Sex. Now if you’re a Ken doll and lack the necessary equipment or worse, married, to which your anointed marital vows has subsequently withered your once fertile genitalia into abated reflection of human twiglet, then you may not be familiar with this ritualistic diversion. Allow me to elaborate. *Clears throat* You see when one gaming character loves another games character very much, then they light some scented candles, casually distributing fragrant rose petals across their sumptuously innate bed. With the lights dimmed, the candles flickering delicate light across the bohemian décor and the drapes laced with fine embroidered velvet. The reticent ambient light emitted by the candles arouses placid aperture through the blanketing darkness and the redolent scent that derives from the wicks extraneous vapours, contracting their nostrils and reducing their inhibitions to their most intimate. With the sensuous compliment of Marvin Gaye reciting lurid notations with suave his larynx generating the palpable, audited sense of rhythmic ecstasy. Their sudden erratic cavorting sends the richly emblazoned cushions, insulated with goose feathers tumbling like iridescent rain drops to. They whisper barely audible flattery and……
Well lets not embellish the sensitivity too perversely, because we already have games that to exacerbate these mostly salubrious activities for us. Sex scenes in games has become somewhat of a sustained thematic with previously ambiguous heroes suddenly possessing indomitable propensities. In GTA, excluding the infamous “Black Coffee” mini game, the inclusion has remained justifiable and often subverted behind anecdotal insinuation. Vehicular transgressions with vagrant prostitutes implies that a sexually lurid activity is being conducted, as the cars suspension groans in synchronised unison with the ethically illiterate companion. But even persistent deviance to manipulate the camera to a more dastardly accommodating perspective, only reveals that the inhabitance of Los Santos possess such seminal fluidity and vaginally infiltrating proficiency, that even the woollen stitching of clothing is not a restricted construct. Commander Shepard is similarly afflicted by the need for sexual congress, and is capable of fornication with almost any crew member regardless of sexual orientation, species or even the probable restriction that many of his crew’s reproductive ambiguity are capable of facilitating such intimate *cough* accommodation, or adequately endowed to accord contributive insemination. Ew! I don’t even want to think about the intimate liaisons between Commander “In space nobody can hear you hump” Shepard and the appropriately named Krogan, “Grunt”. Imagine the various solvents and anal lubricants needed?! Perhaps the dispersal of human venereal disease could be the real acumen behind the Krogan Genothage?
Submerged amongst the lucid maligned tones of isolation, the morally empathetic trauma sustained by emotionally stunted father Ethan Mars of Heavy Rain. Who despite the loss of a digit, the moral ambivalence of killing a drug dealer, pirouetting over electrical currents as well as the frenetic, often hopeless search for his kidnapped son, who remains incarcerated in a perpetual aquatic tomb. Ethan, in-spite of his crippling degenerative psychosis, still acquired enough time for matrimonial infidelity. But it wasn’t the levity of the of the intimacy, the abstract symbolism of removing an a love interests shirt by holding L1 and thrusting the nob…I mean stick…I mean the controller thing up, nor the unnecessary elongation of kisses that made them look like two malnourished Rottweilers chewing the same toffee. But it was the precision at which Ethan was able to liberate her breasts from her cleavage with just simple tap of a button! Seriously, it takes the average male roughly 10 minutes to loosen the bonding fastenings of a ladies brassiere, and ample dexterity to successfully achieve such an emancipating accolade. But this demeaning venture fades in comparison to the verbose exposition that culminates in some of the most farcical depictions of eroticism since Vern Troy’s sex tape (no! Don’t look it up.), courtesy of Dragon Age: Origins. With sequences consisting of negligible connotations, optimised by alluring expressions such as “We must share our blessings”, harmonic musical compendium appropriated from some 70’s pornographic feature and interactions that were rigidly contrived and so nonsensical that I half expected a plumber to announce his visitation to the proceedings (and the last thing you need is Mario indulging his sexually repressed libido).
So what has activated gaming characters to engage in nocturnal entreating? What’s the catalyst for their sudden carnally robust epiphany? To exemplify their maturity? To attract the attention of adolescent teens desperate to depict scenarios of fornication between lesbians? I don’t know. But the lack of foreplay, cuddling and belated cigarette to mark the occasion is just negligent. What kind of message are we sending. Won’t someone please think of the children!