Received wisdom has it that the egg is more valuable than the seed.
Don’t ask me to wheel out the neo-darwinian arguments. Alas, I can’t be bothered. Others can do it better than I.
Apparently my seed only has value if I can persuade an egg carrier that she should unite her egg to my seed, not to that of another seeder.
In and of itself my seed has no appeal. Even if I am a nice, charming, pleasant enough guy, it exerts no allure. It might only do so if I can persuade myself to perform a certain song and dance ritual, embarrassing to my dignity, antagonistic to the establishment of uncompetitive peace amongst men; a ritual marking me out in the eyes of egg carriers as that sort of a seeder, by implication the carrier of that kind of seed, worthy of her egg.
The implication of this ‘dance, the prerequisite for seeder success’ is that the egg carrier is a passive recipient;that she cannot think for herself, outside the conventions of this dance, concerning what kind of seed she might want for her egg. She, never he, is the one who receives offers. And the offers that come, when they come, must be mediated by the dance.
The idea seems seldom if ever to float that she herself might be the huntress. Strong enough, moreover, not to need ‘warrior types’, those deemed macho enough to protect and feed her offspring. Seeking out seed for her eggs, deciding for herself from amongst the seeders she sees whom she might approach to persuade to part with their seed.
Would I be offended if a woman wanted my seed? Came up to me and asked me, saying ‘give me your seed’; seduced me, wooed me, won me. Did all the work. While my gaze was set on the majesty above, contemplating wondrousness.
I think not. If she wanted my money and my soul and the lifeblood of my mind, maybe. But my seed? Why, not at all. After all, I have what seems to be a plentiful and free, ever gushing supply!
As long as I had the right to say no, of course. Just as women currently do in their role as vetter of we males. We, who so constantly, pitifully throw ourselves at women, women primed to test and reject us.
It could be of course that I only write the above because I am a hopeless courter of women.
According to Maureen Dowd in her darkly titled book “Are Men Necessary” women feel that men who do not ‘make all the running’, do the necessary leg work, dance the good dance, are therefore for that reason selfish and narcissistic, not good father material.
Remarkable.
Since when has not imposing yourself on women, not lying to them, not bragging and boasting, not flattering them into bed, not competing with other men to impress them, been selfish?
Oh well, each to their own of course. And I know what that means, for me and my seed.
Don’t ask me to wheel out the neo-darwinian arguments. Alas, I can’t be bothered. Others can do it better than I.
Apparently my seed only has value if I can persuade an egg carrier that she should unite her egg to my seed, not to that of another seeder.
In and of itself my seed has no appeal. Even if I am a nice, charming, pleasant enough guy, it exerts no allure. It might only do so if I can persuade myself to perform a certain song and dance ritual, embarrassing to my dignity, antagonistic to the establishment of uncompetitive peace amongst men; a ritual marking me out in the eyes of egg carriers as that sort of a seeder, by implication the carrier of that kind of seed, worthy of her egg.
The implication of this ‘dance, the prerequisite for seeder success’ is that the egg carrier is a passive recipient;that she cannot think for herself, outside the conventions of this dance, concerning what kind of seed she might want for her egg. She, never he, is the one who receives offers. And the offers that come, when they come, must be mediated by the dance.
The idea seems seldom if ever to float that she herself might be the huntress. Strong enough, moreover, not to need ‘warrior types’, those deemed macho enough to protect and feed her offspring. Seeking out seed for her eggs, deciding for herself from amongst the seeders she sees whom she might approach to persuade to part with their seed.
Would I be offended if a woman wanted my seed? Came up to me and asked me, saying ‘give me your seed’; seduced me, wooed me, won me. Did all the work. While my gaze was set on the majesty above, contemplating wondrousness.
I think not. If she wanted my money and my soul and the lifeblood of my mind, maybe. But my seed? Why, not at all. After all, I have what seems to be a plentiful and free, ever gushing supply!
As long as I had the right to say no, of course. Just as women currently do in their role as vetter of we males. We, who so constantly, pitifully throw ourselves at women, women primed to test and reject us.
It could be of course that I only write the above because I am a hopeless courter of women.
According to Maureen Dowd in her darkly titled book “Are Men Necessary” women feel that men who do not ‘make all the running’, do the necessary leg work, dance the good dance, are therefore for that reason selfish and narcissistic, not good father material.
Remarkable.
Since when has not imposing yourself on women, not lying to them, not bragging and boasting, not flattering them into bed, not competing with other men to impress them, been selfish?
Oh well, each to their own of course. And I know what that means, for me and my seed.
1 comment:
As long as I had the right to say no, of course. Just as women currently do in their role as vetter of we males.
It's a curious thing, but I noticed that while women may say "no" with propriety, men may do so only at the expense of being considered rude, wrong or even gay. Which seems to me, is an imbalance in the very fabric of courtship itself.
Dreamy
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