—If the plumbing is the same, does it really matter which bathroom you use?
If you are a guy (a normal guy), there is little doubt that you have fantasized about having sex with many women (with special emphasis on the word many). According to the more scientifically minded, this is the result of the very natural prompting to ensure the survival of your DNA. The more places you put it, the greater the chance that it will survive.
As a philosopher, there is an aspect of this desire (to have multiple sex partners) that greatly interests me. My more emotional side has of course feasted at the virtual smorgasbord of sexual fantasy that our (some would say degenerate) culture has so blithely provided us, and all the while my intellectual side is simply standing there (so to speak) pondering it, musing over it, trying to get a handle on the moment.
The emotional side of me understands it quite well, but the intellectual side just cannot seem to get a grip on it.
One of the most persistent fantasies that my intellect has pored over (in an attempt to gain some understanding) is an absurd experiment that will never be conducted. It is a thought experiment in which I try to imagine an assortment of beautiful women who I (my emotional side) would pay a king's ransom to have sex with. In the experiment they are all lying naked on a row of beds just waiting for me to sample each of them at my leisure.
But there is a catch. I am blindfolded. So how do I find my targets if I am blindfolded, other than by just groping around for them? Here is where the absurdity enters. There is an assistant of sorts who leads me by the hand to each waiting beauty.
But this is not all the assistant does. She inquires of me, once I am inserted into whoever she has taken me to, if I can tell who precisely I am inside of, which of course I can't, which means that I cannot tell who I am having sex with.
It is at this juncture that the intellect gets a little ugly with me (the emotionally-driven me).
It says stuff like, "So why in the fuck do you want to stick your dick in all these different pussies when they all feel the same? Please explain it to me. I just don't fucking get it."
And of course the intellect is right. There is no reason that I want to do it.
If I were a doctor examining these women, and assume for the moment that I was not using one of those latex examining gloves (and that I was also blindfolded), I would not be able to distinguish one vagina from another one.
But you don't have to do something as extreme as sampling different vaginas to arrive at the same conclusion. It is possible to do something that is totally non-sexual and get the same (well, sort of) results.
The vagina is after all just a mucous membrane. It is in reality very similar to the mucous membrane inside the mouth. And to be brutally (or should I say clinically?) honest about it, a mucous membrane is a mucous membrane. They are all pretty much the same. If you were blindfolded, and had an assistant take your pinkie finger and place it inside the mouths of a group of people (of both sexes) and asked you if you could tell whether it was a man's mouth or a woman's mouth that your finger was stroking, could you tell?
Somehow, I don't think so.
Like I said, a mucous membrane is a mucous membrane. They're all pretty much the same. So what difference does it make whose mucous membrane your penis is stroking? Why does personality even matter?
My intellect has pored over this question for quite some time now (my emotional side doesn't give a rat's ass about it), and it keeps coming up with the same answer. It doesn't matter, any more than it matters which plate our food is on. When it is time to eat, and the food is prepared, and there are an assortment of plates before you, does it really matter which plate you select to place your food on (assuming of course that all the plates are of the same relative size and are all equally sanitized)?
If you think it does matter, do you know what that means? It means that you are playing a head-game with yourself. You are fooling yourself into believing in a mirage. A pussy is a pussy is a pussy and on and on and on. A plate is a plate is a plate and on and on and on. It doesn't fucking matter (with the emphasis on the word "fucking").
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