Found Porn
by AAG a.k.a. Always Aroused Girl

 

When I was by most standards too young to be looking at porn, I came across a single page torn out of a men's magazine on a well-worn wooded bike path behind my house.

These were trails used by older boys, who'd set up ramps and clubhouses on this small lawless swath of land. Most certainly the page had lived in one of these boys' wallets. It was scored with multiple creases, dirty around the edges and ragged where it had been ripped from the magazine.

One side of the page contained an advice column which was utterly incomprehensible to my immature sensibilities, but the other side of the page? That I understood very well.

This episode happened in the early 80s. The model featured on the page had soft teardrop breasts, untouched by surgery or silicone. True to the style of that era, her darkish blond cascaded rampantly across her shoulders and nearly down to her bottom. Her trimmed yet still very full pubic bush was several shades darker than her head hair. A toasty tan covered everything but for pale triangles over her nipples. She stood in an almost defiant pose: her body straight ahead, hands on hips, head tilted at a saucy angle.

She looked directly at the camera, catching and holding my eyes with a gaze that seemed both intelligent and provocative.

I was fascinated by her body. I was caught between two thoughts in looking at her: I wanted to look like her, and I wanted to touch her.

Vividly I imagined running my hands over her airbrushed skin, although at that time I had no clue that her skin most likely was far from that smooth brown perfection when she woke up each morning. I imagined lifting the dense weight of her teardrop breasts in my hands, then leaning in to place my lips almost reverentially on a nipple.

But then the reverence ended. I wanted the beautiful woman on that dirty, ripped page in ways that my young mind couldn't yet articulate. I wanted to kiss her, and have her kiss me back. I wanted her to push me down on a bed; as I imagined this, a tingly heat spread through me. I could picture nuzzling between her toasty brown legs, wedging open her thighs, gently pulling apart her brown-furred labia and kissing the slickness inside.

And I wanted her to do the same things to me.

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The picture burned holes in my retinas and in my pocket for a number of days, until such a time as I found my best friend, a boy, on the bike paths behind my house. "Look what I found," I whispered to him, shoving the folded paper into his hands.

"It's a girl," he said, looking in confusion from the picture to me, then back again. "Why are you looking at a picture of a girl?"

I had no answer for him. I had no way of describing what the picture did to me; even if I could have, the confusion in my friend's voice would have clamped my mouth shut tight.

In the early 80s, on a bike path behind my house, I found a creased and dirty picture torn from a men's magazine of a beautiful naked woman. From this I learned three things. First, that I was fascinated by women. Second, that it was thought odd that I was fascinated by women.

And finally, I learned that porn would be one safe way to let me explore that fascination.

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