It was a covert operation. I was eleven years old and the leader of a mission into enemy territory. The sort of space I had never before voluntarily entered. It was a big responsibility not knowing if my lieutenants would make it home. They were only ten years old.

We met in my bedroom, sat there for a while bored out of our minds, we had just finished a game of junior rugby. Talk turned to girls and how young Nicole whom we had all grown up with had suddenly started to develop. One of the guys made a wild claim to have once accidentally touched her breast and we all rubbished him. He swore black and blue it felt like jelly.

From there talk turned to breasts. We had no idea why they were so intently fascinating but we knew they just were. I started bragging as boys do that I knew all about them. I had no idea, truth be known I probably still have no idea. All I knew was what I had seen in some movie about American college kids at a camp where every prank ended in girls running around topless.

Forced to back up my knowledge I whispered the fact that I knew my dad owned naked girly magazines. I even knew they were in a box beside his bed. Suddenly we were all eager to get to them and learn more about this wonderful world of breasts that already had us so compelled. It was there we decided to put our lives on the line in the name of girlies. Little did I know this would become excellent training for my teenage years?

There was one main obstacle to the Promised Land. A 900-pound snoring beast I know as Dad, laying there inadvertently protecting the porn we so much wanted to cherish. There wasn’t much that would rouse my dad’s slumber but one thing I was sure I didn’t want to test was his being awoken with his son’s hand in his stash. We needed a distraction.

After considering faking injuries, telling dad the New Zealand cricket team was on TV or that the cat was running around the backyard on fire we decided that what would work best would be one of us being in the backyard screaming like an idiot whilst someone else stood lookout and I ran in and stuck a magazine up my shit and ran back out.

Our first problem was that he didn’t wake up. The plan was then changed slightly to having someone run screaming through the house into the backyard and let Dad chase them. This worked a treat although I think we all lost a little resolve at the sight of the old running with his distinctive limp in nothing but a pair of faded royal blue jocks.

No time for doubts though as I ran into the room, panic ensued as I heard my lookout start to freak so I grabbed a magazine and tossed it out the window just in time before the blue jocked beast came back in and bellowed about us kids running riot. I laughed and ran out of the room into the backyard and fetched the treasured prize.

Our mission was complete. My military history showing me as a strong leader who lead from the front and whilst nimble I was strong in my convictions. We grabbed the magazine and ran down to the empty block a few doors down where we hid at the back behind a giant tree. It was there that I learnt my first lesson in life. Porn is gross. It made my stomach turn to se close ups of bits we didn’t expect to see and the naked men made my stomach flip and flop like a gymnast who had eaten a big mac. I was physically repulsed although the breasts were very nice.

To this day I own no porn, don’t watch it and don’t read it. Makes me feel ill. I also wonder if dad ever missed the magazine although I suspect he was hoping it was me who stole it and allaying his fears of me turning out gay. I also wonder who found it behind the tree over there where we left it. All that mattered I guess was the mission completed and the mental scarring I will carry for a lifetime.

Keep Smiling

Jason

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