Guest column by Leatrice Spevack
Sex isn’t fun any more.
It’s fraught with guilt, regret, performance anxiety, threat of commitment, false accusation (or worse – accurate accusation) and these days, the doomsday agenda of impending demise.
Safe sex? Oh yeah. As Yuk-Yuk’s Mark Breslin says, “Sex hasn’t been safe since it could lead to marriage.” And speaking of safe sex…can anyone tell me which tasteless idiot developed flavoured condoms? It’s not that I don’t get the concept — it’s the flavours I find fault with. Pina Colada? Peach? Who came up with this — 50 year old divorcees with one-too-many Bahamian cruises under their ever-widening belts? Look, I could capitulate if they created Young Lok’s Spare Ribs or Glenlivet single malt. But I digress…
If we dared to divide that we don’t need sex we’d be able to dispense with ponderous debates around abortion, pornography, the myth of the multiple orgasm and so much more. Skin mags, flicks, and the age-old prurient postcard would go the way of 2400 baud modems. Hollywood could return to movies with plot and substance. Sharon Stone would be a cocktail waitress in Kalamazoo.
The thing is, thanks to modern medical technology, it’s become increasingly clear that we can procreate without the act, and so draw the curtain on this tormenting tragedy of the flesh.
Size-obsessed citizens wouldn’t worry about enlarging their equipment and silicone could return to its rightful place: waterproofing leather goods.
The New York Times recently reported that middle-aged men are currently coveting testosterone replacement therapy. There’s a plan — grown men in the throes of puberty. Yikes!
Surely our trivialization of the sexual anatomy bespeaks its frivolity; beaver, wiener, pussy, willy, ad nauseum. And yet, these very organs are the saboteurs of our souls. Is it not during the delirium of coition that we deliver up our selves and reveal our secrets? The Soviets didn’t employ “honey traps” to be hospitable. Sex is a currency with a high exchange rate.
Yet we continue to waste precious time groaning and grinding away in devotion to this Shiva of human contact for mere seconds of physical gratification. Sex is work with a lousy benefit package. Listen, do yourselves a favour. Have a cigarette .The pleasure lasts at least five minutes and you don’t have to call anyone in the morning.