Why Men Are Obsessed With Breasts
Breasts, mammaries, ta-tas, bazooms, melons, watermelons, balloons, boobs, boobies, chesticles, rack, honkers, hooters, headlights, baby feeding devices, pillows, snugglers, smugglers, and PUPPIES!
More than the Tardis and the Intersect, breasts are the greatest creation on God’s green earth? No? F*ck you, yes they are. Stonehenge could crumble, sliced bread can eat me and space may be the final frontier, but sure as s*it ain’t my favorite. Or ANY heterosexual male’s favorite for that matter. Men are obsessed with breasts. We are. Accept it. I’m not saying you need to like it, but it’ll save you a world of wishing death if you admitted it. The question isn’t whether Bourbon St. at Mardi Gras is our heaven, the question is: Why?
Well, I’ve got a few theories swirling in my brain. First, I think we’ve got breast envy. That’s right, I said it! Men love boobs because we’re without. They’re just so much fun! All we get to play with are our pricks and that’s pretty limiting.
Part of me thinks it’s a power thing. Breasts hold sway over us. We know they dominate us, and that therefore entices and as frustrates us. Women are the dominant gender for SEVERAL reasons, and two of them are staring at our chest while our eyes try to steer upwards.
Another part of me (I refuse to name which part) thinks this is a dignity issue. Ever notice that when a woman’s naked it’s considered sexy, but male nudity is funny? You know why? Breasts! Without them we just look like deformed Ken dolls.
Perhaps there’s something to do with Oedipal desires/milk of life, and therefore a reverence for the power to create life. Although, truth be told, I wasn’t breast fed and I’m clearly still a victim to my double-D compulsion. Thus, I dismiss this particular theory! One down at least…
Maybe we’re all trying to over-think it too much. It could just be a callback to the primitive amygdala in our brains. Breasts are an indication of a potential mate with which to procreate and we are programmed to procreate. I wonder if breast size and shape, in the days before homo-sapiens wore clothes, had bearing on who one would wish to knock over the head with a club and drag back to their caves. Of course, being a shower vs. a grower could’ve also had the same affect for you ladies.
I like to think that as we’ve evolved, size doesn’t matter as much. It certainly doesn’t for me. I’ve been in lust with women who I’ve had bigger mammaries than, and you better believe I still loved seeing them in low-cut tops. That’s it! It’s the fact that breasts — of all sizes — are magical!
Think about all you can do with those babies. I mean, you can dress them up or down. You can create all sorts of optical illusions so that they appear to be all different shapes and sizes. Or you can literally display them as works of performance art. You even have the opportunity to augment them if you want! Tough to do with testicles. We only get implants to replace, not to enhance. And if you’re in the adult entertainment industry, you can even write them off! Even the IRS loves them. Holy tax deduction, Batman!
To an extent, I want to apologize to all of you ladies on behalf of my gender. We do ogle. We do stare. We revel and worship. We are reduced to horny toads and come off as disrespectful almost all of the time. I don’t know if there will come a day when our obsession will die down, but I do believe it’s a miracle you put up with us. I mean, we don’t even consciously choose to look at them, we just do. There’s certainly something instinctual going on. Instinctual that often crosses the line to insulting, skeevy even.
You’re the heroes, not just for being the gatekeepers, but for not having squished most of our eyes to jelly after you turn fourteen. Could you help solve the mystery? Why do you think men are obsessed with your…you knows? In what ways do you think man’s fixation on them has helped or hindered you? Tell us. Teach us. Punish us?