A colleague of mine recently complained that a client she was working with, spoke to her breasts all the way thorough the conversation.
"Why would this guy be so interested in my boobs and not what I had to say or even my face?"
How many times have I heard this complaint from women? Too many to count is the answer. But, then, travelling through London, on the Tube, cramed in like sardines without the tomatoe sauce, the answer came to me.
Women are conditioned to make themselves attractive. It is a genetic thing, programming if you like, but allure is all consuming.
My colleague was no differnt from so many of the fashionista's that share the crowded tube carriages with me.
Many have the low cut, smock shaped dress on, "a la mode", Many of which, just about cover their nipples. That, coupled with figure enhancing brasiers, have all the hall marks of the garb worn by the crinolin covered mannequine's of the 1800's.
I suppose age and the familiarity of the sight has innured me to the charms of over-exposed bossoms, so I am able to traverse across London without getting a rock hard woody.
Not only are the dresses cut to a plunge line that cries out for a fondle, but the hem line has taken a dramatic shift northwards; reto-sixtes is the fashion statement of the hour.
These youngish ladies have only four or five items of clothing on and that includes footware. Is it any wonder then, that virile, testosterone charged guys, have problems keeping their eyes in their head, let alone above the bust line.
My colleague, although more than 40 was dressed in the latest fashion. Her olive coloured breasts were pushed up to a cleavage that rivalled Nell Guin's of Cheddar Gorge, all barely covered by the fabric of her dress.
Now, I am a somewhat older man, I am afraid to admit, can remember the sixties, so was less than overcome by her charms, but I can still remember the time when my eyes would also, probably not have travelled above her breast bone. But, worse, she had a perfume that was designed to attract, to make her smell alluring, to seem irresistable and clever make up to complete the illusion of beauty. Even in my advanced years, I am not totally immune.
So us guys have no chance. We are genetically programmed to respond to as many women as we can possibly get horizontal with in a basic instict to mate. We have no more violition than the wind. Faced with an attractive woman, who's clothing is designed to reveal and smells like something from the utopia of our dreams, us guys have absolutely no hope of being able to look up, study the woman, get into her mind, because her tits are saying all that needs to be said.
The message? (received loud and clear)
I am trying to make myself as attractive as possible. I want to be noticed and positively revel in the attention my demeanor evinces.
Give us poor saps a break girls. You are all beautiful, your bodies are a haven for our fantasies, your smell is so provacative and what comes out of your mouths, is far less interesting than the view.
Might explain the fundamental difference between the sexes.
So what is it you want? The attention? A mate? Or our inflinching interest in what you have to say?
I can't answer the question.
Robin.