Yep. More naked actresses.
There's so much about this I'm having trouble wrapping my head around.
Not the idea of Keira Knightley and Lindsay Lohan getting naked together. I have no problem with that one, probably because it's purely an intellectual exercise for me. Neither Knightley nor Lohan figure all that often in my erotic daydreams. (Probably only a little more often than I appear in theirs.) Together they might be more exciting, but I keep thinking back to Knightley's Vanity Fair cover with Scarlett Johanson and shake my head again with disappointment.
And Lohan reminds me of girls I knew back in the day who had reputations for being wild and sexy and easy good times, as long as your idea of a great night finished with you holding her hair back while she knelt over the toilet.
What's causing my head to spin is the evil little voice at the back of my head asking, "Oh yeah? Well, then what two starlets would you like to see naked and making out together?"
I've got my answers. Go get your own.
What is it with us straight guys and the idea of women having hot lesbian sex?
Well, in my case it's partly nostalgia, but that's none of your business.
Moving right along, though, this brings me to the next thing I can't get my head around.
A straight guy who isn't turned on by the thought of two beautiful young starlets getting naked together!
From TBogg, who passes along the whole story, I learned that there is in fact such a straight guy and, surprise, surprise, he's a Right Wing blogger.
Not only is this manly man not aroused by images of Keira and Lindsay smooching, he's positively disgusted by the idea.
Apparently he sees it as another sign of the heterosexual guy's apocolypse as the entire female half of the species under the age of 25 is Sapphosticated---spaceships from Venus have landed somewhere and the Amazonian warrior princesses are zapping all our nubile young women with ray guns that turn them into lesbians.
I can see why this guy is panicking. He probably comes from that tribe of dateless young men who console themselves in their loneliness that every woman who refuses to go out with them is a dyke. The websites they're visiting to help console themselves offer lots of visual proof of the evil Venusians' plot to eliminate men too.
Ladies, would you mind leaving us men alone together for a moment? Thank you.
Ok, men, listen up. This generation did not invent muff-diving. Back in my day, a hundred years ago, many a girl I knew experimented on the other side of the fence. Of course, I spent a lot of time in the company of actresses, dancers, and other artistic types, and in several cases I only know what they told me and some of them I suspect were liars who were trying to mess with my mind, but the point's still valid. The difference between this generation and mine is either, depending on your point of view, a lack of discretion or a healthy open-mindedness and honesty about sex, plus a higher quality and better marketed variety of pornography.
Now, onto the less adolescent portion of this post.
Ladies, you can come back in now.
I've read two biographies of Dylan Thomas, neither one recently, but at least one of them at a very impressionable age, when the sudden knowledge that real human beings engaged in threesomes would have left me dazed and goggle-eyed for a week, and I don't recall the romantic episode that's the basis of the movie Knightley and Lohan are now not making together at all.
I remember lots of drinking, lots of vomiting, lots of drunken, fumbled passes at colleagues' and hosts' wives, but not much sex, even of the exclusively heterosexual twosome kind.
Thomas was a famous poet and famous poets, even slobbering, drunken, filthy ones who don't shower or clean under their fingernails, don't live celibate lives if they don't want to. But I believe Thomas had more luck stealing clean shirts and underwear from his hosts' closets and drawers, something he was prone to do, than he had stealing the wives from their beds.
So I would have thought that the fact Thomas had a frisky, bisexual wife would not have been something his biographers overlooked, and I'm shocked that either it was left out of both books or I completely missed it, twice.
Now, here's the last thing I can't wrap my head around, and it's the thing I will never get my head around.
I'll deal with the movie and the naked starlets. I'll forget about the Right Wing Blogger's curiously un-heterosexual hang-ups. I will be persuaded that Caitlin Thomas did swing both ways.
I will never deal with the fact that all this sex and nudity is because of a guy who looked like this:
Then again the guy I knew in college who had the most notches on his bedpost looked like a rat.
He was a rock star though. Rock star trumps poet, every time.