The erotica of babymaking

18 January 2021

What audience does Netflix’s original period series softcore porn Bridgerton attract? The chemistry between the chisel-chinned rake-duke and his blushing virgin barely-of-age bride draws together Beauty and the Beast’s transformational power of love with the sexual deflowering and blossoming of Emmanuelle.

And yet, it was not Simon and Daphne’s first sex scene that entrapped me. (In fact, as they started going for it, I flipped to a different show altogether… something to explore with the psychologist, perhaps?) It was the couple’s season finale sex scene – where they finish together in mindful acknowledgement of potentially creating a baby. That moment, when a couple faces the possibility of having just created a new life rather than the usual sticky mess, that moment still enthrals me. Not that I want another baby, mind you. No, not me. Two is a handful. I have no idea in the world how big families do it. It is one of life’s mysteries. And yet, the idea of creating life in that moment of passion, to this day rentals my head in hazy desire. And so as I watched this scene, my breathing quickened and my bosoms heaved, free flowing in my loose nursing bra. Even now, as I’m writing this, my breathing has is shallow.

For the last 3 years, I have focused on sex as the act of creating a baby. My body wanted to procreate and nothing else mattered.

The idea of creating a baby excites me more than anything in the whole world. It excites me on a different plain. It is at an infrastructure level – not software but middleware, maybe hardware, or maybe some other ware that is so deeprooted that there is nothing more natural and exciting than this. At all.

My body wants to create babies.

Does that mean that I want more babies? I once wanted three, I was certain that there was an empty space in between the two car seats at the back of my small car.

The first child certainly inspired me to have another. The second child, however, inspired me to have no more. No more. No thank you. Two and through. But I thought you said you wanted three? Nope couldn’t have been me.

I only have two hands, and I can hold two babies, and I only have so much time in a day (not to mention only so much time in my life) and my back already hurts and my neck has suffered so much, I have a dowager hump that I still need to fix somehow, I have a job, and, really, just no. (There’s a temptation to get into philosophical debate here on this topic but I shall not bite.)

So, what gives? Why the disconnect between my mind and my body? My mind is saying no, but my body is saying let’s go.