◉ 018 | Too Young for the Porn Corner

My mum looked out the window.

“Who is that boy

sitting on our wall?”

First time I saw him.

A two-and-a-half-metre stone wall,

built for keeping neighbours apart,

echoing the one in Berlin.

White bread in his hand,

Hungarian salami inside.

You could smell it inside the house.

He was gazing at us from the top.

He smiled and said:

“I’m Darko.”

I liked him straight away.

He was twelve,

two years older than me.

Within a week,

we were best friends.

To our parents’ dismay,

the wall became our daily meeting point.

One afternoon he came over the wall,

grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“We bought a VCR.”

Black, with golden letters:

SHARP.

Made in Japan.

A slot in the front,

ready to swallow a cassette.

Owning one back then was a rarity.

At least in my circles.

Movie marathons began.

Usually, five of us were watching.

Three boys and two girls.

Action. Comedy.

Tape after tape.

Our own little universe.

We usually borrowed three at once.

Two + one free.

That weekend, we took three movies

back to our video rental store.

The owner held one up.

“This one isn’t rewound.”

He pointed to the red-letter sign

on the wall:

REWIND OR PAY A FINE.

“Next time I’ll charge you.”

We started looking

for our next batch of movies.

Passed the far corner,

acting like we weren’t looking.

ADULTS ONLY (18+) in neon pink.

Two short rows.

A pull you couldn’t ignore.

We picked Die Hard.

We picked Police Academy.

And—maybe inspired by that corner—

we picked Beverly Hills Vamp.

Released in 1989.

Comedy?

Kind of.

Parody?

Horror?

Kind of.

Three women on the cover.

Lingerie, coffin, crucifix.

Boobs, heels, teased hair.

Porn?

Not really.

But it felt close enough

to make us hide it

between the other two.

Naked thighs sandwiched

between Bruce Willis and Mahoney.

Imagine bumping into

your mum’s friend—

you’d want the ground to

swallow you whole.

And we had no bag to hide it.

Darko carried the cassettes first.

He was older.

It made sense.

Halfway home,

I found the courage,

so I asked to carry the tapes.

He smirked,

handed them over.

—

Five of us piled onto Darko’s bed.

Three movies,

a video player,

and a small TV.

Police Academy made us laugh.

Die Hard was all action.

And Beverly Hills Vamp—

strange, exciting,

a little over the edge.

Three nerds,

hookers,

sex scenes,

vampire fangs,

biting necks.

In the middle of the sex scene,

Darko’s mum walked in,

glanced at the TV,

turned her head away in an instant,

took something,

and left without a word.

I felt an instant shame.

Then went back to the movie.

It was trash.

But beautiful trash

that taught me something.

Thirty-three years later,

I still chase the thrill

of standing where I’m not supposed to,

daring to push the boundaries

by being comfortable

with the uncomfortable.