“If you go home with somebody, and they don’t have books, don’t f*** ’em!” — John Waters

It’s everywhere now and you can’t escape it. What started as a bit of leg showing underneath a hoop skirt slowly morphed into something else, something bigger than we ever dreamed.

The fantastical essence of a beautifully-sculpted Greek statue body, the titillating unspoken words swimming around the eyeballs of some woman in a Renaissance painting — over time, maybe they weren’t enough. We wanted more. It’s human nature, I suppose.

We’re gluttons for achievement and power and through the centuries, the more we conquered, the more our sense of want and lust grew to match our other desires

Cave drawings of fertile goddesses became Playboy centerfolds under rocks behind our suburban garages. The wink-wink of Shakespearean allusion became in-your-face, full-frontal nudity up on the big screen. Yesteryear porn became a joke in the eyes of the current viewer, when artificially hopped-up and propped-up bodies slam away at each other for 37-minute clips.

Imagination, once the sexiest thing imaginable, has been replaced, by and large, by the more instant gratification of seeing everything at once — and by wanting it and needing it all right then and there.

I’m not some kind of conservative freak show repelling down your iPhone screen, trust me. I’ve been a player in all this, too. I’m 44 and so I vaguely recall the notion of lusting after middle school girls who drove me insane because they were so goth, and so mysterious, and so unseen to my naked eye.

Believe it or not, I can almost remember a time when falling for someone wasn’t all about the hot body. Oh, hell. Even the fact that we’re all using that term “hot body,” that says it all, don’t you think? 



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