Back in the day, when I was young, free, and nimble, this video defined SEX. I had never seen anything more titillatingly arousing. Quintuplets with man-pleasing lips, wearing next to nothing, who knew how to play their instruments. The masterstroke was to have them seem content to be backing Robert Palmer, a sweaty, podgy, high-pant waisted everyman. If they were pleasuring him -- and they clearly were -- who wouldn't they be content with? The video was in heavy rotation, thank the gods, and so I was able to study the minutiae, down to whose areolae were most visible under the clingy black elastic of their stretch cotton. Back then, I mastered the art of shooting my load in the three minutes of bacchanalia Palmer offered six or seven times a day. But what is remarkable about watching this video twenty two (yes, 22!) years later is how safe and innocent it appears. The hem line of the guitar player on the right is just above her knees. What felt so risque in that time (1985) and that place (I lived in suburban Chicago) are now safe enough for an Amy Grant video.
Submitted by Steve Lavin, Chicago