When I was barely tip-toeing into puberty I started writing “porn” for my girl friends on their birthdays.

I blame my cheerful sexual deviance on Ronald Reagan: he was the first divorced and re-married president and it was the early 1980s. I was young and impressionable.

I wrote about make-out sessions with George Michael (from Wham! UK), a guy from home room, the guy from the neighboring town who crashed the school dance... it was all there waiting to be filled in on my girlfriends' birthdays.

I could have bought them presents, but since we were bundles of naïve sexual energy, I thought it would be more fun to write dirty stories for them.

They just had to fill out a form one week before their birthday.

“Who would you totally love to make out with?”

“Where would you make out with them?”

“What would you be wearing?”

I could make a joke about clothing, but really, isn't porn partly about what's ripped off of you?

Unfortunately for my friends though, not only was I as inexperienced as they were, I also had a perverse sense of humor.

My friend Grace is still annoyed by the fact that she was: “In the back seat of a limo with Simon le Bon (from Duran Duran) when, at a crucial moment, the limo driver stopped short and her jaw snapped shut.”

It probably wasn't her best 14^th birthday story/gift. But in my defense, I didn't know really what was supposed to happen next.

Because the week before Grace's birthday she told me a very big secret.

“I found a video. I'm not going to tell you what happens, but we should make some popcorn and watch it. Because I think it's really dirty.”

She put on MTV in the other room and then quickly beckoned me to her parents' bedroom before they got home.

Like a sacrificial lamb with a bag of Orville Redenbacher's in my hand, I sat down with Grace on the edge of her parents' bed, and — with the thrill of foreboding — I watched her put the Beta-max tape into the player.

The video started in the middle of the scene, where it had been paused. There was no context, no build-up and no explanation. I screamed at what the “Mad Max Lady” was doing to “Mad Max,” and dove under the bed.

Grace laughed at me while I shrieked, “I'm never doing that, ever!” As Steve Winwood sang about a “Higher Love” from the living room “Mad Max” groaned, “Oh, yeah.”

So, I don't really blame myself for giving Grace an unsatisfactory porn story for her 14^th birthday. She got to make out with Simon le Bon, and that really is what should have been the important part.

But, as I got older, I got better. My friend Mary had a thing for (of all people) Jean Claude Van Damme, and her 25^th birthday story was my crowning written sexual achievement.

Mary and Jean Claude Van Damme were having sex. “My muscles are big, no? And I mount you like a wild Belgian steed, yes?” But, after each one of his eight climaxes, Van Damme got up and made himself a grilled cheese and spinach sandwich for strength. And, since he was cooking naked, he would occasionally exclaim, “Aw! My genitals!”

Then he would come running into the bedroom and land on Mary — extinguishing her cigarette under his bulging bicep — yelling, “Peeccccnnnicc!” He would eat the sandwich, and they would have sex again.

Jean Claude had highly resilient genitalia.

That was my swan song.

I got married soon after that, and so did most of my friends. I stopped asking girl friends if they wanted make-out stories for their birthdays, because we were adults.

But, every year on New Year's Day I make my resolution with some fluidity. And this year one of my resolutions was to do something fun that I hadn't done for a very long time. And, so after 15 years away from “porn” stories, I'm going to surprise one or more friends with my old stand-by questionnaire.

“Who would you love to make out with?”