I had stacks and stacks of comics in my bedroom; tucked in here and there were things that were NOT produced by Marvel and DC …
And when I sold comics out of my locker in high school? Yeah, I was selling porn to the underclassmen, too. No-one ever finked me out, either!
Huh. I never even saw hardcore porn until I was in college. I was home for the summer, and found a Puritan magazine. Why I was looking under my sister’s mattress, I don’t recall.
But I do remember that one day I found it was gone. And my sister had been out of state the entire time.
My dad’s stash was just 2 Playboy’s from the late 70’s. Somehow my brother had found them in the bottom of our parent’s hope chest. I was 13 at the time and remember sneaking peeks when I would get home from school before mom and dad got home.
I didn’t have my own stash until I was 19, and even then I hid it in a manilla folder that I kept in a really huge photo album I had. I had several different stashes that I would hold onto for awhile, then throw away.
When I moved into an apartment during college, didn’t have a stash, until I started using my roommates PC-XT clone to start calling the local BBS board around town. Those I kept in my own 5.25" flopy disc case. Each disc I had was labeled “X” followed by a number.
Nowadays, all I have to say about any supposed “Stash” that I may or may not have is: DVD-RW + Truecrypt
Well, my hubby and I share a stash, so that’s no biggie (more on that in a minute). As for my kids (all girls), well, my youngest is too young to even read, my 14-year-old would never admit to anything as common as sexual urges (a strong puritanistic streak, that one, and I don’t know where she got it from), but my oldest came to me once when she was about 16, and asked if she could “borrow” some. So I made her a gift of a couple old Forum mags that we were tired of. About ours, well, we have to keep it put away where the 14-year-old won’t find it, because it disturbs her. She came across our Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty trilogy on the top shelf of our closet, and approached me like she’d found a crack pipe in my room or something! But I explained it to her like this: “You like hanging with (her best friend), don’t you?” Her: “Yes” Me: “Okay, imagine that you could never hang with anyone else for the rest of your life. Now imagine that someone told you that the only thing you guys could do together is hang out at Claire’s in the mall; that’s how marriage is. When your father and I got married, we promised that we’d never hang out, sexually speaking, with anyone else. Books like this help to keep us from feeling like we never do anything but go to Claire’s” Her: “Oh” But it still bothers her, so out of respect, we pretty much keep it put away. But she knows where it’s at, and as long as it’s out of her line of vision, she’s cool.
One time, when I was “out of commission” for health reasons for about two months, mr.new accidentally left a book in the bathroom, with a rather disturbing illustration on the front. I’m just glad it was the teenager that found it (although she “scolded” him for it) and not the little one! :eek:
I will never look at Claire’s the same way again.
Accessories, my ass.
I guess that puts me in between you and boringdad. I remember pre-gif “digitized” porn, downloaded from 300 baud BBS’s and printed out. Centerfolds from Playboy converted to ASCII, mainly. If you took 'em to the library and reduced them with a photocopier, they didn’t look bad. If you squinted.
I just remembered a stash place from when I was an adolescent-- I had a sturdy old bed that was the bottom half of a bunk-bed set, from back when my brother and I shared the same room. Because the bed-knobs didn’t extend down into the posts like the pegs from the top bunk’s legs did, I had two ready-made stash places at the foot of my bed. Natural spot for ciggies, condoms, and weed.
Hah! You really think we’d pay the “adult” shop price for anal beads? 
:eek:
I was pretty stupid about it when I was in high school- I just kept it loose under my bed. My friend’s dad had an enormous porn collection, and we would regularly raid it for new stuff, and return the stuff we had taken earlier. I must have had about 50 mags under my bed at any given time. One day I came home from school and my mom said “did you think I was never going to vacuum under your bed?” Actually, yes. Who vacuums under a bed?
Next day after school I drove to my friend’s house and returned them all. Well, I guess I kept one or two good ones.
Anal Beads??? Why, norinew, I’m shocked, shocked I say! Well I never…
…well, okay, maybe I’d have guessed something like that about you…
…maybe…
…but I’ll never tell!
Back in the mid-90’s, there was no alternative to AOL in my area. We even had to pay long distance to connect. After a few ridiculously high phone bills, my parents changed the password to keep me offline. I forget what the app is called, but Windows had a little program to record macros and keystrokes. I fired it up and called Dad into the room, claiming a desire to check email. He typed out the password, checked email, and logged off. I replayed the keystrokes into a txt file and enjoyed some nudity. It all came crashing down when the next phone bill arrived, but he never figured out how I got the password.
Well, given that we started our email friendship after both posting in a thread about anal sex, surely this doesn’t shock you too much!
[hijack]A guy in the company had to go to Singapore, so he picked up some chiming, enameled balls as souvenirs. The office manager was blabbing on the phone as I walked through her office.
To the phone, “He brought us back some balls, I don’t know what they’re called…”
To me, “What are those balls called?”
Me, “Ben wa balls”
To the phone, “They’re ben wa balls”
I just kept on walking.
[/hijack]
Was anyone else stupid enough to keep their stash in the fiberglass insulation of the attic?
Apparently a shitload of fibers will stick to the magazines, which will be transferred to one’s hands when one grabs them, which will be transferred to one’s-- well, let’s just say I thought I gave myself VD at 14.
Happy
No porn stash then or now, but I kept my pot stash in this weird space under my bed.
I had an antique bed that used to have strings instead of a boxspring. So there was a wooden bar near the head of the bed that no longer supported weight, but could not be seen unless you lay stomach down and crammed your head against the space between headboard and mattress. It fit a cigar box nicely.
Heh, my dad and I did that with a certain issue of “High Society” I still miss that issue, there was the most beautiful lady in it. Hard core too. After two times he gave up though.
From Coupling on porn buddies
Stash? Electronic and not paper.
Porn bores me after I’ve seen the same girl get shafted a few times in the same way. If its an .avi file I delete it, if its a magazine then I, um, you know, leave the pages stuck together then bin it. I feel I must use the magazine and its image completely before getting rid of it :o :rolleyes:
One of my favorite Man Show bits was one about a service that would go to your apartment after you had died and replace your porn with religious paraphenalia.
By the time I was done with highschool I had about a dozen magazines stashed around my room: High Society, Swank, Club International. I recall Barbara Dare and Angela Baron being heavily represented…but I digress.
When I went away to uni, I figured one of the perks was I could just keep all my smut in one place and not have to sweat about hiding it. I was to be sharing a townhouse with 3 others. The room I picked had this beat up old desk in it, and one of the first things I did after my parents drove away was stuff all the goodies into the bottom drawer.
I went home over the first weekend, and came back to find the desk GONE, and all my pretties which were within nowhere to be found! You see, they had a house party, and one facet of the overall drunken shenanigans was that the desk got broken in two…so they heaved it into the dumpster.
I was heartbroken…until I saw my roommate’s video collection.
In my fraternity house we had “47lbs o’ porn” – it was a milk crate filled to the brim with porn spanning 15 years. To economize, the magazines were culled of their non-photographic material (except for the Forum and Letters in Penthouse). Pretty much everyone had a subscription to Playboy, so they were always laying around in the john, but if you really wanted to go back in the archives, there was some great stuff in there. Each year, custody of 47lbs o’ porn would pass to a rising senior.
A funny busted story: When I was young, I would stay at my grandmother’s house damn near every Friday night. My grandmother lived with her adopted son, my Mom’s adopted brother, who though technically my uncle, was only seven years my senior. He was never much of a student; it took him about six years to finish high-school mainly because he spent all of his time smoking dope and running with the "cool kids” – think James Franco’s character on Freaks and Geeks. As a result, he was never there when I stayed over – oh, he’d usually come home at some point, but never before 2 or 3 in the morning. My main activity became pilfering through his room. Every now and then I’d find a roach with few good hits left in it. Once I found a copy of the Joy of Sex, but nothing compares to the one night I found the mother lode. You see, on one of his bookshelves, he had what appeared to be several years’ worth of Discover magazines, but upon closer inspection it was clear that something was nestled between each copy – another magazine placed in backward, spine to the back of the shelf. I began pulling these secret magazines out, one by one, in all 22 copies of Penthouse – the Cadillac of smut. At that point greed overtook me (truly, I know how Golem must have felt holding the ring), and I began to pack my score into my green vinyl ‘going to grandma’s’ bag. When I had them all packed, the bag must have weighed 25 pounds, and it was clear that I was leaving with more than I brought. To conceal this, I thought, I would just go ahead and put the bag in my grandmother’s car, get a head start on the “trip” (of all 3 miles), home. But on my way out the door, I was met by my grandmother, up for a mid night pull off her quart (no shit, my grandmother kept a quart of Lite in the fridge and would take a little tug every night before she went to bed). In her heavy Alsace-French accent she asked, “Vhut’s in zhee bahg?” “Huh?” I replied, as if nothing was up. “Zhee bahg, eets about to pop. Vhut do you 'ave in eet?” “Oh, uh,” but before I could say anything else, she had taken it, opened it and discovered my booty. “Vhut’s zhis?” BUSTED, think fast. “Oh, uh, yeah, I found that in John’s room. Uh, I was, uh, gonna show you, cause, you know, I didn’t think he was supposed to have it.” What a punk. “Oh,” she said, “thanks.”
As for me, I managed, for ten years, to keep five folded and weathered pages, torn from a Oui found in the woods, concealed in the jacket of a 45 record that came with my He-Man Castle Greyskull.