Give Boobs A Break: No More “Naked Lady” Calendars

Opinion
By Z.S. Roe

I am an unabashed, long-time supporter of nudity.  If you’ve been a frequent reader of this blog, then you probably already know that.  I’ve gone (sorta) nude for poetry, have written in praise of dudity (male nudity), and have even recommended a quasi-pornographic film called Shortbus, which features … well, a near bus load of naked people doing all sorts of naked things.

But when it comes to calendars, I’ve grown increasingly tired of the “naked lady” variety.

You see, I work in a glass shop, and some of the guys I work with are not always … shall we say, classy when they’re speaking about women.  In fact, I think I’ve heard someone exclaim, “Look at the tits on that!” more than once … each week … or day … or, hell, maybe even every hour.

And so when the new calendars go up every year, the majority of them invariably feature women in various states of undress.  Oh, and breast implants and fully shaved vulvas are never in short supply.

My outhouse calendar … yeah, it’s pretty cool.

This year, however, is different.  Because of some staff switcheroos, I get to choose my own calendar.  And I’ve chosen one featuring outhouses—I’m actually pretty excited about it.

But why the lack of naked women on my part?  It’s not that I’m offended by the typical nude calendars; I just think they’re boring and … well, sexually regressive.  I mean, really, is this what men are supposed to believe is the pinnacle of female sexuality?  Porn star poses?

Come on, guys.  Let’s not limit sexual expression to silly notions dreamt up on the set of low budget pornos.  We can do better.  And do I need to mention that women deserve better?  I’d like to think not, but maybe I do.

They deserve better—trust me.  Besides, the sex is always more meaningful when you know the person and not just the person’s “tits.”

And, no, I’m not some grand, high-minded “Man” fighting for the feminist cause.  I’ve just been lucky enough to know a lot of great women:  my wife, my mom, my sisters.

In the end, nudity is fine … great, even.  And expressions of sexuality are wonderful and can be a lot of fun.  But looking at a ghastly lit pair of fake boobs every day of the year is something I can do without.

For now, I’ll just stick with my outhouses—at least that shit is true to life.

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