by CARLY JACOBS
I was having a chat with one of my girlfriends a few years ago and she was really upset. She’d been walking around the shops with her partner and he’d checked out a few women right in front of her.
She called him on it. He got defensive. They had a fight. The usual stuff.
She made a remark that I’m lucky that my man would never do that in front of me.
Um… beg to differ. My man is a supreme gentleman of the first order. He’s a real door-opener, drink buyer, subtly remove a drunken person from a party and drive them home kind of guy. He treats me like a queen, makes me tea every day and cleans up after me without complaint.
He’s wonderful. However he has both a penis and eyes, the two of which (or three of which) are linked by many blood vessels and sexy-themed brain waves. If a great pair of tits walks past, he’s going to look at them. If a magnificent arse is shaking its thing in front of him, he’s going to see it and appreciate it. It’s a built-in impulse, a light bulb moment. His brain is all ‘Tits! I like those!‘.
Same as when kids see a Baskin Robbins or my mum sees tequila.
How do I feel about this? Honestly? I don’t give a shit. Not even half a shit. Why? Because women are fucking fantastic. They’re magnificent and they come in the most extraordinary shapes and sizes. Looking at women is awesome*. Some have great tits, some have amazing legs, some have faces like dolls, some have fabulous hair, some dress like they just walked out of the Dior workshop in Paris and some have smiles that make you feel like the world is a unicorn playground.
It’s all very, very good to look at. Particularly breasts, I love breasts. Mine are rather modest in size so I love a decent sized pair of knockers. If I was a dude or a lesbian they’d totally be my thing. If a gal walks past and she’s got the puppies on display, I’m going to check them out. Because they rock. So why would I deny my boyfriend that?