When i was about 9 in 1987
my friend who was about 13 at the time had a parent free house so we went round there to watch tv.

He had something to show me that was in the VCR...revenge of the nerds, which is basically a rubbish film on how the nerds wanted to get with the cheerleaders and have their wicked way. Now we did'nt watch the whole thing as his mum was due back shortly but he had a 'favourite scence' which he promptly showed me. It was where the nerds had set up a hidden video camera in the girls changing rooms and they could watch a live feed of the nudey ladies from nearby.

There is a certain bit on that scene where one of the nerds says 'i wanna see some bush pan down' and it cut to a literally half a second close up of this hairy bush, my friend at the time obviously liked this bit and kept rewinding it and trying to pause on the close up. I literally i heard ' i wanna see some bush pan down' bout 20 times till he got the video paused directly on the close up.

Now he must of been proud on his pausing technique because when he was successful on getting the love muff in all its glory in full 28" in its near non wobble pause on screen he proceeded to whip his knob out and wipe it all over the screen repeatedly shouting excitedly "this is how you have sex, THIS IS HOW YOU HAVE SEX"

Luckily my dinner time was approaching and had to leave, 22 years later and to this day i can still here this yank saying 'i wanna see some bush pan down' in my head, scarred for life? i think so...
(djgalaxe, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 15:13, 2 replies)

Sirstromming's post (second in 'popular' last week)
It's well rude.

It's also the script for that Irn-Bru advert off of the telly.
(AndyC4m Eject Eject [><], Fri 12 Aug 2011, 15:00, 2 replies)

Heavy metal.


The Beauty of discovering pron as a child was that it you never knew when/where or how it was going to happen, but when it did – whatever you had planned for that day went straight out of the window… Brain activity surged to new heights as you had to enjoy the moment, plan what to do with it, keep your excitement levels to a minimum and act like it was another day all at the same time, as inevitably, there was always a parent in close proximity.

One such example of this is described below:

I was about 11 years old and used to play round my mates house on his megadrive and do the usual kids stuff… until you’ve completed the games and boredom sets in.

“Have you ever heard Napalm Death?”

Of course I hadn’t – My friend went on to tell me that his brother has all these Heavy Metal LP’s that he listens to and its really funny – and we could play a game. Take the Napalm Death record out and put it on the record player – pick a song and then reading the lyrics from the Vinyl sleeve you had to listen to the song and try and work out were you were up to in the song – as it was nigh on impossible to work out what they were singing. We played a few tracks and laughed at the growling vocals but were running low on songs…

“got any more?” I asked

With that – my mate pulled out two big boxes filled with various 80’s heavy metal LP’s all in pristine condition – we started rifling through them and selected a Motley Crue album – pulled out the record and ….”ello – whats this?”

Fiesta!

In just as good condition as the record – we flicked through the pages revelling in our find and then we picked out another album - Iron Maiden if I recall correctly – out pops a copy of Razzle – we then both looked at each other and thought the same thing. ‘there’s 2 boxes here – at least 100 albums – oh please god!!!’

We took a box each and set to work – about 1 in 3 albums revealed another grumble mag hidden inside – this was the mother load, it was like working through a strip of scratch-cards, keep the winners and bin the losers…This was fast becoming a much better day than we had planned. It was too much to take in… We all know that when we had a ‘tommy tank’ years ago, we used to get our bongo mags out and have a good read through until you have selected your ‘favourite’ and then go in for the kill… Here we had stacks of grumble and it was too much to take in – every page revealing another fleshy delight – everyone was amazing – I was too young to know if I was a blonde or brunette kind of guy.

But then it hits you – at any moment, we could be rumbled – his brother could come home, his mum could walk in…. we need to exercise caution. Only a fool would leave a trail or raise suspicions. This was our treasure and No one could know.

Our summer was spent tactfully nipping in an out of his brothers room to ‘Borrow an album’.

Definitely one of the best ways to hide your ‘Stash’…. Kept his bongo mags pristine for years….
(Pat mustard, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:52, 1 reply)

Not the first time.

(uncle_bud is not the jelly roll king., Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:49, Reply)

In which Chickenlady confronts pr0n
Okay, I admit it: I am a nosey mother and I listened to all the government and Jo Frost directives about keeping an eye on what your children are looking at online. Until about eighteen months ago the family desktop sat at the back of the sitting room so no unpleasant sites could be accessed by my pre-pubescent sons without everyone seeing. I was sure this would protect my innocent children from seeing any vile filth peddled by dodgy types based in dingy attics and run by an overweight, sweaty bald man called Malcolm.
I was wrong.
The first thing that alerted me was the giggling - Lego.com never made them giggle like that. Neither did any of the sites that were recommended by Cbeebies, well apart from the Dick and Dom Poo game. So my first thought was that they had found another such Poo game - poo is always so entertaining for young boys I find. Many hours had been spent in our garden identifying animal poo but I hadn't yet introduced them to the Bristol Stool Chart or RateMyPoo.com. However, the giggles were not the result of a bit of good clean poo punnery, no.
I was suspicious, very suspicious. Rather than interrogate them and lose their trust I decided to ask Satsuma Man (OH) to do the interrogation - he has German heritage so I was expecting full on torches shone in faces, and veiled threats about the 'war being over' for them. I left them to it and returned to watching The World's Toughest Parents.
Some time later Satsuma Man informed me that my darkest fears had been realised; my sons had indeed been looking at pr0n online.
My sons were ten years old at the time - they did not know about the dark ways of the world. My liberal sensibilities were put aside and out came my Strident Feminist hat...well, I wouldn't really call it a hat; feminists aren't really known for hat wearing. Maybe more of a Strident Feminist Orthopaedic Sandal, not that I own any Orthopaedic Sandals at the moment though, I do have a rather fetching pair of Vivienne Westwood sandals. I suppose I'd have to call them NuFeminist though. Postmodern Feminist?
Anyway, the time had come for me to get out the big guns.

Pr0n is bad.

That's the short version which was at the forefront of my mind; very simplistic, very black and white (although the internet does it in colour now), no middle ground, no messing. What I said to the boys (with tearful eyes) was....

"You do realise that each of these girls you're looking at is someone's daughter or sister?

How would you feel if that was one of your friends, your cousin?

They're being exploited. Do you think they want to show their bodies off like this for the world to see?


Don't you realise they're all on drugs - they have to be in order to put aside the horrific nature of what they are doing?

Women are not objects for you to look at and laugh over. These women have feelings, opinions and thoughts.

Who do you think is making money out of this? Yes, drug dealers, human traffickers, evil people. Evil!

And you two, sitting sniggering over some poor girl, drugged up to the eyeballs, forced to display her body, force to commit horrific lewd and perverted acts with men she doesn't know all so she can get her next fix of drugs to stop her feeling the pain of her existence. How could you?!

I'm ashamed. Ashamed and disappointed that you would do this.

I want to know now, what you were looking for and why."

By this time both lads looked contrite; heads hung low and slight sniffing from tears of self-pity.

"Well? I'm waiting."

Finally the reply....

"We're doing a project on garden birds at school. We did an image search for Big Tits"
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:19, 34 replies)

AT THE FOOTBALL
Fourteen or more 12 year olds gathered around a Colour Climax "Nurses and Doctors" special at the front of the Choir at the Falkirk - St Johnson game at the former Brockville Stadium (in 1971) was never going to attract the attention of the Old Bill was it?
One confiscated hard-core porn mag later my mate had to explain to his really pissed-off brother why there was a big rectangular space underneath his mattress where his much thumbed and slightly sticky jizz mag had formely resided.
Meanwhile, I assume, at the local nick various rozzers would be looking as open mouthed as me when they came to realise that all hot Dutch nurses only ever have sex when their clunges are apparently covered in whipped cream and have a glace cherry on top.
No wonder my first attempts at sex were such utter disasters.
(beaverwastemanagement a real company. I want to work for them!, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:07, Reply)

Zebra willy
I am five years old and on a lovely day out at Whipsnade Zoo. I clap my hands with glee at the monkeys throwing poo. I watch birds of prey in a display, catching dead chicks in their beaks. I marvel at the wary suspicion of the meercats. Giddy on ice cream with strawberry sauce, we reach the zebras.

The zebras are, all things considered, rather boring when compared to the liveliness of the other animals. The zebras are just standing there eating grass. Sure, they're stripy and fun, but they're not really doing anything.

And then my attention is caught. There is something different about one of the zebras. It appears to have a fifth leg, somewhat withered; it is thinner than the others and does not quite reach the ground. It is pink, glistening in the July sun.

I gaze at the foreign object, my little brow furrowed, bewildered. I wish I could read properly so I could look at the sign and find out why one of the zebras has a poorly leg. The zebra looks unfazed by its horrible disability, lackadaisically munching grass. The other zebras are similarly unbothered. They are accepting of their equoid comrade's affliction.

I try not to stare. It's impolite.

My mum nudges me. "Look," she says, pointing, a conspiratorial grin erupting across her face, "that zebra's got his willy out."

And suddenly my world stops spinning. I am aware of the existence of willies. At that age, I can't say with any certainty that I'd seen one, but I was definitely aware that boys used them to do wees and also babies were made when a man put his willy in a lady's minnie.

That was a willy? That terrifying, gleaming, pink thing that I had mistaken for a crippled limb? That was how boys did wees? How did they hide something so vast in their swimming trunks? How do men help make babies when that thing is so gigantic it would surely destroy a lady's minnie? It would be like impaling! Was I born because of a violent impaling with an enormous magenta weapon?

After that, I feared the cock. I assumed they must all resemble that horrid, horrid thing hanging off a zebra. I refused to play show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine. I knew what the boys were packing in their shorts and I didn't want it anywhere near me.

I almost laughed with relief when we were finally shown diagrams of human cocks in Year 6 sex education. They were so small! They were not frightening at all!

It was, after all that, sex education that saved me from exclusive lesbianism. It was how I learned to stop worrying and love the cock.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:06, 13 replies)

The first time I found out about sex
I was about 13 I think, it was from a book about cats I found at my gran's house. My parents just wouldn't touch the subject.
( Moon Girl Technologies horrendous beanbag, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 13:48, 2 replies)

Would have been the first rude thing THEY saw
One Christmas at school, we were to have a fete, the centrepiece of which would be a Santa's Grotto. Our usually scary headmaster would dress up as St. Nick and various younger siblings etc could be taken in to visit him.

The grotto was a large chicken-wire and paper mache affair, and us fifth-years were given the task of building it. One lunchtime, as we were about to apply the final layer of pasty newspaper to the inside of the grotto, one boy realised that the sack of newspapers we'd been given included quite a few Suns... and so, inevitably, when Santa entered the grotto for the first time, he found that the entire inner surface had been papered with Page 3 tits. It was a thing of beauty, almost hypnotic, with bulging mams literally filling your vision wherever you looked. Like a peek into Peter Stringfellow's mind.

Unfortunately we were forced to paint over it before the tinies arrived.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 13:45, Reply)

Not me but a friend of mine
And to be honest, it doesn't quite fit as it's really the first rude thing he ever did rather than saw.

ANYWAY. My friend James, when he was 14 had never kissed a girl and was keen to. One of the local girls was interested in him and had (rightly or wrongly) a bit of a dirty reputation.

Somehow, when they finally got it together, he actually managed the extraordinary feat of going down on her before he'd even kissed her. I often wonder if the upper set of lips were a disappointment when your only experience of kissing is with the lower.
(stewiegriffin, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 13:22, 8 replies)

Can't beleive EuroTrash has not been mentioned yet

When channel 4 was more interested in smut then politics.
(BlueFlyer, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 11:59, 10 replies)

One day when I was twelve
was an absolute bonanza of naughtiness. I was bumming about the house, my aunt and uncle I was staying with were out, doing something daft that kids too like counting in my head or seeing how long I could hold my breath, 'cause I was that bored. I caught my sister practising kissing in her room, but that wasn't really rude 'cause she was alone. She still told me to bugger off out of it. I wandered down to the quarry - a scary place when you're a kid - and got caught by a bunch of bigger kids who made me go down into the quarry to steal a dirty magazine from the tramp who lived there. First and only time I've found porn lying around...well, not lying around as such. The bastards woke the dosser up by throwing stones at his hut though, and I had to run and hide.
Creeping back through the bushes, I think I found a skeleton, but I also came across a man and a woman. They were lying on top of each other and the man was hurting her, so I told him to leave her alone, but they just laughed. The woman leant over and showed me her breasts, and I ran off. Then the big kids caught me and stole the jazz mag off me - I never even got to look at it.
Then later that night I heard my aunt and uncle in their bedroom, saying things I didn't understand. Sneaking to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of my aunt tied up on the floor, which was weird and scary. Not to mention the fact that I found out that day that the real reason my dad was in prison was for nicking knickers off washing lines.
To be honest, I think you can see why I ended up in a mental institution so many times, and am literally smoking myself to death.
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 11:29, 17 replies)

Aged 8 or 9, we were making something with papier mache, at school.
One boy thoughtfully liberates a Page 3 girl from the shredding pile, to wave about during break. Whilst showing it to me, he tells me that he and his friends are going to "cut out the fanny and stick our cocks up." Judging by his furious back-pedalling, I must have gone rather pale.

If internet porn has prevented just one papercut, it's all been worthwhile.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 11:19, Reply)

Oh, another tale of lust!
Back in the days, one of my friends' parents had a naught tape hidden (not very well obviously)in their bedroom. Each time I would visit and his parents were away, we would play the tape (I think it was called 'Noir et Chaire' or something like that, a Marc Dorcel production for the connoisseurs...).
Anyway, they were not Canal Plus subscribers (see my previous post) and had still nonetheless the movie which was all scrambled. Don't know why they even bothered recording it. Still, me and my friend watched it everytime we could.

ps: Some said that if you waggled a sieve in front of your eyes while watching those scrambled movies, the picture would become clearer. What a load of bollocks, still tried though (and not just once)!
(djib, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 11:08, 3 replies)

my mate's mum.....
.........sunbathing topless in their back yard
I was about 8 she was in her late 30s, grossly overweight with Polaroid Rose West style glasses on..I walked into their back yard looking for my mate and she was just sitting there with these huge,flabby, pale udders hanging out..I just stared in horror..she just stared back..I went home and cried.
( bigmeuprudeboy is using powerpoint or paint...have MERCY, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:55, 2 replies)

A tale of looting and coming of age (repost)
... The summer of 1986 means two things to me. The first of these was the genesis of my lifelong apathy towards football thanks to me being the only 12 year old boy out in the street during the first week of the summer holidays as everyone else was sat indoors watching England predictably lose.

The second memory is of the fleeting bond of friendship that was forged in adventure by three twelve year old boys and ultimately broken apart by mutual mistrust. We've all grown up now and gone our separate ways. However, I daresay they both remember the events as vividly as I do for the same reason. We all learned a lot about human emotions that summer.

Firstly, we'll introduce the awkward kid with long gangly limbs and curly hair forced unwillingly into an ill-advised side parting - me. Then there was the somewhat spoiled cocky and assertive leader of the trio - Robin. Lastly there was the portly ginger haired kid full of bravado trying to assert himself - Neil.

Misfits one and all, we spent the long and languid summer days talking about Raleigh bicycles and girls. The latter discussions were charged with exotic promise as the hormonal harbingers of puberty coursed through our veins. None of us had ever kissed a girl, although each of us sought to outdo the others with embellished fanciful stories about the objects of our affections.

All very innocent now but back then the delicious whiff of salacious scandal hung thick in the air as we trudged along the footpaths bisecting the big grassy fields adjacent to a large gravel pit near our homes. Portia Clemence had once shown me her nipple (this was in fact true), Susan Jones had saucily flashed her pants at Robin, Neil was trying to find the words that would draw an adoring Liz Foster into his arms for keeps - or the end of the summer holidays at least.

And then we happened upon something which would change our lives forever.

A few feet away from the seldom used footpath, amongst the bare earth and gravel, we found a makeshift shelter. Our territorial instincts piqued, we investigated further and discovered three empty packets of Hula-Hoops, a red tartan blanket and two glossy magazines bearing a scantily clad lady on the front which hinted at the treasures which might lurk contained within the pages.

"They belong to somebody! We can’t just take them!" I protested.

"But it can't hurt just to borrow them for a bit?" said Neil

"We can't hang around here. What if it's some tramp who made this shelter and he comes back?" said Robin.

While I opted to be the lookout, Neil and Robin picked up a magazine each and slipped it up their shirts carefully. Giddy with excitement, we scrambled back to the footpath and made our way carefully to a small copse nearby, fearful that an adult we knew - a teacher, a next door neighbour perhaps - might approach us and find the forbidden bounty we were smuggling away.

And thus the most deliciously scandalous afternoon was had, pouring over the full page photographs and reading aloud the stories, interspersed with gasps and sniggers of delight.

"Clarissa cooed with delight as I finally parted her lips and slid my massive cock into her inch by inch as she demanded that I fill her hungry pussy..."

Wow. This is exactly what sex must be like. Yeah.

Some of the women in the magazines were in their early twenties the thought of the private company of such mature women made us yearn for adulthood. Oh yes, we were aghast that twenty one year old ladies only ever wore stockings and lacy underwear underneath their daily clothing.

The onset of our respective dinner times meant that we had to return the magazines and run home before we were missed. Robin had other ideas though.

"Hide them in the hollow of that tree. No-one will find them there and we can come back later and have another look".

"Yeah!"

We agreed to keep this a wonderful secret between the three of us. A vow of smug silence about our find was quickly made as we departed for home, wearing great big shit eating grins on our pre-teen faces. We'd finally seen naked ladies. We were practically men.

A week later, with the first flecks of gold starting to bite into the green leaves that marked the approaching end of the balmy summer holidays we went back to check our secret stash for one last look before returning school. Once again I was lookout as Neil and Robin groped into the hollow of the tree and retrieve our carefully hidden bounty.

"They're gone!" Robin cried with anguish.

"Which one of you is playing a trick on us?" I hissed in reply scarcely believing that someone could find them in that good a hiding place.

"Somebody must have followed us here and taken them" said Neil

In that moment, the mood began to turn sour. It had to be Neil who'd taken them. It had to be. Robin hurtfully threw charges of pilferage in my direction. Our indestructible bond of friendship was breaking apart amongst the mutual mistrust and ultimately shattered as the accusations turned into an exchange of blows.

And thus we returned to school the next day, each of us coldly acknowledging the others, unaware that the mood was a foreboding warning of the jealousies and Machiavellian misdemeanour that would eventually occur when we did eventually start dating girls for real.

Ah, the summer of 1986... We found treasure but ultimately we lost our innocence.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:45, 10 replies)

Why don't you see white dog shit anymore?
Remember Spangles?

Watneys Party 7's!

Wait, is that not what we are doing this week?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:36, 8 replies)

More magazine mishaps
Not the first time I'd seen nudity. I'd even been involved in some nudey-prod games with different girls. But still this one sticks in my mind.
There I was, a wee 16 year old Monkeyboy, and I'd decided to go and get my nipple pierced. Off I trotted to Perforations in Brighton, down into the cellar, surrounded by older, heavily adorned chaps and chapesses.
Whilst waiting for my appointment I started to thumb through the magazines they had down there. Pictures of ears stretched to breaking point, men hanging from piercings in their backs and then......
A cock. Not just any cock. Not just an ampallang or a Prince Albert. This thing was sliced down the middle of the head, a ring attached to both halves, then pulled back and attached to a ring through both scrotum.
It looked like purple, punk, piranha plant from Mario. Why? Why would anyone do this to themselves? And then take photos of it?
It didn't put me off my piercing, at a later date I even got the Prince Albert, but it became a right of passage for anyone of my friends that got a piercing. You'd take them in, tell them how painless the experience was, sit down next to them, pick up the mag, open it to the right page and place it on their laps. A bit like two girls one cup, it was all about the reaction you could provoke, we had a few girly screams, gags and full body spasms. But after they'd had it done to them, they would repeat the rite with the next of their friends to venture into Perforations.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:35, 8 replies)

"Boys are better than girls" I instructed my sister, with authority, "Because we can wee standing up."
"So can girls!" retorted she, and showed me.

I hate my sister sometimes.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:31, 3 replies)

Bush/Hedge Porn
Although you don't find it anymore, before the rise of t'interweb grumble, many a young lad's first experience of nudity was a dog eared copy of Razzle stuffed in a bush.
The older you are the more hair down there your fist experience was when it comes to jazz mags. My first treasure trove of hedge porn was in the 80's, when I chanced upon a soggy edition of Paul Raymond's finest.
I'd heard about these mags, even seen them on the top shelf of the newsagents, but never opened one. I surreptitiously shoved the mag into my bag and hurried off home to break my pornographic duck.
Upon getting home, I rushed off to the bathroom for my first taste of rhythm material, frantically opening the mag and, to my horror, being confronted by a growler so hairy it looked like a tribble performing gynaecology. How could this be? Men were supposed to be hairy, women were all smooth, no face hair or chest hair. So why did this woman have this thing stuck to her?
Continuing to browse through the mag I found lady gardens that had been trimmed, shaven and plucked, but I could not get that image of the yeti growler out of my mind. My first chance to have a proper, visually aided shuffle was ruined. There was no chance that I could perform with that thing in the room. So, the mag got stashed away until my adolescent cravings were too great and the grumble was retrieved and opened with great care so as not to catch a glance of the monster.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:16, 8 replies)

My dad's secretary
Me and my brother were massive Michael Jackson fans and when the video Ghost came out in 1996, we had to watch it. Problem was, the video was showcased on Canal Plus (a French premium pay television channel) and unfortunately our parents didn’t subscribe to it. So my dad asked his secretary if she would record said video and he gave her a new VHS for her to do so.
Comes the next day and my dad comes back from work with the long awaited MJ video. Having returned from school before my brother, I decided not to wait from him and watch the video.

I must say I was a bit disappointed as the end credits started to roll. And then, it happened, FULL ON HARDCORE PORN appeared on the TV screen, blowies, anal, licking-lesbos and everything a 15 year old virgin could wish for in his wettest dreams. My dad’s secretary had, it seemed, inadvertently recorded the video on one of her own tapes…

Too ashamed to tell anyone what happened (apart from the whole school of course), I recorded over the naughty bits. I never looked at my dad’s secretary the same way after that.
(djib, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:12, 9 replies)

Mud-Wrestling scene from Teen-Wolf
nuff said.
(Chojin doesn't know what day of the week it is, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 9:55, 10 replies)

Queer As Folk.
That first episode still live on repeat in my head.
(CallMeNumberTwo had his 'last' cigarette on, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 9:41, Reply)

Benny Hill
and him being chased by all them birds with massive diddies in bikinis

Can't listen to Yakkity Sax now without suffering a degree of priapism.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 9:15, 9 replies)

We were both seventeen.
She was coming 'round to my house, and my parents would be out for the evening.

"We should rent a movie" she suggested, "How about 9 1/2 Weeks?" she said.

I was 17 - the mere mention of the film was enough to cause me to pitch a tent in my underpants, and coming from a real, actual girl, this was, in essence, nature's way of stress-testing my cranial blood vessels.

The evening came. She was looking lovely. "I'll get us some drinks" said I, and returned with two cups of cider (yeah, I'm cool).

I loaded the cassette in. The film started.

EVERY rude moment - EVERY one had been completely mashed from bloody teenagers rewinding it and putting it on pause too long.

EVERY SINGLE ONE.

Off topic? You fucking bet I was.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 9:13, 2 replies)

Porn Lookout
In the 80's not being caught watching Porn was a much more complicated buisness than just making sure you deleted you browser history.

We would arrive home from school and when Atick Attack or Jetpack and the ensuing arguments about which was better the Spectrum or the C64 faded away then it would be Porn time. Except that there was only one lad whos parents both worked full time and he had no siblings, So off to Pauls for that was his name we would trot. First find the Tape-There was only one tape that was changed every once in a while. But the cuboard would be opend and a carefull mental photograph taken as to the exact placing of the tape and also the holiday nick nacks and xmas tat placed around it. The tape would be removed and a carfull note of the counter made. Resetting this counter to 0000 was a fate punishible by a bolloking as it would upset Pauls Mams system of watching her episodes of Corrie and Brookie.
Then the tricky bit, the VCR was a top loading one, the HMS Ark Royal of video recorders, Insert cassete and wait. Crunch cruch cruch clang clang brrrrrr, as the tape was would around the innards of the video recorder about five times.
Now for the Porn lookout, prevoisly decided by consensous, One member of the gang would sacrifice their watching priveleges to "casually" stand at the front door watching down the street for unexpeced visitors, Pauls Nan or his Dad who had a habbit of knocking off work early.
Because the whole operation including rewinding the tape back to the exact point on the counter would have to be done in reverse including waiting for the stone age VCR to disgorge its tape....We lived in fear of it chewing the tape up.

Looking back the Porn was pretty crap and one video included women in masks inexpertly flailing a set of nunchuks around?
(Gru being trolled since 1998, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 8:54, 2 replies)

My Dad was a keen amateur artist and used to collect magazine photos to paint pictures from.*
Of course he didn't just paint buildings. On the traditional pre-xmas gift hunt, my brother, aged about 9, found a battered suitcase hidden in our parents' room, stuffed full of girlie mags. This would be the late 60s or very early 70s so the poses were coy rather than brazen and only boobs and bums were on show.

Bro showed me his find and we had a good laugh. He then foolishly asked our mother about it and we both got a frenzied belting. As usual, I was thrashed harder for being older and leading Bro into trouble, even though I'd known nothing about it until he'd shown me. Most unfair.

Our mother's puzzling over-reaction and consequent warning to NEVER mention Dad's 'art books' again EVER on pain of further violence didn't stop us sniggering about them in private. For many years, even the mention of the word 'art' would have us nudging each other and giggling.

Exploring the local park in the following summer holidays we began finding 'art books' stuffed into bushes and between tree branches. I thought everyone's dads must be trying to find places to hide them from their nosy kids. Ahh, the innocence.

*This worked surprisingly well and I still have a lovely painting he did of Florence, from a tiny photo in a travel article. I visited the city a few years ago and took a picture of my kids in front of the same view.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 8:40, Reply)

my first porno
Copied from vhs to vhs since time immemorial, the source long since lost in the mists of time.

The Tape.

Nirvana.

Eagerly we loaded it into the phillips front loader (this wasnt much before the internet exploded), having checked all parental forces were safely at work.

and we watched. As we peered through the copy artefacts at dim shapes, the images that would help shape our nascent lust formed in front of us. A slow look of horror spread around the assembled few as we realised that she was going to have sex with the alsatian.

A slow look of horror that spread to all but one. Dar, you are a sick, sick man to this day.
(court escaper, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 7:49, 2 replies)

More tea Vicar?
The local park had a line of immature pines that were like Christmas trees.
Perfect for making huts. One dewy Sunday morn we discovered a mother-load of greasy stick-books under one. Stashed. We had a look. What to do? It didn't possess us to take 'em home. The church carpark was over the fence. 30 minutes or so later - CUT TO: families exit the church, sharing banalities with the vicar on their way out. Every single car windscreen had a dirty bitch and her hairy slot ripped out of a mag and pasted to it care of the dew, or light rain or whatever it was. Me and my brother were about 6 or 7. We'd pissed off home fast after the deed. And I've always pictured the looks on those happy god-abiding families faces.
( hismastersvice cunting flange-jammer, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 5:10, 4 replies)

When I was 10 or 11
My sister was 15/16 and discovering boys and having parties when "babysitting". My brothers and I would be banished to our bedrooms and strictly forbidden to go downstairs, despite the stomach-growlings of young boys urging us on to the kitchen. It wasn't that bad, because once drunk her friends would start investigating the house and find us, and start blathering drunken shite, making fun of my heavy metal posters (I was big on Skid Row, Poison and Motley Crue) and being entertaining - they would take the piss out of my sister and even bring up an illicit tin or two, and we'd play up to them saying what an evil witch our sister was.

Her boyfriend must have been a few years older as he had a car, and I remember one day going to (well, being brought to) the beach with them and a bunch of their friends. I can't remember the exact reason why, but at one point I was sitting in the car while everyone else was down the beach. (Maybe I was listening to "Shout At The Devil"). One of my sister's friends came in to dry off a bit, having gone in swimming. She evidenly hadn't expected to go swimming, as she was sitting there IN HER WET BRA AND PANTS in the passengers seat RIGHT NEXT TO ME with HER PUBIC HAIR CLEARLY VISIBLE THROUGH HER WHITE UNDIES.

I didn't know where to look and my Adam's Apple had never felt so engorged in my throat before. Here was a practically naked woman right next to me! With boobs! And hair down there! Which I could see! Or, well, which I would able to see if I looked slightly to my left. I somehow found myself rigid with concentration looking stright ahead, while I awkwardly chatted with this vision of woman who had arisen from the ocean.

Fwapped myself silly when I got home.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 4:44, 13 replies)