It's a cliche in American culture. A boy gets his first glimpse of sex from his Dad's porn collection, which he manages to locate in the corner of the closet when his "special dirty magazine homing device" is magically activated around the age of fourteen.
As a writer, I try my best to avoid cliches, although sometimes it is difficult. But if a boy finds his mom's porn collection instead, are we talking "fresh idea"? I certainly hope so.
I'm gearing up to start my new novel, which will be a look into the sexual history of both my heroine and American culture. What better way to get in touch with my own past than to pull out my porn stash and reminisce?
For the next week or so, depending on how many interesting things I find, I'm going to share nostalgic tidbits from my grown-up goodie drawer, which is actually a metal filing cabinet in my office (after all this is my work). I've got vintage Playboy's from the 1950s and 1960s, a whole stack of Viva: The International Magazine for Women (originally lifted from my sister's nightstand, now rediscovered on e-bay), a few choice Penthouse's, the complete oeuvre of Nancy Friday, The Hite Report, Gay Talese's Thy Neighbor's Wife... Well, it's really hard to list everything today, but I'm sure you don't mind. Part of the fun is in the discovery after all.
So let's creep softly to the walk-in closet, where the dusty sunlight filters through a small, shaded window. It's summertime, of course, when the afternoons are long and slow 'cause mom doesn't get home from work until four. A whole box of magazines awaits our twitching fingers. Don't giggle now, this is serious business.
School might be out, but I have a feeling we're going to get ourselves quite an education.