EPTStreaming wasn't on the horizon yet, video quality was atrocious and filtering nigh impossible.
Even if you wanted to see innocent lesbian porn, or even just an episode of the Simpsons, you would often find mislabeled Scheißeporn and other disgusting stuff via eMule and Kazaa.
The first kid in our school who had an internet flat-rate was Ingo, a guy from my fifth grade chemistry class. He was a nerd, but he escaped the brutal beatings and being stuck in trash-containers by merit of his supplying the older kids with adult videos. He charged 1 Mark for every floppy disc, and 3 Mark for every CD, and being the only kid with half-decent internet and a CD-burner to boot, he made a killing.
Innocent and curious alike, I wanted in. I had seen softcore on the telly, I had stolen nude-magazines from the store, and I had seen an honest to god pubic bush at the public pool once, but other than that, I was clueless and entirely unprepared for what would follow.
I approached Ingo, and was delighted that he would take my breakfast money for a CD full of choice material. Excited, if somewhat hungry, I forked over the dough. Three days later, he gave me a hand-labeled CD: 'Masturbation material for Chris'. Cheers mate.
Giddy in anticipation, I went home that day, feeling like I was on the verge to being a real man, despite my tender age of eleven, maybe twelve. The universe, as it's prone to do, threw me a curve ball. My mum was home early, so was my younger brother and even my father spent a week at home. Days went by without any opportunity, and anticipation grew. When you're that young, days feel longer and patience is of short supply.
Eventually, my hour came. I had waited for about a week, but it felt so much longer.
Finally, I would see a vagina. Perhaps pixelated that even Skype would be ashamed of the video quality, but I would see one at last.
I heard my family leaving the driveway, booted up the PC, put in the CD, waited for ages for
Windows 95 to boot, which had never seemed that long, and at last the Windows Media Player loaded the first video on the CD, and the last pornog I would watch in many years to come.
In view came a mercifully pixelated video of a woman in a forest, getting banged by a horse. Not even the twentieth century video quality could protect my eyes from full penetration with what looked like a meaty tree-trunk. Dick in hand, I nearly puked, scrambling to close the video, red-facedly struggling to comprehend what I had seen. This was what pornog is about? How could anyone like that?
I turned off the PC, ashamed and weirded out, and tried my best to forget about it.
The real horror was yet to come.
The next day in chemistry, Ingo knew what was up. I felt like punching him.
'So, did you like your masturbation material?'
Then it hit me:
The CD was still in the drive. I nearly fainted. My father often used the PC when I was at school, and my mum sometimes looked over his shoulder, feigning interest.
After school, I cycled home as fast as my little legs would allow.
I imagined my mum driving home at exactly the same time, making it a race against humiliation.
When I got home, 'masturbation material for Chris' wasn't in the drive anymore.
Up to this day, I don't know how much exactly who of my family had to see.
Needless to say, I never became a big fan of pornog.
