When you tell people you “read” Playboy, they overlook that it was a so-called complete lifestyle magazines–fiction, exceptional interviews, food, cars, electronics, travel, not so much fashion that was Esquire turf, and of course groanable jokes
Dad stashed the latest Playboy or Penthouse under a fortress of sweaters on his top closet shelf. I’d make sure to slide it back without mussing that wooly camouflage. A lot of effort for a pretty tame payoff.
Mom had a stash, too: a bundle of pre-marital love letters between her and Dad, hidden under a stack of her blouses on her top shelf. I read one once. Once was more than enough. Not tame by any stretch of the imagination—made the Penthouse Forum letters seem G-rated by comparison.
And that’s how I learned how babies are made.
Go Mom!!1!
Besides, it’s “babbies” 