Madonna

Everyone, in the old days, had hair on their privates. It was the mark of puberty.

Hair under their arms.

In our manufactured world of today, our mediated electronic realm in which naked people, in which fucking is viewed through devices, in which we don't actually look at each other face to face...

In which the shitty and sweaty aspect of fucking and making love is not always or even ever part of our education with the opposite (or the same) sex...

And sexuality...

Then our new models, our new fantasies, our sexy demons that enter into our libidos, basically, the people by whom we jerk off to, masturbate while looking at...

Aren't entirely creatures, carnal, sexy, sweaty and human and real.

They're two-dimensional and on the internet. On the page of the magazine. They're shaved. They smell of ink and perfume rather than cum and sweat.

They are sterilized, and enhanced. Air-brushed and boob-lifted. Tucked and made happy. Made high. Made drunk.

The men's magazines of the '60s, when they entered into the common and mass marketplace (eventually to disappear again with the right-swing of Reagan and the internet) were the final cause of this. Pictures even as late as 1990 (of the pop star Madonna, for example) were willing to show a hairy and healthy bush.

Demi Moore, no sexual slouch in the day, had one healthy pussy in her more daring days of opening legs for the press and her fans.



The public pussies of today are less interesting, if better defined, because they are not the fecund center of fucking, or of birth.

They aren't the pit of original sin, the pissy hot cumhole of hair and skin.

These new thin and plucked rails of porn don't jiggle and fart when they're tongued. I really think we've lost something.