sex, sex, sex
Why do we care about some people and not others?
In my case, it was because she took a storm, the kind that have huge waves crashing ferociously against the rocks and the trees all bending and shimmying in the wind, and stuck it all behind her eyes. And you think the storm will pass and you’ll get that quiet, beautiful moment that makes you forget all about it.
But that’s because you assume she’s from Earth.
On other planets there are storms that last thousands of years. Jaw-dropping beauty but very little quiet. Better viewed from a distance.
So it’s time to put away the telescope, or even the binoculars, and pick up a magnifying glass Sherlock Holmes-style.
Well, if Sherlock Holmes had a baby with Alfred Kinsley. Which given the topic, is not only horrifying to imagine but disturbing on a number of other levels. Definitely plumbing you want to avoid plumbing if you catch my drift. I would have gone with Virginia Johnson, but her husband William Masters might have gotten upset… if he hadn’t died twenty years ago.
Again, given their chosen field of study, he could have had some real conflicted feelings about it (although I doubt Virginia would have had any qualms about banging Sherlock Holmes. I suspect she would have gone all Padma Deva on him at the first opportunity).
William would, however, conclude without a moment’s hesitation that this is one clusterfuck of a story. As usual, I start out quite poetic, with only the noblest intentions to relate a quick romantic musing, and then lurch unprovoked into some odd examination of my subconscious.
I could have just as easily lurched into some astronomy references, but no, it’s right back into s e x. I’m not even going to dignify the letters by capitalizing them. I stoically fought against the urge to have Sigmund Freud weigh in on the roaring wetness and dancing timber in the second paragraph and then went as far as to set up a great opportunity to delve into some charming star and space metaphors, but nope. I just couldn’t help myself.
Sex, sex, sex.
Why do we want to have sex with some people and not others?
I should have just opened with that.
“To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen…. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.”
–The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1892) Dr. Watson in “A Scandal in Bohemia” (Doubleday p. 161)
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