The whole notion of sexual promiscuity is ridiculously relative, writes Quentin Fottrell.
WALK DOWN a busy street in a European capital with a beautiful woman: men will turn their heads or say something complimentary.
In Italy, the object of their affections could be a smirking Mona Lisa. In The Netherlands, a voluptuous, proud Venus at the Mirror. In France, she might be a sensual, demure Camille Monet.
In Dublin, the men are more likely to resemble those paranoid, slightly gawpy, eyeball-rolling portraits by Graham Knuttel.
Irish men might nudge each other, salivate like Pavlov's dogs, steal a furtive glance when they think she doesn't see them, and look away embarrassed if she does. Or, one way to retain power, ignore her.
I know a girl who never believed men thought she was beautiful until she went to New York on a J1 visa. Her newfound confidence ebbed away on her return. An Irishman's idea of a chat-up line? The first thing that comes into his head after a fistful of pints.
Repression and aggression are two sides of the same coin. However, in cultures with a confident and open attitude to sex and sexuality, catching a woman's eye on the street is seen as a potent expression of pure joy.
It does not, according to 26 per cent of respondents in that shocking Irish Examiner/Red C poll, mean women "bear some responsibility" if they are attacked. Being proud of your body and embracing your sexuality is not an offer of sex.
Queer As Folk, The L Wordand Sex and the Cityexplore gay, lesbian and heterosexual sexcapades. The forthcoming big-screen version of Sex and the City, in particular, reminds people that it's okay to be single, sexually active and of a certain age. But the Mary Tyler Moore Showdid the same thing almost four decades ago with its own single 30-something Mary Richards. It is a pride in and ownership of your sexuality that resonates with the gay community.
Seán Millar's Silver Stars, a series of real-life stories of older gay men at Project Arts Centre last week, included many moving performances, including one powerful scene where actor Neil Watkins channelled the recorded voice of Jesuit theologian John McNeill. Born in 1925 in New York to parents from Co Roscommon, McNeill spent years fleeing his sexuality. When he eventually found it, and the love it brought, he said he found his "authentic self".
We are still searching for that authentic self after the church's reign of fear and loathing. Like the chilling cries of a dying beast, the Vatican uses the dehumanising term "objectively disordered" to describe homosexuals, feeding a culture of hatred, suicide, homophobia and gay-bashing. It's been a long road: in my old school, a Christian Brother wrote "masturbation" in capitals on the blackboard. Some laughed or went pale with fear. Others, like me, did both.
Sex can be an expression of love between consenting adults, and should be responsible and safe, but it is also a potent form of physical/emotional communication.
According to last week's Today FM/Red C poll for the Ray D'Arcy Show, while only 7 per cent of listeners are bi-curious, bisexual or homosexual, 21 per cent have had some same-sex experience or do not rule it out. Just 3 per cent of respondents do not think you should have premarital sex.
Men are studs if you want to admire/desire them, women are sluts if you want to demean/judge them, but the whole notion of promiscuity is ridiculously relative. Are five one-night stands worse than 10 five-night stands? Is one partner out of wedlock worse than five husbands? If you have had sex with nine people, are 10 promiscuous? If seminarians secretly have sex with each other, as some do, is that like a tree falling in a forest that nobody hears?
We are more sexually adventurous than ever. We have the trappings of liberation, but our attitude to our sexual lives is a work in progress. We talk about sexual behaviour anonymously in surveys and, after a few drinks, gab about it in cocktail bars. But how do we feel about it after the fact? Oddly, celibacy and a healthy sexual appetite appear to be no-nos: young people strive to lose their virginity, while older people become born-again virgins when they decide to settle down.
And those between those two unbearable states of being? On the Ray D'Arcy Showlast week, where I moonlight as advice columnist, we received an e-mail from a girl who described another girl as having a "reputation". She did not mean a "reputation" for scrabble or sudoku. I refused to finish her thought. It's a tut-tut-at-the-garden-gate-in-your-slippers gender-specific word. Men get a free pass, again, while women and men get to judge other women.
We have sex when we are in love, searching for love, lonely or, hang on to your bonnets, because we like it. Sometimes a nice cup of tea just doesn't cut it.
Judging by the latest Red C poll, Ireland has earned quite the "reputation" too. Isn't it marvellous? We are living our lives. We are almost free. The last thing we need to do is fill the void with more guilt and shame. It's time to stop judging other people for having sex and, while we're at it, stop judging ourselves.