Before the bad poetry, there was bad porn

I became a pervert a very young age, thanks to VC Andrews and my mother's Harlequin Romance Novel collection. By the time I entered adolescence, I had a flair for writing porn.

I didn't write it for money, mind you. Or fame. At first, I did it for fun. I had my little stash of porn carefully hidden away in my room, and I often pondered what deviant activities I could get my characters involved in next.

The one day, I started showing some of my porn to my girlfriends. And they went crazy for it. At first, they just wanted to read everything I'd written. My porn stash slowly dwindled as my friends borrowed stuff and "forgot" to return it. When all the porn was gone, they started to ask me when the next installment would be coming in. Repeatedly.

So I wrote more. And more. And then someone had an idea. How about I wrote customized porn? Like, I could write a story for Michelle about Michelle and that dirtbag she liked from the roller rink! That was some serious next-level porn, that was.

Then one day, my porn empire crumbled. Heather #1's mother found one of my dirty stories about Heather and some other dirtbag from the roller rink. And she thought it was non-fiction. And we were 13, so you can imagine how upsetting this was for her. And how embarrassing it was to have to explain that I'd been writing customized porn for all of the girls.

My mom was called, I was grounded and my career as a pornographer was over. Of course, now I'm dating someone who writes porn so I can live vicariously through him. It's too bad I don't have any of it still – "Bad Porn I Wrote as a Teenager" has a nice ring to it, don't you think?