We from the Baba’s regiment aren't accustomed to having our way in the world, despite our assumptions of superiority. We're continually forced to watch the favored “Dildo Males” reap a bloody lopsided share of the spoils: inflated incomes, professional pats on the back, enhanced socioeconomic standing and the attentions of comely women, frequently including their wives they are what you call ideal case of closet perverts.
Watch them stroll into the office on a Monday morning, their bodies still humming from strokes of freshly received pleasure. Such men appear to have ball-bearings for joints, so loose and fluid are their movements. They roll visibly on their hips as they make their presentations; they exude effortless energy like weather vanes twirling in a breeze; they tend to look a decade younger than their years. Their character varies from a kindergarten kid to an 80 yr old grand pa, right from No, no I want a kissy from you to praise thy lord I am just a humble soul.... bloody super blowjobs.
By contrast, we the polythene hawks and codeiners are easy to recognize: tense, lumpy, prematurely graying, and already primed for our first heart attacks. Deprived of a woman's heart, Carnal monsters, we have seldom loved anyone on our bed... our bodies produce no calming endorphins to ease their burdened nerves. As our arteries fill with fatal sludge, so do our souls. Rumpled and morose, we’re labeled as “Gone case”, God has given up on us and so has the rest of creation.
Love-starved men fed on sex can be dangerous; when their frustrations of not finding life anywhere near them overcome what's left of their senses, they're alarmingly prone to florid outbursts of psychopathic behavior. You can be reasonably sure that there switch to drug world is triggered by lack of soul mate. Atlast that’s what
On the other hand, frustration in the realm of Venus can propel stronger men to greatness. George Washington longed for the lovely Sally Fairfax (one could fall in love with her name alone, redolent of mirthful eyes behind the aristocratic facade!), but fickle fortune had made her the wife of his best friend. So the noble first president of Big Brother
So why do most of us feel like such abject losers when we're starved for love?
For any man or woman with a dollop of romantic imagination, what kills us is the perception of life ill-spent: month after withering month of mundane intercourse with an indifferent world, devoid of the nurturing solace and soul-recognition, the flights of joy and fancy, the soothing sense of paradise found that we experience only in the embrace and conversations of a true lover. The lovelorn are exiles from bliss and the imaginative lovelorn suffer most of all in their bleak Siberias. Weird things happen... you end up being brother of your Girl Friend or going bonkers over a married woman and when its you... its not funny...at least during the start.
What a different path my own life has taken! My romantic history would befit Mr. Hyde, the introvert sober...invisible in crowd Dr. Jekyll. Dr. Jekyll, as you might recall, would exist in a state of rational inertia, and then suddenly erupt in a consuming frenzy of passionate disturbance all around. Hyde’s appetite sated, will revert to same inert life. At one time you refuse the one whom you chased for few months and at times end up having multiple sex with Mrs. Robinsons of this world.
And so do I. Fortunately I remain more human than carnal monster for larger stretch of year; lately the interval has been reduced to two or three months. But revert I do, into collections of abstract knowledge, writing blogs like this, collecting volumes of eighteenth-century English prose and medieval Urdu poetry, evenings at Kebab Magic, bird watching, making nature trips, trekking and long walks along wooded streams. Or so I used to do before turning into a horny monster fornicating with anyone and anything remotely female.
Maybe I've been a latent alpha male all along, merely downtrodden by my woeful status as a liberal science graduate in the business world. I'm big and burly enough to pass for an alpha; I take long strides and spread myself powerfully at a conference table; my voice and laughter boom across the room and down the hall if I want. Choosing to pass unwanted comments and one liners at the most inappropriate time.
But no, some vital gene has always been missing; I'm constitutionally incapable of managing people, managing relationships, of seizing opportunities, of using the talents and energies of mine or others as is the custom to further my own interests. I'm tentative and vulnerable in negotiations, hapless in winning support for my ideas. Cursed with the ability to see both sides of an issue, I'm rarely swift and sure in my decisions. I exude no menace unless I make an effort to furrow my brow. If I am tired I won’t quit and move out I will lose the game to get thrown out leaving behind a happy and satisfied winner.
Worst of all, I'm inclined to be whimsical.
Whimsy can be a charming trait in the right hands, but we don't associate it with power. The majority of whimsical men are probably gay. Such men appear to be comfortable in their traditional role as companions and court jesters to wealthy women -- and with the fact that the women overlook them as potential lovers.
But woe unto the whimsical man who courts a woman; though he gains the initial advantage through the beguilement of his conversation, he rarely wields any lasting power over her. She might grant him her favors for a time; she might delight in the refreshing sensuousness of his lovemaking. But ultimately his kindness and whimsy prove to be his undoing. His most civilized traits have only proven that he's not an alpha male. His genes won't do. He is not cut out for establishing relations, standing true to commitment.
Women have been programmed for eons to seek males who can protect them from marauding Neanderthals and saber-toothed tigers. Deprived until recently of the opportunity to pursue their own ambitions, they've hitched themselves to ambitious men... the corporate jocks, hungry achievers, smooth talkers and high-libido womanizers who answer to the description of alpha male. These Darwinian winners promise high social status and robust offspring; a woman would have to be pretty obtuse or someone like D to overlook their appeal.
Of course, alpha males often prove to be less than congenial companions. Wit and kindness rank low on their list of priorities. They spend much of their discretionary time watching televised sports. They tend to be quick and perfunctory in bed; they take sex as big favour done to the female kind. Their emphasis on quality over quantity drives them to seek comfort in the arms of nubile nymphets. Most unforgivably, they sometimes use their power to hold women in thrall, tossing them an occasional table scrap of affection to watch the poor creatures grovel at their feet. It's a sorry spectacle. Bloody Blowjobs...
But more often than not, these men fulfill their promise: they provide handsomely, maintain the domestic infrastructure, procreate and help raise a new generation of genetically desirable offspring.
We are not going in that direction not because we don’t want to, how doesn’t want a good life with respect of fellow humans. We don’t go in that direction because we are not meant to go that way. God makes heroes and he also creates villains it’s a mere destiny to see in which basket you are put for this life time. There are people who try to change baskets and die with mad cow disease. Even I tried once maybe twice... I have learnt it the hard way burnt my fingers whenever I tried. Love is for chosen few sooner you understand that you are not the one easier your life becomes. God made Codeine and 6 inch foil for us, like Sharad says “Yaar Zindagi saali 6 inch ki foil banker eh gayi hai” ( Life is nothing but 6inch foil for me).
So be it...Chemicals – bring it on!!!
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