I started watching Happy-Go-Lucky the other day c/o Netflix and was surprised at how different my idea of the film prior to seeing it was from the actual thing. I thought Poppy was going to be this swinging, smiley, acceptor of all, which she was, but I was elated to find her also seething in personal comfort and with a raunchy mouth to boot.
I find women who are open and comfortable with sexuality very refreshing in this era still struggling with openness and candidness about bodily functions. I know it’s getting better and better and more and more p.c. to talk about these things, but I still have a lot of conversations with women (and men) who do not feel comfortable discussing.
I suppose it has a lot to do with how one was brought up. Even still, my sister and I, who readily talk about sex and sexuality and other… things like…. (geez see, I am even having a hard time right now writing)… masturbation …(alright, I said it)… grew up with parents who never ever mentioned the word sex throughout our youth. They were not affectionate and the idea of sex in marriage and daily life was distant to us. It existed, yet it wasn’t palpable.
OK, well Poppy in H-G-L loves talking about vaginas and sex and innuendos of this sort regularly come out of her.
I wasn’t expecting this from the film, as I said, and I enjoyed it, which I had not said. Sex is such a part of life and every culture, every age, every ideology. There are those who abstain from it and writhe over the notion that people do it without matrimony et al. There are those who find it to be their own religion, those who live for it and love for it. They are those who don’t do it, but would like to. There are sexual problems, there are sex therapists, there are pills and books and tapes and websites and self-help groups. People have a really hard time with it, as sociologically-produced anxiety (and ailments) get in the way of most feeling somewhat normal. Body image, performance, smells, tastes -ugh I can go on forever -everything has play in sex. It’s not simply carnal. There are so many things, cerebral, that really put a damper on a good time, on a great time, or on any time at all.
Pornography isn’t only for the greying truck-driver to view in the booth off the highway. It’s a ubiquitous genre of entertainment of different calibers; and something people are growing more comfortable with allotting into their daily television, movie, book, and conversation diet. Even still, it’s very much a difficult, controversial, and head-achey part of life.
Although I often stare at women in 7″ heels and skirts up to here, this change in women is something I relish in. Being comfortable exposing one’s body in public may be risque, ostentatious, “disgusting” or in poor taste, yet it denotes a departure from a history of shame, oppression, and an allegiance to the idea of skin-showing as dirty, slovenly, promiscuous, or immoral.
Puritanical ways need to let up a bit. We’re all alive and most of us do things. A friend recently told me that she read of a sexual study of men and women. Test subjects, both male and female, were hooked up to devices that would test their sexual arousal. The subjects were then exposed to sexy racy woman-on-woman and man-on-man and hetero images and film clips. Thereafter, they were asked if they had been aroused upon viewing each image. Despite the devices saying YES YES I WAS AROUSED, the women more oft than not said, NO I WAS NOT AROUSED. Conversely, the men always admitted to being aroused and no discrepancies showed in the machinery or tests. Case in point. Women still be shamin’.
Do what you want. I’m not bashing abstinence, nor addiction, yet I wish for those who enjoy things or want to enjoy things, it were a little less scandalous, closeted, or impossible. To say the least.
LGBT sex is a whole other essay.