Pornhub didn't exist when I was a kid...

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Pornhub didn't exist when I was a kid in the '60s . Back then, there weren't computers or internet. If we wanted to sneak a peek at a woman's naked body, we had to get our hands on magazines like Playboy and Penthouse. If we got really desperate, there were always National Geographic magazines lying around. The consensus was that it was an educational magazine, but in reality, it provided my friends and me with an opportunity to get our first glimpses of bare naked boobs and nipples. I can personally attest to it being highly educational and a life-changing experience.

Later, other magazines like Hustler and Cheri, which, although they weren't as classy or socially acceptable as Playboy and Penthouse, were highly sought after by curious teenage boys, like me...

Barbara Alper. Getty Images.

Some kids were lucky, their fathers had well-hidden porn stashes somewhere in their house, and adventurous teenage boys could always find the stash and were more than willing to share it with their friends. It seemed every kid's dad had a porn stash, and that having one was a rite of passage into manhood.

I've always been a big fan of female anatomy, and when I was old enough, I started my own stash. I kept it classy, sticking mainly to Playboy and Penthouse. When I became a plumber, every year I got my hands on a Ridgid Tool calendar, and I never missed a copy of Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Edition. Later, when I was supposed to be a mature, upstanding adult, I got myself a subscription to Stuff Magazine for Men, which to me, was next level…

These are from 2001. I thought about putting them out in the recycle bin, but I couldn't do it…

"The definition of an adult is a failed child", and who in their right mind wants to fail at anything? Certainly not me!

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Adult film, magazine, and internet star Tera Patrick signing pics at a Hustler Fundraiser (2001) where she was raising money for NY & DC firefighters & police affected by the terrorist attack on 9/11… 

I have a room in the basement that was originally my office, a place where I made plumbing calls, figured estimates, and scheduled jobs. It was my room exclusively, and I plastered the walls with pics of hot women. And while most of them were only partially clothed, some were not. My wife condemned me for it, but I told her, "I'm a normal red-blooded American male, and I couldn't change even if I wanted to…"

I have three children, all boys, and when they were young, they weren't allowed in my office, ever! I kept it locked. But, they weren’t naïve; they knew exactly what was behind that door. Even after I turned my office into a "Bike Room", the pics remained…

They quickly learned how to pick the lock using the pointy end of a kebab skewer. Every chance they got, they’d sneak into the room to cop a look. Eventually, my son Dylan told his friends about the room, and suddenly he became an extremely popular kid. I’d hear the door open from upstairs, give a holler, and they’d all sprint out of there in a hurry. They'd attempt to sneak one past me by not making any noise, but I had a sixth sense. I heard everything, and they didn't get away with anything, at least not while I was home…

My wife wouldn't even let my boys watch The Simpsons, Family Guy, or American Dad. When she wasn't home, I let 'em watch, and I raised the bar; I let 'em watch Taxi Cab Confessions on HBO and The Man Show, two of my personal favorites. At the end of each episode of The Man Show, there was a segment called "Girls on Trampolines," and I thought it was fucking brilliant; my wife was totally disgusted by it, which was to be expected…

Hey, it was called The Man Show, so it made perfect sense to end each episode with Girls on Trampolines… (Enjoy!)

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At one time, I printed out an 8" x 10" photo of Pam Anderson, and using a Sharpie, I personalized it with, "Vinnie, You're my one and only, Pam". I took my youngest son Dylan into my office and showed him the photo, making him swear never to tell his mother. I went on to say that I once dated Pam, and she sent me the signed photo six months after we broke up. He was only eleven at the time, and he bought the whole story, hook, line, and sinker! He told his friends, and they believed the story too…

Eventually, I came clean. I told Dylan I was kidding, I never dated Pam Anderson, and that I actually signed the picture myself. He was disappointed, but at that moment, he learned to appreciate the practical joke, which is an important lesson in life. Good fathering, right?

Years later, when he and his friends were in their mid-twenties, they all came clean. Anytime they were over, and I wasn't home, Dylan let 'em in my office to look at all the girly pics. Unbeknownst to me, his friends referred to my office as “Vin’s Porn Room”. That room had become their version of Playboy and Penthouse. They all admitted to still having the hots for Pam Anderson years later. Apparently, I was a major influence on them, and I have absolutely no remorse…

I ended up removing all the photos from the walls of my office except the one of Pam. It's still hanging in the original spot.

I was cruising eBay last year when I came across a signed 11" x 14" glossy of the exact same pic of Pam Anderson discounted from $98 to $41, and with a Beckett Certificate of Authenticity. I couldn't resist, so I bought it with the intention of passing it on to Dylan, much like a family heirloom. And, although he appreciated the gesture, and what young man wouldn't, his fiancé wanted no part of that tradition, and I can't say that I blame her. 

I do have faith in my boy, someday he'll have his own well-hidden stash, and then I'll know "he'd grown up just like me, my boy was just like me"…

So, the new pic is currently on display in my Man Cave, and I'm sure at one point, my wife will make me hang it in my old office, next to the original, where it belongs…

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Here's a Man Show Tribute, because who can ever get enough of Girls on Trampolines?