For Fucks Sake

The title of this review should be taken as literally as possible. The other day I went to an erotic art exhibition.



It was a thought-provoking exhibition in many respects. For instance, thoughts like the following were provoked again and again:

"Ooh!"
"Gosh!"
"My!"
"Hmmm ..."

Many questions were raised. Questions like:

"How the FUCK did she just do that ...???"
"What the HECK is he going to do with that ...???"
"Is that what I THINK it is ...???"
"Is she really ...???"

Many of the images are striking, in that one is struck repeatedly by such profound observations as:

"I didn't even know they could fit that ma... "
"Wha ...???"
"I hope SHE knows what she's doing ..."

It was, in short, a vigorous, stimulating exhibition, an exhibition which similarly makes you hot and bothered then takes your breath away and then which rouses the imagination and firms the mind until ...

(Sorry, I think I got carried away there.)

To tell you the truth, the pictures were unarousing. Not uninteresting, just unarousing. Some satisfied our sense of curiosity/voyeurism: one picture was called, "Mickey humping Minnie with Snow White and Prince Charming." And who hasn't had fantasies involving various cartoon characters? But the picture was flat; there wasn't any real action there. A bit like porn, except you're not allowed to masturbate. Oh well. Hopefully Mickey had a good time.

The exhibition raised interesting moral dilemmas. No, no, not those questions about 'the objectification of the female form' and 'the contrast of the public and the private in the modern life', or even 'when is it appropriate to bring out the handcuffs'? (Although you could ask these questions, too). I'm thinking in more practical terms: how in the hell do you tell people that you've been to this? Who could you trust to go to this with? What on earth would you say once you got there?
But then again, maybe I'm asking too many questions. God knows, in this day and age, it would probably be considered appropriate to go along there wearing nothing but a pair of purple underpants on your head while groping Pamela Anderson's silicon boobs which you'd bought off ebay that morning and while also being masturbated by a black dwarf. Hey, maybe it would even be encouraged. Isn't that the point of these exhibitions? To break down barriers, challenge prejudice and, er, encourage us all to have a good fuck?

I don't know, I'm just writing this. I didn't stay at the exhibition for too long, anyway. At the stairwell, I paused at the signature book, and looked briefly through the signatures.
"Great exhibition" one person said. "It's good to see sexuality portrayed in an artistic way."
Er yes, quite. That is the point of an erotic exhibition; it's kind of there in the title, innit? I walked down the stairs and out onto the streets. I think I was already thinking about what my dinner that night was going to be. Later, I was struck by another thought: who would bother going to a sex show if they could be at home having sex, anyway?

Maybe the same sort of person as the guy who goes along to a sex show and then sits down and writes a review of said sex show. Or reader of said article by said guy who goes to said sex show. Or ...

Stop reading, you perves, and go out and get ROOTED!