Open Wide

I have this theory that you can tell a lot about a man by his reaction to an attractive woman crossing her legs in front of him in a short skirt, or bending over in a low-cut blouse. That is to say, if he tries to catch a glimpse of the "promised land" he's a normal, healthy bloke, whereas if he doesn't look he's gay. Or possibly blind. I believe there may still exist a large number of women who seriously believe that polite men (perhaps including their own husband/boyfriend/father) wouldn't look, whereas I personally maintain that this is complete bollocks. The only characteristic which distiguishes between us men in this regard is the degree of blatantness we are prepared to employ.

What is it about forbidden flesh that's so appealing? I mean, you could be sitting on the beach surrounded by women in bikinis and hardly even notice their near-nakedness, but as soon as that well-upholstered barmaid bends over to get a packet of salt'n'vinegar crisps you just have to check out her cleavage. (At least I assume this is the case - it's always possible that it's just me, and hundreds of people reading this are currently shaking their heads and wondering what the fuck I'm on about.) Maybe it's that very forbiddenness (is that even a word?), the knowledge that you're gazing on things that should be hidden. It's the unexpected pleasure, the bonus encounter that reminds you that there's more to life than work, family and wholesome pastimes. Of course this only applies if the encounter is indeed a chance one; if you wander around with a mirror on your shoe looking for it then you're just a sad wanker.

We live in a world where hardcore pornography is but a click away and you can gaze on anything from tasteful nude pictures to a movie of a Chinese woman sucking off a large dog, and everything in between. In spite of this I challenge you not to glance sideways next time the opportunity presents itself at the health club/mall/parent teacher conference. The trick is obviously to do it without drawing attention to yourself; this means both from the object of your observation and from the girlfriend/wife who will inevitably be standing right next to you as you involuntarily gaze up some blonde goddess's skirt. It's a constant battle, but one made almost impossible to win by the fact that women instinctively know when you're doing something you shouldn't. It's like they can sense it, and I don't mean because your conversation trails off, your head turns and you mutter "Fuck me, look at those!"

You may think you're stealing an imperceptible glance at some nearby and near-exposed mammaries but to your other half you might as well hang out a sign that says "System paused while checking out some nice breasts. Normal service will be resumed shortly."

Sometimes a cursory glance isn't enough though. I remember a toga party I attended years ago where the hostess carried on a conversation while sitting with one leg draped over the chair arm, her growler practically hanging out of her underwear. You couldn't not look. It was like the room shrank away and there was just me and this giant minge. It was the minge that was talking to me - I swear I could see the lips move - and I was transfixed. I could hardly believe that this girl, with whom I had worked for some months, had something so hairy between her legs. She should really have had it on a leash.

Maybe a better man than me wouldn't have noticed, but I'm willing to bet there are, at least in this respect, few better men than me. I hereby plead "not guilty" to charges of checking out forbidden sights, on the grounds of diminished responsibility. Seriously, your honor, I had to convince myself that it was in fact just a hairy clunge and that she wan't wearing a Russian hat down there. I guess my only hope for acquittal is an all-male jury...


Copyright © 2008 Edward Bison