Modern Sex (pt3)

January 31, 2007

brigitte-bardot_tummy.jpg

I am 34. I can program a 14-day video timer in seconds. I can plug in a modern entertainment system in minutes. It takes me only hours to assemble IKEA furniture. I know how to use power tools. I can set up a computer network, build a house and solar generator, sew on a button, drive a washing machine or iron and make a women I know, and sometimes ones I don’t, come to orgasm… so I am fairly familiar with complicated equipment.

The porn revolution has brought sexual technique to a whole new generation. We are, as societies, better at it, younger than ever before. More and more the abnormal is becoming normal and rather than all this taking the romance away from sex, the added knowledge has bred confidence. Confidence is sexy- and sexy never hurt romance one iota.

Conservatism in the USA and annoying, fatuous young girls claiming abstinence to make their pious, pedarastic* fathers practically explode with delight only serve to make the rest of us want to get laid more often. The vatican in deciding to make a Nazi Pope, rather than a black man, entrenching conservatism and consequently refusing to come to it’s senses and allow use of birth control and little pre-marital fooling about only adds to the sinful excitement for god-botherers everywhere. By the way, men out there. The sin of ‘spilling your seed’ also known as ‘having a quick one off the wrist’ is just as big a sin as pre-marital sex, adultery and incest (they are not, actually, officially rated in levels) so you may as well just go for it. Have a ball. As it were.

Not to say, with all this newfound freedom, that women have lost the art of the flirt and the game. Not so, they are better at it, more assured of themselves and their desirability than ever before. With- in the larger more cosmopolitan cities at least, less and less fear of negative societal stigmas and labels.

So with everyone out there riding, squirting, bonding, buggering, swinging, felching, shagging, fellating, rim-jobbing, dressing up in latex and leather and giving each other the old pearl necklace what do we do next? Where do we go? The answers are, simply: whatever we want, wherever we want. The new sexual revolution is out there and waiting for you, possibly in a dark alleyway. That is, it’s there for the taking if you decide that you actually just don’t give a rat’s arse what people think and go for it.

Let’s face it, what with cloning technology and test-tube babies- in a couple of years you won’t be shagging to have children any more anyway. One egg, a few thousand enthusiastic sperm and a small amount of caffiene in a test tube should see you right. The fetus can gestate in a shoebox under the bed and you: you youthful, attractive mother-to-be won’t have to wander around with back-ache for 6 months craving peanut butter, cress and mustard sandwiches; and can avoid the cost of that tummy tuck and personal trainer afterwards. You can jump straight in to not speaking to your husband ever again and having an affair like everyone else.

Perhaps one final step is needed, though, for proper liberation. It is a step away from the emaciated female clothes horse as any sort of female ideal. A movement back toward curves and a fuller figure. I am not talking “three-happy-meals-a-day” size but also not “I’ll-just-have-a-salad and throw up in toilets” size either.

I am fairly sure that few men except for the extremely trendy, image concious ones ever really bought into the idea of a girfriend who lived on water, air and cocaine: half-crazed with hunger and desperately distracting herself with shopping, wearing very large sunglasses and personal drama. And the thing with extremely trendy, image conscious men is that they’re all gay. Yes even him, the one you’re sleeping with**. He just hasn’t worked out how to tell his mother yet. It is important to remember in the historical sexiness stakes that Marilyn Monroe didn’t miss an awful lot of meals (other issues aside) and neither did Brigette Bardot.

[missing paragraph replaced] Whereas it took me all of 30 odd years to learn to handle really complicated equipment the new generation have been handed the sexual equivalent of a full IKEA catalogue, a full set of instruction manuals and a broad choice of power tools. Lucky bastards.
So tune in, pig out and go in to the office late tomorrow. With the handcuffs still attached to your wrists.

Previously, in this series:
Modern Sex written 14 Dec 1998

Modern Sex pt2 written 13 Jun 1999

*- because they know little boys won’t be getting any elsewhere: pederast noun {C} a man who has illegal sex with a young boy

** Unless he’s Italian***. They are the only stylish, straight men. They have entirely different issues with their mothers, though.

*** No, not Argentinian either: gay; also not upperclass British: very gay; definitely not German: ubergay.

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