It's not a news flash that women are supposed to peak sexually at 30, and by the look of things, that ain't no lie. As I draw closer (I turn 28 in a couple weeks), my inner hormonal troglodytes hunt with increasing ferocity ending in comical, heart wrenching results. I wish Dr. Drew would make a house call and explain it to me and then demonstrate. "Ms. Cheatham, it goes like this..." and then he takes off his glasses and tie and tells me insider Loveline fun facts naked...wait...what happened...?
The statistics that boast many women well into their thirties have yet to climax boggles my mind, and I wonder if they have similar urgings. I was five the first time I remember finding my own fantastical happy place, and haven't looked back, really. Men are a treasure in so many ways, it was only a matter of eight more years before I put the two together-partially-and then another five before it was full copulation time. Again, all systems go. My thirties will be like the Olympics to an already decorated Pole Vaulter. That's right, Pole Vaulter.
I rarely yearn for a man to complete my familial triumvirate though, that's the biggest puzzle. I've pictured a select few in that realm, not the general male population on the whole. I'm completely side-tracked by the glimpse of V-shaped torso putting groceries into the trunk of his car. I've always looked, but now it's a leer/linger, fantasies nattering. If this is a fraction like what men go through on a daily basis from puberty forth, I understand things a bit more than ever before. Those young bucks too, have made brief stints in steamy daydreams, however inappropriate or inconvenient (alas, my crotch belongs to the older ones). I blame my lady junk.
Being a mama compounds the immediacy for a dude as I get older, I feel it. I've already pro-created, so I'm not doing the cliched manhunt-for-offspring thing that thirty-something women get harangued for. I'm doing the manhunt for the sake of delicious man/potential father thing. It might be the same. In a previous post 'Homo Erectus Defectus', I examined the biology of sex appeal etc., (look in my archives and read-up if you haven't it's fascinating) and I maintain a similar scientific take on it.
As far as I'm concerned I'm A-OK on my own (staying just to "have someone" isn't in my vocab), and have an exceptional kid to prove it. I'm holding out for both of us. According to my nether regions however, I need to get down on some man meat ALL DAY EVERYDAY and keep him around for fringe father benefits. It's almost as if I've acquired a meddling Jewish mother who's in cahoots with my ovaries and they're plotting to get me hitched or mated or diddled...without my consent. ALL DAY EVERYDAY. And I still have 2 years to go.
As I notice good-looking men, I get lost. In the space of five seconds, I give not only intimate porno-graphic consideration, but fatherhood assessment in the after glow. I've almost hit other cars, walked into sedentary objects while looking directly at them, and subconsciously slid into the saucy hip waggle that every woman gives out of pure lust. The most ironic part, is when they look back, I'm embarrassed (that I've been ogling) or incensed (that some one's checking me out whilst with my child, nothing says "I'm together!" like biological bi-polarity). If I could wink and make it seem on purpose, maybe the title would be My Own Purveyor instead. But I don't, and it isn't. It's jank.
In this post-feminist place we reside-although we don't really get along anyway, I'd rather live along side it than preach it at people-still I catch bullshit from my very cellular make-up, my feminine wiles. What the hell is the point of being so singular for so long, if later I'd be rendered befuddled for it? Mutiny, I say. Inevitable and not personal, but still mutiny.
At the risk of being my own C-block (too late), I know this will dissipate. When she's in school and I have space to breathe, when we're financially stable (the new american dream?), when I have time/wherewithal to discreetly, anonymously prowl and pounce like the cougar I'm apparently posturing to become. When I have a social life again, and just being around other peers will take the edge off. I apologize to all those I've unjustly scoffed at all the way around (the women in my spot and beyond, the men I've mixed signaled). Getting older is a crap shoot of contradiction. I'm ready for a rousing game of sanity Slap jack. Who's game?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment