As they have done every year since 2012, released a study of its users' trends in 2015 and it turns out, the single most searched term was "lesbian."

Now that's progress! Only two years ago it was all the way down at number nine, behind "teen," "MILF," "anal," and, um, "cartoon" so good on you lesbian porn category! It is your commitment to excellence that made you one of the most beloved pornography searches in the world.

So how does this vindicate me? Well it proves that I was a visionary, a pioneer—an Einstein, da Vinci, Galileo and Copernicus all rolled into one filthy, little, smut-loving adolescent because I was admiring lesbians long before it was acceptable.

It should be noted that the term "lesbian" is likely a misnomer. Who can say the true sexual preferences of the women depicted in these scenes so it's probably more accurate to call the category, Woman on Woman Sex Acts, or WOWSA for short.

And yowza was I gaga for WOWSA! When all the other kids were fawning over their fathers' Playboys, I had graduated to Penthouse, Cheri and Club. And unlike Playboy, which only showed naked women posing alone (usually in a pair of daisy dukes beside a bale of hay), these magazines showed them doing things. You know, touching themselves. Touching others. Having sex, pictorially, across five or six-pages! Typically, the sex was with men, but every once in a while—when the moon was in the seventh house, the maples formed a union and the highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive—they would show women having sex with (will somebody please pass the oxygen tank?) women!

Hormonally, I was having a field day. Intellectually, however, it felt wrong. It was a dark, deep secret so securely locked in my vault of shame that it felt like I was living a double life. By day I was an innocent lad whittling sticks and trolling crayfish; by night, a shadowy figure drooling over images of degenerate trollops doing unspeakable things to each other.

Keep in mind in the '70s there was good reason to keep it secret. Pretty much everything that wasn't the missionary position was considered aberrant and I have no doubt, if the Internet existed back then, the most common search would have been, "Wife agrees to intercourse on husband's birthday."

Then the '80s came and with it, a movie called Personal Best, which I saw with three friends. Now, anyone who has seen this teary, trudging, triumph-of-the-will-ian crabwalk through a quagmire of emotion (without a single car chase to offset the melodrama) must be wondering why five teenaged boys would go see such a film. Two words: Mariel. Hemingway. Alas, even she could not salvage this plot.

Personal Best is about a group of women trying to qualifc2342")DFvvvv=0-vvvvvvvbcvvvvv1431sa1dar—oops, sorry, fell asleep on my keyboard just then. Personal Best is about a group of women trying to qualify for the 1980 Olympic track-and-field team. Hemingway, then 21, plays a newcomer who is taken under the wing of an older, more experienced—more lesbian—teammate. One things leads to another and, well—the plot is boring but the sex is smokin'!

I mean Mariel Hemingway? With all that girlish allure? Seduced by a full-on lesbian? It was the scene that put this movie on the map because WOWSAs had never been shown in a big-budget movie before. More importantly, it was the first time my secret perversion was portrayed in the mainstream.

"Well maybe I'm not such a degenerate after all," I thought.

It was on the walk home when I came out of the closet. "What about that sex scene?" I blurted. "Was that hot or what?" The comment was met with a chorus of "Ewws" and "ughs" and "That's gross, man." My friend Lonnie Z.—a 50-year-old, right-wing, Christian conservative stuck in a teenager's body—told me that I was "sick in the head."

Needless to say my unconventional predilection was not met with approval. And news of this depravity spread quickly—until it got to the point that no recess break, no sandlot ballgame, no barefoot strolls to the fishing pond, no youthful moments on the stoop jib-jabbing about sports and girls would expire without someone blurting, "Decker likes to look at magazines with girls kissing, bwaa-ha-ha-ha!"

I was embarrassed, but also confounded. Have they even seen this stuff? What's not to love about two exquisite females caressing each other softly beside a bale of hay after a hard day tending to the livestock? And best of all, no penises! Not a single, revolting boner in sight. Because, well, if pornography is fantasy, why would I want some X-rated gladiator—nothing but chest and chin, and a phallus that's measured in horse-lengths—getting all the action in my fantasy?

Anyway, my friends remained unconvinced. But all these years later, after reading how prevalent the lesbian search term is, I can't help but think that most of them see the truth now. That lesbianism is a gift to men and women, and I was ahead of my time. Although that wanker Lonnie Z. probably doesn't agree. His favorite search term today is most likely, "Wife on bottom praying for it to be over-with quick." As for the rest of them—well, vindication is mine. WOWSA porn is not a perversion; it's pretty much the norm. We just didn't know it back then.


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