Really, I wasn’t. I pride myself on looking a lady in the eye when I talk, but the other day I got “that look.” You know that look. The “I know you’ve been looking” look that women love to give once they’ve spotted you checking them out. Well, it’s not true! I needed the name of your group (Avanti), and the only way I could think of its name was by looking at your shirt. It’s not my fault that your left breast displays it so prominently, or that I had trouble finding it, so I had to look a few more seconds longer than reasonable.
So please, stop giving me that look. I didn’t do it!
That happened to me last week, too. I was buying a cd at a used cd store and this girl was wearing a shirt that was very flattering. I really wasn’t stealing a look (she had to be 10 years my junior and I’m only 26!), honest. My natural gaze has a tendency to move toward the floor - I’m trying to work away from that. I only do it with strangers.
Heh. A couple of weeks ago I was strolling down near Stanley Park and stopped to get a veggie-do. I got a totally unexpected reaction from a woman who caught me looking at her ass – a sly (smug?) smile.
I returned an embarassed look and went in the opposite direction once I had my grub. I guess I could have pointed out the birdshit that drew my gaze, but why spoil such a rare occurance?
Usually when i get that look, the woman has a low cut blouse and lights flashing around the nips, or a really tight sweater with arrows pointing at them, well practically anyway.
Part of my job as a respiratory therapist is to do EKG’s. Needless to say, I do them in a professional manner, but I am also a male, and notice right away when I see a lady with a beautiful pair of breasts.
I don’t ogle them, and I don’t drool. I just appreciate the moment.
You as the patient in question are a} either aware that they’re beautiful and are silently thankful for my appreciation or b) aware that they are beautiful and be resentful of me for noticing.
If it’s the latter, then that’s your problem not mine, because I will have treated you with respect and courtesy the entire time you were my patient.
A few years back, I was the Duty Manager at a large Auckland Conference Centre. Since hospitality has a fairly largish turnover of staff-I need to rely on reading the staff’s namebadges to remember who everybody was.
Now Sarah, (name changed to protect the innocent-plus the fact that I can’t remember her name now, anyway!) was a rather, large girl. Often, and understandably, girls that have large breasts have to deal with ooglers all the time, and can get self-concious and defensive over the issue-and here is her boss spending a large amount of time staring at her breasts all evening! Suffice to say she gave me a bit of an earfull… “I was looking at your namebadge-I couldn’t remember your name!” Was my (truly! I wasn’t looking!) honest response when she confronted me about it during the evening…she saw me later on doing it to all the other staff that were on duty that night and later forgave me, but still!!!
…I later learnt the sutble art of looking at namebadges while people are distracted by something-there is nothing worse than finding out that somebody can’t remember who you are…
I’ll go to a conference or event and without fail there is some woman with breasts that “she think deserve to be looked at.” Affixed to one of these breasts will be a name and agency she works for. Because my mind is like swiss cheese at 27 and I can’t remember her name, that she told me 45 seconds ago and I’m not going to ask her because then I look like an ass, I steal a glance at her nametag. Now the tag is sadly right on her chest and therefore is not straight at me, but curved like the object it rests on. So I take a good look, because her name dissapears into her cleavage. And she sees me.
So now I’m an ass because I’m either looking at her rack, which I’m not. Or because I can’t remember simple information that she told me 1 minute ago, which I can’t. Life is hard sometimes…
I love it when people don’t remember who I am, because then I can find out who THEY are without feeling bad for forgetting who they are. And I always do forget.
As to ogling… no ogling friends, no ogling co-workers, and now I guess no lip licking and self fondling. But other than that I say it’s fair game. I have no rays that shoot out of my eyes to cause physical damage. If you get accused of ogling, the simple defense is “Were you staring at my eyes? I am so offended by that. I am more than just a pair of beautiful eyes you know!”
I look. I’ll admit it. I can’t help it. I look at everything. Boobs, butts, faces, flowers, birds, bugs, animals, cars, pedestrians, signs, video screens, etc. etc. I’m an equal opportunity ogler.
I like this answer.
All things of nature have beauty in them. We stare at sunsets, flowers, and little kittens. Are not the bodies of women artistic creations of nature that deserve to be admired like a work of art? Must ogling be related to sexual desire at all times?
I’m a stealth ogler. Even my GF can’t tell when I ogle her or other women.
My trick is to keep my head pointing slightly off (as if I’m looking over their shoulder or something) while keeping my eyes tracking whatever I look at
Of course I tend to do this very quickly. I just admire and move on.
My GF on the other hand just gets stared at. Constantly. I also make it a habit to touch her when she’s walking by. Her boobs aren’t safe with me!
I always think it’s odd that a woman (not to imply that you, susan_foster, are like this, but it is a good intro) would dress in a way which easily exposes her breasts, yet would be offended that men would look. If I wore baggy shorts and put my legs up on the desk, I would have to know that one effect would be that everyone could see my eggs and bacon. Or if I had a loose waistband and bent down, I would not scold the people behind me for noticing my now-exposed butt crack. The fault would be mine for exposing too much of myself.
That reminds me. The other night there was a woman sitting at a bar in way-too-low pants which exposed the top inch of her butt crack and the triangular top of her g-string, upon which was written “Angel” in rhinestones. There’s no way I’m making any apologies for staring at that.
