I watched “Sex and the City” once in a hotel room in Austin, Texas. It was between that or the all-male review the shuttle driver told me his wife and both ex-wives enjoyed attending together, reminding me of a story I read about Laura Bush, Condoleeza Rice and Lynne Cheney attending a male strip show on a ladies’ night out.
I’ve never been on a ladies’ night out, though I’ve occasionally met a friend for a drink after work or a workout.
“Sex and the City” didn’t grab me. It’s not the sexuality. I’ve talked to women about sex. A few years ago I had a discussion with a group of 22-year-old college students, a conversation that spanned dual vibrators, masturbatory weight-loss and “booty calls.” In most cases, these young women described other women, women they perceived as more desirable to men than themselves because they were always raring to go.
Cultural attitudes toward sex have definitely changed since I was young. Not to judge. The attitudes I was indoctrinated with as a young Christian were also lies.
Several years ago a dear Christian friend confessed that in 20 years of marriage she’d never had an orgasm, a fact I attributed less to any fault in my friend than to her mother telling her that sex was filthy. I came this close to suggesting my friend try masturbating, so she could understand how her body worked without the added stress of having her husband as an audience. But I was afraid I’d shock her.
It makes me appreciate my irreligious father, whose unconditional acceptance I credit with my comfort with sex.
I didn’t receive that acceptance from my sorority girl mother. Even in women’s Bible studies I relive this wound of female nonacceptance. Maybe that’s why “Sex and the City” doesn’t interest me any more than it interests most men. Despite its name, the movie isn’t about sex, but female friendships.
I understand “Christianity Today” was raked over the coals for reviewing “Sex and the City.” It reminds me of that old joke: “Sex. Now that I’ve got your attention...”
I’ve never been on a ladies’ night out, though I’ve occasionally met a friend for a drink after work or a workout.
“Sex and the City” didn’t grab me. It’s not the sexuality. I’ve talked to women about sex. A few years ago I had a discussion with a group of 22-year-old college students, a conversation that spanned dual vibrators, masturbatory weight-loss and “booty calls.” In most cases, these young women described other women, women they perceived as more desirable to men than themselves because they were always raring to go.
Cultural attitudes toward sex have definitely changed since I was young. Not to judge. The attitudes I was indoctrinated with as a young Christian were also lies.
Several years ago a dear Christian friend confessed that in 20 years of marriage she’d never had an orgasm, a fact I attributed less to any fault in my friend than to her mother telling her that sex was filthy. I came this close to suggesting my friend try masturbating, so she could understand how her body worked without the added stress of having her husband as an audience. But I was afraid I’d shock her.
It makes me appreciate my irreligious father, whose unconditional acceptance I credit with my comfort with sex.
I didn’t receive that acceptance from my sorority girl mother. Even in women’s Bible studies I relive this wound of female nonacceptance. Maybe that’s why “Sex and the City” doesn’t interest me any more than it interests most men. Despite its name, the movie isn’t about sex, but female friendships.
I understand “Christianity Today” was raked over the coals for reviewing “Sex and the City.” It reminds me of that old joke: “Sex. Now that I’ve got your attention...”
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