Apologies if I've posted this before, but here goes
My Dad is -- or rather he was, back in the eighties when these events took place -- an accountant. And he was exactly as you would imagine him to be -- rather dull, wore thick glasses, commuted daily into London dressed in a drab suit and tie (and even a bowler hat, back in the day). So, just about the most conformist, least interesting man you're ever likely to bump into.

At this time I was a teenager, dedicated to the fine art of onanism with a passion of which only pubescent boys are capable. I had my personal stash dotted around my room so that should any one part of it be discovered then at least the rest might be left intact.

On this particular day, I was bored and decided that my room needed to be rearranged. This involved shuffling around a couple of cupboards, a chest of drawers, bed etc. and I set about the task with determination.
As I was was carefully manhandling the larger of the two cupboards away from the wall, I noticed lying flat on the floor underneath it a plastic bag. I remember it quite clearly: it was from Murrays, an old department store.

"That's odd," I thought, "I don't remember putting that there."

With the cupboard out of the way, I picked up the bag and found that it wasn't empty. Peering inside I was surprised, delighted and somewhat aroused to find a pristine copy of Whitehouse. For those of you not familiar with porn through the ages, this was a gentleman's magazine of the slightly harder-core variety: not just tits and a flash of fluff here and there, but full-on legs-spread-look-at-my-bacon flange-fest. None of the various scraps of mags that I'd collected from hedges and lay-bys were even close to being as revealing as this. Jackpot!

It was only after a moment or two of reflection (I'll leave the exact nature of which to your imagination) that it dawned on me the exact implications of this find...

Firstly: someone had to have put this here, and the only logical conclusion was that it was my squarer-than-square Dad -- the filthy old bugger.

Secondly: I'd been...indulging myself...over a magazine that my Dad had been using for the very same purpose. Ew.

Thirdly: the bastard had hid his grubby porn stash in my room so that if it were ever found, I'd be the one who got into trouble! Outrageous.

Anyway, I solved the problem by swapping it for a couple of copies of Razzle at school the next day. And oddly enough, my Dad has never mentioned it...
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 9:24, 2 replies)

Whitehouse for Razzle?
You were burned. The women in Razzle were all old, fat and unwashed.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 10:36, closed)

Haha
[some joke about your mother]
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 26 Nov 2010, 10:52, closed)