I remember sitting behind the bookshelf in my room for the first time with my own magazine. Eventually I paid a kid who looked way older than me $20 to get me a Playboy, like a dork.ġ2. The first few times I went in I browsed, pretending that I was looking for gum or something, and ended up just buying the gum. Once I got my license I drove there many times, so nervous I was literally shaking. There was a certain convenience store everyone knew sold porn to anyone without asking ages. But it was also strangely compelling, like a portion of being a human I had yet to find the keys to, but that was buried somewhere in me.ġ1. In writing, the idea seemed more putrid to me-not glossy like the images. I remember reading Penthouse Letters in the bathtub. I would wait for my parents to leave the house, then I would take the magazines into my room and look at them carefully, trying not to leave fingerprints.ġ0. My dad had mostly Playboys, a couple Penthouses, and Penthouse Letters. This was probably the most common way for kids to find their first pornos back then. Eventually, probably while snooping, I came across my dad’s small collection of adult magazines on the high shelf in his closet, covered with a t-shirt. When the 3.5” floppy disc finally arrived it was just the regular old version of DOOM. I asked my friend for weeks after that to please get me a copy of the game, over and over. It meant nothing to him, but I couldn’t stop staring. A friend’s older neighbor had edited the program to replace the tapestries on the walls with a jpeg of Pamela Anderson. One of the first full-frontal pictures I saw was in a modded version of DOOM for PC. I don’t remember many other things from that early stage in my life.ħ. I remember my uncle saying something to the effect of, “one day you can have that,” and everyone laughing. A very brief, insanely vivid memory from when I was probably four or five, of picking up a magazine my dad’s friends were passing around at a camp in the woods, and the men laughing as my dad took it away from me before I could see. So instead of full visions, I caught flashes and tried to embed them deep in my memory so that I would be able to see them for a long time afterward whenever I shut my eyes.Ħ. I would stand in front of the rack and wait until I knew I had half a second with no one watching, and then I would open the magazine as if I didn’t mean to, in case someone caught me. I remember feeling an insane sense of agency whenever he would stop at this one gas station that had a rack of tattoo magazines with tits in them. I used to occasionally go to work with my dad. Eventually he was caught and suspended.ĥ. They were his dad’s magazines, he said, and there were more where those came from, if you had the money. He carried them around in a duffel bag with a padlock on it. The kid who owned that magazine briefly ran a business where you could buy a page out of other, similar magazines for a dollar. I remember the feeling of seeing more than I actually saw.Ĥ. I’m not sure what magazine it was, but the pictures were of naked women holding automatic weapons, dressed up like military personnel. I remember feeling a weird sense of doom, like I was going to get caught the second I touched the paper, even though everyone else was laughing about it. I saw my first porn magazine in fourth grade when some kids in my class were passing one around under the lunch table.
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