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Masturbating In The ’90s: I Like It Scrambled

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It’s often easy to forget the progress our society has made in the last two decades. The internet, streaming video, smart phones, GPS, Matthew McConaughey being the best actor alive…amazing progress. It almost seems that society is an out of control locomotive and the brakes flew off years ago. No more is the progress of our world more apparent than it is when your pants are around your ankles and you’re whaling away on your meat. Not so long ago, I can remember when good old fashioned smut was a little more difficult to get your hands on. Maybe this is because I was merely a 12-year-old deviant who couldn’t legally set foot in an adult bookstore and the only bare boobies I’d ever seen were in a stolen Playboy with sticky pages.

It took know-how and innovation to get your eyes on some naked babes…or maybe just a little luck.

My parents didn’t get basic cable until I was in 4th grade. I know. Borderline child abuse. I often dreamed of the day Child Services would swoop in and take me away to a family that had a nicer TV and more than five channels for me to watch. A house where I could be freed from only watching television during primetime. Finally, I escaped from my bondage when my parents sprung for the $5/month basic cable package that included Nickelodeon, Disney Channel, MTV and ESPN. I spent that entire first weekend planted right in front of my parents’ 56-inch Toshiba. It was pure heaven.

One night, I was in our basement, just casually flipping through the channels, when I reached the end of the channel surfing. This was back in the day before cable boxes and you had to use the TV Guide channel. I can’t tell you how many times I had to wait another five minutes to see what was on The Discovery Channel. Thanks to DVR and cable boxes, our children will never know that kind of suffering. So, I get to channel 70, which was The Disney Channel. “Zenon: The Zequel” was on. Despite my massive crush on Kirsten Storms, I wasn’t in the mood. What happened next was pure, dumb luck.

I flipped the channel up one and was met with a glorious rainbow of radioactive greens and maroon colors. What was this devilry? Then, I saw it. Yep. That’s a nipple. Holy shit, there’s a penis. That’s a mouth. Boobs! I see boobs! The sort of sexual awakening I was experiencing was intoxicating. It was such an enlightening moment, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I was drunk on discolored flesh and grainy bouncy things. I had never actually seen porn in video form. I’d always had to use my imagination when it came to intercourse, but there it was right in front of me. I had no idea something so wonderful could exist.

It became a ritual almost nightly. Sneak downstairs, switch back and forth between channels 79, 83 and 88 and try to fire one off before one of my family members caught me going to town on myself. I never saw the faces of the women on Skinemax, but they guided me through perhaps my most important formative stage.

Of course, the internet evolved into an adult entertainment haven and my precious scrambled porn fell by the wayside in favor of Pornhub and the like. There’s still a part of me that misses it. Having to use a keen eye to spot a wavy breast and a warped O-face. It molded me into the sexual deviant I am today.

If the earth is ever taken over by light green and maroon colored female humanoid aliens, I doubt I’ll abandon human females, but I’d probably think about it.

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