We just stole magazines from one of the neighborhood kid's older brothers, then hid them in the woods at the camping spot.
Good times.
I always got stories. Here's mine.
We moved to a new house when I was in seventh grade. There was a storage building outside and on top of a shelf behind a loose board I found a stash of sure-enough bang books. Club, Gent and that genre. Good stuff. I was amazed. I was also the king of the school for a while when I brought samples in the old lunchbox.
Terrified that my dad might discover the secret stash in the storage building (which in retrospect I know would never have happened) I decided to move them to a new locale for safe keeping. First I wrapped them in plastic and buried them. But that was ridiculous, I had to dig them up every time and the shovel was damaging the pages. So I decided to move them inside.
Hid them in the bathroom closet, behind the towels and inside the faux wall where the plumber could access the pipes. PERFECT!
As boys will do, I clipped out select images that I liked a great deal. Those I put in a ziplock bag and hid inside the toilet tank. One day the bag leaked a little. I took out the clipped images and spread them on the bathroom floor to dry. Mom knocked. Needed in for something. Roll of toilet paper. Something. In a panic, I snatched them up. No time to restore, they had to be destroyed. The toilet was right there. Garbage can, too. But did I think of either? NO! In my fevered state of fear, I took a pen and rammed each image down the drain of the tub.
Needless to say, the tub quit draining properly. It would fill to the brim when you showered. Mom called the plumber, who came while I was at school. The images weren't fished up because he just snaked the pipes I guess, but in his inspection he did discover -- and the bastard turned over -- my secret stash from the closet.