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Ever wonder why men are so fascinated with breasts? Some might say it is because the female mammary gland, or glands, represents nourishment, comfort, even life. That's what a psychiatrist would likely have you believe; that it has something to do with Oedipus, whoever that is. Well, I don't think so matey. Seriously, if that were true looking at their mother’s breasts would turn guys on. Can you imagine the horror of walking into the bathroom and catching your mom naked from the waist up? And as far as nourishment is concerned, any one care for a nice cold glass of mom’s breast milk to wash down that peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I didn't think so. If our fascination with breasts has nothing to do with mom or food then what is it? Well as you may have expected, I have the answer. It is because we (men) don't have them. If we had them, we wouldn't get so excited about seeing them, touching them or rubbing baby oil on them. That is something most men like to do—right? Granted, if myself or any of my normal male counterparts woke up tomorrow morning with a nice set of forty-four triple D's we'd be mortified, at first anyway. But after we got over the initial shock and while we were waiting for our first trip to the doctor, well, I imagine we wouldn't be able to resist the urge to fondle them, at least once. Maybe sneak into the bathroom, remove the XXXL super bulky sweatshirt that was thrown on in a fruitless attempt to camouflage our new breasts and take a peek in the mirror...maybe jump up and down a little. Simply put, we would probably amuse ourselves with them. However, I don't think it would take a whole lot of time, maybe six months at the most, and we would tire of them—eventually they would become a burden. It would be like walking around all day with cantaloupes strapped to your chest. Now I do have to admit, a bra can be one sexy article of clothing, especially as worn by a woman. However, they really don't look all that comfortable to me. Straps, hooks, wires, hell, might as well be some kind of animal trap. I know if I had man-boobs, I wouldn't wear one—I'd be one of the first men in history to burn my bra. I bet after six months of carrying a couple of melons around on our chest we would come to the conclusion that breasts really aren't that big of deal after all. We all have them to some degree or another. I blame the media for all the hype surrounding the female breast. It's the media who try to push them down our throats, so to speak. They are the ones who try to make nature's way of feeding a baby into an object of sex. Breasts don't make anyone smarter, or nicer and judging by some of the cartoonish examples of breast implants, they don't always even make anyone prettier, or sexier for that matter—after all, sexy is more of an attitude than it is a look anyway. So in closing, I would like to pass on some advice to my fellow Neanderthals. Eyes up boys, they aren't toys created for your amusement, they are functional glands designed for only one thing. Besides, you can tell more about a woman by looking at her face anyway. A pleasant smile and a delightful sense of humor win hands down over big breasts any day of the week. Besides, women always know when you are staring at their breasts and when they catch you in the act their first impression of you is going to be that you are about as sophisticated as a fourteen-year-old boy with a Playboy magazine. |
