The War on Sex

The other day I, while I was going for my morning run (dressed, of
course, in my standard baggy jeans and loose-fitting sweater, ensuring
that my sexuality would be appropriately contained and my physical form
completely hidden from the outside world, lest its reveal attract the
curious eyes and inevitable objectification of my body by men and women
alike), I saw a most repugnant site. There, at the corner of my street -
MY street - were two young people engaging in an act I can only describe
as repulsive. Their lips were locked, their eyelids were fluttering,
their hands were being used to hold one another in a tight embrace. An
embrace, I say! Yes, they were madly in love, that was clear. Their
affection would have warmed my heart if only I hadn't been exposed to
it. But to kiss as they were! The horror! It was clear from one glance
that one was subservient to the other, as she was smaller and did not
have her arms completely wrapped around her partner. The acting out of
such disgusting gender roles, right in front of me, right in front of
any young children who might see them - I could hardly stand to bear it.
What if, at that very moment, an impressionable young man had been
walking down that very same street? Why, he would have seen the act and
promptly rushed home to mimic it, I have no doubt.

I could run no longer, not in the mood I had been forced into. I
returned to my house and sat on my couch, weary from the blasphemy. Did
the couple not understand what their show of affection entailed? Did
they not understand the harms of sexual expression? It was clear they
did not. I would make a note to pray for them later.

I turned on my television, hoping to flick through the channels until I
found a nice infomercial or an episode of Sesame Street (certainly not
Dora the Explorer or iCarly!). As I flipped through the channels, HBO
passed under my watchful gaze. I subscribe to it because it does
occasionally show some most enlightening documentaries. Well worth the
price, if I do say so myself. But at this moment, no documentary was
being aired. Instead, what I saw, to my abject horror, were two lovers
engaging in consensual sex! On my television! On my paid programming! In
my home! The man was on top of the woman, the scene was clearly from his
perspective. She was nothing more than a piece of meat, I could see that
so very quickly. Her moans were meant only to arouse, her words of
encouragement meant to show she was ready to be taken. She was an
object, not a person. She was being violated and used and it was right
there in my living room.

I could stand for it no longer. It was time to do something about this,
to fight these gender roles and lack of female empowerment. And I knew
just where to start - human sexuality. What else does more damage to the
battle for gender equality than sexual expression, I ask you? Not a
thing!

So I stormed to Tallahassee, making my way toward the capitol where I
knew I would meet the magnanimous Rick Scott, sitting atop his throne of
repression and social control. I knew just what I would say to him, had
been reciting it in my head for years. A prohibition of sexuality, there
was no way around it. Stifle sexual expression and you stifle the gender
inequality that results from it, the consequences flowed perfectly
naturally. Just as had been done with the war on drugs, I knew that by
fighting tooth and nail to maintain the illegality of all sexual
expression in the media and public places, that expression would be
prevented and society would prosper. Perhaps, if I was lucky, I'd be
able to spread the war on sex into the confines of personal space and
privacy, just as had been done with that war on drugs. One can only
hope, right?

Of course, on my way there, I first had to pass through the slums of
the city. I did so carefully, with my windows shut and my doors locked.
On the corner of one street, I saw a prostitute standing, watching my
car with a mixture of fear and hope. Her eye was blackened and her arms
showed the telltale signs of heroin abuse. She was frail and emotionally
absent. "Just the way she should be," I thought. Keep prostitution off
my streets! It was a horrible life and I knew that we as a society had
better keep it that way. After all, women selling their bodies? There is
no bigger roadblock on the road to female liberty than an act like that!

I made a note to call the police and report the prostitute as soon as I
was in a safer neighborhood.

Eventually, I reached Rick. Or, rather, his office. He was unavailable,
in some sort of meeting. Likely with only old white men present. His
secretary told me I would have to come back another day. I was
disappointed, but my resolve only strengthened. This was why my fight
was so important. Those men would never take women seriously. They would
just go home and watch that same HBO program I had seen earlier and
continue to objectify women in every part of their lives. To stop them,
I had to stop that process. I had to get rid of HBO. I had to get rid of
sexual expression. I had to get rid of sexuality.

And if I could do that, I knew without a doubt that I'd have made the
world a better, healthier place.