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Let’s NOT talk about sex… because the onslaught of porn and erotica has demystified it so much that it’s lost its appeal

Let’s NOT talk about sex… because the onslaught of porn and erotica has demystified it so much that it’s lost its appeal
In the mood for love this Valentine’s Day? No? You’re not the only one. While we have never had more opportunity to consume sex-related content, it seems our appetite for getting it on in reality is waning fast.

“It’s time to talk more about kink, and take the shame away from it” – at least that’s what some dopey writer in the Guardian says... Except, no it bloody well ISN’T! It’s time to SHUT UP!

How about people stop babbling on so much about sex and actually have a real-life encounter or two of their own instead? And then, please, just keep the experiences to themselves.

I don’t even know what ‘kink’ is, to be honest. And I really don’t care. But I could take a stab at a guess. Here’s the thing, though, I don’t give a toss that Uncle Frank gets off on thigh-length leather boots while also – when he’s in the mood – dressed in his air hostess fetish outfit. It’s powder-blue. It’s Latex. And comes with a little hat. He also has a whip. Say no more.

The precise technical details of how to satisfy those desires are between him and the sales assistants at PervyStores and ShoesRUs – or Aunt Philomena, if they’re her boots, and especially if she needs them to go play bingo. Anyway, they’ve been spanking each other red raw with table tennis bats for years, those two. Nobody cares. 

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All of this stuff has been around forever, yet writers and the sales and marketing people who travel in their wake act as if they’ve made a new human discovery. 

It’s not true, though. 

Just take a quick glance back at the Ancient Greeks or the Romans or the court of Cleopatra. Extravagant sex was just the way it was for the lucky ones. Catherine the Great was – if history is to be believed – a bit of a goer, too.

And while Xinjiang may now be famous mostly for the persecution of its Uighur minority, it’s also home to the oldest pornographic images ever discovered. Four thousand years ago, our human ancestors in China were engaging in a ‘fertility ritual’ which looked, well, very much like 100 men and women – plus a transsexual or two – in the midst of a full-blown orgy.

I would bet that human sexual activity and the associated oddities and proclivities that travel with it have barely changed since we hunted bison and lived in caves. Just swap a leather sandal for a kinky boot.

What has changed, though, certainly in recent years, is the absolute overload of pornographic images, ‘erotic’ books, websites and… sales, sales, sales. Even the tame Huffington Post, sometimes, seems to be some kind of online sex toy hypermarket. 

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Take, for example, the gadget shop kind of place on my local high street. This is a store that sells pop-mart memorabilia and posters and bits and bobs of jewellery, ‘Best Dad in The World’ and ‘Grumpy Old Man’ coffee mugs and such like. Beside them are sexy maid outfits, fetish handcuffs, lube and vibrators. On a special shelf right beneath the Batman and Stranger Things keyrings. It’s not an ‘adult’ store; in fact it’s mostly teenagers who shop there.

But here’s the thing; there have been several studies that suggest youngsters these days are actually having less sex than ever before.

And fertility rates are dropping so significantly around the world, that the populations in 23 countries – including Spain and Japan – are set to half by the year 2100. Sex – well, sex between a man and a woman – is where babies come from. (Maybe some folk need a reminder).

My guess is all these things are linked.

Maybe it’s partly down to sensory overload. There’s just too much sex everywhere slapping kids across the face. And like everything that you get too much of, it has all become, well, a little bit boring. If you can buy condoms and lube at the supermarket checkout alongside Tic Tacs and chewing gum then, maybe – just maybe – you’re taking away a little bit of the mystery. 

And what is it with this obsession for confessing everything that goes on behind closed doors, alone or otherwise, anyway?

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I don’t just blame the internet. It’s also partly the fault of the worst book ever written; ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’. I would have said “the worst book I’ve ever read,” except I can’t actually finish the thing. It’s just too badly written. I can’t even skip to the juicy bits. I tried. Don’t bother. They’re actually pretty limp and not even all that juicy. It’s just a dodgy fantasy story about bondage with clunky dialogue and cardboard characters.

The book will celebrate its 10th anniversary since publication this summer, and has sold something like 150 million copies. The only thing it’s taught anyone is that truly terrible writing can sell by the container load. And spawn a movie that was, arguably, even worse than the book. 

There’s clearly a lot of money in that game. And the book did help give birth to an industry, with people confessing to all the dumb stuff they should leave on the other side of their bedroom doors. (Maybe they’re also hoping for a 150-million-copy pay day…) 

I don’t know about you, each to their own and all that, but I really have absolutely no interest in what anyone else gets up to in the comfort of their own dungeon, so long as it’s between consenting adults... or at least consenting footwear. 

We need to talk about kink? Nah, mate. We don’t. It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s sales and marketing and you’re just trying to flog some crap book.

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The statements, views and opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of RT.

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