My Two Most Embarrassing Porn Moments

Porn has been a part of my life since the time I saw a grainy film projected against a sheet in a friend’s cellar. Since then I have watched, read, written, drawn, listened to, and spoken sexually explicit material by myself or with others. I have no idea the total amount I have experienced. I experienced it through the years according to what was available: Playboy/Penthouse/Hardcore magazines during the print era, rentals during the video store period, and finally the internet downloads of today. I have had a number of periods where I collected it. I would gather porn steadily until I reached a saturation point. Then either the total amount I had or a wave of catholic guilt over what I was doing overwhelmed me and I threw out what I had. Currently I am back downloading internet porn (I have a WD Passport with 152 GB) and I really don’t see myself stopping any time soon (or at least until I reach the 320 GB maximum).


When I collect I have managed to keep my cache hidden from the people I’ve lived with. I had hidden storage areas throughout my home and password protected sections of hard drives (even ones that were shared with my family). I managed to indulge my urges surreptitiously (which has included sneaking a laptop into the bathroom for private viewing) and almost never got caught. Almost….

My first embarrassing moment came in the seventh grade. While I didn’t really have access to porn at that time, I was starting to get an appreciation of women from my comic books. Wonder Woman, Zatanna, the Black Widow: some had fishnets, some had low cut tops, all had bodies that wouldn’t quit. I especially liked when they were unconscious and carried off over the shoulder (a fetish I still like to this day – especially naked OTS).

Another activity I was starting to appreciate was catfighting. There was just something exciting watching women fight – especially if the participants were in skimpy clothing. I only had brief moments of experience with this – a movie here; a television show there. Professional wrestling had its moments, but unfortunately the Fabulous Moolah wasn’t all that stimulating.

My final inspiration was the S twins – two blond sisters that could have be members of the Swedish Bikini Team when they grew up. They were just starting to bloom and all the boys in my class were aware of it at some level (just like that South Park episode). Due to our school arranging our desks in alphabetical order, they sat in the row to the left of me and one desk behind. We talked a little, but we weren’t friends.

One day I dropped my pen and had to lean down to pick it up. It had rolled, so my head was practically touching the ground when I got it. I was pulling myself back up when I happened to glance back.

And I had a clear view right up one of the S twin’s skirt. I could see the “v” of her white flowered panties between her legs. It was the best thing I had ever seen.

I quickly pulled myself up, a mixture of fear, shame, and desire flooding over me. I was going to hell. I had seen heaven. I couldn’t tell anyone what I had seen. I wanted to shout a cry of triumph. I was pretty much useless for the rest of the day.

During the next few days I was a nervous wreck. I was certain that the D twin knew what I had seen and had reported me. I waited for the teacher to punish me; my parents to scream at me. I was living on borrowed time.

Eventually I realized that nothing was going to happen to me. I had gotten away with it! At first I was relieved, but then a new thought occurred to me. If I wasn’t caught, maybe I could do it again. I picked up my pencil and contemplated what I was about to do. Fear fought a losing battle with lust. A slight toss and the pencil went sailing into the aisle. I leaned over, picked up the pencil, and nonchalantly (I hoped) looked back. The panties were pink this time.

I developed a case of the “dropsies” - spreading out my pen drops to avoid suspicion. Eventually I became quite familiar with the S twin’s underwear collection. It was fantastic.

When I wasn’t staring at the S twin’s crotch, I was expanding my comic book collection. I decided that when I grew up I was going to draw comic books for DC. I began copying panels from my comics as a way to train myself. I went from heroes to heroines to heroes carrying heroines to heroines carrying heroines to heroines catfighting. In all honesty I was quite good at it.

In school one day after a particularly good panty view I came up with the ultimate combination: superheroines in underwear first catfighting, then tying up the losers and carrying them off OTS. I was stunned by the brilliance of the concept. It was an idea that could not wait. During study time I began drawing a fight scene in my notebook. I had heroines in bearhugs, heroines in head scissors, face-to-face holds, 2-on-1’s, etc. All the participants were in scanty underwear (I had their initials on their panties so you could tell who was who).

I got so engrossed with my drawing I neglected to check on my surroundings. The guy sitting next to me caught a glimpse of what I was doing and before I could stop him he grabbed my notebook away from me.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked. He took a good long look at my work. [I have to take a small break here to mention that my school reputation was threefold: I was the smartest male student, I was short and squat, and I was a “good” kid.] My classmate saw my work as an opportunity to bring me down a few pegs. “Hey, Mrs. K [our teacher], look what V is doing!” Mrs. K, who was already on her way over when she saw him grab my notebook, took it from him and looked inside.

“I’m just practicing my drawing…” was all I managed to get out. Mrs. K’s eyes widened. “Oh my God” was all she said. She looked at me with a combination of shock and amusement. I wanted to crawl inside my desk and never come out. Without another word she handed me back my notebook. Everybody in the class was looking at me, wondering what I had done. I immediately started erasing my drawing. What I had done would soon be known, but there would be no evidence. It took several weeks for the laughing and teasing to stop.

My second embarrassment occurred many years later after I had graduated college. I was then old enough to buy porn. In fact, I would occasionally buy it for some of my friends, as they were too embarrassed to buy it themselves.

[I need to take another break here. This was back when Playboy and Penthouse could be found in the general magazine racks. While I did buy them, I had to psych myself up in the store before I could grab one and take it to the store counter. I also had to wait until there was no one else at the counter to see me buy it. I preferred male sales clerks.]

My best friend T had moved to Maryland for a new job. This was the time of really cheap airfare – a round trip ticket cost less than $100. We made plans for me to visit him for a weekend just to hang around and see where he lived. As he was one of my friends who could not buy his own porn, he asked me to bring some of mine with me. I was more than happy to share and on the day of my trip I had around a dozen issues of Playboy in my carry-on bag (including my favorite: August 1972 – Barbara Hershey in Boxcar Bertha, the Girls of Munich, and (sigh) centerfold Linda Summers. Look her up).

While security in those days wasn’t anywhere near what we endure today, carryon bags were x-rayed and people went through metal detectors before they boarded. I had taken a number of airline trips up to that time and had never had any problem with my bags. On this day I put my bag on the conveyer belt, went through the metal detector and went to get my bag. It wasn’t there.

No problem, I thought. Sometimes it takes a while for the bag to go through. So I waited.

“Baggage check,” someone called out.

Hmm, I thought. Someone must have some weird looking thing in their bag. Well, this ought to free my bag up.

“Is this your bag?” A rather good looking woman in uniform was holding my carryon. The full magnitude of what was about to happen hit me like a truck. All I could do was nod. She took my bag over to a table where another good-looking woman joined her. With sweat breaking out on my brow I watched them unzip my bag and saw my Playboys pour out. They both looked at me with an “oh really?” expression.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you they were for a friend?” I said with a weak smile. They said nothing, just pushed my bag at me. I could feel their scorn. Without looking at them I shoved the books back in the bag, walked over to my gate with head down, and sat as far away from my fellow travelers as I could.

Needless to say, T had to get his own porn from that day forward.