My relationship with Porn...

[Sharkhunter]

Having looked through a number of threads on here covering such topics as buying our first magazine, favourite stars and the issue of porn addiction, it got me wondering about my relationship with porn - something I have loved and enjoyed for nigh on three quarters of my life since I was a very naive pre-teen back in the early 1980s.

While I can't describe myself as a porn addict - I am able to function perfectly well without it for long spells, can work a normal day without having to disappear for a wank in the office toilet, and have been in a healthy relationship with a living, breathing female for the last fourteen years - I do enjoy my collection of digital images, videos and magazines and it has always been a part of my sexual life.

I consider myself a fairly well-balanced individual, but with certain quirks - quirks that I believe are shared (or are similar to) many other folks here on VEF. I have found this forum as something of a comforting place, in that far from finding a bunch of simple-minded perverts I have discovered individuals who are intelligent, thoughtful, interesting and opinionated - and, yep, perverts.

Were it not for this place, I would have remained one of those transient porn aficionados - the type who would buy a magazine or download a video, only to throw it in the bin/hit delete as the post-wank guilt kicked in. I fitted this description for many years, but having discovered VEF learned to be comfortable with what is now a very pleasurable hobby. In short, I was happy that there were others out there who were like me - intelligent, balanced guys who also happened to pile their hard drives with porn or reserve entire wardrobes to piles and piles of printed smut.

So, how did I get here? If most of the guys I was with at school knew the extent of my porn collection, they would probably be surprised - when I first went to boarding school as a twelve year old porn was something that had been completely off limits for me. Given that I had a fairly religious upbringing and a mother who'd furrow her brow every time there was something risque on the TV or in a magazine, I made it a point to avoid such depravity.

When I started at school and saw the others trading porn and talking about such things, I was initially aghast. How could kids look at these things created for adults, and perverted adults at that? During my first term, I made an effort to avoid these temptations - fighting against the urges in my head that wanted to take a better look. I initially found my sexuality being questioned, but eventually my peers concluded that they were dealing with something else. Very quickly, I was nicknamed "priest", "vicar", "pope" and "bible-basher".

However, I knew that this was not the case. I had for years been drawn to those lovely and mysterious images in the Kays and Trafford catalogues, my eyes drawn for whatever reason to the lingerie and swimsuit pages. One day, and I have no idea what drove me to do it, I rummaged around behind one of the cisterns in the toilet on my corridor and found a copy of Club International. Leafing through it, my eyes almost popped out at the wonderful sights that greeted me from those glossy pages. I felt all weird, but in a good way; I just kept looking, and the natural urges did the rest. I locked the trap door, sat on the throne and let nature take its course. I had no idea what was actually happening, but it was just amazing. I felt weak yet exhilarated, and was hooked.

Despite this, I kept my new self-discovery secret - well, at the start I did. I'd often return to that place, at first seeing that same magazine and then some time later a different one, a copy of Men Only. I have no idea when exactly things changed, but one day I felt something come out of the end after one of my magazine viewings. It was simply amazing, and I knew that from that point there was no turning back. I couldn't keep it to myself any more, and just one day asked one of the others if I could check out his mags. The priest had been replaced by the pervert, and very quickly I was joining in with everybody else in swapping them, trading them for cans of coke or bags of penny chews, and then, as I moved up the years, confiscating them from juniors - yes, cruel but effective.

By the time I was in the fifth year, I had accumulated a very nice stash, and whether it was influenced by my first ever sighting, Club International quickly became my magazine of choice. What I never did though was take anything home. While I had transformed into a healthy teenager at school, I still felt constrained at home, where I would find myself switching back into priest mode. I'd get by with the lingerie pics from the catalogues - by now I knew what I was looking for and would hone in on this images where you could make out the nipples and pubic hair covered by that thin white material - but it was a real bind.

By the time I had left school and was back at home going to a local sixth-form college, it was a really frustrating time. I made the most of creating a scrapbook of catalogue images and page three models, and over time put together something that was quite impressive. I even found a few images from some old photography magazines that featured some full-frontal shots. To think that back then a little flash of minge created such an effect down there.

But as time wore on I was getting increasingly frustrated. I'd venture into the newsagent to buy a copy of Shoot or Match, only for my eyes to switch upwards and get an eyeful of the treasures on the top shelf. For mem unattainable treasures. For one, I was still just sixteen, and a very young looking sixteen at that. Somehow, I got by.

Then, one day I decided that enough was enough. I was seventeen years old and by now just about tall enough to reach the top shelf without bringing the contents crashing down on top of me, and decided that I would head a little off the beaten track to a newsagent I knew nobody else I knew would go to - unless they went with the same mission in mind. I decided on a place that was quiet but close to a bus stop, and spent what must have felt like an agonising age casing out the joint, observing the movements of other customers, and working out a strategy to grab the mag, pay the exact change to avoid faffing about at the counter, and sweep out back to the bus stop.

Unsurprisingly, I bottled it. The magazines were right there, with my heart beating as I thought of Club Volume 18 No. 10 and cover girl Donna in a sweet little one-piece. I got on the bus, and headed back home.

Two days later I tried again, and strangely this time I was a lot more resolute. I fucking wanted it. I had been years since I had leafed through a magazine, and here was a chance of getting one fresh from the shelf, unsullied, uncreased and more crucially unspunked. I walked in, made sure that there were no schoolchildren or nosy old grannies, and calmly swiped the mag off the shelf. Result... No disaster. No however came the real test. I had the £1.75 already sorted in my coat pocket, and I placed the mag on the counter.

The guy behind the counter looked a little like Salman Rushdie, and he neither smiled nor sneered. "One seventy five, please". At which I handed over the coins, making sure that nothing fell from my clammy hand. "Would you like a bag?" "Yeah, cheers."

I slipped the bag into my rucksack, and almost skipped out of the door to the bus stop... Where the five or so minutes waiting was pure torture. On the bus I really, really wanted to take a look but didn't dare with people all around me. When I got back home it was even more annoying as everybody else was already back from work and/or school. After saying the hellos and saying how my day went - I didn't dare share the reason why it had been so good - I disappeared into my bedroom. I cannot describe the feeling as I turned that first page, and the explosion that almost took place in my pants as I turned to the page with a blonde model called Elizabeth, who from song angles looked a little like Kylie Minogue.

The wank I had that evening was nothing short of amazing.

From that point on, I made an effort to go to "Salman's" and buy my porn. Every time there would be the negotiation of the schoolkids and the grannies, and over time I'd go a little crazy. Men Only, Mayfair, Mens' World, Model Directory... They all made it back home on that bus. Soon I had built up a little stash, but then the guilt kicked in. What if I got found out? What if my mother, of all people, discovered them? Stupidly, and now in hindsight inexplicably, I tore them all up, triple bagged them and put them in the bin the morning the binmen came.

And so it went on for a number of years until I finally left my parents' home. Buy the mid-1990s I had discovered porn on the Internet and often spent ages downloading a selection of images (I am sure some of you can remember how long it took to download a decent image on a 28.8 modem connection) - but at some point that guilt reappear and I'd wipe the lot. It was bizarre, really - my parents never touched the computer and didn't even know how to switch it on let alone find a folder tucked away in the recesses of the C drive, but I always had this gut-wrenching fear.

Even after I had left home and got my own place this sense of fear still remained. I had met a couple of girls during this time and believed that them finding out was the reason for my deleting/binning my porn, but even when I wasn't seeing anybody I'd automatically self-regulate once the collection had reached a certain amount. And so it went on.

I met my current partner in late 2001, and during this time had a very small collection of digital porn and a tiny stash of mags - no more than a dozen consisting of a couple of Clubs, Men Onlys and some harder stuff like Hustler XXX and Whitehouse. My (then) new partner was far more easy-going than my previous failures, and I decided to take the plunge and mention my stash. Happily, while she was herself not massively into porn she was happy with my honesty and we actually spent one night leafing through the magazines... It was rather hilarious to see her more annoyed by some models' fake tits or bottle-blonde hair than the fact that her boyfriend owned a selection of magazines with some seriously hardcore stuff in it.

From that point on I was happy to keep the stash, but still refrained from making the collection too big. I knew the girlfriend didn't give too much of a shit about it, but I still kept self-regulating. So long as all of the mags fitted into a box file, that was it. As for digital images, these two were self-regulated... Until I discovered Sophie Moone.

It was Sophie Moone who pushed my relationship with pornography into a new stage - she was everywhere to be found on the Web in the early 2000s, and as soon as I saw her on the cover of a copy of Club I was back eyeing the top shelf. The fact that Sophie (known as "Stella") was the Club regular girl made me keep buying it, and very soon I was needing a second box file. At point I thought "Fuck it. I am going to collect this magazine now". Every month, like clockwork, I'd pick up my new copy - by now just wondering into the newsagent without a care in the world. Occasionally I'd pick up other titles, and while these were often disposed of the Clubs were carefully and lovingly filed away.

By 2008, I had put together more than five years of Club, by far the longest run of consecutive issues I had ever put together before resorting to the big chuck out. Despite the fact that my partner was easy with it, those feelings of guilt began to reappear. I started to look at things from all sorts of strange angles: while before I was on-off, now I was a bona fide pervert, with a collection of porn magazines cared for as lovingly as my stamp and football programme collection - and somehow, there was something wrong about that. While I could share my stamp collection with others and show it off, my pile of porn mags were my own dirty - and growing - secret. I was right on the brink of another cull.

Then, I stumbled across the VEF. Just by talking about the magazines and sharing my experiences, I soon discovered that I was not just a pervert, but a cultured pervert. Rather than see Club as some tacky grot mag, I started to respect it as a part of history and something to be valued. When I found a link to the Jobbydealer site, I was amazed at some of the prices - and irked at how I had let so many wonderful items slip through my fingers and end up in a bin. I actually began to see my porn collection as a valuable resource.

Buoyed by this, I started to acquire some of those copies of Club I had long thrown away. First on Jobbydealer, and then via other sources including eBid. Having got hold of these issues, the anally retentive collector in me kicked in. I just had to fill the gaps, and over time I hunted down every single issue of Club from 1988 (going back a year before I bought that first issue). Only recently I found the final missing pieces of the puzzle, and have every single issue of what I considered the UK's finest top-shelf publication from 1988 through to 2010, when I finally gave upon it when both the quality of printing and - more importantly, content - declined. The introduction of the artificially-enhanced Sasha as the new regular girl killed my relationship with the magazine, and curiously I was more than comfortable with it - more so given that I haven't even looked at anything after Vol. 39 No. 13.

As well as those back issues of Club I also secured some of my other great porn memories from the 1990s, such as the four years of Mens' World that along with Club helped me through those tense days burning the midnight oil at University. Even now when I look at some of those images and knock one out I can see myself back in 1993 at 4am, needing a serious release after ten hours of non-stop essay writing.

Thanks to the VEF, I am now happy with my reasonably-sized stash and am even proud of it. More recently, my monthly purchase of Club has been supplanted by Hustler's Barely Legal, which continues to give me my fix of uninked, unadorned pretties.

Then there is my digital collection, every image from every set I can get hold of the lovely girls that continue to keep my eyes focused. I now no longer suffer from the self-regulation, have three external HDs chock-full with images of around eighty different and selected girls and videos of Sophie Moone and the delectable Russian babe Anjelica.

Curiously - though this may also be the case for some of you others out there reading this - I am happier now with my large porn collection than I ever was with my transient stashes. There is no guilt, only a sense of enjoyment. So for all of you out there who may be worried about addiction, having too much porn, etc. etc... Just sit back and enjoy it!

So, there we are... I have finally decided to waffle on and share this stuff. If anything here resonates with any of you folks, I'd be happy to hear it!

[Steelyman]

A great, well written, intelligent discourse. I can identify with many of the topics you raise.
Sex was never a taboo subject at home when I was a kid, my dad was a bit of a filthy bugger and would often grope my mum quite openly. I didn't really know what was going on but I got the feeling it was something adults did as a matter of course with the man being the dominant figure and the woman subservient to his desires.

Dad was a postman and claimed he would find adult mags in post boxes which he would bring home. I used to hunt around in my parents' bedroom and one day I found my first ever sex magazine. It was like a divine revelation to me, a flame was lit inside me which has never diminished. The mag in question was Playboy September 1974. As well as the usual gorgeous models there was a section called "Do it Now" or "Just do it" which featured couples in various locations engaged in softcore sex acts. This made the connection for me about what my dad did to my mum and so a basic understanding of what sex was about formed in my imagination.

I would sneak many looks at that magazine and was distraught one day when it disappeared. I found it in a pile of newspapers ready to be thrown out and tried to find a way of secretly keeping it. I thought it might be noticed that it had been taken so I had to let it go. It wasn't until many years later that I re-discovered it thanks to a VEF member. Seeing those pages after 30 odd years was incredible, I don't think we ever forget our first magazine.

As the years have gone by I have collected many magazines but when I moved in with my partner I gave them all away as she is not into porn.I do regularly look at porn on the net, I think my partner knows but it's never discussed

I would like to hear opinions on why we are so fascinated with porn.When we see our favourite pornstars having sex do we imagine it is ourselves in the man's position? Why do some things turn us on in particular? (for me it's mature women in control top tights)
What sex acts portrayed on the screen or the magazine page make us orgasm hardest?

[Sharkhunter]

Originally Posted by Steelyman

I would like to hear opinions on why we are so fascinated with porn.When we see our favourite pornstars having sex do we imagine it is ourselves in the man's position? Why do some things turn us on in particular? (for me it's mature women in control top tights)
What sex acts portrayed on the screen or the magazine page make us orgasm hardest?

To answer your first question, a definite yes. It is the answer to all of those here (and there are quite a few) who have an aversion to seeing cocks. As far as I am concerned I am not gawking at some other guy's dick, but imagining myself as that guy fucking that gorgeous girl. That is the fantasy, and if some people can't see beyond the penis then that's their own issue I guess.

As for fantasies, I am not the only one who has quite a few. White underwear is one, and the idea of cumming over full-bottomed white knickers really turns me on. Great fitting underwear with clean lines, none of that floaty, frilly stuff that makes me think of some nineteenth-century bordello. Thigh-skimming skirts really do it for me too, and when combined with said white knickers creates a knock-out combination. Knickers taut around the thighs or pulled aside creates a frisson too.

Then there's anal, and multiple penetration. For me, it is just a fantasy as I know that as far as this is concerned the world of professional pornography is way ahead of the reality. We just see one or more guys ploughing some hottie's little brown hole, but behind it all are long clean-outs, enemas and pre-prep lubrications. Way too much messing about. Try that with your girl at home, and all parties have long lost interest before you even get down to doing the deed.

So, I just love watching anal scenes, especially those when the girl is playing with herself while having a stiff rod sliding up her behind.

For me, the perfect fantasy is two girls cavorting in tight little tops and denim miniskirts, under which are tight white knickers. They then get crazy with four guys (two each) or even better six guys (three each) who service every hole. The chicks keep their skirts hitched up and their underwear on, get a decent seeing too, and the guys all cum on their underwear. I have never seen a scene that fits all of this, but if I were to I would probably get rid of the rest of my existing video collection.

Here's the one thing that connects all of my fantasies, however - the women. For me it is not just the clothing, the setting or the act, but how good looking the models are. If the scene above involved chicks with tattoos or fake breasts, then it is out. No way. It would just turn me off completely. Since I started looking at porn slim, athletic, 100% natural uninked girls have always done it for me. I collect a number of models, and as soon as they get a nasty tattoo or a horrid boob job that's the end of the love affair for me. For examples this, there's Blue Angel for the tattoo, Jenni Czech/Gregg (boob job) and Cindy Hope (both).

This is why the only mag worth buying today is Barely Legal. Models in their late teens to early twenties, all in pretty outfits with no need for sophisticated "glamour", no fake boobs, no ugly tattoos. Indeed, models that I know have tattoos have had them airbrushed out in the magazine. Not a fan of airbrushing generally, but if it removes the ink... It works.

[Schwenck]

This is a really interesting thread, and I read all the previous entries avidly - many thanks to those who have posted such extensive and fascinating posts. I am a bit surprised that so few member's have posted.

Porn has been part of my life since I was about 11-12, when I started finding discarded porn, i.e. 'hedge porn'. (Perhaps I don't get in the right areas these days, but my perception is that 'found' porn is rarer now? I found a fairly soft mag in a bin about 6 years ago, but that's it).

Since then, I have never stopped looking at porn, but my consumption has varied a lot over the years. Sometimes I have the urge to acquire some, very often, I'm not bothered.

I acquired a reasonable number of UK mags when I was single, and foolishly threw most of them away when I got married. Thanks to EBAY, I have managed to regain some of the most significant mags that seemed special to me.

Apart from found mags, the first mag I acquired was pinched from my older cousin's stash. It was Penthouse Vol 1 no. 9, with the nudest Miss World, Lesley Langley. He had made the mistake of showing it to me, and the minute I saw it I knew I had to have it. Just before I left our Aunt's, I ran upstairs to the toilet, then dived into his bedroom to grab it. I had to stuff it up my jumper for the trip home. The whole magazine absolutely fascinated me. I spent ages poring over it from end to end. There was quite a bit in the 'Reader's Letters' section about spanking, which fascinated me then, and has since become a major fascination.

Later, when I started working a Saturday job, I noticed that the local newsagent kept a rack of Playboy just to the left of the door (no top shelf in those days, that came in later). So when I finally plucked up the courage, it only took a quick grab on the way out to acquire my first Playboy, which was February 1970 with Linda Forsyth (she di have quite amazing tits, and I am not really a breast man) as the the centre-fold. WhenI was not wanking to Linda, I was fascinated by the rest of the mag, which was very american and so a complete eye-opener to a teenager in the UK. While I soon found sexier mags than Playboy, I still pinched them for the ads as much as the girls. I still find old Playboys quite exotic (in the non-sexual definition) today. It was a different world to the UK in the late 1960s/early 1970s.

[URL=http://pimpandhost.com/image/78345093]

[saddo]

I am sure I have posted this stuff before on here, but anyway.

I'm probably alone here when I say that I don't particularly like porn, I just use it to fill a gap in my life. I have no woman in my life and am not likely to find one any time soon so porn provides an outlet. I think my tastes in porn reflect this too, real natural women, real couples or at least simulated real couples who appear to be enjoying each other and vintage softcore stuff. Anything that looks fake, involves spitting or humiliating or violent or involuntary domination is an instant turnoff.

In common with the original poster, my upbringing sounds similar as are my early experiences with porn. What I encountered at school shocked me to an extent, particularly some of the hardcore stuff that occasionally filtered through, but nevertheless I still built up a small collection of mostly Club and Fiesta softcore magazines and went through all the adolescent angst associated with acquiring them. Similarly I wouldn't describe myself as a porn addict either, in fact I can go for weeks without using porn and without wanking, but then other times it will be ten times a week or more.

Much of what got me going in my adolescent years I have found on VEF and on what used to be creamcheese.org, now sadly defunct it seems. That's why I found my way here.

In answer to steelyman, I don't have a favourite porn star, I know the names of very few of them in fact. In concurrence with sharkhunter, when I am watching a scene, I don't focus on the dick, but I do imagine that the dick is mine and it's me with the woman in the scene.

All in all, pretty lame I guess.