The Bee and the Wasp

Once upon a time, a male bee and a male wasp were discussing love.

"When I find someone to love, I penetrate them over and over until I find the next person I want," boasted the wasp.

"That's terrible," fretted the bee. "How can you do that?"

"Because I can," the male wasp boasted. "Love should sting, don't you think? It's what stingers are for. My own stinger is smooth--easy in and easy out. I can plunge it a dozen times in seconds. Oh, yes, my lover knows I've been there." The wasp grinned, feeling triumphant. "What about you?" he asked the bee.

"Maybe it's because I'm not so smooth an operator," the male bee answered, "but when I attach to the one I love, I stay."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I want to," the bee explained. "The one I penetrate is the one I choose. It's forever."

The male wasp was astonished. "That's no way to use your stinger," he sneered. "In and out and in and out, I say."

"Maybe we weren't meant to penetrate everyone we could," the male bee added. "Just the one."

"So, tell me," laughed the wasp, "why? Why just one? What would happen if you left the one you penetrated and went looking for someone else? Like I do."

"Well, then, I'd die," the male bee said. "It's all very eviscerating."

"Yea? So, whose fault is that, really?"

"Mine, of course."

"And?"

"And...that's the way I want it. Once in love, disengagement is amputation. Love, like my stinger, is a barbed thing--easy in, but..."

"Must be all the honey," the male wasp blurted. "Stay the hell away from me."

Now it came to be that a female bee and a female wasp landed on the same tree branch upon which they were resting. They were laughing as they landed and, once secure on the branch, their laughter became even louder and more demonstrable. They were laughing because, as usual, the males didn't have a clue about what they were saying.

"And just what," asked the male wasp, "is so funny?"

"Male wasps don't sting," answered the female wasp. "Only female wasps do." Now the females were cackling.

"Well, I'm no bee," protested the male bee.

"Male bees don't sting, either," said the bee's female counterpart.

The two males went silent. After a moment, the male wasp said, "Aha!"

"Aha, what?" asked the female wasp.

"If we don't sting, then what's this thing hanging down from me?"

"Oh, you mean your penis?" laughed the female bee.

"I suppose," mumbled the male wasp.

"I guess," muttered the male bee.

"You men," chided the female wasp. "Always flapping around, waving your genitalia at anyone you can."

"Not me," said the male bee. "I'm for life. I was just explaining this to my wasp friend here."

"You, too," corrected the female bee. "You can't and don't sting. But I really like the way you think."

"So what have we learned?" asked the female wasp. The male wasp remained silent. "What we've learned is that you men are all about penis size."

"And," added the female bee, "if you lived and died by your penis, you'd be careful where you put it."

"Amen!" declared the female bee. "What we do with our genitalia is for the good of our species."

"And not," added the female wasp, "just a species' good time."

The males didn't say anything for a while. Finally, the male wasp asked, "So we can't sting."

"No! Neither of you," repeated the female wasp sternly. "Frankly, you should get that into your stubborn heads--the larger ones, that is."

The female bee hooted. "And it's not because of all the honey," she chortled.

"But, Honey--" the male bee blurted.

"Don't 'Honey' me, Mister. Now come on home before I sting you."

And each pair of bees and wasps began to buzz and lift off of their shared tree branch, the bees as different from wasps as men are different from women. And this is how it came to be that everyone flies their separate way--both in love and in life--whether they know the truth about love or not. Whether the truth stings or not.