The science of genetics is a funny business.

Not that it is the sort of thing which makes one laugh but the fact is the basic underlying logic of ultimate eventuality creates illogical results which have managed to baffle the most humorless of scientists for a very long time.

A good case in point is the dossier of my personal object of obsessed desire, Doctor Marilyn Murphy PHD recently of Berkley University and a member of the National Organization for Women.

I first met Doctor Murphy at a seminar for accelerated learning at the University in a particularly hot summer before the attack of 9-11. I was not at my best during that unusually hot time because I was more acclimated to my new haven of academia in Portland, Oregon. When I first was approached about establishing a program of Systems Design in the Great Northwest, I scoffed at the idea of banishing myself from my native New York to the hinterland of the ignorant unwashed masses. Now that I had been in my beautiful, beloved Portland for almost two years, I often celebrated the spirit of independence and creativity that permeated the region with some sort of cosmic magic fairy dust swirling about the feet of ordinary citizens.

I had actually gotten to the point that I hated to leave the area around Portland even for brief expeditions into other academic territories.

I never had a good opinion of the seat of learning at Berkley because of the much publicized liberal tone to its faculty and the fact that so many of their programs seemed geared to silly schools of thought best left unexplored by decent working folk.

At the time of that first meeting with Marilyn, I was a relatively young person in my early forties and I was both well-hung and virile with spunk enough to satisfy a harem of females. I hate to sound like I am another one of those macho males who constantly brag about their sexual prowess but I like to make certain facts known to explain my eventual downfall in a more balanced view giving the "other side of the story".

I had not one but two special female friends in the North.

My closest female "confidante" was a mixed blood American Indian girl who looked more Italian with her dark skin rather than a member of a recognized tribe of Native Americans who had existed on the North American continent for centuries before the first white settlers had set foot on the shores of the New World.

Linda Silent Crow was not the prettiest female on the staff of the institute that I had established for basic research into Systems Design but she was without a doubt the sexiest. I liked the way she enhanced her assets by wearing the most outrageous outfits advertising her long sturdy legs and heart-shaped buttocks that stamped her with "Indian" genetic posterior perfection. We seemed to hit it off right away and she did not hesitate to bend over for my pleasure with the slightest hint of desire. She was not in the least the jealous type and that was fortunate because my other "close female friend" was a heavily tattooed pole dancer with multiple piercings in odd places know to one and all as "Mystic Mistress", but whose real name was Kate Kramer called affectionately "KK" by her doting parents. I had met her parents who were exceedingly proud of their absolutely fit daughter honed to physical perfection by years of pole dancing excellence. They knew of her first tattoo but she kept the others out of sight because she knew it would upset their stern last-century ways.

Mystic and I made an unusual couple.

The only feature of commonality was the fact she wore these exciting sort of cat-like glasses that made her seem like the most intelligent female in the upscale "Gentlemen's Club" on the entertainment strip. In point of fact, Mystic was quite intelligent and she often amazed me with the extent of her knowledge about little known facts I had absolutely no interest in at all. She must have been an attentive student in school because she had facts and details about most subjects that ordinary folk knew nothing about at all.

In complete honesty, I have to admit my primary interest in Mystic was because she was able to wrestle me into a complete physical surrender even though I outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. I really didn't mind that she preferred to be "on top" because she was all woman and willing to give her best to bring me to a happy ending. Even my little Indian princess Linda appreciated her tough exterior and gentle core of feminine softness that appealed to her as well.

Doctor Marilyn Murphy on the other hand was one of those lucky females that possessed the most efficient of metabolic systems known to mankind. It didn't matter what she ate, her body consumed it, sorted it out and it seldom stayed inside her longer than it was necessary to suck out all the beneficial nutrients. She was fastidious beyond belief and no matter how hot everyone was around her, I never saw her sweat or even look the slightest bit stressed in highly stressful situations.

Most of you know that Berkley is sort of a "hot-bed" of feminism that tended to go beyond the pale in the ideology that was well-suited to the California lifestyle. Only a short distance away, folks in places like Utah or Kansas looked at the students and the faculty on that campus and just shook their heads in disbelief as if they were all aliens of some kind and I don't mean from south of the border.

It wasn't just the concept of feminism found there that confounded the traditional-minded folk as much as the overall sense of "PC" or political correctness that permeated their way of thinking. It was as confounding to those family-oriented folks as much as a Goldwater rally was to average citizens in 1964.