THE ALPHA MALE
By Buckshot
Back in the Stone Age, women had to be more selective in their mating habits for obvious reasons. If a saber toothed tiger wandered into her cave, would she want a fellow who would first consider the feelings of the tiger, and what one less man-eating beast would do to the balance of nature before deciding on a course of action? Hell, no! She needed a man who would pick up his club and bash the critter senseless without hesitation. Enter the Alpha Male. (I know, I know, saber tooth tigers were extinct before humans showed up, but it’s MY story, Doctor Leaky.)
In pre-historic times, women didn’t have much trouble deciding which prospective mates were Alpha Males. Was it the skinny fellow with a fist full of wildflowers, or the hairy hulking simian who grabbed her by the hair, dragged her back to his cave, and had his way with her? Hmmmm… How much damage would wildflowers do to a hungry predator? Looks like a no-brainer for Cave Girl!
Nature also has a way of taking care of her own. Even if she’s blind, Cave Girl still needs someone to protect her and the cubs, so she was given the unique ability to smell Alpha Male several miles away.
Over intervening thousands of years, evolution has worked many wonders that I’m sure we’re all grateful for. Our foreheads no longer extend to a point where we have to tilt our heads back to see above our own eye brows, most of us now walk without our knuckles dragging the ground, and Cave Girl no longer has the squat, lumpy body of an aging chimpanzee. However, there is one thing that time and evolution haven’t changed. The search for the Alpha Male.
These days, Cave Girl is no longer forced to hide in her cave, waiting for her man to bring home the Bronto Burgers. Her new hangouts are night clubs, gyms, and that dive bar down the street from work. You’d think life would be easier for Beta Male these days, with very few tigers left roaming around, but no. Poor old B.M. is still in the fix his initials suggest; deep shit!
A direct descendent of the original Cave Girl stands at the bar on Friday night. Her leopard skin may have given way to spandex and see-through chiffon, but her pheromones are still flitting about like leaves in a hurricane, and men are drawn in from all directions. B.M. has spent the last three hours buying her girly drinks embellished with fruit and umbrellas, and after a polite “thanks”, she still remains aloof. What’s she waiting for? thinks Beta Male. Perhaps she doesn’t even know herself, but they’re about to find out.
Enter Alpha Male; She hears the roar of his Harley-Davidson as he parks just outside the front door. Her nose wrinkles slightly as he struts into the shadowy room, but her head never turns; she knows instinctively that she’s safe from anything that sneaks, crawls, or flies, because Alley-Oop is there to protect her. Her alpha male has arrived!
Drawn by her wafting scent, Alpha saunters over to the bar to order a drink, and as he leans in to get the bartender’s attention, his hand just happens to land on spandex. She smiles her best “grab me by the hair and drag me back to your cave” smile, and common sense be damned, Alpha Male wins again.
Now let’s see what would happen if Beta Male tried the same thing:
He uses the balance of his last two Visa cards to buy some flashy in-style clothes, and a used Honda Intruder, and heads back to the bar, where he parks quietly a block away. He swaggers up to Cave Girl, and leaning in to place his order, finds that the bartender still ignores him. Okay, he wasn’t thirsty anyway, but he “accidentally” lets his hand fall onto Cave Girl’s spandex covered posterior.
Well, Beta thinks, rubbing his stinging cheek, that didn’t hurt all that bad. Sure hope the red mark fades before the cops show up. Poor Beta doesn’t know the Golden Rule: You have to be who you are to do what you do.
It’s amazing how thousands of years of evolution have changed our physical appearance, yet our pre-historic instincts still lie in wait just below the surface. Some guys can tell by instinct which women are Cave Girl, and which are not. Therein lies their ability to remain unslapped, out of jail, and fulfilled to a level that poor old Beta Male can only dream about.
Is Beta able to recognize Cave Girl? Sure; she’s giving off swirls of pheromones like pollen in a rose garden, but will he ever know what to do about it, and when?
Nope.
But this doesn’t mean that he’s doomed to a solitary existence. Cave Girl wants someone who brings home Chinese take-out when she has to work late, who takes out the garbage without being asked, and who unfailingly remembers birthdays and anniversaries. So Beta finds it easier than ever to find a mate these days, as long as he doesn’t mind that she still looks at Alpha Male like the cat looks at the can opener.
Well, I hope this helped ya decipher the mysteries of evolution, instinct, and the Alpha Male. I think I’ll go pick some wild flowers and head for the bar…
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