I found a copy of the Joy of Sex......
in my mum and dads bedroom when I were a randy pre-teen. I remember getting ridiculously aroused at the arty sexual drawings and having to relieve myself quite often. I had just discovered wanking so it was still a novelty back then. At least three, or more, times a day I would sneak off to pilfer the said book from my parents room (which was unimaginatively hidden under the bed) retreat to my room and masturbate furiously before re-hiding the book and joining the folks back downstairs to watch some shite on tv like Lovejoy or Bergerac. They must have thought something was up as departing for 10 min intervals and arriving with beads of sweat upon my forehead must have looked suspect. With the advent of internet pornography, those Joy of Sex drawings are so tame they wouldnt even register a twitch nowadays.

Eventually my folks chose a different hiding place for the book and I couldnt find it any more. I then had to resort to, in great desperation, wanking off to the pictures of 'before' and 'after' tits yould would get in the adverts for breast surgery clinics found in the back pages of sunday newpaper magazines like 'You'. Fuck me that was desperate.
(CaptainFellatioNelson is trying to kill me, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 12:05, 3 replies)

Sounds familiar
I remember doing the same with The Joy of Sex and the sequel, More Joy of Sex, snappy title that. Anyway, it was always a struggle keep the flag from flying at half mast because of the woman having hairy armpits. Still, I soldiered on.
( abefroman skating on the thin life of modern life on, Fri 16 Nov 2007, 12:50, closed)

Why
does it never occur to you to imagine things in your brain?
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 8:51, closed)

that would
be like effort...
(Malcav, Mon 19 Nov 2007, 13:45, closed)