I Found My Dad's Porn Stash When I Was 12

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This 12-year-old found her dad's secret porn stash; what to do if your little one finds yours.

In addition, in my pre-porn years, I was always weirdly curious about sex. In fifth grade, I used to pretend I was Mr. Kitty Kat, a suave, sweet-talking feline who always had an erection and wanted to have sex with my sister. I'd pounce on her in her bedroom and rub my head on her thighs, purring and talking about my feline boner. I'd also make believe that I was a deranged Mr. Cooter from Dukes of Hazards and pretend rape my sister on the floor. I have no idea where this stuff came from—or why I found it so entertaining. My sister and I would crack up probably because it was so outlandish—so far from anything that was in our everyday uneventful lives. If anything, the porn colored my already wild imagination. But it didn't turn me into a deviant. I've never been promiscuous, and my sex life has always been pretty straight. The wildest thing I've ever done in bed? Fantasize about extreme sex—sex that I'd never really have. Still, porn is made for adults, not children. Should Fantasies Be "PC"?

When I finally decided to become a writer in my late 20s, my first piece was about—you guessed it: sex. It was about the language of male masturbation, how euphemisms for "jerking off" are often violent (think: beating, spanking, flogging, and whacking). It was a smart piece, and I shopped it around to every magazine. Editors liked it, but no one wanted to publish it. Then I thought of Penthouse, my reading companion from long ago. They bought it immediately and paid me $800. I was thrilled. I just scored my first professional writing assignment.

Since then, I've written sex pieces for Hustler, Penthouse, Redbook, and Glamour. Each time one of these magazines buys a new article from me and I tell my parents, my mom congratulates me; my dad just laughs and says, "You're mind is still in the gutter!" (Like father, like daughter, I guess.)

In retrospect, I know my father meant me no harm. It's not like he planted his stash in my bathroom or book bag so that I'd find it. In his mind, his porn was for his eyes only. Only my young curious eyes fell upon it, too. Did it injure me in some way? I don't think so, but who knows?

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