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It was without doubt the most embarrassing moment of my life. There I stood in a back street with a brown paper bag between my feet and its contents, five dirty mags, spread out on the pavement in front of me. Not only that, but Mrs Hotter was standing there staring, hand over mouth.Mrs Hotter was her real name, by the way, which occasioned a great deal of sniggering among us boys-becoming-men, but that’s neither here nor there. Let me give you the background.It was the day after my 18th birthday. I’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. If there hadn’t been celebrations on my actual birthday, I would have visited the place then. The place in question being one of the town’s three licensed sex shops. I’d seen dirty magazines of course, if only the kind where women posed on their own, and also a few softcore videos that a mate’s older brother happened to have in his possession, which didn’t show much either. But what I didn’t have was ready access to smut myself, this being ages before the internet.Now that I was of age, I was legally entitled to purchase as much smut as I liked. I’d waited for the day, saved up for it even. I’d walked five times round the block trying to summon up the courage to finally enter. Inside I’d kept my eyes to myself, trying to block out the presence of the other men (and it was all men) inside. I’d picked out five magazines quickly, judging them entirely by their covers. To my surprise, and slight disappointment, the man behind the counter didn’t bother to ask me for proof of age.The magazines were placed in a brown paper bag, which was handed to me with the top merely folded over. I turned and stuffed the magazines up my jacket and my hands in my pockets, just about managing to hold the bag in place. I turned down a side street, meaning to keep away from as many people as possible on the way home.It was two streets further along that it happened. I didn’t see her, I was too busy keeping my eyes glued to the pavement, but Mrs Hotter certainly saw me. “Darren!” she called out loudly, even though she was practically on top of me.Startled, I somehow lost my grip on the brown paper bag, which slipped from beneath my jacket. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it contrived to spill its contents onto Acıbadem Escort the pavement in full view.“M-M-Mrs Hotter,” I stammered, stooping to reclaim the items, hoping against hope that the woman hadn’t noticed what they were.Fat chance. “My, my,” she said. “What have we here?”This was bad on two counts. Firstly, Mrs Hotter was very friendly with my mum. They went to garden shows together, among other things. Secondly, Mrs Hotter had a son, Tommy, the same age as myself, whom I heartily detested. I couldn’t bear the thought that either should find out about my purchases; the former for obvious reasons, the latter because he would no doubt tell everyone I had to make do with magazines because I was useless with girls.Mrs Hotter moved fast. Before I had time to do or say anything, she’d already gathered the magazines and was handing them to me. “Let me give you a lift home, Darren,” she said, as I stuffed the things back into the bag. “So we can talk.”I imagined she was going to give me the standard talk about pornography being bad for you and masturbation giving you hairy palms and myopia, but I accepted anyway. Somehow I needed to convince Mrs Hotter of the need for this not to go any further.We walked in silence, me with the paper bag back up my jacket. Mrs Hotter was parked up in a multi-storey car park. It was dim, but without much activity where her car was on the second floor. I desperately wanted to get her to agree not to tell anyone about this, and was prepared to grovel if need be. But I didn’t want to appear too desperate, so instead the first thing I said when the car doors were closed was, “I know it’s not for real, Mrs Hotter. What’s in these mags, like. I just…”To my surprise Mrs Hotter smiled at me, saying calmly, “Well we won’t know what’s real and what’s not until we’ve taken a look, will we?”Stunned, I merely unzipped my jacket and let Mrs Hotter take the paper bag from me. Still calm, she slid one of the magazines out, opening it at random.I hadn’t been aware up until that point that an arcane system of censorship was in operation. Apparently it was OK for females to display everything they had to display, but the moment the male member came into contact with any Acıbadem Escort Bayan orifice, an abstract blob obscured the point of contact. Quite what this was supposed to achieve I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now. At that moment I was, however, still too preoccupied with the whole embarrassing situation with Mrs Hotter to consider this in any great detail.Not that Mrs Hotter appeared too embarrassed. She flicked calmly through the mag before handing it to me and sliding another out of the paper bag. Still not knowing how to handle the situation, I put the magazine into the side pocket in the door, glancing uncertainly at the woman.Mrs Hotter turned a few pages. “Yes, I’d say these are realistic enough,” she said.“What I-I-I-I sup-p-p-p…” I stuttered.Again Mrs Hotter smiled calmly. “I understand what you mean, Darren,” she said. “And a lot of women do feel uncomfortable with this kind of material.” When I didn’t respond, she continued. “Fortunately, I’m not that kind of woman. I understand that a young man has… needs.”I was too preoccupied with my dread of any of this becoming public knowledge, and too inexperienced to catch the tone of her voice. “Does that mean… you won’t be telling anyone about… this?” I asked hopefully.“I can keep a secret if you can keep a secret,” she said.Too relieved to reflect on anything but the fact that Mrs Hotter seemed in no mood to sell me out, I merely stuttered, “Th-a-a-a-nks, Mrs Hotter.”“Tell me, Darren. Do you have a girlfriend at present?”The question took me aback, but I answered truthfully. “No, not at present, Mrs Hotter.” Chance would be a fine thing. The only thing more embarrassing than what had already happened would be to have to reveal to Mrs Hotter that I was in fact a virgin. I’d had girlfriends, but the most exciting thing that had happened with any of them was Caroline Potts allowing me to feel the fuzz of hair on her mound. Feel but not see, I hasten to add.“Really?” Mrs Hotter said. “A handsome lad like yourself?”This was weird, but then I was hardly an expert on what was and was not weird. Caught between the lukewarm Anglicanism of my upbringing and a smattering of feminist ideas picked up from the more politically inclined Escort Acıbadem girls at school, relations between the sexes seemed barely navigable to me. Inexplicably, Mrs Hotter’s son (from her first marriage and therefore disappointingly not Tommy Hotter) seemed to have some magnet that drew the opposite sex to him with irresistible force, even though he was the closest thing to a Neanderthal not yet extinct.“Well, you know…” I said, going for worldly and casual, hoping against hope that Mrs Hotter would fill in my vagueness with the aid of her own imagination, without my having to mire myself in a web of transparent lies.Mrs Hotter turned a few more pages in the magazine in silence. I got the feeling that she was considering something. My mind was slowly beginning to click into gear. What was it Mrs Hotter had said? “I can keep a secret if you can keep a secret.”As Mrs Hotter turned yet more pages I worked hard to summon up the courage. “What is it then?” I said.The woman angled her head inquisitively.“Your secret,” I said.Mrs Hotter smiled, as if she was pleased with me for some reason. I liked that. She turned a few more pages in silence. Then she said, “You can keep a secret?”“Of course,” I said. Then, because I was feeling a little bolder. “It seems only fair.”“Mutually Assured Destruction,” Mrs Hotter murmured, turning another page.“Or just a pact,” I said.The woman didn’t answer, not at once. She turned another page or two and shifted in her seat. Finally she said slowly, “Darren, when I said a lot of women feel uncomfortable with this kind of material, I was most definitely not including myself.” She turned a page. “In fact I get just as turned on by looking at this as you do.”I found this hard to believe. It was completely at odds with how I’d somehow come to believe men and women were programmed. Nothing anyone had told me suggested that women liked to look at this kind of thing, and my own limited experience had taught me nothing except that getting further than a feel of that fuzz of hair was a feat of endurance that might have taxed the most intrepid explorer.When I said nothing, Mrs Hotter went on, “It seems to be what I have left these days. Mr Hotter doesn’t show much interest in me, unfortunately. And a woman has needs, Darren, just as you do.”This also contradicted the image I’d formed in my head, which was that even in marriage, sex was something wives let their husbands indulge in on the rare occasion migraine didn’t intervene. That Mr Hotter apparently didn’t have the hots for Mrs Hotter seemed peculiar.
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