I've come a long way since that day, over 20 years ago.
The next morning, I wrapped it up in my trash bag, tucked down so it was hidden, and took the trash out to the dumpster two dorms away from mine, as if it were a murder weapon. I hid it from my roommate and any other eyes until I could go down to the basement of the dorm and look at it. I avoided eye contact with him, paid the money and took it back to my dorm room. He slowly turned around, picked up the magazine and placed it on the counter. I cleared my throat and said, louder and more clearly than I'd intended, "Playgirl." He turned back to me and asked, " Which one?" He caught himself up short as he registered what I'd said. He turned and began reaching for the Playboy as if by habit. Under my breath, I muttered, "I'd like a Playgirl, please", gesturing to the magazine behind the counter.
The clerk, a stereotypically pimply guy about my age, looked at me and prompted "Yes?" I finally screwed up the courage to walk into a corner store - it was late in the evening - and stand in line until it was my turn at the checkout stand. This was back before Internet, kids, before all the porn you'd ever want and more was available with just a few clicks. I was 18 in the mid-1980s, a freshman in college and the product of an extremely conservative Southern upbringing, still trying to come to grips with being gay. I guess I owe the magazine a small debt of gratitude along the way.
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