Tension is erotic. The G rating in so much of what I see is due to its lax, limpid passivity. From Playboy and Penthouse as well as the artful nudes of today, it is the lack of tension which diminishes the salacious. Give me Eros, that tense little fucker, with his fear that his aim may be poor, his step trepidatious in pursuit, muscles attached to wings stretched taut, the string of the bow a high pitched quiver, right arm straight, left hand close to the ear. There is a lack of certainty which is delicious, a want which is full of desire, a concentration on purpose which excludes mere comfort. Beware the fat hallmark cherub masquerading as a god - this louche, lethargic figure is a pale reflection of that which Eros symbolizes.

I want to feel want, lust, pain, joy, uncertainty, i want to see tendons stretched and muscles taut, arms extended to grasp desire, fervid mouths feeding hungrily on concupiscence.

mere acquiescence lacks the base humanity which makes this fun. Comfort, I fear, is for the frigid.