Happy childhood memories

I love the strange covers of the trashy erotic novels and fiction magazines that appeared from the 1950’s through to the 1970’s. They’re often very lurid and melodramatic, with weird sexual ideas. This one is a particularly good example of their what-the-fuck strangeness, with its newly minted lesbian castratrix. I found this on the femdom artists site, and Her Majestys Plaything also featured some similar covers in a recent post.

The reason for the post title is not because I was almost emasculated by a strangely large lesbian archer as a child. Although that might explain a few things if it were true. In fact, oddly enough, the title is due to my Uncle. He was an ordained Methodist minister by profession, politically active in the local community and highly literate. As you’d expect with that kind of resume, his study was crammed with dense complex books relating to religion, philosophy, sociology and politics. But one enormous bookcase, almost covering an entire wall, was packed with erotic novels. He had all the classics (Delta of Venus, The story of O, Fanny Hill, etc.) but the majority were kinky and explicit works of a more recent vintage. They featured everything from vicious female Nazi doctors through naughty British schoolgirls to seductive French countesses. Sometimes all in the same book.

As you might expect for a horny teenager with kinky tendencies, that bookcase was my holy grail. I planned my visits to his house like an Oceans 11 style heist caper. How could I sneak into the study, dodge the various family members, acquire a book and escape for some private time, before replacing it undetected? Unfortunately I was less George Clooney and more Groucho Marx when it came to the smooth execution of complex plans, and usually ended up being forced to ‘borrow’ one of his conventional books as cover. It’s hard pretty hard to jerk off to the life and works of Catholic philosopher Thomas Aquinas unless you’re a real sicko. Finally, one happy summer, we traded houses with his family for a few days, and I spent every night sneaking his sleaziest nastiest books back to my room. I think I probably slept five or six hours in total over 4 very onanistic nights.