A Sexy Education
I taught myself English by reading the Penthouse forum letters in my brother’s porn magazine collection. As soon as I had the chance, and the rudimentary reading skills, I would hunker down in his twin-sized waterbed, slip my hand between the frame and the wall, and pull out the latest issue of Penthouse.
I never read the articles, but boy did I ever love those steamy letters. Nothing and I mean nothing got my pussy throbbing as fast as reading all those lovely sexy words. Throbbing, a word, the meaning of which, I learned on those ultra-secret masturbatory missions.
Thank you, Penthouse, for the education! When it came to descriptions of sex, I really had to put my mind to the test when it came to differentiating words like thigh, tight, and tights. Thigh was the worst and the best of the lot. Once I figured out what it meant, I couldn’t get enough of it. It is a word devised with the sole purpose of whispering it into someone’s ear with the quick flutter of the tip of a tongue.
This was a time before the Internet, when you would borrow a book from the library just so you could read that one steamy passage on page 326, even if it meant suffering the literary embarrassment of walking around with a Daniel Steele book tucked under your arm. Ah, Judith Krantz, I remember you well and V.C. Andrews, you have a lot to do with my perverted sense of the erotic. Those names might not live on forever next to works of great literary achievement, but they held my every gasp and attention. They taught me what turned me on and what didn’t.
Eventually, I developed an arrogant sense of literary worth and I moved on to authors like Sade, Miller, Nin, Lawrence and Nabokov to fuel my sexual fantasies, but the lessons I learned from my initial roster of erotic teachers ran deep. You’ll never catch me referring to someone’s cock as a throbbing member, but the sense of excitement evoked by the word throbbing remains.