1-900 you’re busted
Parents are usually very inept at talking about sex because they try to sugarcoat everything and make it sound a lot more complicated and wondrously mysterious than it really is. Because we could not get practical or realistic answers to our questions from Mom and Dad, we did not rely solely on them for information about sex. As a matter of fact, most of the practical knowledge we gained came from other sources.
One source was pornographic magazines. We were underage and couldn’t buy them and no one would do it for us, so we procured them by our favorite method, which was the five-finger discount (theft). We would ride our bikes to the grocery store up the hill from our house. The magazine rack was right in the front by the door. They didn’t keep them behind the counter like they do today; the rack was in plain sight so everybody could see it.
We were veterans of trouble making, so this was not even a challenge for us. Two of us would create a disturbance which would distract everyone in the store so our master thief, Adam, could slip a magazine or two into the back of his pants and out of the store.
We all would meet up at one of the wooded lots or back home to peruse our newly-acquired source of info and entertainment. From pioneers of porn like Hugh Hefner and Larry Flint, we received a good portion of our knowledge about the taboo subject of sex. We didn’t learn everything but we figured out the mechanics of the whole thing. We knew where everything was supposed to go, basically.
One day, while perusing a newly-nicked nudie magazine, we stumbled across an advertisement for several 1-900 numbers. This was before the requirement of fine print disclaimers and before you had to have a credit card, so we just thought this was another version of a toll free service.
We called the numbers. Each one was different but they all had a recording of an erotic fantasy acted out by one or two women with sexy voices, and all of them contained either faked or real female orgasms. Needless to say, we thought this was awesome. So we called these numbers everyday, sometimes three or four times for up to a half an hour or more. We invited all of our friends over to show them what we had found.
We spent all summer calling these 900 numbers and checking out the new storylines and different girls. We were all sitting around one day, shooting the bull with a new friend who had just started hanging out with us. We told him about our discovery of the 900 numbers and how we had called them all summer. We were expecting him to be in awe of us and say how cool we were to have pulled it off. Imagine our surprise when he said, “You dumbasses, don’t you know they charge that to your phone bill.”
We all looked at each other, our eyes wide with the knowledge that soon we would all be dead men. The moment of dread arrived and Mom got the phone bill, screaming in confusion and anger about the amount. “Three hundred damned dollars! The phone bill has never been that high! What the hell are all these 900 numbers on here, Wayne?” To which my dad replied that he didn’t know. “Call one,” he said. She did. My devout Catholic mother almost had a heart attack. She yelled for my dad and for all of us.
We were busted. We were subjected to a hysterical lecture from my mother about what a great sin we had just committed, how disappointed she was in us, all the punishment we were going to receive for this and how we were most certainly going to hell.
While I don’t believe I’m going to hell, I do believe there was a lesson in there somewhere. Don’t be too eager to croon about your achievements or discoveries. You might just end up finding out how big of a dumbass you really are.