Sex acts on Provincetown beaches prompt outrage

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Frisky sun worshipers are flocking to have sex on the beach in Provincetown – but are sending horrified family vacationers packing, officals said.

Angry Cape Cod National Seashore officials said they are cracking down on public sex acts along the picturesque shoreline after the number of citations for public sex acts more than tripled, from an average of 40 to 132 last year. For the entire article go to bostonherald.com

All right, most of us have got to admit that this is pretty funny. Maybe not to the officials and some of the people of Provincetown. And surely not to the particular tourists who are offended by such visual stimuli. But the notion of various beach goers engaging en masse in sexual congress is reminiscent of the seals here in California comporting on the rocks in similar fashion.

No doubt, I can see where this offensive. I can see also where this is painful to the participants. Beach sand has a way of abrading the sensitive parts of the body, even when you are just lying there, taking in the sun. So this exhibitionist display has to rank somewhere between horniness, desperation and a touch of masochism thrown in.

We as a culture are imprinted with some of the more memorable sex scenes. The film, “From Here To Eternity,” ranked among the first and foremost, with Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr rolling around in the moonlit Hawaiian sand. It was pure romance, very hot and the kind of visage that has been talked about for years. But then the beach was deserted, the sex took place at night, or at least day for night, and it was only the two of them. Burt looked great and so did Deborah Kerr. If you are going to stare at two people making love, then that was, indeed, a good place to do the staring. And then of course there was the romantic, musical strings to accessorize the act.

But this, they say, is far from a deserted beach. It is not at night, but in broad daylight. No flashlights required for viewing. And for the most part the people don’t really look like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster. They look more like Floyd and Lloyd. And even then neither Floyd nor Lloyd has the build and looks of Burt Lancaster. Few do.

As for the romantic music. Hardly the lush strings of a cinema score, if there is music at all. Probably the main background sound is that of mournful sound of Fiddler Crabs, bemoaning their territorial losses. And at best the music is probably tinny in sound; it is the beach after all.

The whale watchers may be getting more than they bargained for, as do the families out for a picnic by the sea. It’s quite possible that if the Pilgrims who first landed at the not all that far away Plymouth Rock stumbled on this grunting tableau they might not have canceled out the new world concept and sailed on back to the old one. They were puritans, after all.

Part of the better ethic is to leave a place as you found it. In this case, leaving it sane, secure, and capable of conducting businesses without hearing a raft of complaints. With the economy bad enough, there is no reaosn for the insensitive to drive away the much needed business of any community.

Then there is the matter of aesthetic sensibilities, since this group groping does little to enhance it. And then the beach is a public place to be enjoyed by everyone without having to witness bad taste from any sector. I suppose, in the end, the group gropers should heed the time honored admonition and “get a room.”