I’m betting that if we could start in the part of your brain where your love of whatever it is you love resides and follow the sparking and frayed wiring past where it crosses the blue synapses and the firing yellow connections and that knot of red wire, we would find a glowing hotspot in your neural network that’s throbbing and straining to break through a zipper.
That said, I love the roller derby.
MS took me on a surprise date Saturday night, and part of the surprise was Derby de Mayo. I love the excitement of the jammers trying to get through the pack, denied and denied again until finally they fling forward and break forward to lead. Vicarious? Yes. Thrill, yes, thrilling. And a certain turn-on for those of us who are wired for it. I even like how the lead jammer ends each jam by tapping her hips. It’s a sign language safe-word.
I really don’t know how big that particular roller derby turn-on club is. I would tend to think duh, everyone, but that’s because I tend to forget that not everyone is wired exactly – like – me. Which I think is full-tilt weird of other people, but I’ve come to accept it. Luckily in most cases my wires cross with MS’ to create electrical power to spare, and we tend to like doing the same things. Living in a state of perpetual foreplay is even nicer when if you’ve found your money shot partner. Six years now! I like it, baby, I like it!