MAYBE NOT ACTUALLY WHAT WOMEN WANT

"He was hard, hard as granite!" Which was remarkable, seeing as he was made entirely out of quartzite. This was the thought that ran through my head after reading that ridiculous opening sentence. A friend had lent me a book of erotic fiction aimed at the other gender, with the words "here, find out what women really want".

One story described a young female archaeologist having randy feelings about a block statue of a priest. A very virile priest.
Women, it turns out, want bald men.
To hump along the Nile.
Thebes, Luxor.

Among the other things that they want is incredible Tyrannosaurus love.
Why anyone thinks I need to know that beats the heck out of me.
I would far rather not.

It was a collection of short stories. Which was to be expected; erotic fiction caters to a remarkable focus and short attention span.
That probably explains why I fell asleep.
Oh, and I giggled a lot.
T-Rex Sex.
Heh.


Why is it that so far no one has written an exciting and salacious romance novel about a lovable badger (Meles meles), as so perfectly described by Kenneth Grahame in The Wind in the Willows?
A solitary individual, with kindly intelligent eyes, who wanders the hills and valleys of San Francisco, smoking his pipe and looking forward to Hong Kong style milk-tea?

Well, probably because no one would even be remotely interested.

"His nose twitched, he could smell fresh tangerines. Someone, somewhere, was eating citrus fruit! The zesty fragrance combined nicely with the carotenoids in his aged Best Brown Flake, made by the venerable firm of Samuel Gawith, founded in Kendall, Cumbria, in 1792.
He puffed out, slowly, languorously. He luxuriated in the perfume-like whisps, which brought back memories of a female badger long ago...."

Okay, that's not as strange as wild Velociraptor Porn, but it's more than a little unexciting. Except to me.

"Softly, softly, he padded down the deserted alley, at the end of which a woman waited with a cup of steaming hot Hong Kong style milk-tea. He hoped her eyes sparkled, and that she was full of beans. Often she seemed drowsy, especially after a long hike over Russian Hill...."

Perhaps the badger should've primed her with lots of that milk-tea beforehand, instead of dragging her up and down the SF hillsides.
That's bound to shag anybody out.

"His deft paws reached out and stroked her silken arm hair..."

Whereupon she probably screamed bloody murder; she wasn't expecting a beast, and certainly not while she was reading about Egyptian statuary.
In a park in San Francisco on a warm sunny day in May, 2014.
Quickly, she called Animal Control on her cell phone...


"Help, I am being fondled by a badger!"


There is, in fact, almost no context in which I can think of a badger being the strong aggressive hero who gallantly fights off all assailants, then sweeps a young lady up in his strong manly arms. The main reason of course being that a badger normally is a rather short and furry individual, "generally a peaceful animal, having been known to share its burrow with other species such as rabbits, red foxes and raccoon dogs", and easily pacified by head-scritchies.
Trust me, badgers totally loooooooove head-scritchies.
It's a weakness that defeats them every time.
Wuzza wuzzah wuzzah.
Oooooh!

"She lost herself in his dark, dark eyes. Then the dream image shattered.
Sports was on teevee again."

Unlike dinosaurs and bald-headed Egyptian pickle-heads, badgers and other mustelids (such as otters, weasels, and wolverines) don't rank particularly high in the imaginary love lives of modern women.


There is something sorely lacking.

Why is that?

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