in school after their lunch break. I would walk around the block until a perfect time when the shop is empty and no other customers are approaching. I would walk in, grab a copy of Escort (the only mag I had familiarity with, no time to waste choosing another), pay for it swiftly, and leave. If any complications arise, ABORT. If it's the young girl behind the counter, ABORT. If another customer enters, ABORT.

TRANSPORTATION OF CARGO:
They always put it in a thin transparent plastic bag, don't they? That was no good for my needs. I chose instead to wear my big thick coat, despite the hot summertime weather, as it had a big inside pocket that could fit a rolled up magazine. The time of day had to correspond with my parents not being home, because if they were home they may ask questions like, "Why are you wearing your big coat?" or "Why are you taking your coat up to your room?"

CONQUERING MY FEAR:
Fear is the mind-killer. It threatened to destroy all my efforts. Fear was the cause of several aborted attempts. I had to convince myself that my fear was illogical. I presented myself with several logical arguments: "The newsagent *wants* to sell you porn. That's why they have it for sale. Why would they make you feel uncomfortable about buying it and risk losing your custom? These small self-owned businesses need to sell porn to stay afloat, they depend on it. And hey, everyone has sexual needs. Don't worry."

FIRST AND SECOND ATTEMPT: FAILURE.
Chickened out.

THIRD ATTEMPT: SUCCESS.
Scoped the place. In. Grab Escort. On the counter. Paid. Got change. In the coat pocket. Out. Home. Wank. Nice one!

EPILOGUE:
It got easier as time went on. I became bolder. I was able to look around the top shelf for a while, and naturally realised that Escort wasn't the bastion of pornography. I found Mayfair, Men Only and Club International. Later on I found the £3.99 American ones that did spread-open fanny flaps. Then the internet came along, and made this entire story obsolete.


This QOTW makes it way too easy to apologise about length.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 18:24, Reply)
Window Porn
When I was at school, one enterprising twelve-year-old had cornered the market in supplying porn mags to the boys in our year. One such deal took place just before the start of the English lesson/ The boy had presented another with a new, unsoiled copy of Razzle just as the prudish, female teacher walked in.

The kid, in a state of nervous panic did the best thing that he could think of - lobbed the offending mag out of the classroom window.

It was, however, a very windy day. And the classroom was on the second floor...

The porno mag blew back against the window with the centrefold presenting a picture of a lass with her legs spread apart towards a class of 30 12-year-old boys.

This would have been quite a nice little anecdote. However the winds continued to blow, and because the window was so large the teacher could not reach to remove the magazine, it stayed there for a full twenty minutes while we learned about poetry.
(, Sat 27 Jan 2007, 15:55, Reply)
thanks to the internet, I am bored of sex
However, I now cant have sex unless its like this.

Blow Job - 5-10mins
Cunnilingus - 5-10secs
Missionary
Doggy
Blow Job - 1 min
Doggy/Mish
Cowgirl
Reverse cowgirl
Interruption by flat mate/"uncle"
DP
Just Anal
Spit Roast.
Missionary/Blowjob - rotation at increasing regularity.
Some very strange position where she is upside down and I have to point knob downwards for penetration.
Alternate between No.1 & No.2
Verbal requests to come on face.
Jizz on chin.
Poke knob in mouth a bit.
Clean up.
(, Sun 28 Jan 2007, 19:22, Reply)
Roundabout
Got my twelve-year-old hands on some premium jazz mags in the morning at school. Spent the next three hours imagining all the naughtiness inside. At dinnertime was too randy to eat and decided to slink off and find somewhere to practice my ever improving self love technique. So, as you do, I decided to go and have a wank in the middle of a roundabout near my school. I should stress that the roundabout was one of those massive ones with a ring of bushes and shrubbery and other such twatage round the perimeter. So I'm thinking I cant make it too far on accounts of all the blood rushing from my legs and settling in my young rod of power at the though of getting stuck into a nearly new copy of fiesta, so I'll nip over there and be hidden by the topary. After dealing with the maniac Northampton dinnertime traffic, I found a nice secluded space in the centre of said roundabout, spread the few mags out in front of me, and proceeded to pound my pud like my life depended on it. A few minutes later, spent and feeling quite pleased with myself, I had a bit of a revelation... People at street level couldnt see my proclomation of self love, but... I looked up and off to the right of me to the offices of British Timkin (big building, make ball bearings or summit else a bit dull), and on the third and fourth floor were about a hundred office workers gathered at the windows, about five people to a window, just sort of... frozen there. Each and every face had a look of horrorified amusement. Personally, I was quite happy with my lunchtime performance. But it was a pretty long walk zipping the wee fella away, gathering up my nudie lay-dee mags, and pretending like nothing had happened.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 16:54, Reply)
I'm sure many people here
will agree that there's nothing abnormal about a man preferring a shaved beaver. Well, long story short, I'm not allowed into Canada any more.
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 19:57, Reply)
Hidden Porn
Not the first, but the most recent.

Much to the wife's amusement every time we check into a hotel, I spend a good 15 minutes searching the place, looking for hidden porn.

I can't remember who told me about it, but they said in most hotel rooms, business men would buy porn, then hide it in a standard place for the next guy to find and enjoy. Kind of like Porn Geocaching.

Now I've never managed to find any at the places we've been at (unless you count the $10 a minute stuff on the pay-per-view).

Moving into our new place in Kensington Gardens Square. I've never thought to search for porn in new apartments.

Moving the bed and what do I find? A cache of lesbian porn. Later viewing revealed it to be lesbian porn from the 70's.

Also on my cleanup, I find a label from some medicine. An anti-fungus cream for women.

The real estate agent came over for the inspection, and commented that it was a single girl banker living there before. Okay the porn choice makes sense now.

I let the wife know about the finds when she gets home, lesbian porn & fungus cream.

The place came semi-furnished.

This leads to be a bit of a mad cleaning frenzy as she imagines fungus covered lesbians having sex on bean bags and the kitchen table.

At least the place is clean now.
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 20:29, Reply)
This is a story a friend of mine told me.
I've often thought the story may have been exaggerated or perhaps an outright lie, but I'll tell it anyway.

Anyway... Lindsey, a childhood friend of mine, once told me about her first experience of porn, and what it caused her to do afterwards.

The story starts when she was at her babysitters, aged 8. Her babysitter was a 14 year old lad who did all kinds of odd jobs for Lindsey's mother, who was a single window and had been since a few months after Lindsey's birth.

Anywho, Lindsey is playing with her favourite toy when Leeroy the babysitter asks her "would you like to see something that show you how to be a grown up lady?"

Naively she agrees. Leeroy puts a casette into the machine and hits play, and on comes the video. She described it to me as follows:

"A woman is kneeling in the middle of a room. She's got a bra on and nothing else. She's rubbing herself and making all kinds of moaning noises. The camera zooms in on her face, and as the shot gets close, something comes in from the side of the screen. It's long and pink with a funny shaped end. The woman then starts sucking it. She seems to enjoy sucking it very much, and makes all kinds of noises."

It was them she stopped watching.

Anyway, that was the first part of her story. The second part comes a year later in her childhood. She was looking for some fresh batteries for some toy she had, and she was rummaging around various drawers in the house. After exhausting all other options she decided to go into the forbidden drawer... her mother's bedside drawer. She'd always wondered what was in there, and figured this was a good time to find out. She she opened it up and started digging around. It's mostly papers, trinkets and other stuff that no kid would be interested in. Oh, and something else. A long, pink squishy thing that looked just like the thing the lady was sucking on in Leeroy's video. Lindsey surmised that this is how young women become mature ladies... by sucking on these weird thingies.

Being a typical young preteen girl, she was very anxious to be a responsible grown up lady... so every time she had the chance, she would sneak into her mother's room and.... I'll leave the rest to your imagination.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 1:33, Reply)
uni!
Yep, in university was my first pr0n experience. Wassat? A bit late in the day, you say?

Not at all friends, not at all. This was in the golden internet age when Netscape 2 (or 3; can’t quite remember) was hip, this 'Internet' was the newest drug & craziest drug going, and people would gather from afar just to 'surf' in the luckier spots of the UK that were ‘connected’.

Father excitedly told me one day that we’d be going ‘surfing’. ‘Excellent!’ thought I; ‘finally, I shall experience this alternative world!’ Basically, it turned out that his mate could get us into the uni he was going to, so off we went one rainy Saturday.

I spent the whole 1 and a half hours of sitting in the back seat imagining what exciting things I’d discover ‘online’ when we arrive. I mean really, even now, it sounds like a bit like getting high or something when someone says they’re going “to surf the net”, or “get connected” – as mundane as it might really now be. You can do anything at all; talk to someone 12,000 miles away, get information on anything, laugh, dance, and cry with other surfers also taking this bold new drug.
We arrived. I sat in front of some dirty 486 box with a dusty 14” CRT glaring at me (those were the days). My dad’s mate shows me the ropes – “This is Netscape; it’s your browser...” (like it a fucking air-hostess or something), and so on. “Right, you’re all set – enjoy the net!” – and he leaves me to my own devices.

And so off I went...just ‘surfing’, for about 2 mins & 30 seconds... until I realised, you could type 'sex' and other such phrases into the search box on the homepage, and behold at what true wonders the Internet held!

Indeed, fellow B3tans, this story is of my first public wanking experience too; I, the Slippery Doctore, have cracked one off to a dirty slag trying to fit a melon up her cunt; hand-in-pocket hoping no-one would notice, in Luton university library.

Do I get extra points for my Dad being in the same room?
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 20:09, Reply)
I found some emo porn
but the pages had torn themselves.
(, Sun 28 Jan 2007, 9:01, Reply)
I've always
put it down to the fact I had a fairly liberal upbringing - I mean, I was never told nudity and sex were dirty, or rather I was told it was a lot of fun. I pretty much always knew how it all worked.

At thirteen, I ended up writing a piss-poor 'erotic' story winding a mate up over something to do with some girl that does not bear repeating here. Most of the material came from a porn obsessed guy I hung around with who used to boast that he borrowed both his brother's stash of (then illegal) hardcore and his "silk lips" toy. I hope he washed it first.

Matey silk lips read the story, said he wanted his own copy for 'personal use'. I did him one, changed the names, charged him a couple of quid. Wants another one next day. Invent more stuff. More cash, easy money, this stuff by anyone's standards was tame, and perversly I was being paid by my muse.

He lived in the next town so got a school bus home. Shows it to another guy, likeminded, who comes to me and I, like a good little grotmonger, pen him some d-grade filth in exchange for lucre. Awful, about as erotic as a spoon but considering none of us had gone beyond the 'theory' stage it didn't have to be. Surprisingly, neither of them seemed to mind the central character being Cliff Richard.

Busboy loved it. So much so that he announced on the bus ride home that he was planning to wank all over it when he got in. In front of the bus monitor. Merchandise gets confiscated, my clients make no attempts to cover my arse, I get busted and suspended from school for two days for creating and distributing obscene material. Featuring Cliff Richard.

That was the only time I got any form of formal disciplinary at school, and is something in which I take a perverse pride.
(, Sun 28 Jan 2007, 2:41, Reply)
Robin Hood, Robin Hood Riding Through The Glen
AT LAST. A chance to tell my story.

Through my teenage years, I have had a recurring memory, which follows.

I am watching Knightrider with my family. Then, when it finishes, I watch a doctor lying on a hospital gurney, being fellated by a nurse.

I put this down to teenage hormones, maybe something I've dreamt.. dunno. But this memory would constantly come back to me, over, and over again. But it would irritate the living HELL out of me.

Well, until my Stag party in 2003, that was.

The boys were round, so was my Dad. We were drinking. All of a sudden, my Dad said "Ooooh, did I ever tell anyone the Robin Hood story?"

The story went thusly.

My Sister and I (I was around 9 or 10 at this point) were apparently desperate to watch Robin Hood. It was after our bedtime, so he recorded it for us. Next night, the boys came round, and my Father watched a porno with them. You can probably see what's coming.

Sunday comes around. We watch Knightrider. Then "DAD!! Can we watch Robin Hood? Huh? Can we?"

Video channel selected, video played. John Holmes is shoving is considerable cock down a nurses throat.

My Mum was apparently yelling "TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFFF!!", whilst my Dad sat in complete shock, remote in hand, while my sister and I watched a bad man put his wee-wee down a lady's throat.

The relief was palpable. I had finally worked out what had been bugging me for THIRTEEN YEARS.

The results? An obsession with porn, and I vaguely remember spending time rolling round the living room floor, trying to give myself a blowjob.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 20:05, Reply)
when I was over at a friend's house
he asked me if I wanted to watch a 'Swedish video'. Apparently it was his parents but he'd found it somehow.

My God, what an eye-opener. It had everything: a knight journeying across a plague-ridden landscape, and then he plays chess with Death! You could see everything! And yet, in a sense, you could see nothing, for there was nothing to see - nothing but the absence where once we imagined we saw God.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 11:46, Reply)
No apologies for length...
I was thinking about this question most of yesterday evening and on the way in to work today and I think probably my first taste of pron must have Enid Blyton. I especially remember ‘John goes to the Haberdashery’, as far as I can recall, it went something like this……

Chapter One

It was a bright and breezy morning in May and just one week until the big historic re-enactment on the river. John was ever so excited, he had re-painted his punt and Janet was hard at work on his wonderful costume.

“John,” said Janet, “there are a few things I need you to buy for me so that I can finish off your costume. Would you go to the haberdashery for me?”

“Yes of course I will.” said John, “That’s the little shop owned by Mrs Briskett isn’t it?”

“Well, she’s Mrs Douglas now,” said Janet, “she can only be in her late 30s, but she’s already been widowed twice and has just got married again. Funny how all her husbands have been much older than her…and rich.”

“Well,” said John, “she’s got a jolly nice shop. All those little drawers full of ribbons and bows, it’s ever so gay.” and off he went.

Chapter Two

Tinkle went the little bell over the door as John pushed it open.

“Good morning Mrs Douglas,” said John, “isn’t it a lovely day today?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Douglas brightly, “and not only that, but it’s my birthday today!”

“Oh, happy birthday,” said John, “did you get any nice presents?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Douglas smiling, “my husband really rose to the occasion this morning. He bought me a case of Chateau Lafite from the year I was born. I’ve just opened a bottle and it’s got bags of plum and blackcurrant notes, as well as a very pleasing oaky after-taste. Would you like a glass?”

“Thank you very much Mrs Douglas,” said John, “but it’s a little early for me, perhaps later. Anyway, I’ve got a list here of things that Janet needs to finish my costume. I’m taking part in the big re-enactment next week.”

“Right, well,” said Mrs Douglas, “we’d better see what you need. I’ve got a feeling there will be lots of other boatmen coming for bits and pieces for their costumes today. Is your punt ready?”

“I should say,” said John, “I spent all last weekend re-painting it, it looks a treat. My pole looks a little worse for wear though.”

“Well,” said Mrs Douglas, “my husband has got a big jar of linseed oil in his shed. You can come and use it any time you like. Now, what’s first on your list?”

“Right,” said John, “first off is a 12” zip. I’ve brought my collapsible ruler with me, to make sure I get the right one. Last time Janet was cross because I got the wrong one.”

“Ok then,” said Mrs Douglas, “I’ll just reach up here and get the get the box down. You get your ruler out ready.” Mrs Douglas grabbed the box of zips and put it down on the counter, but as she did so she gave a little shriek. “Oh my goodness John, just look in here.” she said.

John leaned over the counter and peered into the box of zips. Inside was a small white mouse.

“That’s my pet mouse,” said Mrs Douglas, picking him up and holding him against her cheek, “I call him ‘Wee Timorous Beestie’ as I’m a Rabbie Burns fan.”

“Gosh, I wonder how he got in there.” said John, “I’ve found the zip I need by the way”

“My,” said Mrs Douglas, “I do like that folding ruler of yours, I must get one. Now, what’s next on the list?”

“Right,” said John, “I need some bright red material, preferably something smooth, and some buttons.”

“Ok,” said Mrs Douglas, “come over here to this cabinet behind the counter and I’ll show you what we’ve got. Here we are, you can choose whatever you like from this drawer, I’m going to get on with sewing up the hem on this mini-skirt. My niece and nephew came over yesterday and the stitches came undone when they were fishing in the rock-pools at low tide.” John started looking through the pieces of material when suddenly Mrs Douglas sighed loudly.

“What’s the matter Mrs Douglas?” asked John.

“I’ve dropped my sewing under the counter John,” said Mrs Douglas, “would you be a dear and pick it up for me?”

“Ok,” said John as he ducked down under the counter. He reached for the sewing but there was something in the way. It was the nets that Mrs Douglas’ niece and nephew had been using the day before. John had to squeeze between them to reach the sewing. “Phew, these really smell of the sea don’t they?” he said.

“Yes,” said Mrs Douglas, “we had a lot of fun yesterday.

“What are all these boxes Mrs Douglas?” asked John.

“Well John,” said Mrs Douglas, “I’m starting a new mail-order business and I need to get all these catalogues put into envelopes and boxed up before lunchtime. I could really do with a hand. If we do these quickly I’ll fetch my very special buttons for you.”

“Ok,” said John, “no problem. Why don’t you put the catalogues into the envelopes and I’ll sit down here on this little stool and seal them up?”

“Oh thank you so much John,” said Mrs Douglas, “I’ll be ever so grateful.”

“Goodness Mrs Douglas,” said John, “what on earth is this on the floor?”

“Ha ha!” she laughed, “my nephew must have left that with his net. It’s one of his stuffed toys, hasn’t it got a funny tail and big teeth.”

“Yes it has,” said John, “right, I’ve sealed all of these envelopes and put them in the boxes. Now for the buttons, do you have any brass ones?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Douglas, as she heaved the heavy boxes up onto the counter-top “I can help you there. See all these brass buttons in this box over here with anchors on them? This very special one is from an admiral’s jacket, some are from a captain’s jacket and the rest are from some sailors I met when I used to work in a bar in Portsmouth. The Royal Navy chaps were always ever so kind to me. You just help yourself to what you want”

“Right, well,” said John a few minutes later, “I’ve got the zip, chosen some material and found my buttons, I’d better pay you and get these things back to Janet.”

“Well, as a reward for helping me with the catalogues, I’d like to show you my other birthday present.” said Mrs Douglas, “You can see them from here, see, through this side window. There, what do you think?” said Mrs Douglas, pointing at a bee-hive. “My husband bought me three dozen bees and I’ve already collected the first crop of honey. Would you like to try some?”

“Yes please Mrs Douglas,” said John, “I’ll just put these boxes down for a second.” He dipped his finger into the proffered jar and tried some of the honey, “mmm, it’s delicious.” he said.

“Now we need to get all these boxes out of the way. Would you come through to the back room and bring these boxes with you please?” she asked.

See John carry the heavy boxes through to the back room, he’s puffing a bit because they are so heavy.

“I didn’t really want to carry all these up to the post office on my birthday,” groaned Mrs Douglas, “and my husband isn’t really up to the job and anyway, he’s always tinkering in his workshop. I really can’t think what I ever saw in him.” she complained loudly.

“Are you talking about me dear?” said Mr Douglas, coming into the room, “what on earth is all the fuss about?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Mrs Douglas, “don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Well, while I’m here, have you seen that watch I was fixing?” he said, “I’ve found my special watch-makers instrument, but can’t find the watch.”

“Yes, here it is dear,” said Mrs Douglas, passing him an old pocket-watch.

“Darn,” said Mr Douglas, “now the nut at the end of my instrument is jammed. Could you loosen it for me please my dear?”

“Ok, pass it over here,” said Mrs Douglas. She tried loosening the nut with her fingers but it was too tight, so she held it between her teeth and turned it until it was free. “There you go, now I’ll see you later.” she said as he went back to his workroom.

“God, he is so useless!” complained Mrs Douglas, “next time I might go for someone a little younger, he is so much hard work.”

John blushed a bit and he was starting to sweat under the strain of the boxes, “Here you are Mrs Douglas,” he said, putting the boxes into her arms, “I really must be going now.”

“Wow, these are a lot heavier than I thought,” she said, her biceps bulging, “I must get to the gym more often. Anyway, you run along John, don’t forget we’ve got linseed oil if you need it.”

“Thanks Mrs Douglas,” said John as he dashed back to the front of the shop and out of the door, “I won’t.”

Chapter Three

“Where on earth did you get to John?” said Janet as John rushed through the door.

“Well,” said John, taking a deep breath, “when I got to Mrs Douglas’ shop, she told me I was the first punter of the day. Her husband had given her a very fruity ’69 that morning because it was her birthday, and she asked me if I wanted to try it. Then she pulled down my zip and discovered the Wee Beastie inside, she seemed very pleased and nuzzled it against her cheek. She was very impressed by my fully extended 12-incher and when she invited me behind the counter to rummage in her red satin drawers, she dropped her mini-skirt. She asked me to duck down under the counter and I got my head between her fish-nets, it smelt really fishy but I found her funny beaver. I was going to get up but she said that if I licked her flaps she’d show me her special button. She told me she liked seamen a lot, showed me her 36 bees and I put my finger in her honey-pot. Then she took me inside and started moaning and her husband came in for a watch. He seemed a bit upset but she tried fingering his nuts then put his little tool in her mouth and that cheered him up a bit. When he’d gone she started moaning again and then relieved me of my load. That made her gasp and she clenched her muscles but I think she was fairly pleased with my work because she said I could come round anytime and oil my pole.”

What do you think Janet is going to do with those pinking shears? I hope John’s got enough energy left to run away.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 12:16, Reply)
I found a magazine about trees
under a sex shop.
(, Wed 31 Jan 2007, 12:44, Reply)
Cup Runneth Over
Me and my brother found some stick books under a young bushy pine tree at the Park. We were 6 or 7. It had been raining - they were wet - pages sticking together. We had a good perve, then now what?

Over the fence was a church car park.

That day the congregation, happy shiny families etc came our of church to be greeted by spread-eagled ladies showing us where the axe got them - all wet and plastered onto all the car windscreens like shit to a blanket.

Never forget that. Heh.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 11:13, Reply)
Part One: The Maternity Clinic
As I lay on the delivery table looking back up the slick hole that had just delivered me, I sustained my very first boner and made an unconscious grab at the tiny pipe. Then I was introduced to my mother and realised that incest was not a good idea. So I groped the 34 D breasts of the nurse who wrapped me up.

"Ohh, he's a frisky one!" she said. If only she knew ...
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 15:53, Reply)
The internet has a lot to answer for....
I remember going round to my mates house when i was about 14'ish and seeing the Athena Tennis girl poster for the first time. Spoffed in my pants, and burned the image into my retinas, so i could store it in my minds 'wank bank' for future reference during 'personal loving moments'.

Nowadays, the internet has spoilt all that. This was a conversation at work recently...

"Oh my god! Come and have a look at this. Someone has emailed me a picture of 2 lesbians with strapons, being pissed on by a midget on a horse."

"What sort of horse is it?"

".....A brown one"

"Nah, can't be arsed"
(, Tue 30 Jan 2007, 17:26, Reply)
like most people,
I regularly leave pornographic magazines lying around under bushes.

Once I came back to one of my stashes, to find it was gone! Perhaps a bear ate it, or maybe a raccoon.
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 18:19, Reply)
let's get real here people
Porn isn't going to cuddle you afterwards, or have a pet name for you, or care about you.

In short, porn is exactly like a real relationship.
(, Sun 28 Jan 2007, 8:54, Reply)
Erotica
I was one of those kids who knew about sex and stuff from an early age, thanks partly to older siblings and my friend, who for anonymitys sake will be called Frank. Frank told me all sorts of facts about sex (not to mention lies-I thought up until th age of 10 that once penis was in the minge it was impossible to remove. Babies confused me, surely there was no room for them to come out, with daddy's man meat blocking the way and all)
Anyhoo at breaktime in primary school we were widely discouraged from play fighting, footy or even running really, so we occassionally ended up just making up stories. Frank was great at making up stories, and when our story begins he was part way through an epic about a mouse. (don't laugh, it was the best bit of fiction I've ever encountered.) Now the mouse had just met a lady mouse so nature took its course and something along the lines of "He put his mouse willy in, then out, then in, then out and then he did white wee." happened. And somehow, I got my (probably) first erection. Off my friend.Telling an erotic story. About mice. Explains a lot really.

The shame's setting in now.
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 22:54, Reply)
Was going to post this in the "collections" QOTW
but I think it's equally apt here.

Being two 14-year-old males growing up in a tiny Devon village with zero corner shops from which to buy pron, we had to make do with whatever we could get our hands on.

It all started with the best intentions. When we weren't setting fire to cars or burning down barns, we tried to do our bit for the environment by starting the incredibly gay Village Environment Group. We decided to help out around the village by digging out a pond and collecting people's newspapers for recycling.

One old man in the village used to get the Sun newspaper, and we'd always go straight to page three - which, for the non-Brits amongst you, always features some young lass with her baps out. Me and my friend kept a small box of neatly-folded pages, each showing a beauty in a state of undress. We'd share it, and add to it whenever we collected more newspapers for "recycling" - which eventually degraded to cutting out page three and sticking the rest in the normal bin to go straight to the landfill.

We'd also "entertain" ourselves with the contents of the box - my favourite picture being of a girl I named "Evian" due to her emptying the contents of a bottle of the afforementioned water all over her norks. Why I didn't refer to her by her real name, which was clearly printed on the page, I'll never know.

I always did my utmost to ensure that the box was well hidden in my room, usually under my bed, lest my parents discover it. So, I was slightly shocked after returning from a week away to find my mum had tidied my room. She'd sorted through all my papers and letters (I have no idea how I'd accumulated so many at 14), and put them in nice cardboard boxes, labelled them and put stacked them in my cupboard.

And also, at the top of the cupboard, was the page three box. Trembling slightly at the thought of my mum discovering my stealthy stash of softcore nudity, I picked it up and slowly rotated it to reveal to my horror that mum had neatly inscribed the word "cuttings" on the side of the box. I'm not sure if she was in denial about my coming of age, or just thought I had a strong interest in certain pages of the Sun newspaper.
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 16:54, Reply)
Adventures in babysitting
When I was about fourteen I used to babysit for two boys down the road, both about nine years old.
One evening they were playing upstairs but were suspiciously quiet. I went to investigate and they were both crouched over an open drawer in their parents' bedside cabinet.
When I asked them what they were up to they looked extremely guilty and went downstairs. I had a look and there was an impressive collection of magazines - Razzles mainly.
At the bottom of the pile there was a plain brown envelope. I could feel my heart thumping, it couldn't be... I opened the envelope... Yup. The lady of the house kneeling on the very bed I was sitting on, smiling over her shoulder, blurry eyed, and a peeled banana protruding from her anus. It can't have been very ripe.
Anyway, well worth the shock I got when I heard two small accusing voices from the doorway asking exactly what I was up. I pray to God that they never investigated that drawer further than the top of the pile otherwise they'd feature in last week's qotw.
I saw the woman years later in the fruit and veg section of Waitrose and nearly fainted. Lock your drawers, chaps!
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 16:42, Reply)
Aged 7
Me and my younger brother looking for a misplaced Toy Story video, finally thought to go up to my parents bedroom.

Lo and behold, there was a video in the tape player. Is it Toy Story? Dunno. We pressed eject. No label. Oh right. Put it back in... press play.

It wasn't Toy Story.

The image is forever engraved in my mind.

To make it worse. What did we do first?

"Mum...?"
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 16:40, Reply)
nuns!
i forgot, when i was about 10 i moved schools (i won a scholarship which meant i had to be at a private school, which i hadn't been previously). as it was only going to be for a year until i went to senior school, my parents chose the nearest prep school.

which was a catholic school annexed to a convent. and some of the teachers were nuns.

so i was in the library one lunchtime with my new friends, something to do with cheeking the nun who taught recorder (is it me or there something odd about a nun playing the recorder?!). and we found the biology books. every single page on male anatomy or reproduction was glued together. every single one.

so naturally we spent our lunch hour prising them apart. this took the whole hour. that was some strong nun-glue.

the very next day, we panted eagerly back into the library, not sure why it was interesting, but knowing that it had to be. and every single page was glued together again. those nuns must have done a daily pr0n patrol...
(, Tue 30 Jan 2007, 18:07, Reply)
My first experience with porn and my first understanding of porn.
Traditional responses bore me, so here are my first endeavors in a haiku.

Daddy was wanking.
To the basement I spring.
"What's that on the telly?"

Porn, on my mind fresh!
Aroused, look, what delightful flesh!
Dad's secret stash was found!

Furious rubbing,
My equivalent scrubbing,
"Sex, this is," I thought.

Fast forward two years,
A young boy aged ten appears,
Sibling's health book found.

"What's this," the boy cries.
"What's this gash between her thighs?"
Childhood paradigm shattered.

Sudden thoughts discover truth!
In lesbian porn, you see,
Tab A avoids Slot B.
(, Tue 30 Jan 2007, 0:34, Reply)
At my friend's house, we were asked by a popup "How many cocks can one bitch handle?"
Four, it turns out.
(, Sun 28 Jan 2007, 18:51, Reply)
Not entirely on topic, but young lads + porn was a defining factor I think.
Sex education happened at high school when we were 12/13. It involved a rather odd looking woman dividing the class into boys & girls. The girls were led away somewhere and odd-looking lady led the boys into the teachers' conference room. When inside, she explained to us we were going to be learning about sex. She then popped in a video which pretty much covered everything.

Then, once the video finished, the silly old bat made the mistake of saying:

"OK, now you've seen that, does anybody have any questions? It's OK to ask anything at all. There's no need to be embarrassed."

Scott, sat at the back asked: "If when I have a wank, right when I'm about to have my... ... little death... I roll my legs up by my ears and shoot in my mouth, can I get gay aids?"

The odd looking women was taken very aback, but she answered the question anyway, and explained HIV can only be caught from people already infected.

Then Stu put his hand up, and she prompted him to ask his question; "Is it illegal to have a wank while thinking about my sister?"

Above the giggling, the odd looking lady declines to answer. Now it's my turn.

"Will it make a girl sick if I stick my, y'know, in her, y'know, then take it out of there and put it in her other, y'know? What I'm trying to ask is, is it safe for me to switch between the numnber one input and the number two input and back again?"

It was then the odd looking lady decided question time was over.
(, Sat 27 Jan 2007, 4:36, Reply)
"So who are these people who throw porn away in the woods?"
You're all asking. It certainly seemed to be the way many of you first "came across" porn. It makes me feel a little guilty, because one time, back in the day when magazines were still the preferred format of depravity, I was a woodland porn-disposer.

My collection of porn mags was getting embarrassingly big (40 or so, which is *nothing* compared to what's on my hard-drive now, but innocent times, eh?). I selected the 20 "least favourite" ones for disposal. But of course I couldn't dispose of them in the dustbin in case my parents found out.

So I snuck the mags out of the house under my big coat, walked about a mile with them, and found a nice secluded footpath next to some woodland. I just had the throw the mags over the railing, where they would arc through the air and fall all the way into a gully, where nature would decompose them before human eyes could ever find them. Good plan.

Except I throw like a girl, so the magazines pathetically flopped onto the other side of the railing, all laid out with their pages open right next to the footpath. I couldn't be bothered climbing over the railing to gather them up again, so I legged it.

Walking home, I remembered that the footpath was one of the main pedestrian routes home for at least two local schools in the area.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 17:12, Reply)
Mine was Eurotrash....but a mate's story is better
I won't bore you with my story (basically, it involved Eurotrash, and a story about lesbians in Miami, which is not - geographers will tell you - in Europe), but a mate of mine.

New Years Eve a few years back, I was with the ladyfriend at the time, whereas all my mates were having the time of their lives. After midnight and a few drinks, a mate of mine (lets call him Andy - as that's his name) put his hand up and said "lets all go back to mine".

Andy has a nasty habit of putting on porn after a night out, and we all watching around to watch. It is a strange moment where you, sitting with your friends, are watching some guy jizz all over the chest of a woman. I imagine it'd be something like gangrape, but I digress.

One of the groups Stuart (this is not his name), at the tender age of 20, had yet to see a pair of boobs. Not in the flesh, we're talking ever. Cue Andy putting on some porn, with a voluptuous MILF that went by the name of "Mrs. Johnson" (not her name) doing all sorts of unmentionables to this man. Stuart got an education that night, and was fixated by this Mrs. Johnson.

Stuart sacrificed a life of smut to run business ventures, and he is mega loaded. Cue him taking six months off to find out more and more about this Mrs Johnson. Turns out she is an high class escort in Las Vegas. Stuart took a flight out there, and paid an obscene amount of money for her to take his virginity.

Bless.
(, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 12:33, Reply)
I used to actually publish a pornographic magazine

but sadly it went tits up.
(, Thu 25 Jan 2007, 18:40, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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