ramblings part 3
If one really was a pure scientist, one could go forward.. existing on the belief that love, attraction, desire and sex, were all just chemical reactions.
The fizz in our brain from a Molotov cocktail of hormones, expectations, and experiences. The neural snap, crackle and pop of everything we are, everything we eat, and everything we think. And worse.. the base evoluntionary drive within us.
The urge to jump each other based on the idea of the pretty children we might have and how (for the jumpee), said jumper seems able to rear and protect em. Jumper of course has sized jumpee up based on the width of her hips, the balance of her features and the shininess of her eyes, and if he caught a wiff of her, on her ability to spawn children at this precise moment.. hormonally speaking.
This is why we primp and preen. This is why we live, forage and exist. Our only goal apparently.. is the propogation of the species. Our only reason for breathing and continuing on. We should not delude ourselves that we are any better than a bunch of horny bunnies. We bonk to multiply, so they say - we just cant help it.
That sounds great, until I look no further than my own experience. I am athletically built, occasionally skinny. Scoring real low.. in other words.. on the ideal hip to waist ratio (read : straight up and down). This hasn’t seemed to cause any kind of lag in my social life however. Balanced features? Well.. not really, a sort of mixture of far from perfect that seems to work well enough for me. Shiny eyes? Erm. Nope on that. I am blind as a bat and always wearing contacts. I am about as shiny eyed as yesterdays catch of the day. How about my urge to reproduce? It seems I didn’t get that memo. I am 33, and still no rug-rats, despite being married once and in several long term relationships. The plumbing has since packed it in, and even the scent of my infertility seems to not have driven them away, as I still do ok on a Saturday night, don’t worry about me.
How about my choice in man? Am I desperately seeking a man that can impregnate me regularly and provide for my imaginary off-spring.. regardless? (maybe my daft cave lady brain hasn’t faced reality?) Well the only credence I can give to that one, is the way I always seem to find my way into the arms of men with no hair, which seems to be some sort of testosterone thing. I suspect that has more to do with the fact that lack of hair is kinda the norm in most men over 30 these days, than any clever plot perpetrated by my biologies to snare me a man with loads of swimmers.
Rich men? Yeah, that’s alright, but the evidence points that I have been with as many rich men as poor, and have normally made up my mind about wether I fancy them long before I even have a clue what they do for a living. I have also had internet romances.. so I don’t need to sniff my men to fall for them.
Someone else had a theory.. a more grown up theory.. that takes it from there. That perhaps, we bonk to bond. To form social groupings. To keep said social groupings in place to allow us to function as a society.. because we cant all be hermits, because hermits don’t get a whole lot of sex. We have to be nice to each other (because we actually don’t really like anyone besides ourselves), because we want to keep on bonking. Its not really about kids.. it’s about sex.. and maintaining a system that will allow for sexual opportunities to continue to present themselves. Kids are a by-product of all that sex (mostly). Whoever it was that came up with the theory (or maybe it was me? I don’t think so.. hmm) felt it had something to do with the idea that very few animal species have sex just for the pure jollies of it, like we do, and the ones that do have sex for the jollies, are animals in which social groupings form an integral and important part of the survival of the individual, as well as the unit.
Now that’s a theory I prefer. It explains a lot. BDSM goes along with this theory nicely. Allow me to manipulate things to suit my purpose. We tolerate each other, and function as a society.. in order to ensure that we get regular sex right? (see above).. but what is it about the sex that we really fancy? Its not the getting dirty part.. it’s the kick.. obviously. The rush. That moment of pure pleasure. We are addicted to it. BDSMers have just realized that we can supersize that kick.. that thing we crave.. that thing we live for.. by combining the pleasures of pain and control.. adding a little roofie to that cocktail. We are the evolution.
Ok, I havent refined it.. but it’s a place to start *goes to bed*.