When my first wife was exchange teaching in England in the early 1980s she risked the wrath of her headmaster in demanding the right to wear slacks – or ‘trousers’ as the Brits would have it.
The boss chap naively asked her why, since what she was requesting was simply ‘not done’. Female teachers wore dresses or skirts. She stood her ground and pointed out in those days of relatively short skirts, little boys had a propensity to look up said skirts to see what mysteries the world of ‘up the skirt’ would offer as she was hunkering down on the floor working with the kids.
The head very much doubted that a wee lad would be interested in gazing up the skirt of a grown woman. “Ha!”the missus said. “Not so. Your memory is short.”
Ultimately she won the day, and within a very short time all the female staffers had followed suit. It was a trouser revolution and my wife started it.
And why are boys (of all ages) interested in looking up female skirts? It’s all to do with the mystery and allure of the forbidden.
Of course, in recent years the forbidden has transformed. In olden days a glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking, as the song goes, in recent years a full and multi-colored view of pudenda has become something of a norm. For those of us who grew up getting feverish over the undies ads in the Sear’s catalogue it has all been quite a change. You want to see ‘anything’, sometimes in full action, just Google it in and go a-cruisin’. Now, I don’t mind me a little smut, but when smut becomes creepy and perverted (by my standards of decorum) I balk, and I am very far from being prudish.
But evidently young males are turning prudish. Young bucks, according to an article in Time, are becoming anaesthetized to and bored with smut. In some cases the plethora of dirt has even led to impotence in the young because their expectations are so high. It makes sense.
While there is no call for neo-censorship I often wonder what it is like for young guys when I grew up in the generation that hoped for a glimpse up a skirt.
Sometimes I still do. It’s kind of a tradition.