Monday, October 19, 2015

No nudes, no crotches

I've been thinking about nudity lately - as one does - and wondering why it seems a subject that is soooooooo different for men than it is for women.

Investigating Playboy's decision to cut its famous nude centrefolds, images that in one year (1972) sold more than 7 million copies for old Hugh, I found, to my annoyance, that this decision was purely economic not ethical. Hugh had not, in his dotage, decided that the sexual exploitation of the female form for money was not cool. Rather, static female nudity has become so passé that it is no longer selling enough magazines (only 800,000 pa). Only. Poor Hugh.

Free internet porn will do that, be careful what you wish for, Hugh. More boys and men than ever are viewing naked women in lewd, 'fuck-me-hard-baby' poses, and indeed are watching women act out these crude male fantasies, all for free. The sexual exploitation and abuse of women is alive and well, rest assured, Hugh.

At the same time there is the parallel online phenomenon of women being inundated by crotch shots (erect) sent to them, unsolicited, by the men who would be, or are, their online dates. Women, most of them, are not happy about this. We, most of us, don't want to see your baggy balls and stiff bits on our phones while we're eating lunch, call us old-fashioned. For women, the visual removed from the context of lovin', from the touch, thrust and taste, is - how can I put this delicately? - fucking grose.

When I, and I think most women, see a hot guy we don't think, hmmm, I wonder what his penis looks like. One hopes he has a penis, sure, but assuming as much, we are much more interested in wondering what sort of man he is, which will in turn tell us, while he still has his pants on, what kind of lover he is or could be (with training). What sort of man he is is sooooooo much more important than what sort of penis he has (or is).

Why is this soooooooo different for men? Why do you care what our breasts and nipples look like naked? Can't you assume from our clothed appearance that we have them and they look, every last one of them, pretty darned good, and ditto for the other bits?

I don't get it.

In the meantime, to perhaps stop regular men sending their unsolicited crotch shots, Playgirl might be a solution, a magazine with professional shots of hot (flaccid, because erect says 'look what I got for you, baby', which is wanky) naked men in 'I'm a nice guy too' poses, presuming such all-round men exist, which is doubtful.            


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