A Personal Journey Through Porn

by Dave Richards


Filthy Habits

Having a boss porno collection is a relatively modern thing. Many factors, such as online ordering from the USA and Europe, DVD writers, broadband, video streaming, the rehabilitation of sex freaks into the general community and cheap European travel have enabled easy access to hardcore porn. It wasn't always like this though.


Back in the 70s, before the video era began, the Liverpool Echo "Cinema Guide" listings would always advertise the Eros showing "Come Play With Me" or "Playbirds", both starring someone called Mary Millington. These films were on every week, never being replaced with  Jaws or Star Wars. Who was Mary Millington, I used to wonder ? The answer came, surprisingly, in Sefton Park . It was there, while conkering, that I first discovered a porno stash behind a tree. All the old favourites were scattered around, slightly dampened by the overnight dew. Men Only, Club International and Playboy seemed to be full of glamourous models, but the others, such as Park Lane and Lovebirds, seemed to be full of dinnerladies and hairy fellas who kept their black socks on whilst "performing". And all over these 2 magazines was the name and picture of Mary Millington. It was starting to make sense. Stumbling across park porno stashes was a regular occurrence in the Liverpool greenbelt in the 1970s. Usually they were dismembered and soaking, but occasionally you would get hold of a pristine copy of one of the good ones, and on one memorable occasion some mush stopped his Ford Capri to help us launch logs at the horse chestnuts. "Have a nose at this lads", he said, handing us a rolled up copy of Mayfair . Looking back, he was probably a beast, but at least he did get a few dozen conkers for us, even if half of them were "cheesies".


The next milestone for me was finding the old man's personal stash. This happened just before Christmas one year, when I was rooting around his bedroom looking for telltale signs that they'd bought me Super Flight Deck, Crossfire and a set of cowhorns. One cardboard box (original contents - Golden Delicious) looked promising. It was at the bottom of his cupboard, and a few cushions were laid on top to disguise it. Once the cushions were removed and the box opened I was greeted by a sight I've never forgotten to this day - it was a pile of about 50 top shelf mags, with the first one being a copy of Mayfair with an aerial overhead cover shot of a naked model lying on top of a pile of oranges on a flat bed truck. Every time I have a tangerine, I think of al fresco truck sex. Luckily, the male survival gene meant I resisted the urge to wade in. Even then, I realised that the single most important thing when raiding your dad's stash, is to put everything back exactly the same as you found it. It's a mental challenge, harder than anything on the Krypon Factor, when you're trying to simultaneously study 6 different centrefolds and remember the "first out last in" ordering. But it can be done, with practise. Unfortunately for me, my carefully prepared raids all went out the window when I spectacularly blew my cover many miles away when we were sat in my uncle's Cortina on the way home from Blackpool after a fun filled August Weekend in 1979. I got the News Of The World off my dad, read the footy pages, then started to read in from the front page. I couldn't help myself when I turned to Page 7 and blurted out the headline, "Mary Millington's Dead". You could have cut the silence with a knife, my mum and dad and aunty and uncle, sister and cousin (Ford Cortina's could easily transport 4 adults and 3 juveniles) all blanked me and just turned up the volume on Top 40 Countdown. The filth fruit box disappeared soon after.


Be In My Video


In the early days of VHS, good porno films were jealously guarded items, and only fools would lend them out. They were currency. No one had access to the technology required to copy videos. Unfortunately, most of the porno flick owners were social deviants that you didn't really want to mix with. The easiest way to get a viewing of a good grot film was a "lads night in" with a rented blue video. In the early 80s, it was possible to get pretty decent material from the local greengrocer-cum-chandlers-cum-video store. The one that everyone by ours hammered to death was called "Hollywood Hotshots", with a great character called Nick Stern (as played by future grot flick producer Paul Thomas) banging Seka and other assorted 80's nipple queens. It was pretty tame by todays standards, but it featured killer on-the-job dialogue from Nick Stern which soon entered local legend, The Parrot Sketch Of Porn. 


The first true hardcore one that did the rounds was the infamous "Debbie Does Dallas".  If I recall it now it was pretty scabby and the only thing that I really remember was the banana smoking one in glasses - "You want me to show you what my girlfriends showed me ?". Not long after, the British Board Of Censorship changed the law with regard to the rental of uncertificated films, and overnight video shops were decimated as all the "Driller Killer" style horror flicks, pornos, and "Derek and Clive Get The Horn", were removed from the shelves. Spotty onanians all over the country wept as the grim reality of the lingerie section of the Grattan catalog or Razzle beckoned. They needed a miracle. We got one.


Shove It Right In


As the 80s progressed, one thing I looked forward too more than anything was the folks going on holiday. 2 weeks "looking after" the house meant 2 weeks of partying, getting bladdered, chonging leb, sputnik and double zero, bringing pliant wenches back, and getting the dinner table french polished. I don't recall how I stumbled across it, but one day I was rooting around under the stairs and I discovered a bin-bag full of unmarked videos. Unmarked except for one, on which was scribbled in felt pen - "BLUE ( Not Hill Street )". Remembering the filthy fruit box, my heart raced as I ran to the VCR and inserted the first one - BINGO. Full on girl-on-girl USA strap-on action. Happy Happy Joy Joy. (I later found out that my arl fella "minded" the nightshift's filth stash. There was about 15 of them in total, of which about 10 remained permanently in ours).


Needless to say, once word got out, I had to post two of the meanest lads in our gang on the front door to vet the scrum of slabbering jerkoffs who would arrive day or night (God bless you, Dole Britannia) armed with a flim deal, a bottle of T-Bird Blue Label, and 20 gallons of testosterone. One lad basically moved into our house for the duration of my folks' holiday, and he made it his mission to view every minute of every flick. Perhaps the greatest night of them all was one Sunday when a lad we knew came back to ours. He'd come out of prison on the Friday after getting a 4 year custodial (served 2) for the World's Worst Armed Blag ("this is the penknife used in the robbery, M'Lud"). He came out of the jug buffed up and horny as fuck. In fact, within 2 hours of his arrival in the boozer on his release day he was banging the arse off some schooly rip who'd wandered in. I digress, but you can see what I'm saying - he looked like he belonged down Robert Plant's kecks. Anyway, he proceeded to view one of the skin flicks, and provided everyone present with a blow by blow commentary of every tongued clit, smoked pole, anal drill and Pete North foaming goo shot. It was better than a Director's Cut. At one stage he was rolling on the floor, moaning: the world's first epileptic Priapus. Grown men were weeping. And it was all going on with Zappa's "Filmore East" Groupie Routine segment blasting out at full volume. You had to be there.


Dirty Love


The folks came home and normality resumed. Each year people would carefully plan their holidays around my parents holidays. But all things come to an end and I got my own place and lost access to the filth gold mine. (I've not yet reached the evolutionary level required to feel comfortable about asking my dad to "lend" his porn films. He'd have fucked me off anyway. I'd have fucked him off too. No lends - that's the unwritten law). This was before the internet had taken off, and Liverpool were still banned from Europe/shite, and the porno library fell on hard times. The only option available was to subscribe to the Adult channels on Cable TV - which were worse than useless apart from Babewatch (featuring the Kirk Douglas jawed Buck Adams banging Californian lifeguards), and to occasionally tune into Germany's Sat 1 for a late night Erotik, which was truly hideous, apart from spotting vintage Adidas trainees and t-shirts in amongst the grinding Helgas.


The party scene continued unabated, but the pornos were now being lobbed on as a backdrop to some serious LSD abuse as the legendary Mind, Body and Soul (aka Purple Ohms) started to do the rounds. One freaky scene involved acid, a squat, 10 loons (including an infamous Breck Road war veteran in a rubberised old man mask), 2 ex-girlfriends of the lads present, a berserker skin-flick featuring a borderline gang rape and some fisting performed by a ringer for the baldy bass player from Gillan/Mammoth in a surgical Hawkwind coat, and some hermaphrodite jazz mags brought round by King Deviant ("I've got Animal Farm in ours as well, you should have said"). We obviously needed the imminent trip to the Dam to get our heads together. But this was a mistake, as we steamed one sex shop whilst scatty on Purple Sensi and only came out with a haul of "Gerimpled" (Wrinkled) specialist crone fetishist magazines and 2 videos right at the top of the PETA hit list: "Raped By A Dog" and "Oral Stallion Woman". The owner of the filth emporium must have laughed to himself when he counted the cost of our raid, and it probably explains his bored indifference to our blatent thievery - he just sat there throughout and carried on watching Duckman on video. We all agreed later that this was a "sign".


Carolina Hard Core Ecstacy


Nowadays everything's much more relaxed. Hardcore Grade-A quality smut is easily available from www.toyboxxx.com and a million download sites. Jenna, Tera, Brianna, Devon , Wicked and Vivid are all mainstream Adult Entertainment, filed under Extreme Sports (Nude). Work colleagues bring in gigabytes of smut for distribution. Adult Pay Channels are available to all on Satellite TV, and mingebags are catered for with Babestation, Janeycam and the Daily Sport's Lonely Hearts column. LFC's return to Europe has given us license to search the continent for the scuzziest sex shops, with the 2 contenders for the title being the fish-reeking Bonaparte's in Nice, which we visited just as the concrete wanking "preview" booths were being hosed down, and Dr Mullers in Cologne which had a truly nasty selection of battered ring "Gunshot Wound" DVDs on prominent display as we walked in looking for some Busen - the German big titty fancier's brand of choice. Basle's Radisson Hotel had the best in-room grumble video (5 Euros), beating off stiff competition from the Hotel Melia in Barcelona . And let's all keep schtum about the Romanian hotel with the brass-house annexe.


Like the UK based Call Centres and Leeds United, the days of the parkland stash of soggy Razzles are finished for good. God bless you, Mary Millington.



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