This is a journey down memory lane to those much more innocent days of the 1960s, as they slowly turned into the 70s. No computers, no mobile phones, no internet and a lad's idea of porn was a topless photo in Health and Efficiency, Harrison Marks thinly disguised attempt at serving this clamouring market. I hope it stirs up a few memories!
I had finally escaped the restrictive regime of a boy's boarding school and had set off for college, a few days short of my eighteenth birthday.
Eighteen was not the magic number 'back in the day' as they say now, twenty-one was the biggy, but eighteen was still significant, as I would legally be able to drink in a pub.
At that time, this was an all-male college, and I had quickly made friends with some of the guys in my dormitory block. To celebrate the big event, I had managed to get a massive hangover, sadly the first of many.
Hangovers however were soon not my major concern, as one morning a few weeks after the start of term, I came out in a rash and had a non alcohol fuelled headache. My friends greeted me with a cheerful "You look awful." And encouraged me to make my way to the college hospital.
This was a small old house, remote from the rest of the buildings, staffed by a couple of not unattractive nurses, Sister Bowen and Sister Johnstone.
The college was pretty small, so the 'hospital' only had about six beds and, as we were generally a healthy lot, were hardly ever occupied.
Sister Johnstone was short, dark and incredibly Scottish, and Sister Bowen was obviously from somewhere in Lancashire. She was of average height, wore her hair in a sort of spiky urchin cut, had a great pair of legs and a totally stupendous pair of tits.
I was greeted at the door with another, "You look awful." Sister Johnston took one look at my rash, felt my forehead, and bundled me into one of the six empty beds. The diagnosis was German Measles, and I was now confined for the quarantine period of seven days.
Although I was keen to get on with my studies and had all my books sent over, there was something quite pleasant about being waited on by these two attractive looking older ladies. When I say older, I mean older in my terms at the time, but I suspect they were both in their mid thirties at most.
One evening when Sister Bowen was on duty, she appeared in her usual uniform and starched white apron which emphasised her not inconsiderable chest, with my medication and a rather strange looking thermometer.
It was unusual in that it was bigger than most thermometers and the bulb was round, rather than the usual longer thinner ones. To my horror it dawned on me that this strange looking implement was actually a rectal thermometer! I was about to have the seriously attractive Sister Bowen, with her no-nonsense northern accent, spiky blond hair, and slightly wicked smile, insert this into my rear end. Talk about embarrassed!
She proffered some explanation of why she needed to use a rectal thermometer, but I was so horrified that I failed to take it in.
"On your stomach and loosen your pyjamas please."
Oh my god no. Please no. I rolled onto my stomach and did as I was told. I felt a hand on each side of my hips as she commanded. "Lift up."
As I did so, she deftly slid my pyjama trousers down somewhat further than I felt comfortable with: actually a lot further than I felt comfortable with. Then she spread my buttocks and inserted the thermometer.
I remember being surprised at how cold it was and just how easily it slid in. The sensation itself was not unpleasant, strange for sure, but not unpleasant, however the embarrassment was excruciating, and I lay there, bum exposed, for the full three minutes that felt like an hour.
Eventually she extracted it and told me to pull up my pjs. This is where my embarrassment peaked because, lying there exposed, a cold glass thermometer in my bum, and Sister Bowen's shapely figure standing beside my bed, I had for some reason, developed an erection which, of course, she immediately noticed!
"Oh dear!"
She commented, with a rather stern look,
"I think you'd better find a cure for that. You do know that if it stays like that for too long it can be dangerous. It's called priapism and that needs hospital attention."
My crimson blush did nothing to reassure her, and as she left, she tossed a magazine onto my bed. Mayfair!
"This was left behind by our previous visitor and may help you with your problem."
Mayfair! Mayfair was the closest thing to porn available at that time. Lots of very suggestive pictures of breasts and bums and, in this copy, for the first time ever, just a hint of pubic hair. The picture was cropped just at the start of her pubes, unfortunately above her vagina, but pubes were much more than I was expecting.
I had never seen a picture like it, and as she left, she gave me a suggestive wink and said in her inimitable northern accent.
"So, sort yourself out!"
I couldn't believe what had just happened. I had got an erection in front of Sister Bowen, and she had given me a raunchy magazine and, lets face it, told me to have a wank!
I wanted to prolong the excitement for as long as possible, so I tried to resist touching myself as I leafed slowly through the pages. The pictures were revealing, but some of the stories were incredibly erotic, I think they were called True Confessions and, as I know now, were almost certainly total fiction, but total fiction of a highly erotic and erection provoking nature. I freely confess that, when on my own, I seldom finished the third story, (there were always three), without the whole experience exceeding my tolerance level and I shot my bolt.
This was considerably enhanced by the centre fold, with that hint of pubic hair. I had never seen a naked woman at that time and desperately wanted to know just what went on below the bottom of the page? The more I read and the more I looked, the firmer my erection became.
I was so engrossed in the magazine, trying to prolong the eroticism, without even daring to touch my cock, that I only just noticed Sister Bowen come back. As I was admiring the pubic hair of the centrefold she came over to my bed, sat on the edge and said.
"You seem to be enjoying that."
More embarrassment! Here was an attractive, mature woman openly talking to me, still very much a virgin, about my enjoying a (soft) porn magazine. I couldn't have been more embarrassed, but she continued without missing a beat.
"And it hasn't sorted out your problem yet, I see."
I hurriedly tried to put the magazine away, but she seemed unfazed, in fact quite the opposite.
"If you can't sort out your problem, I will just have to help. You can't have it staying like that. As I said, priapism is dangerous."
A hand: a cool female hand: the cool female hand of Sister Bowen made its way under the covers and easily located the opening in my pyjamas.
The cool hand encircled my cock.
"And we don't want you to have any more trouble, do we?"
Was this happening?
The hand gently pulled my foreskin back and a finger stroked my frenulum. The original erection, fortified by the pictures and stories in the magazine sending salacious thoughts to my brain, was now further enhanced by the first ever person to touch my erect cock. I murmured something incomprehensible.
