Genitalia. See, I told you not to read on. Now get back to your obstructionist paranoia where you belong.

All this skulking around stems from cowardly humor writers attempting to lessen the effect of offensive material by coming up with clever alternatives for genitalia – like pocket piccolo. I hadn’t finished smirking to myself over this one when my wife loudly declared that nine more holes and it would be a flute. You’ll have to excuse her.

I plan to shed some light on this subject, (don’t worry, it grows back) and attempt to discern what constitutes sexy. Right from the get go, I think we can eliminate lead singers from Milli Vanilli tribute bands and anyone who has a collection of Smurf action figures.

Even though Sharon worships the water I walk on, there are other men out there who entice her female fascination. In her very own words, "Eddie Vedder in full flight can definitely shorten the breath, while a sweaty Antonio Banderas holding a 9 millimeter is a hornbag incarnate."

For Antonio’s sake, I hope that’s a gun. Personally, I don’t see the temptation. This confuses me almost as much as why chipmonks don’t have wheels – a discussion that will be examined in a future editorial.

But why shouldn’t Sharon desire such simmering cauldrons of testosterone? Her life is active and vital and doesn’t revolve around new recipes for fudge, or holding Tupperware parties where the invited guests purchase the biggest pile of plastic this side of Cher. She knows what she wants and she wants Antonio Banderas. I bet he can’t leap tall buildings in a single bound like I can? Wimp.

I can rest easy here because I’m pretty confident she wants the image not the man. Hang on, what if I’m wrong? Wouldn’t I look stupid? But let’s face it. Men underestimate women all the time.

If you don’t believe that, just take a look around. You can see these trembling creatures aimlessly wandering the streets wearing an expression of unadulterated fear and panic – an expression comparable to Hitler arriving at his day of judgement and discovering that God is Jewish.

The reality is that there is no accounting for taste when it comes to what’s sexy. There are some women and I dare say men out there who believe that Hollywood giants like Kirk Cameron, Willie Aames and Burt Ward are sexy and should have their own shows. Sorry, but I’d rather dine on ear wax than to see the likes of these three bumbling their way through prime time.

Then there’s my mother, who thinks that Bruce Willis is sexy – even though she recognizes that in his last few films, he seems to have a slowly maturing Tibetan Yak growing on his head. Someone should tell Bruce that being rich negates being bald. I guess it’s each to their own here and never their paths shall cross. Like Bruce Willis and real hair.

Author’s note: Because of the belittling words to follow about a well known local political identity, his name will be omitted. For readers from other countries, just insert any obese, loud-mouthed civil servant from your neck of the woods.

There is also the undeniable reality of what’s completely unsexy. Like the prominent Queensland politician – he of the corpulent frame who would find it absolutely impossible to win any election by a slim majority – he of the cerebral aptitude so dense that light actually refracts off him. Apart from personality, intelligence is another humanistic quality our elected official missed out on during assembly line construction.

But let’s face it, it is his God given right to constantly miss the point completely while wallowing in his own ignorance. A walking, talking joke with no punchline in sight. Let me be quite clear here, these qualities in any gender constitute the very essence of unsexy.

Neither is egotistical emotions like greed, spite and hatred. Facing the future alone is also majorly unsexy. When your dreams revolve around finding a nursing home with a pool table and its own mortuary, feeling sexy is probably the furthermost thing on your mind.

However, facing the future with your lifelong partner is sexy personified. It’s sexy because each of you have accepted the other’s shortcomings and have successfully negotiated life to its ultimate conclusion. We must remember that it’s courage in commitment that brings one closer to earning wisdom.

What’s sexy is also about chemistry. When human chemistry is right, there is no other feeling that comes close. Sure, the euphoria that one can get while dancing on the graves of recently deceased lawyers comes close, but no cigar.

I’ll tell you what’s sexy in the Koo household. It’s Sharon allowing me to go for broke while steadily becoming it. It’s accepting another’s faults and working on your own, it’s that moment of timing perfection.

Like the time Sharon and I found ourselves at this late night bar – one of the original Surfers Paradise drinking holes that had long ago passed its prime. We like this place because it’s the last of a dying breed. It makes me think of the Gold Coast like a classic surf movie – cool in its time but an embarrassing paradox today. There’s something about that which stirs my sense of sentimentalism.

Anyway, we were slow dancing under soft lighting to songs we’d never heard before. The juke box was full of these obscure 45’s that came from a different time but somehow seemed to be perfect for right here and right now. As we glided around the dance floor to Marvin Gaye B sides until the early hours of the morning, I realised there could be nothing as sexy as this.

So what have we established? What’s sexy is something different for every person. But we already knew that didn’t we? All I can add is to keep life positive – don’t fall for the depravity because anything in its pure form, including sex, will always be at its most potent. If all else fails, wear a funny hat.

Copyright: Cameron Koo, February 2000

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