Porn Stash
I must have been only six or seven years old when I found out that my father was a thoroughbred in the pornographic film game. My family was obsessive about taping movies off the television once the VHS format gained dominance and cable TV took over the airwaves. Prior to that there were 13 channels and no way at all to rewatch something coveted. But as soon as video cassette became available we were on it, three films to a tape, with a very low threshold of discrimination. Early on my mother utilized the timing function to record “her story” while she was at work during the day so she could mainline it as soon as she got home. If for any reason this process was disturbed there would be absolute hell to pay. Days of Our Lives was more important than the life of any child in the household. It seemed to be a source of escape from the terrors of daily life. One autumn day in 1985 I was rummaging around the bookshelf of VHS tapes looking for The Empire Strikes Back, which was sandwiched between Silverado and Against All Odds on the same tape and frustratingly, I could not locate it anywhere. I must have searched through the five shelves of tapes that were three rows deep six times and there was no sign of my favorite film anywhere. I checked the VHS player where my mother’s unmarked tape could always be found ready to record Victor Kiriakis and the various drama he inspired but again no sign of Episode V of the Star Wars franchise. That’s when I noticed that there were two video cassettes perched high on my father’s chifforobe. They were too elevated for my diminutive stature so I used a footstool to grant access to whatever these mysterious magnetic tapes contained. Could these somehow hold the images I desired even though they were unmarked? I set out to exercise this curiosity by inserting the tape into the VHS player in my parents bedroom and my mind nearly exploded when the pictures hit the screen. A fully clothed man with a blond mullet and just his massive erect member protruding through an open zipper was thrusting into a partially clothed blonde woman whose skirt was pulled up and blouse undone. It was the first time I had ever seen a penis of that size, which was troubling in my prepubescent state, but more importantly it was my first real look at the female anatomy. Her vaginal opening was wet and splayed and contained an enormous amount of pubic hair. The film was most likely produced in the late 70’s and shot on 16mm, a format that remains in my heart as a beacon of authenticity and veracity in the lexicon of motion picture film stock. It was also in French, making the content even more alien. I felt like an astronaut that had just landed on a distant planet to find that the massive dongs and hairy twats of the natives were beyond my previous comprehensive capacity. I felt my brain growing in size as the neurons fired erratically. Prior to this moment, I had combed the televised signals entering my home in search of any and all images of the naked female form. The scrambled visuals of Playboy would sometimes provide a peek at a nipple through the static or a muffled moan through the distortion. I had also been a purveyor and connoisseur of what late night cable had produced, which later would be termed Skinemax, and I had made some inroads as an amateur recorder and compiler of the material on my own unmarked cassettes that also contained some of the best music video content Yo MTV Raps had to offer. But what I was seeing now was something else all together. Of course I’d seen great tits and a bare ass grinding on the pelvis of a well toned man in the soft core genre dominated by Shannon Tweed but hard core penetration was uncharted territory. Suddenly, I felt as if I were the Ferdinand Magellan or Vasco de Gamma of adult filmed entertainment. On this first viewing, I was only able to absorb 20 or 30 seconds before I was overwhelmed with confusion and then terror at the idea of being caught with this material pulsing on the screen so I hit stop and ejected the tape and placed it back up on my father’s chifforobe perfectly so it appeared that no disruption had occurred. As I gently pushed my mother’s cassette back into the player I was struck by a more troubling realization. These images were in my father’s possession. He had dominion over these tapes. He had most likely viewed this material and possibly masturbated to it. A whole new side of the man suddenly opened up like a portal to an unseen and troubling dimension and along with it the fear of being outed as a snoop and a pervert myself.
Unfortunately when I ejected my mother’s tape the timed record function had not been reset so my mother’s story was not recorded igniting her fury and resulted in a lashing on my rear end with the wooden spoon, a familiar punishment for infractions both large and small. I didn’t mind though and felt that perhaps it was a form of karmic retribution for seeing this material too early in my development. It was too late though. I had become obsessed with what I had seen and always had an eye on the two cassettes up on high. I had taken to exploring more of what was on the tapes when I knew my parents would be away for a long enough period. Even though my grandmother was nearly always two rooms away, she was hard of hearing and mostly immobile, so I felt safe to continue my education. Until one day, the tapes were gone. They simply disappeared. Now instead of searching high and low for The Empire Strikes Back I found myself in a panicked hunt for European porn.
Miraculously, I found the tapes two weeks later when visiting my Aunt’s house. Apparently, the videos had been lent to my uncle for his pleasure and were now being utilized by my adolescent cousins in order to acquire the skills necessary to execute an ethical and effective blowjob. It’s as if there was a cosmic alignment where these pornographic images were meant to ignite all of our brains at this exact historical moment. We were transfixed by the images and the education they provided, almost as a source of spiritual nourishment that would elevate us into puberty and beyond. I have to stress that these films were not glossy. They were raw and filthy with significant grain. You could smell the interaction. There was no silicon or lip injections that plague the modern cinema. There was hair and sweat and the bodies were real and flawed. It was people, fucking, not robots or surgically altered beings but actual Homo sapiens engaged in carnal acts meant to perpetuate the species. It was magnetic and we were awed and inspired.
While my cousins went on to medal in the field of fellatio at the local high school, I endeavored toward some modest achievements in the masturbatory arts as I moved from elementary school into junior high. Sometimes Zalman King’s Red Shoe Diaries provided the juice necessary for the squeeze while a rebroadcast of Emmanuelle offered some narrative structure on nights where I wanted more of an emotional context. Even a Salt and Pepa music video could get me through in a pinch but my mind always went back to the hard core porn I had seen on that autumn day. It left such an indelible impression that I became possessed and a thought entered my mind. There must be more somewhere in the house. If my parents left for even the briefest period I would tear the place apart looking for a trap door or crawl space where these carnal nuggets of delight might be hiding. The first few searches were futile but then one day I decided to go into the basement, into the recesses of the home, where my father kept his tools. He was a blue collar worker and had a ton of heavy equipment that could be used to rearrange physical reality into something else entirely. It was down there, underneath his workbench, that I hit the mother load. A large cardboard box that was packed to the brim with VHS tapes. There was no doubt that these cassettes held within its magnetic tape content that could produce the dopamine response that I was looking for.
For years I engaged with the video cassettes, watching literally every frame of footage contained therein. A delicate balance had to be struck however, wherein the tapes were returned to the exact minute marker where they had been found and replaced to their precise position in the box with perfect rectitude. My father was an obsessive compulsive maniac and surely would find even the slightest disturbance to this triumphant collection of smut. Not only did I get a premium education in sexual scholarship that may have cost a less privileged individual a small fortune but I spilled enough jizz to fill an olympic sized swimming pool. It also contributed to my fantastic memory considering the precision that the handling and replacement of the content required. I was basically a savant of erotica with a level of literacy that was unmatched in my age bracket and I would flaunt my prowess whenever even the slightest opportunity presented itself, which was mostly the junior high canteen where I was the reigning finger banging champion.
Several glorious years passed in this fashion without so much as a hiccup to this rapacious routine until one frightful day when the box was no longer there. Again, my source of sexual nourishment had vanished into thin air causing intense sorrow to befall me. Not only was I in mourning but I agonized over whether or not I had been negligent in my replacement of a tape. Had I not returned a film to its proper minute marker? Had the discrepancy been recognized and action taken to prevent any further viewings? It was impossible to know but it plagued me day and night. My school work suffered and my batting average in little league declined significantly. At dinner, I would often stare at my father sideways in an effort to ascertain whether or not he knew that I had trespassed upon his collection. No such insight was gained but as time passed my hunger for their location grew stronger and I became more cavalier in my search finally descending upon my parents closet, an area that was never frequented by me or any other member of my family except my parents after my cousin had stolen some rare coins when she was dog sitting and hocked them for drugs or some other good time. After some serious rummaging, there it was perched up high on a shelf deep in the closet. The golden cardboard box containing these precious gems of sinful cinematic delight. Once again, I was triumphant. I felt like Benjamin Franklin discovering the power of electrical force after being electrocuted by a bolt of lightning hitting a key attached to a kite. Vicious acts of self pleasure followed unchecked and with total abandon for any decency whatsoever. I was often overwhelmed with gratitude at my luck. Not everybody had this kind of access. This was premium content with big names and superb acting. I was truly blessed. The masturbatory sessions would sometimes be quick and violent while other times more loving and long lasting with a much softer touch. When time permitted, I would haul the entire box off the shelf and watch tape after tape, scene after scene, edging myself to the cliffs of climax and then returning to equilibrium only to repeat the process over and over until a final concussive explosion was achieved.
One day in particular my parents decided to do some shopping at the Smith Haven Mall, which was roughly 30 minutes from our house. Since they would be gone for the better part of the day, I took the opportunity to seize control of the box and have an absolute field day right there on their bed as the images lit up the screen in glorious technicolor or whatever the standard profile a 36 inch Zenith provided. I went fucking ballistic treating my body as if it were the Great American Scream Machine, a popular ride at Six Flags at the time. Tapes were strewn about in a haphazard manner all across the bed. By this time, I had memorized their order in the box and felt confident that I could replace them with my eyes closed. That’s when the unthinkable happened. The room began to shudder. It was the unmistakable sound of the garage door being triggered remotely. It shook the entire house. I rushed to the window where I saw my mother’s 4 door Honda Accord LXi slowly making its left hand turn into the driveway. My parents had returned prematurely. Panic hit like a bucket of ice water on a sleeping child. Terror shot through my veins. I imagine this is what a gazelle in the savannah must feel like when they catch wind that they’re about to be devoured by a pack of wild hyenas. I leaped into action, rapidly replacing the tapes back into the box with such intensity that I began to shiver. I could hear the door from the garage to the house open followed by my father’s voice calling me by name. It was beyond frightening but I managed to lift the box over my head and haul it into the closet where I replaced it on the shelf and just as my hand pushed it into place I turned to find my father standing in the doorway. He was not a tall man but he was incredibly menacing. He looked like a wrecking ball and could be equally as destructive.
What are you doing in here? He asked firmly.
I was just looking for those…, I trailed off as I slid passed him and out of the closest into the hallway where I beelined for my bedroom on the opposite wing of the house. I entered my room and shut the door, sweating profusely. Had he seen me with my grimy little hands on his prized pornography? I was sure he did and it was confirmed when I heard a hard knock on my bedroom door. I cracked it slightly to find my father standing there, his one eye peering at me through the slit.
What’s up? I questioned idiotically.
His eyes went jet black, something I had come to recognize as furious anger.
I don’t know what you saw but if you repeat it to anybody, I’ll kill you.
I didn’t see anything Dad. I swear.
You better not have.
There was a tense moment before I shut the door on him gently. My father had threatened me many times before but never with murder, which seemed to signal how serious of a transgression this was in his eyes. Luckily, the shame was much larger than his desire to inflict physical harm and now we simply had this embarrassing and potentially immoral secret between us. All at once a heavy burden descended upon me and I realized that it was now my spiritual destiny to process and off load the shame and disgrace associated with having entitled access to one of the most premium porn stashes in the Tri-State area. The very idea that to be in ownership of such a collection required one to not only be discreet but confidential was overwhelming. I felt as though I were now guarding something so powerful that an initiation into a secret order would be required. I held out for as long as I could, which quite frankly was probably only a few days to a week before I spilled the story to a close buddy and possibly a trusted teacher. Most of it came out when my parents moved into a condo complex in my college years and the transport of the box became a discussion that repulsed and horrified my mother. But by that point the internet had become the repository of every lewd act known to mankind and a VHS porn was considered cute. In this new age where artificially intelligent chat bots scan the net in a nasty and diabolical effort to siphon wealth from one sector to another, I can’t help but long for the days when analog magnetic tape held the secrets of the universe and a father could bequeath to his only son something of true value.