Some of you who know me personally or who have been reading my blog for awhile now know that I'm kind of a perv. I'm not a sicko or anything, I just like dirty jokes and I like goofing around about the sexy times. I'm okay with it. Not only am I okay with it, but I revel in my perviness. I love a good bawdy joke and am always quick with a nasty quip or an off-color zinger. It's all part of what makes me, well, me.
I do draw the line at potty humor. I don't like poo, I don't like thinking about poo, and I don't like talking about poo.
That's all I have to say about that.
Anypoo, er, anyWHO, I was thinking about how and why I came to be such a dirty girl, and I am pretty sure I was just born that way. However, as with everything else in my life, I can also pinpoint certain elements from pop culture that influenced me from a very young age. I'm not pointing any fingers, but here are three memories off the top of my head that helped shape me into the handmaiden of smut that I am today.
My dad's Playboys.
There were at least two of these glossy bits of confection stuffed between his mattress and box spring, and there was one in his underwear drawer. How did I find them? I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure my older sister probably showed them to me. Kids are terrible snoops, and I remember shamelessly pawing through my parents' bedside table drawers (condoms: check; unlocked, loaded handgun: check; Bible: check), sniffing out the Christmas presents before the big day, and of course, reading my sister's diary whenever I could get my mitts on it.
I used to look through the Playboys pretty regularly as a kid. I particularly liked the cartoons of leggy ladies in various stages of undress doing naughty things and making snappy remarks. Oh, and I loved how the centerfolds had their own handwritten "likes and dislikes" section; their handwriting was always big and loopy, with their "i's" dotted with fat little hearts.
Quite frankly, I liked looking at the naked ladies, pure and simple. I've been steadfastly heterosexual for my entire existence, and haven't wavered in my desire for men, but that doesn't mean it's not cool to look at pretty naked women with hot bods, am I right?
The one I remember most had Bernadette Peters on the cover. Since it came out in 1981, I was either 6 years old (yikes!) or, more likely, my dad just had had it for a few years before I discovered it. There were two photo spreads in his collection that I can still remember very vividly: the half-naked cowgirl shoot and the one with all the tattooed people getting it on in a typically-Playboy-clean sort of way. I've gotta say, as far as dirty magazines go, I still think of Playboy as being the classiest of the bunch. Go, Dad.
The VHS movie collection.
When VCRs came out and it became clear that VHS was going to win over Beta, despite the fact that Beta was the better product of the two, Dad bought two decks. We then proceeded to rent (and illegally dub) several movies per week over the next, oh, I dunno, decade? By the time we were finished, we probably had well over 500 movies on tape.
My sister and I had a mental catalogue in our heads of every movie in our collection which contained nudity or sex scenes. We were the Ms. Skins of our VHS library. Consequently, the minute the parents left us alone, we'd be cuing up the shower scene in Stripes or the part in a Charles Bronson movie where there is a 5 second flash of male frontal nudity.
Our favorite scene came from the most unlikely of sources. There was a movie about Supreme Court Justices called First Monday In October, starring Walter Matthau. In that movie, there was a film within a film called... wait for it... "The Naked Nymphomaniac." The clip was about a minute long, and didn't even show actual fucking, but it was AWESOME. I'm fairly certain that we wore that part of the tape out.
The satellite dish.
We lived in the sticks, so we couldn't get good TV off-air, and we certainly didn't have cable. When I was about 13, we got a satellite dish. Before we'd had it a week, I discovered the scrambled porn channels waaaaay up high on T4 or some crazy satellite where no one in my family ever went. It's amazing the things you can pick up even though the video is scrambled; also, the audio usually comes through loud and clear.
A year or two later, my dad brought home a descrambler box (shhh), and OH BOY, did my world open up. You see, gentle readers, there's this channel called The Spice Channel, and it might even still exist, IDK. Oh, how I loved TSC. It was good pron (not a typo - I get enough freaky hits from Google searches on this blog, thankyouverymuch), not disgusting pron. It was clean(ish) pron. It was just good clean sex and nothing too out there. It was awesome. I watched it a lot, and I'd have sleep-overs and we'd all watch it, too. My house was pretty popular for a while, believe me.
So, there you have it. Three reasons why I'm a delightful perv. You may all point and laugh, but don't judge. I'm a product of my white bread, church-going, quaint Vermont village-bred environment... and all the raunchy media on which I could get my hands from the time I was a small child on.