Dirty Dad
I went through adolescence in the mid-80s, back before anyone with an internet connection could download an effectively infinite quantity of hard-core porn for free. Indulging my filthy little cravings left me with few options:

1) Find it in a hedge (surprisingly fruitful, actually -- thank you, the porn fairy!)
2) Trade with friends, except that they were usually in the same position as me
3) Buy 'pre-owned' stroke mags from the rather unsavoury kid in my year at school who had somehow come upon (often in both senses of the phrase...yuk) an inexhaustible supply

...but I hit the jackpot the day I decided to re-arrange my bedroom. Under one cupboard was a neatly-closed plastic bag and inside, a pristine copy of Whitehouse. I'd never seen the like! My little man was worn to shreds.

The oddest part was having to come to terms with the fact that my Dad (I can only assume it was him, I don't think my Mum ever had any such tendencies) had a) bought a porn mag, then, b) presumably perused it and indulged his own filthy cravings and finally c) decided to hide it in MY room so if it ever got found, I'd be blamed! My father is the dullest, most straight-laced accountant you've ever met, so it was all the more surprising.

He must've known that I'd found it but of course, it was never discussed: I simply put it with my own private stash and kept quiet. Never found any more though -- I wonder where he hid it after that?

Length? I wore it down to a stub.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Mon 20 Aug 2007, 12:42, Reply)