Forthwith, a brief glimpse of my shifting libidinous proclivities over the years:
As was the case for many people my age, "10" sent my adolescent self into a slavering frenzy. That tawny body in that matching one-piece. ("Dude! When you squint, she looks totally naked!") The slow-motion jogging. The neighbor's orgies. And acres of lovely, pert bosoms. All I remembered of the plot was the Bolero sex scene and Nedra Volz farting.
The movie came on pay-cable recently, and I watched it for the first time in about ten years. As I did, I was again smitten by a feminine ideal. She strode into the scene in that clingy turtleneck sweater and snug jeans, and all I could think was "Damn, that Julie Andrews has got it going on."
I suppose in another 25 years, I'll be getting all horned up for Nedra Volz.