Niiiice.

I remember finding one in the car once... the backseat of the car. Back when I was far too young to properly understand. I suspected though. I really don't want to think about whose it was, or how it got there. No. Way.

At my high school cafeteria, there was a big bowl of lettuce for those who wanted to make a salad. One day, some fun-loving souls threw about a dozen lubricated condoms in it. Gross but hilarious.

We were treasure hunting in the attic when I was perhaps 12 or 13. We found my dad's Navy p-coat. It had something wrapped in gold foil called "Coin Pack". We opened it up.

Yep. Dad was a salty dog!

When I was 12 I could finally reach up to the top shelf of my parents' closet where they kept the sex supplies.

That's the wrong way to start.

My parents required that my door be open at all times when I was a kid. Except maybe when I was practicing violin and someone wanted a nap. So my door, open all the time, was no hindrance to my snooping mom, who routinely found embarrassing things I'd hidden deep inside notebooks inside boxes inside bags inside other boxes in my closet. Then my dad would come up with the offending item, for example, a hand-drawn picture of a naked woman, and say, "It's okay to do this, but hide it from your mom."

And I'd say, "How am I supposed to hide anything from her? She went through my notebook, which was inside a box which was inside a bag which was inside another box in the back of my closet. How do you hide things from her?"

Which was obviously the wrong thing to say, since he said, "I don't hide things from your mother," and that was that.

And so I had no qualms, not one fucking smidgen of guilt, when I went through my parents' stuff every so often when they were out. Which is how I found The Box, a real treasure trove, full of cock rings and dildos and did I mention dildos? A huge black rubber dick of about 3" diameter, maybe a foot or so long, a vibrator with a french tickler on the end like a dishwasher waving a gloved hand, a ball gag, some dog collars (who's a good boy?), a fucking real cat-o-nine tails (not one of those novelty items one can easily pick up just about anywhere) and condoms, condoms, condoms! Like a sea of condoms, mostly LifeStyles, some Trojos and a few exotic things that I never had the balls to swipe.

Plus there were books, mostly fem dom shit (go mom!) but some of those English country squire with the run of the house books and also some Nancy Friday books full of fantasies, people fucking panthers, yow. And comics, too; Leather Nun, Cherry Poptart, some weird austere German denial-of-pleasure stuff in translation.

I was twelve, and my parents were about a year away from dodging the sex talk by giving me "Love and Sex in Plain Language" and (an illustrated!) "Joy of Sex." I had the keys to a Saturn V rocket before my first driving lesson.

Plus, I never had to buy condoms in high school. My folks were doing the beautiful thing with the penis and vagina and cockring and cat-o-nine tails so much that they never noticed my pubescent depredations. Or maybe they knew I'd peek and it was all just a set-up to ensure my practice of safe sex; what a mindfuck that would be!

Oh God, Hugh, your story beats mine.

Err... no pun intended

Hugh wins the thread!

Yeah, but what's the prize? Never mind, I don't want to know.

*gently hugs Hugh, strokes his hair, sings him a lullaby*

Well, HJ, at least you have an idea what your folks might like for Christmas. ; )

Dear heavens, Hugh. I am so grateful to my parents for never, ever snooping through my things and allowing me the level of privacy they did. Even my siblings and I were pretty good about not snooping through each others' things. I know so many people who snoop through their kids' and their SOs stuff and it never fails to appall me. I always think they must not have had that example of respect and boundaries set for them in their home as children.