Sam: Sexual Politics

In case you haven’t seen it, I’d like to share this hilarious clip that I originally picked up on popbitch under the heading ‘our favourite political journalist’

Now this brings up an interesting point the mix of sex and politics. This guy clearly went to the US with good political intensions, but then the main focus became the women who swooned at his British accent and parties in Miami.

There is nothing quite like the potent mix of excitement and adrenalin of politics to create a sexually charged atmosphere. I only have to hark back to when I dabbled in democrat politics, and watching a group of 10 men stand around and dote over Natasha Stott Despoja to realise the real reason they were there, shamefully, myself included. A lot of people pulled on election night after parties.

I am willing to bet there were a lot of people getting action after every single one of Obama’s rallies . . . and after that acceptance speech . . .

'Mr Sex': Down With This Sort Of Thing!

So anyway, Sam drops me an e-mail asking me to look at this and to comment about it. So I look. And then I look at this, this and this. And then I started whining softly at the keyboard, thinking; "Fucking hell. This is an absolute minefield". So I look at this instead to calm myself down a bit. Because, when you're at all Sexperty, you can cover your arse on a lot of things by saying; "Oh well, as long as it's between consenting adults, it's alright as long as it's not illegal". And then the politicians pop up and start trying to move the goalposts. And as we all know, politicians are not exactly the most reliable people on matters like this.

I mean, how can we even begin to talk about the legislation of extreme porn? As someone who likes women in both the 'Ooh, I'd like to kiss her' sense of the word and the friendship sense, there's a shitload of moral dilemmas to encounter even when you're watching, quote, 'normal' porn, let alone anything else. A mate asking me if I wanted to come round with a few cans to watch some women being tied up and slapped about wouldn't be my idea of a fun evening, but to tar everyone who enjoys watching that sort of thing with the same brush is as stupid as claiming that everyone who plays Grand Theft Auto is going to nick cars and shoot folk.

Because here's the thing; sex and politics should not mix at all. And I mean, at all. I could have an argument in the pub with someone from the polar opposite of my political viewpoint, and - providing they're not a thick twat or an out-and-out bigot - we could grope our way towards some kind of an understanding of each other's viewpoint. It wouldn't change my beliefs as such, but I'm capable of thinking "Hm, well, I sort of see their point. Never thought of it that way".

Change the subject to what we do with our own and other people's genitals, however, and most people's minds are set firm at best and vehemently immovable objects at worst. "Ugh! How the fuck can you like that? You dirty bastard!" "How dare you inflict your morals on me, you inhibited, strait-laced twat!"

For example; I've never once felt the urge to leave a big red hand-print on a woman's arse, and I wouldn't be massively up for seeing it, seeing as I've been brought up to believe that hitting a woman is the last refuge of a shitbag. So what does a woman who actually enjoys that sort of thing (and possibly even makes use of summat like this) think of me? I'm inhibited? I'm patronising? I've got the nerve to tell her what she should be doing with her own bits?

(and this cuts both ways; I was at a party one time and was told by a very forward lady that I looked as if I needed to be tied down and punished in a nearby bedroom right now. When I said that, erm, I was actually halfway through having a conversation with the host's sister and I was allergic to pain in any case, she chose to rip into me for being a small-minded bigoted closet-case Mary Whitehouse-wannabe cunt. Not the kind of thing you need to deal with when you're trying to chat someone up, really)

I haven't got time to go into this further today (I will return to it, though, promise - I have a great story about WH Smiths and distended labia), but, right now, I'm more interested in what your lot have to say...

'Mr Sex': I Want Classless Sex, And I Want It NOW

Warning: this post is a bit political. And Americans without prior knowledge of the British class system probably won't understand it at all, so I apologise in advance. But anyway; is it just me, or has anyone else noticed how middle-class sex has become these days?

I don’t want to go all Class War on your collective arses, but it has to be said; we’re living in an extremely middle-class decade, in the UK at least. We're tottering on the brink of recession, mainly because we're all being constantly being encouraged into adopting traditional middle-class values (buy your house, be suspicious/scared of the outside world, keep up with the Jones' - even though you don't really talk to them anymore - and pull the ladder up as quickly as possible) whether we can afford it or not. And a huge chunk of the population are firmly in the 'Not' side of the equation.

Turn on the telly, and you're treated a non-stop barrage of sneery gets 'helping' the Proles to sort their lives out in shows such as Your Dog Is Almost As Feral As You, Peasant, I'm A Big Shouty Aryan Who Swears A Lot At The Lower Orders To Disguise The Fact That I Do A Girls Job, and Look At Your Shit, You Disgusting Indoor Whale! Go On! Look At It! LOOK AT IT!. The music of the era is infested with mewling whelps like James Blunt (a former Army captain, for Christ's sake) and Keane (the Sound of Impotence). Want to go to the football? That’ll be £40, please, now that it’s been discovered by middle-management types. Looking for working-class people in the media? They'll be the people ramming glasses into each other's faces on TV documentaries and think-pieces about 'Binge Britain'. And you could always fucking watch fucking Channel fucking Four to see a load of fucking actors fucking encapsulating fucking authentic working-fucking-class life (by saying 'fucking' all the fucking time) on fucking Shameless.

(This is not intended to be a rip on middle-class people, by the way; I work in a traditional middle-class profession, I know a lot of middle-class people, and I like 'em. But I was brought up to believe that we were supposed to be living in a meritocracy, and your background wasn't supposed to matter anymore, that's all)

So what's this got to with shagging, then? Well, last time I checked, we were all issued with a set of genitals regardless of social status. But if you opened most women’s magazines, watched any chick-flick, or checked out pretty much every advert aimed at women with a sexual undertone, you’d be forgiven for thinking that both Rumpy and Pumpy has been completely annexed as a luxury item.

Personally, I blame Sex and the City for this horrible state of affairs; almost single-handedly, it re-perpetuated the idea that it was incredibly liberating and self-empowering to kick out the sexual jams, just as long as you had the right career and wore larcenously expensive shoes while you were doing it. Presumably, if Carrie Whatshername and her mates worked in a factory making Rabbits instead of endorsing them, and spent their leisure time knocking back WKD on a Friday night at Re-Flex, we’d have never heard of them until one of ‘em rolled up on Trisha.

Sadly, we did, and it shows. Go to any sex trade show, and within five minutes you’ll be surrounded by twittering Trustafarians who think they’ve invented sex because they’ve discovered a new colour to make a dildo with. There's a swingers club in my hometown that advertises itself as - and I’m typing this with a straight face – ‘Nottingham's sexual elite’, which brings to mind images of a Nazi eugenics programme, involving Margo Leadbetter being serviced by the Cheese Manager from the local Asda.

Worst of all; the reams and reams and reams of erotic fiction that read like Barbara Cartland novellas, but with more big spunking cocks. When you read these things, you wonder how the characters ever find the time to have it away, what with their rammed-out social diaries, massively important power-lunches, and high-flying careers. Josh, Tim and Hugo get to have their wicked way with Camilla, Emma and Chloe in five-star hotels. Presumably Tracey, Sharon and Caz get to pick up the pants and spent johnnies off the floor and give the sheets a boil-wash before going back to being knocked about by Tez, Kev and Daz.

It all sounds extraordinarily ground-breaking (and yes, at the end of the day it's all about fantasy, and being minted is probably a bigger fantasy for most people than a quality sex life) but the message in a lot of the stories veers alarmingly close to the one that Women’s Realm and Mills and Boon were pushing 50 years ago: the main goal a woman can aspire to is to use her wiles to shack up with a toff and ponce off him for the rest of their life. If you’re rich enough, and come from the right family, you’re entitled to be as sexually promiscuous as you like. If you’re not, fuck off to Jeremy Kyle and stop breeding, pram-face.

I know that female media isn’t the only culprit here - look at lad mags, which at their less inspiring moments are little more than office boys prick-teasing other office boys - but as far as I know, a decent, fulfilling sex life is something you earn, not inherit, and anyone who thinks otherwise will be put up against the wall and have dildos thrown at them when the revolution comes. Women who stack shelves at Kwik-Save who have children called Storm have sex too, y’know. And they don’t have to wrap £400 worth of shoe around their feet to do it, either.