A Thought on Sex and Romance.

To some people, romance is the injection of fuel that ignites the engine of their affections and sets them on the path of a lifelong journey. To others it is an episodic phenomenon driven by the insatiable need for repeated exploration of new ground. And the latter is not to be confused with the instinct of a rake. To the true rake, romance is an alien concept.

As for sex, the notion that it is somehow connected with romance is a delusion generated by cultural and religious conditioning. Romance is a function of the higher mind which simply arouses the grubbier end of the Id and lends it a measure of disingenuous validity.

I learned this when I was eighteen and had two notable relationships, both indubitably romantic. Mary played midwife to my impatient libido, Pauline didn’t. And I was always a Type 2 romantic.

And let it not be said that I ever had the emotional range of a teaspoon. My emotional range was more on the scale of a paddle steamer’s blade, so maybe I’m not talking the complete rubbish some might think I am.