I don’t need any help getting in trouble, I am fairly good at it on my own.
But breasts are like a form of kryptonite.
I did not mean to openly stare at her cleavage.
Keep in mind, I am a short man.
The lady in question was a total stranger, never seen her before.
Tall, with her heels on, well over 6 foot.
And, with a winter chill in the air, wearing a top that would be great for mid summer.
It gave her about a solid foot of cleavage. This is a large busted woman.
In my own totally unbelievable defence, I was trying to see a broach on the front of her blouse.
One of those brain dead moments you just screwed, no matter what you do.
If you have a penis, guilty as charged.
I snap out of my little world and my ass clenches a like a sweaty vice grip. The kind of an “Micro swamp ass” that you rarely see, except for those really embarrassing social moments.
Like this one.
“My eyes are up here!” Two angry fingers stabbing at her head.
What I should have said, was nothing.
What I heard come out of my mouth was not clever.
Certainly not enough to get out of this little shit storm.
“I wasn’t looking at your eyes.”
In retrospect, thinking that would make her laugh and defuse the situation was pretty naive.
The “Asshole!” and stomp off was fairly understandable at that point.
I try not to let that ruin my day.
Besides, in watching her go, I noticed that she had a nice ass.
I know, I know, what a pig I am.
I kind of wonder what women expect from men.
I mean, we are not perfect, not even close, no matter what your definition of perfection is.
Besides, perfection is the realm of the Almighty, and that leaves all things flawed for me.
In all honesty, as big an ass as I can be in print, I try not to inflict myself on the public in general or women specifically.
Ask the ladies that adore me, I am like a lovable puppy, let me hump your leg for awhile and we’re friends for life. Totally harmless.
As long as you’re understanding about the fact that I have no filter for my mouth. I used to, a little bit.
But this blog has ruined any shot I had at being appropriate.
So be it.
Proper is boring.
Now, if she had been the first woman to call me an asshole, I might be given cause for concern.
But I figured this one out a long time ago.
If the cleavage was not meant for display, she wouldn’t have worn the top.
But I realize she didn’t wear is for me.
I hope whoever she did wear it for appreciates it, she really was dazzling.
And, just in case she didn’t wear it specifically for someone special, then by default, it was for me.
Nice. (And this is how my mind works.)