Acid-washed jeans strategically ripped at the knees. Perfectly distressed bomber jacket left open to reveal a plain white T-shirt. A diamond stud in my lone pierced ear (the right ear, naturally). My hair-metal mullet expertly coiffed and held in place with half a can of Aqua Net.
Welcome to 1989.
It doesn’t seem so long ago, but boy, how the world has changed since then. Aside from the notoriously bad fashion trends, 1989 is noteworthy as the year when the Internet began to transition from being a tool for scientists and academicians to a way of life for the rest of us regular folk. Today, we take for granted the fact that we can jump on the Internet at any time of day, chat with people who live on the other side of the planet, and purchase goods we may not have easy (or any) access to otherwise.
My life became a whole lot more interesting and far less stressful as the Internet grew, particularly regarding my libido-related habits.
In 1989, in order for me to purchase a dirty magazine, a naughty book, a porn video, or a new sex toy to add to my ever-expanding collection, I had to visit a store in person. I KNOW! Although in some ways I prefer the experience of examining merchandise firsthand and comparing products side by side, what I don’t miss is the inevitable, excruciating, slow-motion walk of shame to the checkout counter.
Back in the days before Netflix and Redbox, before every shopping district contained a Blockbuster, there existed a quaint business entity colloquially referred to as the neighborhood video store. These small, family-owned businesses were typically located in strip malls and shopping plazas, wedged in between the coin-op laundry and the cut-rate liquor store. Most of the video joints of that era had one thing in common—the back room, usually partitioned from the rest of the store by a tacky curtain made from strings of Mardi Gras beads.
But oh, what joy I found in those back rooms! (No, not that kind of joy—that was a different store). I could rent classic titles like Gold Rush Boys, Big Guns, Sunstroke, The Bigger The Better, and one of my favorites, Powertool!
And then of course there was sassy, sexy Rex Chandler in “Heat in the Night.” Check out the awesome undies and the vintage 1989 Duran Duran ‘do! Movies like these are hilarious to watch now, what with the dated hairstyles, the Coppertone QT orange tans, the ridiculous attempts at actually having a plot (why, oh why?), and the nonstop wakka-chukka-wakka-chukka-bow-bow-bow music.
Ah, the memories!
Oh, oh, oh! I can’t forget Tim Lowe in the Boot Camp movies! OMG, did I have the hots for that boy back in the day. :pant: And no, my taste in men hasn’t changed very much over the past two decades, Wave. 😆
Let me tell you, I went through more VHS-players in the early 1990s than Dolly Parton went through brassieres.
At last, I was able to sate my lust for hot, horny men in the safety and privacy of my home! But first, the dreaded checkout counter.
It never failed that the sexy young guy who was behind the register when I entered the back room would magically become his ancient grandmother by the time I came back out, making my walk of shame that much more painful. I would peek through the tacky bead-curtain to make sure there was no one else in line, then I would race to the counter with my unwieldy collection of bulky VHS tapes and struggle not to make eye contact with the clerk.
The entire transaction took no more than a minute but seemed like hours, every single time. I repeated the agony at the sex-toy boutique when making my scandalous purchases and at the naughty book-and-magazine emporium. I began to think that one guy’s grandmother worked everywhere.
Enter the Internet, the best invention in the entire history of mankind since
Thanks to CERN (those wacky Large Hadron Collider people in Switzerland who more or less created the Intarwebz as we know it and are now trying to figure out how to form a super-massive black hole under the Alps . . . or something), I no longer have to deal with the walk of shame or personally interact with a sufficiently judgmental-looking cashier who looks like That Guy’s Grandmother.
All it takes for me satisfy my carnal cravings now is a few mouse-clicks and a credit card, and voila!
Dirty books, magazines, another new toy, and all without ever having to stand at a checkout counter going :whistle: and :blush: and then :escape: !
See, the Internet really is for porn!
Of course, now it’s nearly impossible for Reno* to get me to leave the house . . . .
So, what are some of your reasons for loving the Internet? Communicating with out-of-town relatives? Keeping tabs on the latest natural disaster? Smut? This inquiring mind wants to know.
Have a safe and happy weekend! :beer:
* Jaye’s #1 reason for loving the Internet. We would have never crossed paths without it.