By Kathleen Bradean
My deepest sympathies to the Gripper who picked this topic, but I let out a long groan when I saw this topic, because I knew that I'd be an utter failure at it. It's a great topic. The fail is mine.
Have I mentioned that I'm the least visual person on earth? Sure, I nearly suffocated watching Das Boot, I've been known to mangle a pillow or two during really intense action scenes, and had cougarsish thoughts about a certain Mr. Neville Longbottom during the last Harry Potter movie (to quote the movie So I Married An Axe Murderer: You grew up a wee right sexy bastard. Do you know that?), but sexy? Like 'let's leave the kids with the babysitter for another hour, check into a cheesy hotel, and do it right here on the oriental?' (to quote Prizzi's Honor. At least the oriental part. The rest is mine.)
Sure, watching Gomez Aadams kiss his way up Morticia's arm is a bit of a voyeuristic thrill. Michael Keaton's Batman was surprisingly sexy in a morning after scene. Marion kissing Indiana Jones' boo-boos all better in Raiders of the Lost Ark was a huge cock tease of sexiness seeing as Indy fell asleep before they got to anything remotely interesting. As a young lady of refined taste, I found Etta Place being ordered to strip by the Sundance Kid really hot in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but what I liked even more was the hint that she was doing both of them. At least, that's the way I interpreted it back then. And still do.
Oh! Finally recalled one. Secretary with Maggie Gyllenhaal and James Spader was off the charts kinky goodness. But then again, so is The Last Seduction, at least to me, so you know how far off normal I'm coming from.
The problem, I think, is that I do think. About sex. All. The. Time. I think about what's sexy and what's sensual. I dwell on every frame of every fantasy, TV show, movie, and erotic story I read like an obsessed movie director with a billion feet of footage and a vision only he understands. I deconstruct, rewind, slo-mo and analyze the shit out of everything that blips on my raised eyebrow radar to figure out what caused the blip. It makes it awfully hard to be swept away by the story when you're doing that. Maybe I should turn off my higher functioning brain and only take my lizard brain to the movies from now on. Maybe then I could find a single frame of True Blood sexy instead of groaning about how they manage to miss the mark every damn time.
(I expect hate mail about that last comment. Bring it on. I know good sex, and that ain't it.)