I am not obsessed.

Sex. It's all about sex. All of it. All the time.
Look, I am not naive, and I know you're not too.
It's just that I never noticed how much of it is about sex until now. Not just a bit. ALL of it.
Short shorts and high heals. A given. As work wear? It says what exactly? I'm fertile? I'm up for it? I want it now, on the desk, in the copy room?
I am beginning to see 'The Game' as I used to refer to it absolutely everywhere. Standing on the train platform, me and 15,000 commuters, 99 % of whom speak English as a second or third language and all I can see and hear is 'The game'.
Furtive looks, thrusting chests, batting eyelashes. I think up until recently I have ignored it. Too wrapped up in my own world perhaps. Or shut off from that part of my social radar.
I feel like the ultimate voyeur. I see 'her' walk into the coffee shop, and I see all the 'hims' take note. They postulate, slightly louder than before. Legs crossing and uncrossing, or jiggling. When I was younger I used to wonder at the constancy of the male leg jiggling until I learned about testes and the release of male pheromones. "AHA!!" Went my newly informed self, and then "...ah..haaaaaaaa......"
As for the 'hers' giving it up for the 'hims'?
In this town it's not too tricky to work out. 'He' is walking through the supermarket.'She' can smell him from a mile off. She stops to look at the produce located conveniently located just to his left, on the bottom shelf. She bends to pick it up, whilst taking a moment to check out his body on the way down.His eyes scan her tit's, legs and arse in less time than it takes for light to travel across a condom box.
They both know what's going on. She may be happily married, his girlfriend may be in the next aisle, but that's never stopped anyone from looking. It's sex.
Good old fashioned "I wonder what you would be like in bed" mental telepathy. And it's everywhere. All the time.
I read recently that the old wives tale about men thinking about dipping their wick every 7 seconds has been proven to be a myth. It's actually only a couple of times an hour. Interestingly, they now say, about the same number of times a woman thinks about having her dip wicked.
And why not?
What else are women supposed to think about? Their hair? The groceries? BBC Documentaries about Nazis?
I think about sex all the time. Always have.
And now I see I am not alone. Everywhere I look, on the faces of the young, and not so young, I see the look that says" You know, I reckon you would be quite the Tiger under the sheets".
Or maybe I am imagining it.
But I think not. I think no matter how 'evolved' we get, no matter what accoutrement we fill our lives with, at the end of the day, we are all are looking for a way to share our gene pool. Or to play at it.
Of course, none of this game play means anyone is actually getting any.And this may be why the game is now being taken into the public arena. If Bars and Clubs are not working out for you, what better option than the good old fashioned Post Office as a pick-up joint?
Stamp licking, queue forming, uniforms.
It's all there.
Sex.Sex.Sex.
I am not obsessed.