ALL women want to get married and have babies? I’m not so sure.

I think there was a time where maybe that did hold true. Not necessarily because women wanted to get married and have babies per se, but because that was what society expected; nay even demanded. Plain and simple. Indeed, for a woman to veer from that path she was considered a ‘transgressor’.

My grandmother is an interesting case in point. Married during the Second World War, to my grandfather – a man she had gone on a handful of dates with before he left for the war effort – she had three children. Because that was what you did in the 1940′s, right?

By the time she was in her late thirties she had started a career in broadcasting, and became a minor celebrity of sorts. She loved the work and the glamour and had an affair with a much younger man.

The thing is motherhood just never sat well with my grandmother. And she certainly wasn’t very good at it. Born fifty years later, I’d venture to say that she would have chosen a very different path. One that probably would’ve involved a career, a lot more men and if a child did come, it would’ve been an afterthought. Or something she did when she was much older.

Now, I tell you all of this because I think (some) men do still believe that the only thing a woman wants is to put a ring on it and have babies. Because that’s how we’re programmed, or somethin’. For the record I’d like to state that, just because we’re girls does not mean that we automatically dream of wearing big white pouffy dresses and hearing the pitter patter of tiny feet.

Just like all men are not commitment-phobic cheats, not all women embrace the idea of motherhood and marriage. In fact, the thought scares many of us just as much as it does a man.

I have never liked babies, and when I was younger I was very put off by the sight of pregnant women. I’m still very ambivalent about the whole baby thing and am more open to the idea of adopting a child, than I am to having one of my own (I still find the thought of child birth rather disconcerting).

I have a lot of friends, fantastic women in their early thirties all of whom are convinced that motherhood is not for them. I also have a couple of friends who have had a kid with their partner but they are not in the slightest bit interested in getting married. “Why would I go and do that for?” my good friend Sash asked me.

The playing field has shifted so dramatically in the last forty odd years or so, and women today have so many choices. That’s not to say that motherhood and marriage are not great choices, but they are not the only ones. We hear stories all the time about women juggling successful careers with marriage and motherhood, and having it all (or at least trying to).

But the idea that ALL women want to get married and have babies? That’s a load of baloney. And, it also presupposes that it is not something men want. Which is bullshit, because I know a lot of men who want nothing more than to settle down and have a family.

I’m not opposed to marriage (my quest for an American husband has been well documented), and it doesn’t mean that I don’t want to have children. But it’s not something that I lie awake dreaming about. I would venture to say that this is true for a lot of women. We want career success, financial independence and when it’s right, maybe a family. More than anything, we like the freedom our choices afford us.

All that being said, it’s probably best NEVER to assume anything especially when it comes to what men and women want in dating, love and life.

KB is the author of the searingly honest and the (sometimes) saucy blog, KB IN NYC. She is the quintessential single girl, and has been around the proverbial dating block more times than she cares to remember. She believes fiercely in the power of red nails, has a penchant for five-star hotels and hasn’t given up, just yet, on finding Mr. Right. KB lives in New York .

Way back in February I went out to brunch with Max and Sam, and as always happens when we get together the topic of conversation ended up being primarily about sex.  Well, on this particular day the focus of our discussion was the lack of action in my life.

‘You need to get horizontal with someone soon. I mean how long has it since you got some? ’ Sam asked, after I lamented the fact that my field hadn’t been ploughed in a long time.

Max seconded his opinion, stating, ‘You’ve got needs girl, just find a man who wants to help you take care of them.’

While the discussion ensued I didn’t let on that they were making me think long and hard about all that I was missing, or that all the sex talk had my now percolating coochy telling me,

‘Girl, hurry up and find us some dick.  The tumbleweeds blowin’ up in here are killing me.’

But as we left the restaurant that day I knew something had to give.

Luckily, I am nothing if not efficient. Within 24 hours of parting ways with  Mr. Sharpe and Ms. Max I had found a perfect candidate to practice with – enter Afternoon Delight. Now, Afternoon Delight lived a few blocks away from me; didn’t move in my social circle; was self-employed and had a flexible schedule (meaning he had time to fuck during the day – hence the moniker); wasn’t somebody I would ever want to date (for a host of reasons I won’t get into here), but was attractive for me to get down with; and was totally into doing me (I knew this because of a full court press he had run on me a few months prior). So when I called him that same night and asked, “Is the offer you made a few months ago still on the table?”, Afternoon Delight quickly pinned me down to a ‘meeting’ two days later.

Now people, when Afternoon Delight and I finally ‘connected’ it was beyond sublime.  We enjoyed ourselves so much the first time, we ended up hooking up five more times that week, once twice in the same day. Afternoon Delight laid pipe like nobody’s business and I was happy to be his for the taking.

As a direct result of my midday romps with him, I had sex on the brain all the time over the following weeks and I blew up his phone daily with texts asking when we could hook up again. Generally, unless work obligations didn’t permit Afternoon Delight always accomodated me. People, I had my very own dial-a-dick. I was  living the mutha f’in dream.

For a while there things were going real good. My coochy was singing my praises and Afternoon Delight was positively ecstatic every time we got together. But as we all know, all good things come to an end. And the end came for us one night after he turned me out in grand style.

I don’t know what it was about how we connected the last time we were together, but the shit was so good I got positively stupid.  In the middle of what was an extraordinarily fantastic diddle ( my coochy was stompin’, shoutin’ and AMEN-ing like she was in church) I started envisioning my future with Afternoon Delight. I saw our wedding on a beach under a clear blue Caribbean sky, our beautiful sepia babies taking their first steps and a house with a white picket fence to boot. That’s right folks, Afternoon Delight, the man whom I had specifically chosen because I knew I’d NEVER want him for anything other than his dick, put it on me so good that I started dreaming about settling down with him.

What. The. Fuck?

Needless to say I was shook. Within minutes of our final and very mutual happy ending, I was out the door and on my way home.  Once I was safely inside my apartment I sat down on my couch to process what I was feeling.  “Do you actually REALLY like and want to be with Afternoon Delight?” I asked myself. The answer, a resounding NO, came swiftly. So what was my mid-sex reverie about?  Well, as far as I can tell, all the other-worldly stroking Afternoon Delight put on me that afternoon brought up my long suppressed instincts to nest and multiply (who knew?).

Thankfully, once I made that connection my sanity kicked back in and started shouting,

“SKYE, BACK AWAY FROM THAT COCK! ABORT MISSION! BACK AWAY FROM THAT COCK!!”

and then quickly propelled me into action.  Before I knew it I was off my couch and at my desk firing off a Dear John email to Afternoon Delight that read something like this…

Afternoon Delight,

As much as I’ve enjoyed each and every one of our mid-day sex sessions and I know that my coochy is going to kick my ass for doing this, I have to call it quits.  While you were putting it on me this afternoon I was picturing our wedding day and hearing the first cries of our newborn child – ridiculous, I know! As the visions that were swirling through my brain as we communed today are not what either of us signed up for when we agreed to ‘practice’ together, I think it’s best that from here on out I keep my sweet-dick-induced brand of crazy away from you.

I hope you understand,

Skye

His response came through later that evening…

Skye,

As much as I’m going to miss ‘practicing’ with you (still can’t believe we had sex almost every day for the last month) I appreciate the fact that you recognize your limits and that you’re pulling out before things get messy.

Hoping we’ll catch up again in the future,

Afternoon Delight

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Hoping indeed. People, as much as I’d love to ride his cosmic cock again (all praises due to his magic stick) there’s not a chance in hell that I’ll ever go there again with that man. This clear-thinking chick has officially learned her lesson about the powers of good pipe layin’.  As Sam alluded to in Monday’s post, just a few good down strokes from the right cocksman – even if you’ve decided he’s not boyfriend/husband material – can turn virtually any woman (even a sane one) into a rock-coveting-baby-crazed-wannabe-nester. And I’m so not going out like that.

You heard it here first folks. Skye Blue, will NEVER EVER allow herself to descend into the depths of madness for some extra good wood and a smile. I pride myself on knowing my limits and knowing when to back away from a (super) cock.

Fact.

“I never married because there was no need. I have three pets at home which answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog that growls every morning, a parrot that swears all afternoon, and a cat that comes home late at night.” – Marie Corelli

This week we are debunking the myth that all women want marriage and babies. I don’t agree with statements that make such sweeping generalisations, but here’s a confession: I do.

I, Elizabeth Rose, self proclaimed slut of the first and finest order would some day like to get married and have babies. I want a husband and children. I daydream of a nice house in a happy chaos of books, pets and artwork. I picture a brood of my curly haired miniatures dashing in from the garden in their jelly shoes and my beloved looking up from the crossword to scold “No running in the house!”.

I even have my wedding planned. I hope to elope to Vegas where the service will be performed by a JP dressed as Elvis, before holding my reception at a karaoke bar.

And I’m broody. I can’t see a pair of baby shoes without spontaneously ovulating.  But, and this is a huge BUT:

I don’t want to marry you.

I don’t want to have your babies.

I did not agree to sleep with you as part of some master plan to trap you into getting your last name.

The presumption that I am trying to entice you into more than a passing flirtation or a momentary distraction is almost insulting. If I thought you were my equal and the potential source for half my spawns’ genetics; then you would be intelligent enough to know I am not into playing games.

Maybe there are women out there who would try to ensnare a mate through falsehoods and trickery, likely there are men like that as well. But let’s not assume all our current bedfellows are from the lower end of the integrity scale. Be honest with yourself about what you want from a connection and communicate it to the other parties. If it evolves, then have that conversation too.

And just remember, just because I can’t hide my yearning when I hold a friend’s baby it doesn’t mean that I will be looking for your swimmers to make that final charge.

In Trust Me, I Have No Use For Your Sperm, a guest post I did for Mike Masters back in May, I tackled the issue of eligible bachelors being skittish about dating their female counterparts, due to fears about being bamboozled into walking down the aisle and/or trapped into procreating.  In that post I lamented the difficult time women like me, who aren’t singularly focused on getting married (if at all) have in dealing with such men. Today, I’m going to hit this topic from a different angle, and focus on the fact that these men believe that every woman they run into will eventually start sweating them for a ring and/or some seed.

Let me start by stating the obvious. Many women…

• Become driveling idiots at the first sight of an infant.
• Lose breath in the presence of diamonds – especially if they’re set in a gold band.
• Swoon as we watch the groom dote over his bride at a wedding.

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But come on now, let’s be fair. Babies are ridiculously cute, small and cuddly; diamonds shine like nothing else; and is there anything more amazing than watching a man who is publicly pledging his complete and total commitment to his woman – that’s the shit every Rom Com and Harlequin Romance novel we’ve ever seen or read is made of. What are we girls to do?

That said, I’d like to add an important corollary. Every woman who expresses an interest in you isn’t doing so because her empty womb is throbbing or because she’s tired of nervously rubbing the ringless 4^th digit of her left hand.  Some of us, express interest in you just because…

• Our friends dared or bribed us to.
• It’s been a long time and the cobwebs forming in our coochy are getting out of hand.
• We think you’re amazingly hot and hope that all the attention we show you will result in our eventually being paid in penis.
• The last few guys we got naked with had VSDs and we’re trying desperately to break our streak of bad Knob Karma
• We think you’ll make a good substitute dude, while we work on getting the attention of the man we really want to bed, date or even marry.
• We’re looking for a light and breezy summer fling and you look like you have a lot of stamina (here’s to you Jess Downey).
• We love men and recognize that a little male companionship that includes good conversation and a whole lot of GREAT SEX – even if it never leads to marriage – is something we want in our lives.

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Boys, just because you happen to meet a woman of childbearing age (who may or may not be broody), who’s interested in you and happens to want to have sex, you shouldn’t automatically assume that she wants to be your wife or have kids with you.  Women who are sane clear-thinking (i.e. the one’s you should be dating) and recognize that:

• There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to get married and/or have children
• There is definitely nothing wrong with NOT wanting to get married and/or have children (though women in this camp will often hear that they’re selfish. WTF?)
• Without a doubt it is COMPLETELY wrong when one or both parties in a given connection can’t accept that they want different things in life and aren’t compatible in that regard.
• It’s incredibly misguided to pressure someone into marrying you.
• It’s equally misguided to ask someone to give up on their dreams of marriage in order to be with you.

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And as a result we can happily date and fuck you without pressuring you to marry or breed us up. Why? Because we clear-thinking chicks fall into one of two camps.

Those who don’t want to get married and/or breed.

Or

Those who do and are very secure in the knowledge that if you, the flavour of the moment, end up not being a good fit, another man – Mr. Right in fact (to be clear that’s not Mr. Right Now, Mr. He’ll-Have-To-Do-Cuz-The-Years-Are-Rushing-By-and-My-Eggs-Are-Dying, or Mr. But-I’ve-already-Invested-So-Much-Time-In-This-Relationship) – will eventually come along…

or not.

And newsflash: despite the popular belief that we’ll die of consumption if he never appears – we’ll be okay.

Really.

I have no idea whether or not all women want to get married. Nor do I have any clue whether or not all women want to have children. What I do know is that all the women that I’ve dated/de-robed since entering adulthood have been keen on getting on one of those gravy trains. And more often than not, they want to do one or both of those things with me.

Now before you start thinking that I must be one hell of a catch (though I am) or that I must be really full of myself (actually I’m not) or that the women I meet are delusional (don’t think so — at least not more than the average woman) let me submit that I believe the reason for all this is pretty simple:

Getting married and having children is what our species does.

Hundreds of thousands of years of human pair bonding and reproduction (intentional or otherwise) cannot be ignored. Or fought. Or right. Or wrong. It just is. Men are programmed to sow their oats AND bring forth a bounty in a due season. Most of us anyway. (Many) Women have a biological clock that begins to pound relentlessly beginning sometime around ah, err… puberty. We often try to do these things together. In tandem. As a pair. As husband and wife.

This doesn’t totally explain why virtually every woman I’ve dated and known (in that biblical sense) since my testicles dropped has called me daddy, wanted me to be their baby daddy and wanted to get hitched. My girl Skye likes to tell me that I must be working with some kind of “super cock” that makes these girls lose all sense of perspective. Though I’m a big believer in the ability of good sex/p**** to paper over the cracks in a bad relationship and to turn a good one into an exceptional one and as much as I’d love to believe my cock has medicinal, healing and mystical properties, this can’t be the reason. Or even true.

Frankly, I think it’s all because I’m a nice guy. Seriously. For women who grew up dating bad boys, they date me and realize that not all nice guys are pussies. (Plus, I blow their backs out.) And for women who always date nice guys, I’m just dangerous enough for them to feel like they are taking a little sojourn on the wild side. (Plus, I blow their backs out.)  Combine that with the fact that I’m a genuinely caring person, that I love my momma, I read books, love to travel, use words like sojourn and treat all women — side tings, bona fides and one offs — with respect, makes me appear to be some kind of dream man. (But I’m not.)

So as a result, women who should know better are wondering out loud if we should have kids, getting down on one knee, whipping out their grand mama’s ring, ignoring the fact that they’re engaged to someone else and asking me to tie the knot, while pretending not to hear the phone when their significant other calls.

Here’s the thing though. With many of these women I’ve had similar feelings. I was once mad over a woman who was married. Did her status stop me from imagining a life with her, complete with smart-ass kids and a big backyard? No, but I did recognize my feelings were irrational. By definition they almost had to be. After all they were feelings.

I know I’ve strayed a little off topic, but I think it’s relevant. We humans do irrational things all the time. Some more so than others. Some of these things appear to be hard wired into our psyches, appear to have some relation to the essence of what it is to be a human being. We do, say and think crazy things when the curious alchemy of love, lust, sex and passion descends upon us.

So, do all women want to get married and have babies? Hell if I know. What I do know is that the urge to pair up and reproduce is common to us all. I think men and women just express those things differently.