‘I could not run fast enough…’
Gather round kiddies, it’s storytime. Today’s story takes place in a faraway place called the Eighties. Let’s begin, shall we:
I was probably about 12 years old. Me and my mom lived in south Saint Louis. I was a regular kid. I was in the Boy Scouts and doing okay in school. I had many brothers and sisters, but they were all grown up and gone. One of my brothers, Dave, had been in and out of the Navy and had left a lot of his stuff in our basement. Some years earlier, I had stumbled onto a massive stack of Playboys and some magazines called Oui (more naked ladies). Anyway, having found this stash and having eight gallons of testosterone in my body (puberty was kicking in hard), I was spanking it pretty regular.
One day, for reasons I can’t fathom, I got a brilliant idea. Now in south Saint Louis, there are lot of straight through houses. Literally, they are three rooms where the front room connects to the middle room and that connects to the kitchen. Oh and a bathroom, obviously. So in this house, I slept on the couch. We were poor and for a time didn’t have a real couch, but instead had a twin bed with wedges behind it that made it look like a couch. I got this brilliant idea that I could cut down prep time and increase my spank time by bringing my three favorite Playboys and storing them between the mattress and box springs of my bed. Great idea.
So along comes the Fall Jamboree (Boy Scouts, remember) and I packed up and headed out for two days of Hell ‘roughing it’ in the wild or what passes for the wild in the middle of Missouri. The campout was fairly uneventful. I came home on Sunday evening and walked in the kitchen with my big bag. Sitting there on the kitchen table were three beautiful woman I knew well: the mountie, the wild one and the redhead. Mom was nowhere to be found, but it didn’t matter. I was so busted. I started going through my options: somebody else did it (no, she’s the only other person in the house), it’s puberty’s fault (which was actually true) and then Mom walked in…
And then something really odd happened…nothing. She looked sternly at me, which of course meant I was about to die, and said ‘Put these back where you got them and I don’t ever want to see them again.” I could not run fast enough to get those things back in the basement. I think I may have gotten grounded, but I didn’t care, I was alive. And I still had my stash in the basement…
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January 21st, 2006 at 1:35 am
Hands down…one of the best stories I’ve ever heard about you, Patrick! That’s great….I just knew you were gonna say your mom followed you to see where the stash was and then burned them LOL We used to visit some friends of my parents who didn’t have kids our age. It was so boring…and one time, I found a stash of nudy mags…I don’t know if they were playboys or not, but I do remember seeing some farmers and young female farmhands going at it in fields of green. I remember thinking…why are they are doing that outside in the corn and on hay in the barn?
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