CLOSE THE DOOR

Clark kissed Jean. She rolled her body close to his and kissed him back. His lips loved the taste of her heavy cherry red lipstick. The left strap of her white satin dress slipped a little. Clark put it back on her shoulder. Jean pouted those heavenly lips and asked Clark why he did that. His response was simple, manly and mute. He lifted her off her feet, carried her to his bedroom and kicked the door shut. The scene, the movie, ended like that. It wasn’t over for the men or plenty of the ladies in the audience. It seemed the audience was leaving faster than usual.

I saw that old movie not long ago on t.v. and was astounded at how sensual it was, yet not a vulgar word was said, not a bare part of anyone showed. Gable’s hands never strayed over Harlow. His deep eyes, dark, heavy brows, a body any sane woman would be delighted to lie next to - - until - - Gable opened his mouth. It was common knowledge he had bad breath.

I seem to recall seeing that movie when I was about 10. What went on in the un air conditioned room was as unknown to me as how high is the sky or deep the sea. It was meaningless. The funnies, the cartoons, the cowboy chapter followed and I had a good time. Did my mother see it long ago. Did she get it? If she did, why didn’t she send me elsewhere?

Now I am grown up and my own daughter, Fran is ten, and I worry a lot. As my good friend Wilma and I were walking thru the park the other day, with plenty of strollers enjoying the early spring, a fairly young, nice looking man stopped right in front of us, blocked our way. He didn’t even glance at us but opened his pants to expose himself to us and everyone else. To tell the truth, it did not excite me. In fact, it was not a pretty sight at all. People laughed, applauded. I heard shouts of, ‘Don’t waste it, use it.’ Wilma and I hurried towards the park entrance where we told the guard about it. He asked, ‘What was he wearing?’ In unison, Wilma and I said, ‘Not enough.’

In the morning paper I happened to spot on page 22 a few lines about the man in Druid Ridge Park. He has not been identified. There was nothing about him being caught.

I don’t think I am a prude, an old fashioned fuddy duddy, but I find the new morals (or lack of them) obnoxious. There are no restrictions, no taboos on what is said, what is done, even in PG films. Orgies, rapes, murder, the foulest of language bother just about no one. Family films put the family to sleep. I know. I have snored my way thru too many Mary Poppins. Recently I’ve gone to several unrated films with my husband, Jimmy. Sometimes I cover my face when the scene is too explicit, but peep a little. Jimmy makes no pretenses. He breathes harder, rubs his leg against mine. He likes it. I like it, too.

The change of movies appears in the Friday paper. Being an early riser, naturally I see the paper first. I open it to the Calendar section and lightly pencil mark what I would like to see. We seldom forbid Fran to see anything that is open to the public any more. If we say ‘verboten’ that’s the sign to see the movie by hook or by crook.

It’s all so crazy. My world died a long time ago. Young people are the leaders, leading us to heaven on the way to hell. I have given in. I have given up and maybe am already in hell.