Reading Amboabe’s last post, about how he’s eschewed porn of late has got me thinking of my youth, and the times me and my pals would go on our ‘porn runs’… Back in those quaint days pre-internet, one would actually have to enter into some mighty dangerous terrain in order to satiate one’s sexual perversions. I remember those ‘porn runs’ all too well. Five or six horny nerds stuffed into a parent’s car, driving down the Henry Hudson Parkway with high expectations, evading the homeless windex washers, driving all teen jittery erratic and eventually stopping across from some sleazy sex shop in a pre-Disney Times square.
Once parked, one unlucky fellow was chosen to go make the purchase. This was a lot of pressure, not only because it was a really sketchy area filled with shifty looking men in overcoats, and intimidating thugs, but because the responsibility of choosing something good was placed on your shoulders. After all, these tapes were expensive, and none of us had any money, so a lousy selection would incur the wrath of the entire geek posse.
I had a friend that used to say,’ The first rule of porn is that all porn sucks’. I think that’s pretty true. I mean, it’s just very unusual to watch something that would really rev your engines – especially back in the late 80s and early 90s. Still, we would make our journey, pool our resources, and buy us some porno.
Stepping into one of these sex shoppes was much like diving into an icy cold ocean head first. You held your breath, adrenaline leaking out of your ears, harsh fluorescent lighting exposing your every move and made your way through the aisles avoiding eye contact with all the perverts. Usually you had some suggestions from the troop…
‘Christy Canyon!!’
‘No… Amber Lynn’
All you knew was time was of the essence.
First off, the longer you stayed in the store, the higher the possibility was of you getting murdered. I could just hear the police explain it all to my parents…
‘Well.. the incident happened at Al’s Porno Emporium… We found him stabbed to death with a sharpened dildo.. He was still clutching a copy of Buttman’s Big Tit Adventure’
Secondly, you didn’t wanna leave your friends out there too long fending off the hoardes of homeless people. So, as quickly as possible you made your choices paid an exorbitant amount to the guy behind the counter - who was invariably Arabic or Russian – and sprinted out of there clinging to your sack of porn for dear life.
The drive back would be high spirited, laughing about the sheer seediness of it all. When we would get to a home conveniently free of parents, we would all crowd around the VCR to review or bounty. Invariably my friends rule of porn was dead on…
‘all porn sucks’
Some would be worse than others, and in those instances we would take pleasure in ranking on the sorry excuse who’d made the selection. The laughs we’d have over all this would ALMOST make it worthwhile.
As soon as we’d watched them all, the haggling would begin as to who’d get first dibs to jerk off to them…
‘Well I went in and got it!!’
‘Yeah.. but I put the most money in!!’
Eventually all of it would be worked out, and we’d say our goodbyes and finish the rest of the night in privacy to bop our baloneys. It’s incredible to think what we put ourselves through just for a little sexual release. Of course it didn’t help that we were all socially repressed misfits. I suppose risking our lives to buy a porno tape in Times Square was far less risky than actually asking a girl out…
Those days are gone forever, and nowadays I much prefer actual fucking…
but I still watch porn…
…and it still sucks.
Meg white of the White STripes... Jug-ulicious drummer extraordinaire..
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