My personal pathway to pornography was – I guess – progressive, in as much as my first contact or event involved a relatively tranquil take-off ─ flicking through the pages of a well-thumbed and discarded magazine in a local lorry park, aged around twelve, with my mate Alan.
This experience was somewhat delicate when compared with routes to erotica nowadays that land without warning in more hardcore territory. Early glimpses of the flesh via this glossy-paged medium continued sporadically during my teens, facilitated primarily by my dad’s poorly hidden copies of lighter porn located in his wardrobe, under his folded jumpers.
On entering the rat race at nineteen as a police officer, this stable state of affairs experienced substantial turbulence when, as an occupant of single quarters (directly above the police station), I was introduced to the porn video. Now ancient technology, this wonder nonetheless elevated me to the premiership of porn. “Anal Hareem” left little to the imagination and so impressed was I with the almost Shakespearean lotharios
