IN WHICH I ENDURE A KIND OF VISUAL TERRORISM: HOW CAN I UNSEE THAT?
The ubiquity on today’s dating scene of the texted dick pic — so frequent as to become virtually banal these days — makes one long for the thrilling mystery of an atmosphere now living only in the imagination of Mad Men writers.
The boys of my generation had to rely on Playboy for tits and titillation, while we sheltered girls encountered our first real look at a man in the tasteful context of a life drawing class (Playgirl was a few years off). Failing such enlightenment, well, we had to draw our OWN conclusions … thumbing the pages of Fanny Hill and Candy, with the heavy lifting of supplying our own mental illustrations, thank you very much! Because we certainly weren’t going to get direct knowledge — not us.
After all, many of us girls started our sexual journey in belts of some kind. Sanitary. Garter. Bible. Chastity, if only socially and psychologically, but every bit as harshly effective as a metallic one in its mission to instill steely determination to keep the dreaded THEM out, at least before the wedding night.
Yet today, at the beginning of romance it’s not uncommon to be on the receiving end of a dick pic, the pass with no class. The pervy perps of this tend to be the younger ones who grew up with internet porn, and whose idea of a date is an instant hookup — even meeting for a drink is too high maintenance for the sure cocksure.
Yes, if redeeming factors had already been established in conversation, one might chose to overlook the lapse, and use it as a gentle teachable moment:
“Oh, I think you must be confusing me with the future me who’s been on several dates with you.”
Nevertheless, consummate slut though I sometimes be, here I, Mrs.Hot, find myself to be a ball breaker: Sorry, the dick pic is a deal breaker. Yet, as a connoisseur of males of every age, it seems to come with the territory I’ve chosen to explore.
So what if my phone is becoming the album for the Johnson family reunion?
Yours truly,
