I like porn.
There, I said it.
I’m not a deviant nor have I ever been into fifty shades of anything. I don’t drink or consume drugs other than Advil. A cigarette (of any kind) never meets my lips. I’ve never been arrested (but only because the cops haven’t caught me) and so I have no record of any form. I don’t cheat on my wife. I’m a good boy – for the most part.
Think of me what you will, but to be clear, I’m not suggesting I spend hours every day downloading increasingly-shameful “cartoon” videos featuring schoolgirls being ravished by tentacled beasts – who bear more than a striking resemblance to the Kardashians. However, as a red-blooded (there are other shades out there, trust me) Canadian male I have no problem admitting that these eyes have viewed more than one adult film in their day.
We’re talking about good, old-fashioned mainstream porn, the kind mom and dad used to hide in the top of their closet. But with far less hair and less funky scores.
In fact, I credit Ginger Lynn – and her “sisters”, Amber and Porsche – with helping me survive puberty. They had help, of course, but without them, and the fact we didn’t have any cute female neighbors in my age group with low self-esteem and even lower standards, there’s no way I would have made it out alive as my body was transitioning into what we refer to as adulthood.
I recall a particularly eventful afternoon that involved a group of my high school classmates and an adult film involving two guys who stowed away on a cruise ship.
One that was staffed entirely by lesbians.
In retrospect, maybe “staffed” isn’t the best word to use in this case…
At any rate, on this specific afternoon a bunch of us decided to play hooky from Mr. Shaw’s mind-numbing exploration of geography rather than wait for our teenage brains to melt in our skulls. And yes, I recognize the irony of the fact that I, The Hook, played hooky from school, thank you very much.
So we wound up at Shelley Fanshawe’s house (I’ve changed some names to protect the ridiculously-guilty) and since her parents were super freaks that even Rick James would be scared of, the VHS porn collection soon appeared. I have to admit, it was a little weird watching hardcore scenes surrounded by one’s peers (or so they considered) but I got through it. The next day at school though, a young lady named Nicole Winters – who thought God blessed her with the perfect female form – decided to share a certain “fact’ with the entire student body:
“Rob Hookey got a boner while watching porn with all of us at Shelley’s house!”
This went on for weeks; I was too timid back then to mount any sort of viable defense. Finally, though, I’d had enough. One day, when our law teacher slipped out for a hit of weed (Canadian high school) I confronted Nicole after her umpteenth declaration and let her have both barrels.
“Listen, it was porn! How was I supposed to react while watching beautiful women peel each other’s clothes off? And for the record, Nicole, those women had perfect bodies with actual breasts, not those mosquito bites you wrap in a Sears bra stuffed with an entire forest’s worth of Kleenex!”
Three things happened after that day:
ONE) Nicole Winters never walked by my locker without spitting at it.
TWO) Any boyfriend Nicole Winters ever had after that day was instructed to beat the holy crap out of me.
THREE) I never got to act out any of the scenes in that film with Nicole Winters.
And that, friends is just one of many “porn stories I have in my repertoire. More to come, I mean follow.
See you around, kids…