Like a little girl playing dress up in her mother's too-too high heeled shoes; lipstick everywhere, teased, over-sprayed hair sticking out like straw; big silly bra falling off of slender shoulder, we have, as a society, displayed our immaturity in our collective sexuality, rendering music and nature the last bastions of some empty mimicry of female sexuality which, in it's true state, is supposed to be a spiritual, tantalizing dance.
If we watch the soft-porn gyrations of girl groups like the PussyCat Dolls and the Veronicas, or even the stylings of Britney Spears and yes, of course, the ever-maturing pop dominatrix, Miley Cyrus, we don't see feminine sexuality in it's authentic state. I think of those beauty pageants for tots where the five-year-olds tip-toe around, as if walking, literally, on eggshells, trying to look all grown up, their mothers with the caustic tongues for electric prods, their center blithely trampled, their sense of their developing selves brushed aside like so much detritus.
Music is sexy. It's a heartbeat, a primal rhythm; it can embody so much non-verbal feeling taking us to places in our heart, mind, body and soul that we can't reach in words alone. Music, for women, can tempt us to move, to delve into our sexuality in ways that make us feel we are covering new terrain and re-visiting ancient worship sites.
It makes me sad to see the dancing and singing that so many of our young women do in emulation of this profound connection our sexuality can have to music, to our very nature. It looks like clowning, overgrown, overblown special effects drowning out the small, subtle movements of hips and thighs, makeup layered over dilated pupils, moistened lips.
Perhaps we have been taught to be so insecure about our subtle sexuality that we fear no man will want us if we are too subtle, too nuanced. But we owe it to ourselves and to the men we love and lust to take them gently by the hand and lead them to these midnight musical places where sex is natural and we feel quiet and erotic again, not chafed and dressed in itchy nylons, waiting to be seen.