Mortified and mystified by this business of show

Sometimes, when I say I’m not like other people, I must admit I’m boasting. Other times, though, I’m simply stating a fact without the slightest bit of editorial bias.

This, then, is one of those other times. When I state that I don’t understand why you’re all so totally preoccupied with sex, I’m not suggesting it’s a bad thing. I just happen to find it mystifying.

If everybody wondered how it was that Einstein came up with his theory or how Gershwin composed “Rhapsody in Blue” or how on earth Dali learned to paint that way, I’d understand the curiosity factor because those accomplishments are unique. What I can’t fathom is how and why voyeurism caught on in such a big way. Let’s face it, in our society, if you’re over the age of, say, 14, there’s a good chance you’ve experienced sex. That being the case, how is it that so many of you 30- and 40- and 50-year-olds are quite prepared to invest hours and hours and countless dollars in pornography? Call it a hobby, a pastime or an addiction, but I’m betting that golf doesn’t even run a close second.

I accept that I’m an oddball. I just never considered sex a spectator sport. I never even liked it when mainstream moviemakers spiced up their product with a lot of heavy breathing. I don’t enjoy watching characters I care about thrashing about in bed.

To tell you the truth, when such steamy antics take place in a movie, the first thing that comes to my mind is to wonder how the assorted husbands and wives, parents and children, friends and significant others of the actors are reacting. Am I the only person in America who is embarrassed at the notion of what some people will actually do for money and their names above the title?

A staple of the movies is the dynamic of what they call sexual tension. The question isn’t merely “Will the stars fall in love?” It’s “When will they fall into bed?” Of course, all along I’m the one person in the audience who keeps hoping that the inevitable coupling will take place off-screen, the way it did in the old days when the Hayes Code dictated that billowing bedroom curtains, the surf pounding on the shore, and the locomotive entering a tunnel told us everything we needed to know.

In recent years, things have only gotten worse for me, as things have become even more blatant in the movies. But for the first time, I think that others are beginning to feel as I do. I believe I have Woody Allen, of all people, to thank for this gradual turnaround. Instead of movie audiences dying to see the stars getting down and dirty, thanks to Woody, they’re beginning to want more talking and less smooching.

Sure, I hear you saying, but he’s a special case. Even when he was younger, before the bad publicity, it wasn’t all that pleasant watching him play kissy-face with the likes of Mia Farrow and Mira Sorvino. Well, frankly, I don’t think very many people found the notion of Sean Connery fondling Catherine Zeta-Jones in “Entrapment” a major turn-on, and I’d say the box office returns bear me out.

It’s not just the age difference that makes me want to look away during these scenes. Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton are age-appropriate, but I can’t believe that I’m the only person who would have preferred not having to sit through close-ups of those two lip-locking in “Something’s Gotta Give.” I will admit, though, that if Jack and Amanda Peet had done any heavy necking early on, the “something” that would have “given” might well have been my lunch.

Finally, although I have no way of proving it, I’d be willing to bet that all the honors being bestowed on Sofia Coppola and her “Lost in Translation” owe more than a little to the fact that Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson did not break their mutual monotony by tumbling onto the sheets.

Still, I’m no closer to solving the mysterious allure of voyeurism. What is the reason that explains why so many of you prefer watching to doing when that’s not the case with other recreational pursuits, such as gin rummy, softball, bowling or chess? What is it about sex in the movies, magazines, cable and the Internet that so enthralls you folks?

Is it possible that the actual appeal of virtual sex is simply that nobody has to get dressed and go home afterward?

Burt Prelutsky is a North Hills-based writer whose credits include the TV series “Diagnosis Murder” and “MASH” and the book “Conservatives Are From Mars, Liberals Are From San Francisco.”