Aesthetic Response And Sexual Desire

A girl-child does not have a woman’s body, and so we may not suffer from any sexual desire for her in the sense of wanting to penetrate her and so forth; but there is little qualitative difference between the face, hair and expressive repertoire of a girl-child and the face, hair and expressive repertoire of an adult woman. There is, therefore, an awful lot of flirting she can still do without possessing “tits and ass”.

Whether actual child sexual abuse results from over-stimulation of the circuits that respond to these things that children have in common with adults, so the (very important) things that they do not have in common with adults are ignored or overridden, is a question I am not equipped to answer. But I am aware that my aesthetic buttons are in fact being pushed by the way, for example, a girl-child tosses her hair, because this is precisely the same movement, thereby appealing to precisely the same aesthetics, that might in twenty years’ time make the career of a Hollywood superstar. In fact, these buttons are pressed not only by women and girls but also by cats and gazelles; we are responding above all to grace. That is a concept hard to define, but we all know it when we see it.

When we take aesthetic pleasure from cats and gazelles, we are detached and objective, we do not actually want anything from the cat or the gazelle other than to continue looking at it, and we do not want to do anything to it either. The same would be true of paintings and sculpture – we respond to harmony, proportion and the utterly indefinable beauty of line, without wanting to do anything to the painting or the sculpture. Or rather, if we did, it would be to steal it and admire it at home, we certainly do not want to stick our tonkers into it. This, then, is how we ought to be taking our aesthetic pleasure from a beautiful child too; a detached appreciation of line, harmony and grace. It seems intuitively obvious that, for whatever reason, what happens in the paedophile is that he has descended from the mountain peaks of objective appreciation into the itchy marshes of will.

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