A hooker for every senator / Imagine a world with more sexually open, sensual, happily libidinous politicians. Wait, can you?

I want a smart, slutty senator.

I want an effective, confident, sex-positive congressman or woman who, if asked, speaks openly and blamelessly and even happily about her proclivities, with a wink and a smile and maybe a bit of cleavage before Labor Day. Married, single, somewhere in between? Doesn't matter.

And, dare I say it, I want president who not only freely discusses and shrugs off his or her loves and sexual desires and even affairs, but dares to enjoy sex and thrives because of it and makes his behavior a part of his perspective and attitude on life and love and leadership and the general sticky messy beautiful evolution of the human soul. Is that too much to ask?

Let me answer that for you: Oh my sweet baby Jesus with a Hitachi Magic Wand and some leather chaps, you're damn right it is.

Here's the thing: Given all the scandals and threesomes and gay gropings in airport restrooms, sometimes I can't help but wonder what it might be like to have a leader or three who not only enjoys women, or men, or both, but does so shamelessly, enthusiastically, talks it up in the media, all with discretion and a bit of class, but also with full knowledge and pleasure and openness about his/her appreciation for sex and the physical form.

And it would all come with the calm assurance that nothing is all that wrong with this behavior — even if it involves infidelity, which it almost always does — that everything is in control and none of it has any bearing on his or her ability to run the ship of state — or rather, it does, but only insofar as it makes them, you know, more human, messy, interesting, appealing and relatable and desirable and whole.

And then I remember, oh my freaking God, what the hell am I saying? I mean, have you seen the kind of people who are drawn to politics in this world? Moral corruption is a prerequisite. Pasty and ungainly and predatory, flawed and bruised and mealy like bad fruit, often aggressively homely, deeply unhealthy people who would gladly eat the head off a live baby to appease the Iowa corn growers' association. Shudder.

Truly, Barack Obama and the tiny handful of genuinely attractive politicians aside, do I really want to imagine these people naked and sticky and enjoying themselves with a tub of margarine and "Ass Cleavage 8" on DVD? Do I need to imagine Dennis Hastert or Dick Cheney or Teddy Kennedy shirtless and sweaty to say, oh dear God please make it stop? Verily, no I do not.

All of this comes to mind as I read a curious little sidebar story that oozed out of the Eliot Spitzer hypocrisy-o-rama, a sweet tidbit from the Associated Press that was lost in the media maelstrom that surrounded an arrogant jackass governor who had regular sex with a skanky overpriced ex-cokehead hooker whose tell-all tome on the whole affair will very soon be available in the $2.99 remainder bin of your local Barnes & Noble.

This particular analysis, though, had nothing to do with the mysteries of adultery, or the various wicked ways power couples negotiate their relationships. Nor was it about how shocked everyone was at the going price of an upmarket call girl these days, or just what four grand per night actually buys you in 2008 (Toe sucking? Hot wax? Free in-vagina Wi-Fi?), nor was it a story questioning why prostitution is still illegal or what constitutes "true" hypocrisy or blah blah blah.

No, the sidebar I enjoyed most was the little tale about how ridiculously, how painfully, how incredibly common dumb hookups, sexual indiscretion, harassment, groping and leering and leeching and slimy come-ons are at the statehouse level in New York — and of course, by obvious extension, everywhere else.

It was the obvious but oft-forgotten conclusion that, when it comes to state government (and, no doubt, federal government too) it's still very much akin to one giant, dumb-as-snails frat house, maybe with fewer beer bongs and Fall Out Boy iPod mixes and vomiting on the rec room pool table, but with exactly as much sexist moronism, inept gropings, cheating and grunting and carefree abandonment of anything resembling good taste or genuine sensual awareness ... from both genders.

Did you already know? Did you understand that, for decades, senators in New York (and I'm sure everywhere else) used to corral their potential interns into one room and cherry pick the most attractive ones to be their aides? That lobbyists, staffers and even reporters who nail high-ranking lawmakers are called "big game hunters" and men who go after female lawmakers are "boy toys" and everyone meets at the same handful of local bars to mingle and hook up and drink heavily so as to numb the fact that they have nothing but razor blades and sawdust where their souls used to be?

I didn't. Or rather, I suppose I did have such info buried somewhere in my brain, but given the nature of this very news media, given how we treat scandal and sexuality in this nation as some sort of exception, as rare and shocking and worthy of childish moral panic, it sort of coerces you into forgetting. Or blocking it out. Or running away screaming.

Here's the problem: A Spitzer-like scandal hits and everyone gets to pretend it's actually a big deal, all shocked and appalled and gosh golly no! Dumb hookers and cocaine and cheap powermongering and stiff miserable wives who stand by their man looking like their small intestine is being gnawed by feral cats because they are just as morally and physically and sexually shut down as their hooker-lovin' husbands? Totally rare! Right.

By the way, John F. Kennedy could've changed everything. Even Bill Clinton came close. Handsome, slick, smart, charming as hell, sexually active, a hugely shameless appreciation of women. Sure he had regrettable trailer-grade Arkansas tastes, sure the infidelity aspect was a small moral snag, but he was still enormously popular and, oh my God, there was even a tiny opening, a moment when he could've shaken the very foundations of America's pseudo-Puritanism and instead of the "no relations with that woman" b.s., could've flipped it all over and changed America for good.

"Hell yes," (he could've said), "I love women, adore sex, am damn good at it, and besides, I'm sorry to say that Hillary and I haven't touched each other since the Carter administration. So while it's none of your goddamn business what I do in my private time with giggly chubby interns, I will say there's nothing the slightest bit wrong with enjoying sex and women and your body and it's what makes life worth living and more people should try it with respect and consent and lots of laughter and moaning and spare washcloths. Now get the hell off my lawn."

I know, crazy. I might as well be asking for a pink pony with a side of dark chocolate and Ecstasy and Kate Beckinsale. Pure fantasy.

So then, maybe positive, thoughtful sexual honesty and authenticity is, in its way, the final frontier of American politics, the one thing we in this deeply uptight land will perhaps never be able to ask of our politicians because, well, most people can barely ask it of themselves.

But the sad irony is, if we relaxed our ridiculous double standards a little and allowed our leaders to be more human and sticky and flawed and real when it comes to love and sex and desire — if we allowed them, in short, to be just like us — it might just help revolutionize politics and ultimately draw a far higher quality of person to serve us in the first place. Is that too much to ask? Yeah, I thought so.

Mark Morford's latest book is 'The Daring Spectacle: Adventures in Deviant Journalism'. Join Mark on Facebook and Twitter, or email him. His website is markmorford.com. For his yoga classes, workshops and retreats, click markmorfordyoga.com.

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