Back in the heady days of the early nineties
the world was a very different place. As a young adolescent pulling myself *titter* through the early years of high school, I was far too awkward to talk to the terrifying and mysterious creatures that were fast appearing all around us..... girls. Girls...... with their oddly compelling wobbly bits. Girls in the 90s were much different from the 30 year old actresses they employ in high schools nowadays to portray schoolkids. They all looked different for a start. Some of them had perms! It was a confusing time indeed.

It would be at least two years before one of these enigmatic creatures would allow me to fumble with their undergarments. I was blissfully unaware of that fact, however. I was also blissfully unaware that a mere few years after that, mankind would invent a method of delivering pictures of naked ladies direct into your home with the minimum of embarrassment. Such delights were, to that scabby little guy with the odd haircut and the mother of all wanking habits, nothing more than half imagined fantasy.

This was a shame, really, as like most youngsters of that age, I'd get a lob on if anything moved within my eye line. Remember Madonna wore that pair of dungarees in the paper with her norks poking out? Nobody saw me for an entire week. Back then, in the days of coal fires, my dear old mum kept newspapers as lighters. She never mentioned if she noticed that every one was missing page three. I'd even be known to crack one off at the rude cartoons. (As a side note, I hid them in between the pages of my various beano and dandy annuals. Which my dear old mum gave to the primary school jumble sale.)

But it wasn't enough. I was thirteen now! Grainy black and white pictures of page three stunnas with Garry Bushell's face staring out of the same page could only hold my interest for so long...... I needed more. And there was only one place to get it.

My mate had a brother. And this brother was, and very probably still is, a dirty bastard, as is my mate. After a slightly embarrassing conversation, I handed over a hard-saved five pound note..... the equivalent of handing over half of Jordan's Ugg boot collection in today's money, and off he went to collect my winnings. He looked shifty when he came back in case his brother was around, as he had just raided his room, and hastily passed plastic bag to me. I grunted and tore off home.

I've already pointed out how inexperienced I was in the ways of the woman, so you would think I would have been happy with any old crap. In the days before the internet, seeing a ladymuff was tantamount to chancing across an authentic picture of Girls Aloud in a 6-way clam-jousting competition, but even I was unimpressed at what my mate had managed to swipe from his brothers box of joy. There were three magazines. Two of them were covered .... COVERED in brown, crispy stains. One of them was a.... shall we say "mature oriented" magazine. Granny porn. Loads of readers wives who appeared to be smuggling the severed head of Peter Sutcliffe between their legs. One of the magazines, however, appeared to be a recent purchase, and sufficient lady clunge was witnessed to finally assure me I was not gay. The horrific magazines were stored in a hidey hole beneath some drawers, with the half decent one on top. Over time, I forgot they were there as the aforementioned young lady decided to wobble her bits in my direction.

Fast forward eight years. I come home from work one day to find the old chest of drawers in the kitchen. The amply-wobblesome young lady had seen fit to keep me in tow up til this point, and had decided to rearrange my room one day, discovering my long lost stash of jazz-rags. Mortified wasn't the word as I started trying to ummm and errr my explanation, but it wasn't a total loss, as the saucy minx had began reading the top one and had become quite aroused at the stories (phwoooooar). Thankfully, my old mum had started climbing the stairs before she unearthed the horrific stash of granny porn, and she grabbed the whole lot and quickly jammed them under my mattress. I seem to remember that top mag got read from cover to cover in the next few days before I quickly grabbed the whole lot and stuffed them in the bin.

Not much embarrassment so far, really. I've been pretty lucky up to this point. The finger of fate played the long game before coming crashing down on my pods for being a pervy little shit, and it wasn't until another three years had passed that I finally bore the brunt. Still living at my parents house, me, the young lady (who still at this point hadn't developed into the iron skinned black-hearted hell-creature she later became) and some friends were sat in my room, which was a bit of a shambles. My ex began tidying, and decided to change the bedclothes, while I went to the kitchen to get everyone some drinks. I remember shouting "Don't look under the bed you'll find my porn stash ah ha ha ha" as I went. My ex was thorough. She decided to flip the mattress.

I returned to a roomful of stifled giggles. Only my ex glowered at me as everyone else tried to stare at the floor and hold their laugh for as long as possible. There, on the bed frame, lay a single page of a magazine, and sprawled across it like some horrific carcass was the oldest, hairiest lady I ever hope to see should I live to be 200. I can still see it winking at me, like some wild animal staring out from a hedgerow. It was a full ten seconds before everyone collapsed in fits of laughter.

My ex denied all knowlede of stuffing the bastard thing in there in the first place, too. I've still not lived that down. She looked like Nana from the Royle Family crossed with Chewbacca. I mean, they tell you to flip your mattress every few months, but seriously, who does that? I certainly never did. In fact, I had no need to.

Mostly because my mum used to do that sort of thing for me. She used to do it quite regularly, in fact. And I can still imagine her tutting and shaking her head every time she did. *cringe*
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 22 Feb 2011, 4:31, 4 replies)

MORE WORDS LESS FUNNY

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Tue 22 Feb 2011, 8:29, closed)

Let me help.
Guy is teen. Gets porn from friend. Friend includes granny porn. Girlfriend finds it years later and gives him hell. Guy is embarrassed to think his mum had seen it.

Hopefully that's short enough for you to read and comprehend get. (Sorry, almost used a big word there.)
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 22 Feb 2011, 22:11, closed)

Had it been pitched at your level, it'd have been excessively dull.


How are the food threads going? Still uniformally hilarious?
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Wed 23 Feb 2011, 2:37, closed)

Fire engine!
*reaches*
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Wed 23 Feb 2011, 14:14, closed)