Maybe our bodies don’t belong to ourselves, and what they look like, and what we do with them, isn’t for us to decide.
Maybe there is a way a proper body should be. Thin or rounded, pale or tanned, hairy or shaved clean — it’s a question of the place and time we live in. But at all times, and in all places, there is a special trial of correctness, and if your body doesn’t fulfill the standards, it will be judged negatively.
Maybe we would be happiest if we all followed the course outlined in old biology textbooks: started feeling attraction to the opposite sex in adolescence, found a partner in early adulthood, and began child production as early as possible (best before you’re thirty, they say). After all, it’s all so healthy and natural. Maybe we really shouldn’t pay attention to what we want, and what feels natural to us.
Maybe there is a way a proper life should be, and we should focus on making our lives proper instead of what we foolishly think of as happy.
Maybe our most intimate moments in life should also follow accepted patterns of normal sexual behaviour — maybe that’s all they are for. Maybe it’s all right that there are only a few sexual acts that you can talk about freely, without fear of being recognized as perverted. After all, a neat division into natural and perverted is what human minds crave for; they like neat divisions.
Maybe our lives should be spent in general fear of being, in one way or another, improper.
After all, I may be wrong.