Hubba Hubba

   

     

Well then, something clever about love. Hmmm, something….(oh, I’don’know) relevant, maybe inspiring. An electronic warm fuzzy. A story or parable drawn from my own experience that might ring true in yours. A ‘back slap’ of “Man, I been there” for those not having the best time of it romantically this February. Or a tale of love triumphant over…well, from my pen maybe just a cautionary tale. It’s the week of Valentine’s day, lets ponder the heart.

Love is a many splendent thing.

If we put aside the biological need to reproduce, for a second. Yes, yes thats the whole point, I know. But if we look at what that drive inflicts on the average Joe or Jane we should all be amazed anytime it works out at all, for what ever length of time. I mean to say, what is ‘attractive’,'desirable’ and worth pursuing for any one individual is such a personal thing, maybe the most important  underpinning for all ones choices. Yes Albuquerque is a nice town but what’s the Furry scene like? Ya know? But before the kinks and curves take over let’s cover the basics.

Now, I know that the vast majority of American men are completely crazy for breasts, but can I redirect your attention south? The female leg maybe the finest design laid out by the creator. Ya know God is a leg man! Boobs? What? Yeah we’ll make um bigger or smaller, or maybe take some time with point or ‘aim’ but did you every see a set that looked , I don’t know, unfinished, like he had other places to be ( thigh sculpting perhaps?). I know that gravity and the environment are harsh mistresses especially on part so out there, leading the way. But you don’t hear a lot about plastic surgeons adding implants to a calf ’cause it’s smaller than the other one. There’s nothing more intoxicating than a great pair of legs walking toward you. Except, in a cruel twist of logistics, maybe when they’re walking away. But as men we like to look.

Women, I gather from years of field research, would prefer to feel. Whether it’s a talented set of hands or a look in there lover’s eyes that (somehow) touches off emotions long locked in some formative experience. Some tone of voice that their man possesses that out stripes the fact that he’s dumpy, broke or even abusive. The men who, god bless ‘um, cant seem to cultivate that kind of response, who don’t pay enough attention to the little (sometimes weird) things that set their women off are the ones who mope around crying “She never wants to sleep with me”, or “I can’t get her to start it”. So then she gets bored, his frustration leads to cheating and they both end up at square one…”You come here often?”. But hey!They save money on cards and chocolate.

One that’s built to last.

But let’s say you do get it together. You find something that makes your knees weak, somebody that makes you drool a bit. That wonderful someone that has you doing and saying silly things, putting up with habits and attitude you’d normally run screaming from. And maybe you get two minutes of ‘aaaaahhhh life is good’. But it’s work. Like everything else worth having you’ve got to be ‘on it’ all the time. Fires go out and the life built around such flames are even more flammable than the lust that touched it off. But unlike ‘work’ it can be a calling. With any luck you get to a place where you want to jump outta bed and make her breakfast, make that ‘just cause’ phone call and balance her check book. And when it’s really good your a team. You can finish each others stories, short hand and codes are developed to move through the day, to prosperity. You and I against world. Even if it’s not a jams and jellies operation outta the kitchen. It’s a united front of love and support that makes it worth making it something more than an orgasm and a sheepish exchange of numbers in the morning.

And then what, kids? Trying to distill your two beings into a third, or fourth etc. When you really test that love that blinded you to what a huge under taking that is. But how else are you gonna live forever. Lou Reed has a line about “…raising my own pall bearers to carry me to grave”, who else is gonna tell the stories about you. That’s the pride in fatherhood. For women it’s the intense bond developed from having the little bugger growing inside you. For men it’s a puffing of the chest with the realization that “My line will live on, past me”.

Anyway, I hope this holiday finds you well. Don’t dwell on the commercialism too much. Try and make some time to lay in each others arms, maybe play some sappy music that only you two like, and know how lucky you are. Despite all the crazy and obstacle that life chucks at ya, you have someone. And, if that luck holds, it may be the same person next year.