Monday, January 26, 2009

Spy Tactics

Have had interesting discussions all weekend with J. Am of the mind J is a well-known spy as his stealth procedures elude me. I rather fancy J is someone to study as are the individuals in my building. Am reconsidering move to new location. Perhaps I shall wait out the elevator inconvenience.

Have relocated formerly misplaced black skirt and white silk blouse for office wear. Am going sans bra with open neckline to consider J's post regarding man's propensity to look whilst bending over. Hm. On second, I shall up one button to provide a challenge.

Am to meet L for lunch in building across today. Shall hike skirt one inch and lean against glass skyway overpass. Believe same propensity can be noted for those looking up.

Note to self: "Mia, remember to debate whether going sans bra in winter is wise. May receive too much pointed attention?"


J said...

I do not understand men, and I'm one of them, which is sad. I mean this from a purely rational point of view. I've seen more breasts than I can count. The last time I checked more than half the population has them. I've seen them in a bra, busting out of a bra, in a T-shirt braless, naked, down a blouse, etc. You can't watch TV for two hours these days without seeing more cleavage and boobs than anything else.

Anyone with an internet connection can see as many naked breasts as he or she desires, on demand, 24/7.

And yet... your post, which intellectually should amount to a "I've seen a million of them", grabs me in places deeply rooted in my gestalt. There is nothing more sexy than a woman wearing a revealing top. A woman showing up buck-naked to the office is not nearly as sexy as a woman in a partially unbuttoned white blouse. The power of cleavage to attract male attention is ridiculous and in many ways, stupid.

I know this. I am cognizant of it on an intellectual level, and by all rights, as an intelligent, thoughtful person who considers himself capable of a reasonable amount of self-control, I find that my eyes have a mind of their own. I am usually capable of controlling myself, through a herculean effort, and able to maintain eye contact, but as soon as the woman looks away at something, my eyes immediately dart to the cleavage, wild thoughts ensue, and I maintain just enough self-awareness and peripheral vision to avert my eyes as she brings her eyes back to me.

It's maddening. Like eating cotton candy. It doesn't taste all that great, it's messy, the texture is weird, it's sticky, it leaves a weird granular feeling in your teeth, and yet, you somehow can't resist it.

I know there have been countless studies on the matter of breasts and sexuality, and all sorts of insights as to why they're so powerful (in our society). The fact that they're kept covered lends and air of secrecy and intimacy, the ties to motherhood and breast-feeding, the media's molding of sexual imagery using them, just for starts.

I understand a 20-year-old man being filled with lust and hormones, but I had expected that as I aged, apparently less-than-gracefully, that breasts would have less of a hold over me. That in my wisdom and experience, I would somehow shake off the allure, the distraction, as an adolescent infatuation.

The worst of it is, I am not a "boob-man." You can't tell this by the rest of my post, but given a Weird Science situation where I could compose a woman with limited resources, and had to eliminate one classically perceived positive feature from the following list: eyes, lips, hair, hips, legs, ass (this post is rated M for mature audiences), and breasts, breast size would be the first thing I would be willing to sacrifice.

Women have all the power. Thank goodness most women have been rendered insecure and impotent by a society of male aggression, or we men would be in a world of trouble.

wv: bevanc

Mia Watts said...

My mother used to scoff at me for going to a female gynecologist instead of a male. She'd say, "What do you think you have that he hasn't already seen a thousand times." I knew she was right but my standing answer was and remains, "But he hasn't seen MINE."

It is the same with breasts. The men who wish to peer down my blouse have not seen MINE. They've seen countless others off internet or otherwise and whether impersonal or personal they've sampled them, no doubt. But I'm not given to free access despite my bold provocations. I flirt like mad, but I'm choosy.

The men who work with me know me only as much as I allow and the attempt to look in my blouse is rather like a physical "get to know you". I'm the one they *haven't*. Ah. The lure then.

Another note of curiosity is the decided additional interest my cleavage receives when decorated by a simple shiny object. My delicate silver chain with the smooth oval pendant, to be precise. A tiny diamond set off-center at the top. It's neither expensive or particularly artful, but it falls just there, above that last button at the beginning swells. When I where it, whether bending or no, I am guaranteed the look-attempt. I suppose it has something to do with being brightly polished, or reflectively flashing that polish upon each rise and fall of my breaths (did you read Breasts there? Freud may have a thought on that...).

I wonder if it's entrapment. Hm. Am I providing a reason for them to look or is the sparkly catching their eye? Curious, I've not thought of it before. I do find approximately half of the men either comment on the pendant's beauty (which I have established is more sentimental than artful) or lift it with careful fingers to examine it. Does that make me a fisherman? Will think on it more and consider.

I am a butt girl. Cannot help it. Men and women. I admire a well formed ass. I am not aroused by a woman's back end but look anyway, discretely and only if the situation permits a look. I do not whip around or lean into the work aisle as the man next to me does. But a man's ass, and he must be a man rather than a barely post-pubescent boy, does crazy things to the tightness in my abdomen. God, I love a great ass. And now you have my weekness. He may be large, short, skinny, tall but if he has a lovely rump, I'll think about it naked.

wv: coricere

J said...

Hmmm. I saw your last wv and instantly saw: coerce - what would Freud say about that?

My wv: phick

Mia Watts said...

He's most likely claim it appropriate given the subject matter. That and some rubbish about daughters having father complexes.

Surprised you had no comment regarding my "lure". Was hoping for insight from the male mind as to what attraction the necklace or lack there of, would hold.


J said...

The lure is nothing more than an excuse. A man wants to stare at your cleavage and the presence of something there that he can comment on, particularly in a positive way, is the perfect reason. Rest assured while he is fingering your pendant, his eyes are fixated on anything else. Men have as much interest in jewelry as a dog has in eating a salad. Once in a while, you'll find a crazy one, but the species as a whole is more interested in meat.

Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.

wv: plyza
Eyes ya.

Mia Watts said...

And you thought Lycan were myth. See your comment for exibit A.

J said...

I too can be considered a "butt" person, but my personal experience has shown that the butt is the first thing to go on most women. The number of women at age 40 who still have a pretty face is quite high. The number of women at age 40 who still have nice breasts, also pretty high. Great legs, much the same. Eyes, very high. Posteriors? Not so much.

The rare woman who exercises daily and rigorously might still have a nice butt, but it's very few and very far between. There's a window between 18-30 where a woman's butt is likely to look as good naked as it does clothed, and after that, it's a crapshoot.

I am quite certain there are numerous parallels that can be drawn to the male physique as well; it's not meant to be sexist or disparaging, merely an observation.

wv: nivera

Mia Watts said...

Oh J, you've disappointed me. I hadn't realized female butts had expiration dates stamped on them. But (pun intended) I did open the subject. Alas, I shall have to address it now.

Saggy bottoms. Hell. Subject addressed.

Men and sagging parts. On this I do have an opinion. In particular, old men bending over. *Not* a view for the nervous stomach.

I like the way men age. In all facets. I cannot complain.

J said...

I'm sorry to have disappointed, but the ravages of age affect us all, and in different ways, and I did promise honesty, so it is what it is.

So the moral of my story, somehow lost in all of this because I probably meandered away, is that while I agree that butts are great, I've tended to de-emphasize them as I've gotten older, for no other reason than the feeling that I have two choices: Only get aroused by the butts of college girls, or convince myself that an aging butt is as good as a young one, but in a different way. Preferring the ice-cold bucket of truth as I do, I prefer to veer from self-deception. However, there are definitely things about aging women that I've learned to love. I just prefer to let the appreciations come naturally rather than being forced.

This ranks as one of the top ten oddest conversations I've had, and I've had some doozies.

wv: siontsk

Mia Watts said...

This? Odd? For shame. Stick with me, J, you've much to learn.

Good save on the last comment. Was wondering how you would extract yourself gracefully. Well done.

Shall remember not to carry around flashing neon pointer toward arse after age 40. Consider joining saggy bottoms anonymous.

J said...

Or you can just hit the gym with a vengeance and use the stairmaster on a steep incline, determined to maintain the ass of a teenager despite the ravages of time and opinions of internet bloggers.

Mia Watts said...

Bold of you considering you haven't seen my ass.

*raising brows*

...or have you?

J said...

I can neither confirm or deny having seen your ass. If you've traveled outside Minnesota, we may have walked past each other somewhere and, not knowing who you were or that we would someday converse, I might have gazed backward over my shoulder to check out your behind.

Six degrees of posterior separation. Kevin Bacon not required.

wv: cediate

Mia Watts said...

I assure you. Had you seen my posterior, you'd not have forgotten. You'd have hi-lighted seeing my arse as the number one arse on your arse list (we all have a list, yes?)

You do remember than in 6 degrees there was much homoerotic play. And As Kevin Bacon is 132 his posterior has nothing on mine. Should his arse be six degrees from mine, I would request that he aim, but not fire.

J said...

So many mixed metaphors... overload.