Whenever I see those online ads with scantily clad women, I scratch my head and wonder: Can you really find love on the Internet … or just trouble?
I know a lot of people who tried and failed, a few who went on dates that ended disastrously, one who got married and has a baby in the hopper, several who got divorced because they were scoping out women and got caught, a few who engaged in so-called “cybersex” because they didn’t think it was adultery although their spouses sure did, and a lot of potentially dangerous liaisons, which but for the grace of God, ended before something really terrible happened.
Millions of people are looking for the perfect partner, for whatever insidious purpose, and the online opportunities are endless.
Every time I check my email, up pops a picture of an enticing young woman with platinum hair, pink lipstick and that come-hither smile accompanied by the slogan “Sneak a peek.” There’s no crime in that, is there?
My middle-aged brain immediately goes into post-adolescent hormone-induced fantasy mode because all I have to do is click the little link that says “Go!” and I’ll jin the captain and crew of Love Boat along with countless singles and single wannabes looking for romance or something worse.
How did temptation for the average guy ever get so easy and so accessible?
Of course, I don’t succumb to temptation because I have a built-in protective device, sort of a missile defense shield that goes by the name “WIFE.” Not to mention my overactive conscience, which reminds me this cute little blond could be my second daughter. Well, actually my fourth daughter.
Even worse, if I “sneak a peek,” I’ll be ignominiously labeled a “dirty old man,” which is what they called them back in the ’60s. Sad to say, there are still a lot of them around, but they no longer hover on the fringes of society; now, they’re as American as Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and generally getting bailed out, too.
Being an upstanding middle-aged married man, I check my email and promptly move on.
But Miss Sneak a Peek seems to be following me. The next ad shows a woman with a sultry smile, pouty lips, brunette hair and a low-cut blouse, who could pass as one of Charlie’s Angels’ daughters, well maybe granddaughter.
These pesky online stalkers follow you everywhere. A few minutes later, I’m confronted by a young woman who is leaning forward to show cleavage. Later, another one appears, bouncing up and down on the bed, beckoning and smiling with an invitation to “Find Love Now!”
She sure looks like she’s having fun and wants to have even more fun. What I find so troubling is that I’m on websites accessible to the average computer-savvy toddler. Is this the only online advertising they can sell? What about ads for Scientology? Or Metameucil?
How did we ever get transported to this alternate moral universe in a few years? I’m not a prude. I love romance. I love beautiful women. And every once in a while I look inside the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, when I’m in the supermarket checkout, at least until one of my daughters catches me and threatens to tell the parish priest.
I’m glad because it reminds me their moral gyroscopes are still working even though mine occasionally needs recalibration.
Sad to say, virtues like modesty are obsolete. You can also strike “chastity” from your moral vocabulary because it’s as passé as holding the door for a woman.
Those virtues fell into disfavor about 40 years ago when my generation gave America one of the most insidious movements in modern history, the sexual revolution. It liberated us from the oppression of morality, and our goal in life became sneaking a peek, finding pleasure and satisfying lust. Along the way, we forgot values like self-restraint, commitment and love. Traditional morality was supplanted by traditional decadence, tailored to the 20th century in film, TV, music and social mores. Free love led to online porn, kiddie porn, cybersex and recreational sex … the list is endless.
Before signing off the computer, I came upon another interactive chippy who was wearing negligee and inviting me to “See photos.” Temptation beckoned again. Should I or shouldn’t I? Is my wife looking?
This time, my guardian angel restrained me. Instead, I clicked on AccuWeather. Rain tomorrow … damn.
