A Is For Apple
In the beginning, there was the fruit. Enter God,
man, woman, and snake, stage left. Man and woman dwelled in a safe, idyllic
paradise; free to roam naked, eat, sleep and love in God's beautiful garden.
The garden of Eden. At least, that's what the Christian doctrine tells
But in typical human fashion, we had to go and spoil things. Or rather,
Eve did. The naughty young lady took a bite from the forbidden apple,
and persuaded poor hapless Adam to join her in the act of transgression.
In the process, they tarnished themselves, and all their descendants,
with the curse of 'original sin'.
And so we find, in one short morality tale, the basis for contemporary
Western attitudes to pleasures of the flesh. Desire, temptation, peer
pressure, guilt, fear and even a degree of loathing. We have the wicked
snake (and I don't think this choice of symbolism is purely accidental),
the foolish and morally reprehensible temptress, the juicy, forbidden
fruit, and the poor beguiled man, who is of course not at all responsible
for his own fall into disgrace, having been misled by the whisperings
of the naughty serpent and the spare rib (a piece of meat with a mind
of her own).
As soon as they took a bite from the apple, Adam and Eve became self-conscious,
somehow 'knowing' that to expose their genitals was bad. Cast from the
garden of Eden, our hapless forbears were forced into the wilderness,
there to endure hunger, fear and ill health for the first time in their
lives. Not forgetting the trials of raising a homicidal son, and spawning
a race who would by necessity be hopelessly inbred for the first couple
of generations, (do the math; the human race started off with just two
people and then suddenly there were a whole bunch of us. A real sister-mother
of a situation although not one that gets a direct mention in the bible).
And so, at the core of our belief system, sits the thought that giving
in to temptation ultimately leads from paradise to hell.
Who would have thought that a quick romp in the hay carried such baggage?
It 's enough to send us screaming to the analyst's couch every time we
get the horn. But humans are and adaptable bunch. We tend to make the
best of what we've got. And truth be told, our fall from grace has brought
a few perks, too. There's the whole 'free will' thing, for example (not
to be confused with 'free willy' (see paragraph on genital nudity, below).
This means we get to bugger things up our own way, rather than in a manner
prescribed by God. The other thing we've gained is less conspicuous, but
arguably just as satisfying. It's the ability to entertain some serious
Because without all of the angst that comes from our Christian heritage,
would it all be so much fun? Imagine sex without the thrill of the illicit,
the taste of the forbidden. Where would we be without our pleasing array
of hang-ups and insecurities, which make it all the more delicious when
we finally sweep them to one side and lose ourselves in the act of pleasure?
What about the illicit joy of exposing our naughty bits to a partner who
has finally proved themselves worthy of the privilege? Ladies, without
the nudity taboo, what would be the pleasure in surrounding our 'panty
hamsters' with frills and lace and Lycra, an act of concealment which
only serves to draw more attention to the area in question? Would we miss
the thrill of the chase, or appreciate the final conquest more, if we
weren't compelled to engage in such challenging and convoluted courtship
rituals? And for the seriously kinky, where would we be without the guilt
and the power and the thrill of transgression - feelings that many of
us have actually learned to enjoy? Where would we be without our rubber
and our latex and our Ann Summers catalogues? Very bored, methinks.
Face it, we probably wouldn't want sex half as much if it wasn't quite
so risque. What if the act was as natural as eating, or even drinking?
Say a group of chums go to the pub on a Saturday night. Imagine the conversation.
"I tell you what, lads, why don't we just all have sex now, before Rory
gets the next round in?" It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'mates',
that's for sure. This kind of carry-on would put an end to the roller-coaster
thrill of nights 'on the pull'. We'd all be home tucked up into our beds
Try to imagine turning round in church, only to see your old mum and dad
enjoying a quick romp on the bench behind you. What if you boarded a double-decker,
and happened to glance down at the lap of the driver as you counted out
your change, only to witness him calmly getting to grips with the 'bus
horn', a documented side-effect of the job? What if you went to check
the availability of the boardroom next Friday, only to discover that the
slot you wanted was booked for a group sex marathon, sandwiched neatly
between the quarterly marketing meeting and the surprise 40th birthday
party for Joan in Accounts. Not so much fun, eh?
And what if we weren't so self-conscious about showing our bits and pieces?
Try to picture what it would be like if we all wandered around willy-nilly
with bare genitals. Imagine a businessman walking past, purple-veined
yoghurt thrower dangling in the breeze. Even if this wasn't Ireland, with
a wind chill factor guaranteed to freeze the knackers off you, it wouldn't
be the prettiest picture in the world.
Courtesy of a Christian upbringing, the sex act becomes one of mystery,
of collaboration, of shared fun, the participants collusive, focussed
and fully engaged, like teenagers sharing their first can of cider under
a bush. And our sense of guilt doubtless keeps millions of dominatrixes
in gainful employ. If they didn't have that outlet, they'd probably be
venting their control-freak tendencies on you, because their kind would
have most likely filled every middle-management position world-wide. Yes,
a healthy degree of repression is something we can secretly thank our
God for, even if we give out about it at every opportunity.
Of course, readers from the multitude of other wonderful and diverse cultures
around the world probably have an entirely different story to tell, and
are most likely laughing at my hang-ups, whilst itching to share their
own. So do, please do.
Over to you. Mail me now at firstname.lastname@example.org
Fluffy's slot is a weekly forum for group discussion - send your thoughts
and questions, and Fluffy will probe around for the answers, no matter
how shocking or bizarre.... Have you got a piece for Fluffy's Slot?
By Fluffy Dutton
3rd March 2004