I have often wondered if young people today become sexually-jaded at a much earlier age than I did. In this I am referencing the reality that enables a young male especially (and I am considering males since I am one) to cruise the Internet and see every bit of salaciousness and sometimes even disgustingness known to humankind in vividly animated format and even with sounds. A static photo cannot reproduce moans, after all.
Whippersnappers today have no idea how filthily good they have it. Smut was much more elusive in my psycho-sexual formative years. Yes, there were the calendars on my dad’s workshop walls. Called ‘girlie’ calendars in their day and they mainly consisted of artistic renderings by the likes of Petty and Vargas of diminutively bikini-ed young ladies – never a nipple was to show, and the concept of exposed pubes was beyond the pale of anybody’s reckoning at that time. I think young fellows of my generation might have gotten the vapors at a glimpse of pubic hair. Clefts were utterly beyond reckoning.
Our only other access to grown-up lady stuff were those nether-garments that lurked beneath the Dior-knockoff skirts in the catalogues of Sear’s and Eaton’s stores where there would be page after page of otherwise respectable ladies showing their high-waist panties, panty-girdles and stiletto pointed brassieres. Those pages were mighty well thumbed by us, though never perused if mothers were nearby. We just knew they wouldn’t understand.
As I grew older there were the magazines; and like the girlie calendars, these were known as girlie magazines. Again, pretty discrete stuff and if a photo cut well down into the crotch line there was not to be a hint of pubic hair within view.
You want a bushy bush, then you had to look at one of those sophisticated little European mags where they showed ‘everything’ a little girl had and that a little boy wanted. In my recall, in fact, most of the females shown were far past little girl stage and were often heavy-set Teutonic looking women who looked like they might have done a fair amount of labor on a farm. They also had hairy legs and armpits. I didn’t actually have any of those but a friend actually posted off for some and he gladly shared them around.
It wasn’t until the early 1970s that North American and UK magazines took the bold step and showed pubic foliage. We had finally arrived at a world as sophisticated as European smut-perusers had known about for ages. I recall it was Penthouse that broke the pussy-pelt taboo in North America, about the same time that Mayfair did in Britain. In fact, Penthouse was initially published in the UK and that was why publisher Bob Guccione got so brave and dared to defy the crotch shrubbery antagonism here. Oh, to be sure crotches had been shown in publications before Penthouse and Mayfair, in nudism magazines, to be precise. The problem was, the crotches in those mags were all Barbie Doll pussies in that there was no cleft at all. Just smooth and non functioning. No suggestion as to how such women urinated. Anyway, the last through the gate in the realm of pubic hair display was venerable (by the 1970s) Playboy. Always more discreet than his bawdy rival Penthouse Hefner didn’t want to turn his ‘sophisticated’ magazine into a grunge-fest. At least not until market-share losses forced his hand.
With the advent of the Internet, however, and I can understand how disquieting this is for parents, holds were no longer barred. Anything you can comprehend smut-wise, perverted-wise, revolting-wise can be found by all who would cruise, be the cruiser twelve or ninety, prostitute or priest. Chacun a son perversion, for it’s all there in a blaze of color. Do they still sell dirty magazines any longer? I haven’t checked for ages. My point about parental distress over access is not unfounded. A woman I know, mother of an elementary school age child was helping her son with a project one evening. He was writing something on famous zoos. She thought she’d help him with what he was doing, so she Googled zoos. But then she didn’t realize that her objectives were becoming increasingly specific and while she might have thought she was going to see a picture of pandas in San Diego she ended up with some bad behavior with a donkey a few miles south of San Diego. She promptly shut down and offered to make her little boy some hot chocolate.
“All for this evening, dear. You’re looking tired. You can finish tomorrow and I’ll find you some books at the library.”
I am not a prude. I don’t think there is anything inherently evil about erotica or blatant stick-it-in-and-do-your-thing-in-whatever-orifice-you-choose pornography. Not everybody has scintillating personal interactions that can tend to ‘needs’ so if people want to get off I am certainly not one to stand in their way. I like sex very much and sometimes I can even like vicarious sex.
Of course erotic images can also lead to fetish imagery running the gamut from, say, urolagnia (panty wetting and so forth right through to so-called ‘golden showers’) to much more blatant and to many offensive items. I mean to say, we all have our preferences and we all have our areas of revulsion. Choose your own. You will know by your own reaction if you have reached a personal limit. I, for example, have zero interest in anything involving physical pain or some of the more disgusting areas of humiliation. I accept the fact that others may have preferences that offend the bejabbers out of me, but I don’t have to go there.
All this being considered, do I believe in censorship? No I do not. As I stated, we all have our limits and if something offends, damn well don’t go there. Truly there is nothing new under the smut sun. It all goes back to Boccaccio or de Sade at least. People get up to monkey business, and sometimes they like images of shenanigans by others.
But, at the same time, I have zero tolerance for exploitation or any item involving minors. That’s illegal stuff, and it should be. I naively assume any image I look at involves consenting adults. I hope I am correct in that assumption.