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They were the ultimate safe space for kids or homeless dudes or henpecked husbands or whomever might have needed a quiet place alone to reflect on god’s creations. The truth is probably more simple and innocent than that: the woods offered some sort of privacy that couldn’t be found in the home. Could woods porn have been bait in a trap that somehow hundreds of kids in the ‘70s and ‘80s managed to snag like mice snatching cheese without getting caught? I mean, there’s no anecdotal evidence I’ve ever heard to indicate that this is the case, but then again, maybe the parties involved aren’t able to tell their tales? in procuring teenage boys involved offering them jobs “reviewing” porn tapes. Is it possible that stacks of pornography were left in remote areas as lures for pedophiles with nefarious agendas? In my hometown we had a registered sex offender albino shop-owner whose entire M.O.
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Some have speculated about nasty gnomes or porn-faeries littering the woodlands with titillating treats. I’ve had to wonder if there was some sort of Johnny Appleseed of porn who traveled the country distributing perverse periodicals for the most inquisitive children to find on their explorations. Over the years, I’ve seen discussions pop up from time to time where (mostly dudes) reminisce about the stacks of Penthouse and (always) Hustler (it seemed to be the woods porn title of choice) that were found in dry creek beds or under logs or in abandoned shacks or behind construction sites. Others began to chime in with their experiences and I was shocked to find that it was such a common experience. I was surprised, at the time, that someone else had had a similar experience to my discovery of forbidden sacred treasures in the woods.
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I remember first hearing the term mentioned on a messageboard back in the late ‘90s. It wasn’t until the Internet came along that I learned “woods porn” was a thing that was experienced by anyone other than me. To a pre-teen kid, prior to the Internet, finding and holding onto such riches was unparalleled. He’d hold on to a few of them for a week, and I’d keep the others, and then we’d swap. It seems, arguably, in retrospect, that these magazines just karmically appeared out of nowhere at exactly the right time in my development. There were so many revelations in those treasures that at first sort of grossed me out, but then completely fascinated me to no end. Up to that point I had snuck a few peeks at the old man’s Playboys, but I had never known that there was other stuff under those furry early ‘80s muffs. My initial reaction was “ewww” right before my secondary reaction of “ohhhh.” It was the first time I ever realized that two women could or would ever kiss each other.
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That same issue had a pictorial I’ll never forget: two female “space aliens” in silver outfits and rainbow-colored afros. One of the issues of Hustler had an article on Anton Lavey, which I’m sure had a profound impact on my juvenile mind. I still remember the titles after all these years: Oui, Harvey, Gallery, and two Hustlers. One fateful day we stumbled upon a not-so-hidden cache of adult magazines which blew our Catholic grade-school minds. Louisville, Kentucky, circa 1982: my best friend and I spent a lot of time exploring the woods on our walks home after school.