Each month my father would bring home the latest issue of Playboy Magazine. As a kid about to enter my teen years, having a magazine in the house that had pictures of naked women in it piqued my interest, needless to say.
I managed to discover where my father hid the magazines and I would occasionally sneak into his office while he was at work. With unbounded zeal, I’d grab the magazine, take it to my bedroom, and plant myself in my bed to peruse the magazine.
I am not going to claim that I just read the articles. I definitely looked at the pictures of the beautiful women featured in the magazine. But what I did find a bit peculiar was that the crotch areas of the models were either hidden by demurely posed women or by what appeared to be airbrushed nether regions. Imagine my surprise when I first saw a real vagina and found out it wasn’t just a big blur.
But I digress. After I finished looking at all of the pulchritude on display in the photos, the next favorite section of the magazine was something called The Playboy Forum. Readers would send in these ribald tales of highly erotic sexual adventures. Those stories really got my juices flowing, so to speak.
Unfortunately for me, one day my father came home from work early, heard some, shall we say, interesting sounds coming from my bedroom, opened the door, and found me in a rather compromising position.
To say that he was angry would be a gross understatement. He was totally fried. He grabbed the magazine out of my hand, ran out of the room, and slammed the door hard.
My biggest fear was realized when I heard my mother call my name. Oh boy, I knew then that I was in real trouble. I had visions of being a poor, little field mouse about to be devoured by some reptilian-like creature.
Much to my surprise, my mother’s venom was directed toward my father, who was supposed to have had “the talk” with me, but never did. So in my mother’s eyes, I somehow turned into the victim with my father being the big, bad perpetrator.
Turns out that my mother didn’t know that my father was sneaking issues of Playboy Magazine into the house.
Oops!
Written for these daily prompts: The Daily Spur (zeal), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (plant), Your Daily Word Prompt (peculiar), Word of the Day Challenge (ribald), Daily Addictions (fried), and Ragtag Daily Prompt (reptilian).
This, That, and The Other 
Pulchritude is a beautiful word.
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It is, indeed! 😉
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I’m more with your mother than your father. It boggles my mind how a dad can be mad at his kid for doing what he does (within reason… although looking at the same pictures comes sorta close to having sex with the same woman, which would be outrageous).
My oldest son and a friend of his came across a plastic sack of magazines in a park, one day. I didn’t know, of course, but found out later (when my son told me). I didn’t get mad but explained my point of view on the matter. And he agreed.
But I had asked my husband not to have things like that in the house (or on the property/accessible), and he’d said he would abide by this… and he didn’t. Then, when as would be inevitable, my son saw these things, he got mad at him.
😡🤬
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[I mean my husband got mad at my son, if that wasn’t clear. Freakin’ hypocrite.]
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Wow! But what else would one expect from a boy exposed to these sort of magazine!
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Garry swears he ONLY read the articles.
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Yeah, we all only read Playboy for the articles. 😏
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I wish it was just magazines we had to contend with today…
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Whether real or imagined this was a fun story to read..
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I’ll never tell! 😉
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Hubby liked that sort of publication, but he claimed Playboy was too tame. He went in for Hustler and Penthouse. I didn’t mind, it was his thing, and if he ‘projected’ while with me, well I was guilty of that as well. I did mind the on-line stuff though. And the videos were a yawn frankly. So cheesy. But I was pragmatic. I realize some men think a lot more with the little head than their bigger one.
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Fandango does certainly know how to pique the interest of his readers. This post- lovely. How much of truth is there in it..no one knows and you won’t tell. But brought a few memories-some fun times those days.
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My ex had a supply of magazines, that didn’t bother me as much as what he kept on the computer our daughter used. When he passed away my daughter refused to empty those cupboards.
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