I was sixteen and my boyfriend had borrowed a tape from a friend. The label was handwritten and listed Missing In Action, Rambo, and a few other erased and rewritten titles. Since I didn't know what it really was, I left it sitting out. My ultra-conservative Southern parents rarely sat down and watched movies, so I thought I had nothing to worry about.

But then I came home one evening to my mom ordering me to get that "filth" out of the house right then and there. I innocently asked why, figuring it was just a tape of a few action movies, but she proceeded to tell me about walking in and finding my dad watching it. I had to stifle my snickers at the thought of my dad ogling porn and my mom nearly having a heart attack trying to get it out of the player.

Incidentally, my boyfriend and I watched the tape later, and it turned out to be the iconic Deep Throat. My favorite line from the film is still during the scene when the delivery boy goes down on Linda Lovelace; she pulls his head back and politely asks, "Mind if I smoke while you eat?" I often wonder if that made my dad laugh the first time he saw it.

— Cindy

Back in the quaint pre-internet days, we had to enter into some mighty dangerous terrain to satiate our perversions. I remember those “porn runs” all too well. Five or six horny nerds stuffed into a parent’s car, driving down the Henry Hudson Parkway with high expectations, evading the homeless Windex washers, and eventually stopping across from some sleazy sex shop in pre-Disney Times square.

Once parked, one unlucky fellow was chosen to go make the purchase. This was a lot of pressure, not only because it was a really sketchy area filled with shifty-looking men in overcoats and intimidating thugs, but because the responsibility of choosing something good was placed on your shoulders. After all, these tapes were expensive, and none of us had any money, so a lousy selection would incur the wrath of the entire geek posse.

Stepping into one of these sex shops was much like diving into an icy cold ocean head first. You held your breath, adrenaline leaking out of your ears, harsh fluorescent lighting exposing your every move, and made your way through the aisles, avoiding eye contact with all the perverts. Usually you had some suggestions from the troop: “Christy Canyon!” “No… Amber Lynn!”

The drive back was high-spirited, with all of us laughing over the sheer seediness of the excursion. Then we'd would all crowd around the VCR to review our bounty. Some selections would be worse than others, and in those instances we would take great pleasure in heckling the sorry fool who’d chosen it. As soon as we’d watched them all, the haggling would begin as to who’d get first dibs to jerk off to them.

Eventually it would all be worked out, and we’d say our goodbyes and finish the rest of the night in privacy. It’s incredible to think what we put ourselves through just for a little sexual release. Still, I suppose risking our lives to buy a porno tape in Times Square was far less risky than actually asking a girl out.

— Branwyn

I grew up in the '90s, when the internet was just starting to become big. We were a technologically-inclined household, and of course my mom and dad had all the new toys. We had had a desktop computer since 1995, and I was allowed free rein. It was about three years later, when I was ten or so, that I turned the desktop on and was shocked to find a picture of a naked woman in a bathtub — thankfully, not my own mother — on the desktop. I, of course, closed out of it, and ran outside to assemble my friends who lived close by. I gathered them around the computer and showed them what I had found. Eventually, afraid that my mother would be angry at my father, I deleted the dirty picture from the desktop. After that, though, I installed a keylogger, browsed his internet history, and found his porn stash, hidden deep within "My Documents."

— Sam

I’d often have trouble falling asleep, and while my parents were watching late-night TV downstairs, I would crawl into their big bed to feel more at ease. One night I was having more trouble than usual and I reached into my dad’s bedside table looking for the latest Model Railroader (we had a big model train set in the basement for years). Instead I found a Playboy, which I wasted no time flipping through. It was there I discovered my first naked lady — a businesswoman slowly undressing until she was totally nude save for a pair of black stockings. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but I excitedly told my friends on the bus the next day. I also made the mistake of asking my dad about his odd magazine collection, which promptly disappeared.

I realized years later that I frequently ask my wife to fool around in various states of undress, always with a pair of black stockings.

— Ben

My family moved when I was eight. One day, my mom and dad got a call from a realtor who said a family had vacated their apartment the day before . We went to inspect the apartment and arrange for the possible move-in.

While Mom and Dad were inspecting the rooms and filling out forms with the agent, I walked around looking in closets and under sinks. In the bathroom there were magazines inside the vanity that had a lot of people with costumes that looked like Batman, so I sat on the side of the tub going through them. I was a little confused because all of the ladies were naked, tied down, or blindfolded. Occasionally, the masked man had no pants.

I figured they were something I would get in trouble for reading, so I hid them under the sink again. I wandered around more, before I found the mother lode in the front closet: a king-sized jar of petroleum jelly, whips, blindfolds, random chains, a variety of leather gear, and magazines.

Before I knew it, there was a piercing scream. I had lost track of time, and my mom found me sitting on the closet floor reading the magazines surrounded by "toys." My dad couldn’t stop laughing but my mom and the realtor were a matching shade of red.

— Alexis

Submit to our next story roundup: roommate stories. Shared apartments make for strange bedfellows. What's your best story about the intersection of sex and roommates? Roommates you had sex with? Roommates who stole your girlfriend/boyfriend? Roommates you had to call the cops on after they chased you around the room naked?

Send your best story (150-250 words) to submissions@nerve.com. We won't print your full name, so please don't skimp on the details.