Crushed Diaries

A blog for Young Adults

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

My first Adult Film

When I was a preteen, two things happened to me which made me feel grown up. I saw my first 'X' film and if that wasn’t thrilling enough, I graduated from reading Mary Poppins and devoured a book for adults.

The film was called "Tom Jones", and starred Albert Finney, as ‘a presumed bastard child, taken in and raised as the child of an English gentleman.’ In those days, the word ‘bastard’ was enough to send a guilty shiver of excitement down my spine. Now, I see the movie’s rated AA, but in those days "Tom Jones" was definitely for adults only.

I was on holiday in Devon with my parents at the time, and a sister and brother act (about the same age as me) whom I met on the beach asked me if I would like to see an ‘X’ film. I had to ask my parents’ permission if I could go as they liked to know what I was up to during my parental 'off-duty' hours. They said I would never get in and to make sure I didn't, insisted I take my little sisters with me. I did my best, but they looked like miniature clowns after I smothered them with a tube of Mum’s bright red lipstick. I like to think I really did look like a teenager as I sloshed layers of my mother’s makeup on, and wore a beret jammed down over my eyes. I needn’t have bothered to make an effort as the ticket man at the cinema was obviously sloshed, for he allowed us all in without any form of interrogation. The film was disappointing – my sisters went to sleep - but from that moment in time I felt I was an adult. I had got into my first 'X' film and I was illegal.

The first grownup book I read was ‘Lord Of The Flies’, The first time I heard about it was when my father burst into my bedroom in the middle of the night, in a great state of excitement screaming ‘kill the pig’. I think he was probably drunk at the time, as in those days he used to worship his whiskey. I was only eleven so didn’t have enough pocket money to buy myself a copy, but there was no need as my father lent me the book after he finished it.

After I raced through it, my father and I used to scream ‘kill the pig kill the pig’ over breakfast before he put on his bowler hat and went off to work in the city. Our manic behaviour didn’t please my mother one bit. She was the Jane Austin type and would never have read William Golding’s masterpiece in a million years. From that moment on, I realised Mum and I had nothing in common but Dad and I did.

Copyright: Frances Lynn, 2007


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