The Birds and the Bees.
We’ve all heard its story, haven’t we?
Remember how it felt to realize that there were no storks delivering babies, or supermarket stores that sold babies at 30% discount?
I remember asking my mother how she got me.
She said she saw me sleeping in the counter besides the pineapples, when she went out grocery shopping. She looked around, then back down at me and whispered into my ears, “You better be worth it.” after which she snatched me and made a run for it.
Yes, my mother kidnapped me from the supermarket.
Just to be sure, I asked my father the same question. He responded along the same lines, except there were some inconsistencies when I compared it to my mother’s version of the story. My father said he saw me standing next to the pineapples in the supermarket, and bought me using his credit card.
Both stories were equally convincing since my mother wasn’t the type to spend her money, and my father had a massive credit card debt.
You know what they say, opposites attract.
And to me, it sounded like my mother kidnapped me and my father bought me on the same day as I was sleeping and standing in the supermarket.
The only way this story made sense is if my mother kidnapped me when I was fast asleep, took me home and I somehow managed to find my way back to the supermarket; only to have my father purchase and bring me back home while I stood there trying to climb back into my counter-styled cradle; and all of that happened on the same day.
What were they trying to cover up so badly?
Fortunately, I was raised by Indian parents, and didn’t have to go through the horrors of “The Talk”. Indians never talk about sex; they are busy doing it. You don’t get to over a billion in population by sitting around talking about procreation to your kids who clearly don’t want to listen to you talk about procreation.
We Indians keep it real, and put things into action and let the outcome do the talking.
Sex was something I discovered.
By that I didn’t mean I accidentally slipped my penis into a woman and nine months later went “Aha! So that’s where babies come from!”.
I received that information from another source. I remember it like it was yesterday when a seventh-grade senior in my school bus disclosed the secret to a fifth-grader named Ram who couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But it was too late, and the poor lad had his innocence siphoned right out of him, leaving behind a broken shell. I was sitting in the seat adjacent to his and couldn’t believe what I was hearing either. I asked that senior whether putting my thingy into her thingy would guarantee pregnancy.
Unlike broken Ram, I leaned more towards the practical side of things and was interested in its functionality.
Ram screamed and covered his ears, as tears streamed down his face, telling everyone to shut up. He couldn’t take it anymore and needed some time to come to terms with what he was exposed to. It offended me a little, but I didn’t get angry and in an attempt to console him, I calmly whispered, “You see Ram, this is how it is. That’s nature and you ought to accept it for what it is. People have been doing it from the beginning, and it will have to continue for our species to survive. Everyone does it, even your parents Ram, even you’re Parents. Your Mom and Dad. Mummy and Daddy. They might be doing it when you’re asleep or out of the house like you are now. You know what, they are probably at it now. How does that make you feel Ram? Come on tell me Ram? Hey, that’s your stop. Have a lovely day at home, Ram. Make sure you fall asleep quickly before you get to see the theory in action.”
I admit, I was a little cruel to him, but there was a time when I too was innocent, and watching him reminded me of what I used to believe. I thought men and women were different only in the sense that women wore skirts and grew their hair long, while men wore pants and cut their hair short. I believed that men and women shared the exact configuration down there, and was shocked to discover otherwise.
That senior didn’t lead me to my discovery, even though because of the way I phrased the story, it would seem as though that were the case. Its not.
I Discovered It Back Home.
Now, don’t get ahead of me.
My Dad had a box of “Do Not Touch” taped all over it, where he’d keep it in a cupboard with “Do Not Open” taped all over it. Being the good little boy my parents bought/kidnapped and raised me to be, I decided to open it after carefully peeling those tapes aside.
The reason why that senior’s description of sex baffled me is because I thought I had it all figured out. I watched a couple of videos here and there, and studied it diligently. I didn’t know what they were doing, or why they were doing it. I just watched them out of curiosity.
All those “Do Not” tapes gave me a curious high that only dissipated after I peered into what he was hiding.
And I could understand why he decided to hide them. To the second grader me, it was equivalent to a horror film series because like I stated earlier, I believed men and women were equal.
Down there as well.
So when I saw the woman strip out of her clothes, I was horrified. “AHHHH! Someone stole her wiener!” I watched in shock as the men gathered around her, giving some of theirs to her. “You idiots! Plugging your wiener into the gap left by her stolen wiener isn’t going to make her wiener magically appear! Hey! Putting it into her mouth is just as silly! She might get jealous after losing hers and bite yours off! What are you gonna do then? Grow another one like it were a carrot? Good luck with that.”
And Lo and Behold, in the next scene, she shows up with a fat black shiny wiener loaded onto a belt. I’ve seen the handicapped wear something similar.
Ah! I remember what its called; a prosthetic!
The more I watched, the deeper my curiosity became.
I remember watching this one video that didn’t make any sense. Then again, none of it made any sense to me, but this one really stood out because after watching the introduction I believed I was watching something terribly similar to The Exorcist.
But just to be sure, I read the back cover of the CD just to get a gist of the story.
It featured a Blonde Bombshell named Marsha. I didn’t quite understand what they meant by bombshell. Maybe she had an explosive personality. Yeah, that could be it.
Her husband was out of town and so she decided to call over her well-endowed black partners back home to have some fun. Bombshell Marsha craved for them, and they craved for her. She wanted to share her body with them.
Hm. Doesn’t sound like a horror film to me.
So I plugged the CD in.
As I laid there in the sofa, watching a badly directed horror show, questions kept popping up one by one.
Why is that girl naked? Why is she vibrating like that while those guys are struggling to hold her down? Is she epileptic? And are those men doctors? Well they did walk into the room wearing white coats and a stethoscope before removing them, so I guess they are. Maybe that’s what she meant by “well-endowed”. She was talking about their well-endowed profession as a doctor. But why did they strip? Is this part of the procedure?
Oh, now she’s climbing into bed. Must be exhausted after that epileptic fit, wait a minute. She just contorted her body like they do in transformers. Must be some sort of yoga for inducing sleep. Whoa, the doctors got into the same bed, and now they’re playing seesaw over her. What’s their deal? Couldn’t they book themselves another room? I mean they’re “Doctors” aren’t they?
Oh I get it. Its vanity.
Not content with just robbing their patients of their money, they even want to rob them of their home and dignity as well. Those pharmaceutical thugs. No wonder people these days look for alternatives to allopathy. They are clearly sick of these doctors in their lab coats acting all smug as they prescribe medicines by scribbling them down in illegible format.
While she kept making some deeply God awful moans, she seemed to have stopped fidgeting about as much. Whatever they were doing, it was working. I was wrong to judge them; it was all part of the procedure. Aaaand now they’re back to playing seesaw again. Gee, these guys are so immature. Who’d want to spend two hours playing seesaw? They need to grow up!
As I skipped over to the climax, I saw the climax. I finally understood what was happening and felt terrified watching it. It was clear that she really was possessed, and that no medical procedure could cure her of her demonic affliction. I sat there and watched in horror as the demon made his way into those poor doctors as they stood there screaming “Ohh Yeah baby, Yeaaaah!”, while shooting white cream all over the poor lady’s face. I bet that white stuff was their soul oozing out of them as the demon took refuge in his new home. The camera made it a point to zoom right into the women’s face, to show us how empty and desolate she was. The Demon took away everything from here, leaving her naked with soul frosted cream whipped onto her face.
They should have phoned an exorcist. Science clearly doesn’t have the answers to everything.
Back To The Story
21st century kids don’t receive the talk, but “The Watch”. We have this thing called the internet that allows us access into a portal that leads us to a magical place called Pornhub. There we get to browse through a wide variety of…deeply interesting stuff. I had unknowingly signed up for a crash course by going through my father’s inventory and having a senior explain some portions of it to me, so as you can imagine, I was fairly proficient and it helped me reach the top of the class.
When that senior explained that sex was for making babies, it shocked me. I didn’t think any of that hardcore acting could possibly have anything to do with having a baby. It took me a while to accept that. Even now sometimes, the thought of sex creeps me out, but after a quick visit to Pornhub, I’m back to normal.
Anyway, that’s how children lose their innocence these days.
But their idea of sex is perverted. Sex is not perverted, its natural and what keeps our species from going extinct.
The idea of sex that children have these days is what’s perverted. They’ve missed the point and you can hardly blame them for it since porn glamorized ridiculous positions, portrays inhuman stamina and shows us a host of perfect 10s going “Oooh” and “Aaah” after getting pumped with 15 inches of surgically modified dick. This is not what women want.
Sex is a Powerful Drive
What people often forget is just how powerful a drive it is.
Why do you think every religion ever introduced into our world has condemned free sexual expression? Its because it has the ability to corrupt minds. Promiscuous behavior corrupts your ability to bond. Its only the sex you’ll be after, behaving like a high you can’t seem to get over. There are some who are capable of maintain a limbo between their work and sex life, but most of us lack that kind of discipline.
Too much of anything can kill you.
Drinking too much water can kill you as it leeches out all the vital nutrients out from your cells via reverse osmosis. Engaging in frequent sex with strangers doesn’t help you grow; it reduces your ability to bond with the opposite sex. You stop viewing them as individuals who can enrich your life, and instead see them as toys used to pleasure oneself, with a surprise bonus of STD’s.
Sex is bonding and procreation.
But none of that bothered me, because the only commands I took were from the soldier downstairs who would stick up in protest until I physically court martial him back into limpness. He’d always come back, with a rock-hard vengeance.
I didn’t like watching them at first, but slowly started to get into it as we’d discuss those “actors” back in class and how her acting in this one particular video was “splendid” and “artistic”. I didn’t want to feel left out, so I’d watch them, wondering how she managed to capture such a splendid artistic talent in every act.
And that’s when my Watch began.
It was only later on I realized just how bloody destructive the whole damn thing was to my psyche was. Just looking at a women’s breasts didn’t suffice anymore; I needed more stimulation. I kept searching for it and hit a dead end at Hardcore Porn. I didn’t like where I was headed, and wanted to take a detour, but it was too late. I couldn’t go a day without watching Lena Paul getting railed by a pole bigger than my ambitions in life.
But I endeavored, and whittled down my frequency to once or twice a week. That might still seem like a lot to you, but I used to go at it several times a day. I’ve written about how I overcame(kinda) it in my article-The P-Word. Check it out if you’re interested.
So there you have it, my loss of innocence.