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Stephanie - Shropshire.
Way back in the early 1990s, before the birth of the internet, people would be forced to get their "visual stimulation" from WH Smiths or some other reputable establishment. The shy among us would slip the magazine of choice into an AutoTrader or The Beano and check to make sure that neither mum nor her friends from the Bridge club were in the vicinity before making the transaction.
I would spend a good 30 minutes outside the newsagent's noting customer frequencies and footfall figures before making my move. I would feel pressured during this "hunter/gatherer" escapade, and an empty shop doesn't remain empty for long. One time, in haste, I grabbed a copy of a "Reader's wives" special, not my magazine of choice, but in the circumstances choice didn't enter the equation.
Having paid the cashier the £2.15, I slipped the copy into my parka and headed home and to my bedroom for a little "me" time.
Now, the "Reader's wives" summer special was a 112-page bonanza that compared the professional photo shoots with photos that photography enthusiasts and hobbyists had taken at home with their polaroid cameras. I had a sneaky suspicion that the photo shoots involved professional models modelling how undergarments looked whilst being worn, and whilst not being worn.
The "at home/amateur" photos were usually roughly shot and rarely involved the subject wearing anything through photo 1 to photo 4. Maggie from Aberdeen would be walking casually in some woodlands on page 42 with Sam from Essex on Page 43 doing her laundry. What intrigued me most was the thought that these were ordinary women, doing ordinary things, but being prepared to "put themselves" out there.
I was quite pleased at having managed to get to page 52 in one sitting, helped on my way by a few stinkers, when I saw something that would not only question the integrity of such publications, but would put me off reading such things for a good couple of days.
At first, it didn't register. But, I actually knew Stephanie from Shropshire. Not only did I know her, but I knew her as Sarah and she was from Pontypridd. How could they lie to their readers? "Stephanie" was an older sister of a school-friend of mine and so I knew her fairly well. In the question of morality, I decided to skip to page 54 and attempt to erase the images I had seen from my memory which, unknown to me at the time, had photographic qualities itself - particularly in darkened rooms.
Of course, I saw Sarah a few times since that episode, and I remained calm and professional throughout. I haven't seen her for a long time, despite my best efforts.
Originally Posted by CCFCPhil
Some great mags back in the day, many "found" in mates houses. Mayfair was a personal favourite. I think you're referring to Fiesta which seemed to be a favourite of one particular parent in our street.
These mags are still going, amazing in this new enlightened age where most things are a mere click away.
My favourites were Club and Men Only, not as classy as Playboy but a cut above the likes of your Razzle and Big Jugs. Luckily I had a mate that lived in our local newsagents so we used to get freebies from him.
But what did you used to call pornographic literature? Round our way they were called cock mags, which is a bit odd as I don't recall seeing any cock in them.
We called them cock mags too. Playboy was always a bit shit. One of the mags had a section called "One for the Ladies". They paid £25 a picture if published
Ah yes. Wasn't it Fiesta that had "one for the ladies" section?
Some great mags back in the day, many "found" in mates houses. Mayfair was a personal favourite. I think you're referring to Fiesta which seemed to be a favourite of one particular parent in our street.
These mags are still going, amazing in this new enlightened age where most things are a mere click away.
The caretaker (single bloke) of the building I used to work in was a dirty old bugger and passed around all his mags. Rustler and Lovebirds were a different level of filth and his faves.
There were many trips to the gents for one's daily turnout with one tucked into The Sun newspaper to save everyone's blushes.
What w@nkers we were.
YesWe called them cock mags too. Playboy was always a bit shit. One of the mags had a section called "One for the Ladies". They paid £25 a picture if published
Original Tinder!
Cock books
A whole new world..
You read a cock mag called Men Only?
We used to call them jazz mags
These days one would be more inclined to slip the Sun into the gentleman's magazine to save embarrassment
On a train back in the 70s, I could see the reflection of what the guy over the aisle was reading.
He was reading the Beano inside a copy of Mayfair. I kid you not.
On a train back in the 70s, I could see the reflection of what the guy over the aisle was reading.
He was reading the Beano inside a copy of Mayfair. I kid you not.
Bully Beef.... what a rotter
You have stronger willpower than me- there's no way i would have been able to a) skip that page out of morality
Or
B) not mentioned it every subsequent time i saw Sarah/Stephanie
I remember doing a waste audit on a publisher of adult magazines in the early 90's in Bristol.
Their problem was that when unsold magazines were returned to the publishers the free attachments that were supplied with the mags would then have to be disposed of (the mags were sent for pulping and reissue)
The attachments were normally those 15 minute teaser VHS videos of Electric Blue or the like. Anyway they client would throw all the videos in the bin.
When I was sat in his office he opened the curtains and showed me about 40 kids all with plastic carrier bags all stood on a mound outside the company who would swarm on the place and nick anything they could from the bins and leave all the mess on the floor, before shooting off to watch their 15 minutes of possibly getting a sight of a permed up bird with her baps out
I still to this day remember the leader of this gang of kids he called himself Jurssey or Jursset or something or other - I could tell he was a huge w@nker
This kid lived up our street and his old man had hundreds of Jazz mags and when they decided to move me and my mate realised a load of said Jazz mags would get binned.
It was like a military manoeuvre we waved them off with the removal van then we took all their thrown out rubbish over to our den over the woods.
BINGO a huge stash was recovered and it was at this point my one armed body building work out took a step up.
You'd never get a job at these publications.
"A HOLE new world" would work better.
We had found a stash somewhere, can never remember where though. Some of the mags were 10-15 years old. In our youthful ignorance, we became a bit disgusted when one of the gang pointed out that some of the girls would be knocking on 40 by now. We came just before the MILFs did.
It didn't feel right, and I was already on a guilt trip and taking one step to hell with every visit. I felt these photos would have only hastened my pathway to hell.
Surprise porn was always good though. My mate, Steve, used to record the WWF for me because I didn't have Sky. I left the VHS running after the credits and, bingo, he had only accidentally recorded over his dad's dirty video. I don't know what was funnier, me receiving some surprise porn, or the thought of his dad sitting down to watch Doctor Penetration only to be greeted by Andre the Giant and Brother Love.
They'd be gilfs or, possibly, corpses. Sadly the industry has taken too many from us too early, with the poor lasses being hooked on drugs before you can say Rim Shot. I have standards, and if I discover a model has passed away I will give her one last memorial before striking her from the records.
And toss your dirt all over her.
RIP
That just sounds like you gave him some vastly different porn than he was expecting
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