"It was pleasant in a way. It was almost enjoyment. But anyhow, with all the cocktails, all the lying in warmish water and sun-bathing on hot sand in hot sun, jazzing with your stomach up against some fellow in the warm nights, cooling off with ices, it was a complete narcotic. And that was what they all wanted, a drug: the slow water, a drug; the sun, a drug; jazz, a drug; cigarettes, cocktail, ices, vermouth. To be drugged! Enjoyment! Enjoyment!

Venice Beach, 1920 (wrong Venice, I know!).
Pinched from Tropics of Meta.
Hilda half liked being drugged. She like looking at all the women, speculating about them. The women were absorbingly interested in the women. How does she look? what man has she captured? what fun is she getting out of it?--The men were like great dogs in white flannel trousers, waiting to be patted, waiting to wallow, waiting to plaster some woman's stomach against their own, in jazz.

Hilda liked jazz, because she could plaster her stomach against the stomach of some so-called man, and let him control her movements from the visceral centre, here and there across the floor, and then she could break loose and ignore 'the creature.' He had been merely made use of." (266)

Lawrence, D.H. Lady Chatterley's Lover. Stockholm: Jan Förlag, 1956 [1928].

Poor men and their flannels, never catch a break.