I was at work today and saw a picture of a man in a glossy yellow Speedo and Pikachu helmet in a random link someone sent me. It was accompanied by an ominous "not-safe-for-work" heading. Images of opening a scat porn page flitted through my head as I hit the link.
"Inappropriate" is one of my least favorite words. I have no idea what it ultimately means or why people use it the way they do. The idea of propriety implies an objective standard for something. When it applies to rogue links that pop up throughout the day, it usually implies something that is sexually inappropriate. You might not want to see footage of a baby inadvertently getting smacked in the head on YouTube, but odds are relatively low that you would wind up in an HR meeting if someone saw you watching it.
A picture of a naked human body, however, is generally cause for professional panic. One day at work I was tired and not thinking clearly. I inadvertently typed in the web address for my favorite porn site in my browser window. Before I realized what I had done there was a picture of a round-butted woman showing her vagina to the camera while two men stood on either side grinning.
I felt a timer go off in my head, measuring how many seconds the image was on my screen, visible to whoever walked by. Would my boss turn around in his chair before I could navigate the mouse icon to the small red X in the corner? Was someone already gaping in disgust behind me, passing by on their way to the Xerox machine?
I felt a diluted sense of impropriety looking at this sculpted man's body in a Speedo and cartoon helmet. It's not close to pornographic, but couldn't it make someone just as uncomfortable? NSFW.
I remember finding out two of my co-workers were having sex at work a few years ago. I was working for a big talent management company. The man was an assistant to one of the partners. I found it hard to believe a woman could find him attractive. He was pale and had a face that looked puckered and sour all day long. He spoke in mumbling half-measures and always ended his sentences with a glare that seemed confrontational. He was also a mouth-breather.
I found out he had been having an affair with a slinky blonde who worked for a department head and whom some people disliked strongly. She never seemed to have answers for anything. It looked like she had embedded herself in a great position with a puppy dog smile and a suggestive wardrobe (sheer and bland in the way that business attire can still tease the form of the body beneath).
For a few months they had been having sex in the copy room after hours. Working late was de rigueur; there was always a handful of frazzled assistants anchored into their headsets with a leaning stack of scripts still waiting in their inboxes. This was the first job where I ever masturbated on the clock. The nights when it was after ten and the cleaning people had come and gone, I sometimes felt a need for a second wind so I would swish down the hall to the bathroom and thump myself for a few minutes.
So it made sense to me that some of my co-workers were having sex in the spare corners of the office after a long day. I was glad it was happening.
For the amount of time the average person spends in an office, it's absurd to think their sexual side can be muted. I think about sex in some form all day long. In between emails, in meetings, while organizing articles; I fill in the spaces with a mobile of sense memories, a second of remembered touch, a moment wondering what someone looks like naked. These thoughts are inappropriate. A person should not acknowledge having them in a work environment.
It's terrifying the extent to which we've encouraged one another to incrementally dehumanize ourselves; to trade honest recognition with an appropriate façade, all for the sake of the company, for productivity, to spare some frail accountant's need for moral boundaries.
When I opened the page with the picture of the man-Pikachu on it, I was actually relieved. It was so much tamer than what had been going on in my head moments before.
Previous Posts:
Sex Machine: Lying Lovers; or the Padded Bra
Sex Machine: Premature Ejaculation
Love Machine: Can You Be Friends With an Ex?
Sex Machine: How Soon, Sex Toy?
Date Night: Kissing in the Rain
Sex Education Machine: Abstinence, or Waiting is Easier Because...
Sex Machine: The Funny Thing About Handjobs
Love Machine: The Three-Year Itch
Sex Machine: Show Me Your Penis
Date Machine: The Gun Show or Is That All You Got?
Love Machine: Morning Breath Kisses
Date Machine: Making Your Online Dating Profile
Sex Machine: Sex with 19 Year-Olds
Love Machine: Making A Scene
Hooksexup Confessions: Oh Hai, You're Pregnant
Sex Machine: Don't Forget to Masturbate
Love Machine: My Mother
Love Machine: Thanks But I'll Pass, or Handling Rejection
Naked Machine: Buying New Underwear, or Sex in a Dressing Room
Date Machine: Look Ugly in a Photograph
Love Machine: On Your Own, or Moving On