Maturity Jump: Level 2 - Musings and Public Declarations of "The Unthinkable"

I have once again fallen in love with a mother. Contrary to my claims of desired freedom, desired population reduction, desired sterility, another female has come into my life with baggage. My initiation into adult relationships came in the form of a beautiful, intelligent, patient women who also happened have a child. Our time together was brief yet complete. Her son, smart and funny, brimmed with ambition. Memories of them are almost entirely positive and I wish them both the best. That was the past though; I was young, knowledgeable of myself but naïve in worldly ways.

Out of the blue, in a foreign country, surround by beautiful, unattached, childless females, I once again fall towards a complicated situation. It is commonly expressed that pregnant or nursing females are seductive, shining with unique energy, shining with “mother's love”. As if she is aware that only her gender is truly necessary in the continuation of the species. Male domination, male chauvinism, is perhaps the last desperate attempt for us males to convince ourselves we possess a purpose besides simply providing partial genetic material. Androgynous women, the next evolutionary leap, will severe the onerous rearing of an ineffectual gender. At this point, cultural maturity might flourish into existence.

Smitten, intoxicated, obsessed, I peer out my window in anticipation. Living across the back alley, I pray for a glimpse of her. For brief moments, the waiting becomes entirely worthwhile and I can see her gorgeous, slender, imperfect, yet, paradoxically, perfect self. To hold her in my arms and kiss her forehead, to have her sleep beside me on cold nights, and to experience life together, what more could a man desire? Occasional I can hear her children crying, calling, playing, voicing their feelings and hopes. I lay awake at night listening to these sounds. Sounds which I might have previously claimed abhorrence of; now bring joy to my heart and yearnings of involvement. Babies cries, the wailing, the incessant noise, I never understood the music before. Maturity of mind has morphed those sounds into sweet sirens of heaven. What sorceress bewitched me, what has come over me?

Obsession has infected me, in the most parasitic manner. If you can believe, I wait and watch, through the male invented instrument known as binoculars. Through magnified vision, I feel virtually teleported, participating in complex scenarios, as if my presence is natural. Where might I find the absent father? How could he give up this gift, this unique time of support, this time where our gender might actually be useful besides the momentary time involved in the copulation ritual? The question now becomes how I might step up to the challenge. Inexperience alone should not stop my strive, I need to convince her that I am here to stay and ready to excel.

She is wary of me. Is it because I am a foreigner? When I attempt conversation I am stared at, when I approach she recedes, when I try to help with the children she yells, they yell, and I pull away. If only I could express my admiration for her and offer assistance. If only... So I continue to gaze out my window through binocular instrumentation, longing for their comfort -- longing to be close. Such is the plight of falling in love.

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