Although Salon is certainly not a mass publication mainstream journal, it seems increasingly obvious that an unintended consequence of Starr's no-holds-barred attack on Clinton in his referral is greatly increased candor in our national discussions about sex. This was happening in the sixties and early seventies, but then came to be greatly rolled back through the one two punches of the resurgent religious fundamentalists and even more importantly, the rise of neo-Puritanism among many of the (by then aging) feminists.
The following is (slightly) redacted to somewhat mitigate the offense it may give to some parties. Although with the precedent of Starr's report established, I'm not sure why I bothered.
The impeach-him mob's lamentations about the
sordidness of the details and the agony of
explaining "oral sex" to little Sally or Dylan are
especially laughable, because unrequited head and
cigar play are certainly more common on Capitol
Hill than in Peoria. The rest of the country
generally can't get b[***] jobs from pretty groupies,
but they're turning out not to mind that Clinton can.
We've all known about Clinton's adultery and the
lying that accompanies it for years, and nobody
believed his denials about Lewinsky back in
January. The only news in the Starr Report is the
steamy stuff, and it looks now like people's
emotional reaction to that will decide the
president's fate.
Monica and the president explored an amazing span
of fellatial landscape over the course of those nine
"encounters." Monica's immediate eagerness to
s[***] presidential d[***] offsets the encounters'
one-sidedness and makes her seem less victim,
more vixen. The b[***] j[***] the president got while
he talked on the phone were a puerile celebration
of power, but they also formed a secret alliance
between the president and the intern -- the joke was
on the lawmakers on the line, not on Monica. Her
pathetic, poignant query between b[***] j[***] No. 4
and 5 -- "Is this just about sex ... or do you have
some interest in trying to get to know me as a
person?" -- represents a complicated power shift in
the relationship: Her acknowledgment that she is in
thrall to him pressures him, and he acknowledges
his own thrall with 45 minutes of conversation
after b[***] j[***] 6. Starr miscalculated by including
such homely details in his opus, because they end
up humanizing Monica and Schmucko, not
demonizing them.
The strangest motif in the Starr Report has to be
our ever-dualistic president's withholding of his
bodily fluids, which combined tantric control with
Christian guilt and courtly consideration with
emotional withholding. His pullouts are the sexual
equivalent of "I didn't inhale": the president once
again having his cake, eating it because he can, then
rationalizing that it's OK because he couldn't really
taste it. But again, we already knew this about him.
The only thing more strange than Clinton's paranoia
about giving up the presidential jizz is that his fears
were eventually vindicated. It shows a real knack on
his part for finding the worst angels of our natures.
Clinton's consistently high approval ratings make
sense in a cynical age. He is so responsive to polls
that judging him is like judging ourselves, and we
don't seem to expect much from either party. Now
that the decision to impeach rests with the public,
we the people can do our part to counter
Washington's punitive, joyless and false take on
sex. Because Clinton can't express anything until
it's been vetted, he needs us to tell him that we care
more about his policy making than his sex life. He
needs us to acknowledge (because he can't) that
this is how men in power behave. He needs to hear
that b[***] j[***] are OK.
SALON | Sept. 25, 1998
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