![]() ![]() “HAAAUUUBBNEER” he would boom out, summoning me from my lean-to in the back of the secretarial pool. (Wikimedia Commons)įrom that day forth, Jim never called me by my first name. “Get out of here, Haubner.” Three-martini lunch. If you took her arm,” here Jim grasped my wrist with his huge paw, “there would be deep indentations in her skin that lasted for days.” He released me with a shake. “She was pasty and white, like a loaf of bread dough. As a reporter, Jim had covered the set of The Misfits for Life magazine, and I had been a fan of Marilyn since I was ten, when I saw Gentlemen Prefer Blondes on Saturday Night at the Movies. “Ah, I heard you met Marilyn Monroe?” I thought this was an excellent conversation starter. “Jim.” I took this as permission to approach. I was pretty sure any talent I had at being charming would fall on stony ground but I had to try I knew Jim had been fired at least once from both Penthouse and Playboy, so I was hoping for a sympathetic ear. Jim did not think this worthy of a reply but kept staring at me. “I’m Gay Haubner, ah, I was the assistant editor at Viva, and ah, Kathy Keeton thought I might fit in better at Penthouse.” I sidled into his office, hugging the wall. “What do you want?” rumbled forth like an early warning vibration from a thundercloud. Goode?” He looked up from the papers on his desk, fixing me with a blood-shot, Medusa glare. My first task at Penthouse was to introduce Jim Goode to his newest, and probably unwanted, staff member. Jim bore an unsettling resemblance to Lurch, the Addams Family butler, and laughed about as much, which was a good thing, as his gravely guffaw was blood-chilling, like the clanking of rusty chains. If only we had you back in the 80s.My new boss was Jim Goode, the executive editor, a scraggly 6’3” man with a bloodhound face who wore the same uniform of Levi’s, faded chambray shirt, and work boots every day, as if it were painted on him. Instead it's from a pristine copy I purchased via Ebay. I'm not that much of a maniac collector (or pervert). The recording you will hear is NOT the original record I got from Mike. Listen to her voice and cadence: she's at best supposed to be 16. Until you realize that the girl in question is clearly underage. Looking back at this artifact from today's perspective, when you can see any sort of freaky sex on the internet, from bondage to clown sex, golden showers to lesbian cheerleaders, the vaginas of America's pop stars to granny's banging freakishly hung black dudes, this record seems rather tame in comparison. At first she is adamant about staying a virgin, but lust takes over and she becomes an "INSATIABLE SEXPOT". No male voice is heard, so you can pretend to be the boyfriend. She does all the narration on the record. A teenage babysitter invites her boyfriend over, they start making out and then their hormones take over and she has sex for the first time. Mike brought in the December 1982 issue of "High Society" with a cardboard record featuring the promised you'd "Hear the Sounds of a Virgin Losing Her Cherry!" with accompanying pictorial. ![]() Sure, you could see the occasional scrambled boob on Cinemax, but any sort of non-print media porn was out of the question. ![]() Sure, we'd seen nude models in "Playboy", but these other magazines were our first introduction to fetishes, costumes, non-white women, lesbians and, last but certainly not least, vaginas.īut all we ever had access to were magazines. started bringing in issues of "Penthouse", "Hustler", and "High Society", it blew our little minds. And pornography was not available at the click of a button - especially not to a 16-year-old high school kid. "Online Communities" meant people waiting to buy tickets to see "E.T. "Music Sharing" meant borrowing your brother's Rolling Stones albums. High Society December 1982 - Busting My Cherry (6:27) High Society December 1982 - Busting My Cherry ![]()
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