See Karyn Lyndon’s blog. If you’re not already a regular there, you might oughtta be.
On Friday Karyn writes of sex (it must give her a rush),
But when I read that pers’nal stuff it kinda makes me blush.
Hey, I don’t mean to criticize, for that would be quite rude.
And now that I’ve confessed my angst, I’m sure I seem a prude.
She’s written books she calls “chick lit,” (it’s known as that by some.
To me that name has always sounded more like chewing gum.)
I s’pose the chicks who read her blog enjoy that sexual play.
At least she posts a warning sign to keep the kids away.
(Of course that’s kinda like the park-bench sign that says Wet Paint.
You know you should refrain from touch, but somehow you just cain’t.)
Well, back when I was growing up, in what I call, “my day,”
You didn’t write or talk of sex; you kept it hid away.
But then the revolution came, free love became the norm.
To speak of (or participate in) sex in any form,
Was deemed OK for anyone, as long as ‘twas consensual.
The pundits told us, “Just be cool,” and, “Don’t be gettin’ tense y’all.”
So now we watch it, talk it, think it. Many of us do it.
We treat it like it’s just routine, like there ain’t nothin’ to it.
It seems to me we’ve lost the thrill that intimacy brought
When sex became more clinical, more public than it ought.
I know I swim against the tide when I go on this way,
And most will scoff with ridicule, and some might even say,
“Grow up, old fogy!” “Get a life!” Or, “What’s your problem, man?”
But when it comes to open sex, I guess I’m not a fan.
Hey, sex is great! Don’t think I want to do away with lovin’!
But when the rubber meets the road, and pushin’ comes to shovin’,
I think I’ll keep it private, kinda hidden in the fog,
And not put forth for all to read, especially on my blog.
So Karyn, you can propagate, and blog about it weekly.
When Fridays come I’ll read YOUR blog and get my kicks discretely.
(Btw: “consensual” — People who are against anything “touchy-feely.” John’s Dictionary of the Moment (DotM), 2nd edition.)