Here's another story from my teaching days. I've wanted to tell this story publicly for a long time. I guess I'd really like to discuss it with the other person in the story but I don't have contact with her anymore. Maybe one day. Maybe she'll read it here?
I was filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation on my first day's work as a qualified teacher. If my memory serves me correctly I was one of seven first year teachers at the school that day. None of us really new what to do but eventually found our way into the staffroom for the first staff meeting of the year. After the meeting someone came up to us and said "I suppose we'll have to find somewhere for you to sit." He took us across the corridor to the staff work rooms where we were each allocated a what is euphamistically called a "desk" — 800mm by 500mm of work space with a variety of pigeon holes, a drawer and some cupboard space. My desk was closest to the door and Trisha, another first year teacher was allocated the "desk" to my left. Trisha and I ended up sitting next to each other for five years and shared a professional friendship and many common experiences.
Trisha was a very attractive woman with dark hair, a face that lit up when she smiled and, quite noticeable breasts. I hesitate to comment on the last attribute because I like and respect Trisha and I know she get's sick of people commenting about her breasts. But I need to because it's part of the story.
This young group of teachers grew up and our confidence grew over those next few years. We enjoyed our work and became really comfortable with our surroundings. We knew the ropes and became really involved in the school. We walked with a spring in our step.
Even though I was confident in myself and my job it would be many years before I could become comfortable with my sexuality. There were many women teachers who I enjoyed being with but because Trisha sat next to me I had more opportunity to acknowledge the sexuality between us than with most — there were lots of times I saw her bounce into the staffroom in a tight fitting jumper or t-shirt, or sat next to her in summer and discretely admired her cleavage — but I never said anything or did anything that enabled us to mutually acknowledge this aspect of our relationship.
So it was one day that I got up from my desk to walk down the corridor to do some task or other. It was during class time so there was no-one else around. No one, that is except Trisha who was walking the other way towards me. If my memory serves me correctly she was wearing long boots, a long black skirt and a tight fitting black knitted top. It was clear she was wearing a seamless sheer bra underneath (this was years before moulded cups became popular). She looked really beautiful. But I coudln't help noticing her breasts bouncing as she walked confidently down the corridor and, like a rabbit caught in the headlinghts of an oncoming car I became fixated on them. Then I became extremely embarassed. I wish I could have lifted my eyes and smiled at her to make contact with her and to acknowledge the experience. But again it was years before I learnt to do this. So the moment was lost. I never spoke to her about this but I fear she was diminished, left feeling that another male only saw her as a pair of breasts. I was diminished too. I lost the opportunity to experience contact with another person. I missed the opportunity to experience and express my sexuality. Left having experienced sex but alone and in a way that diminished the other — an empty experience.
So our fixation with breasts diminishes us all. Who is to say who is diminished most by it — men or women. I am sure that women are more damaged by it but we men miss out on so much because of it. Through years of self training my eyes still have a built in radar for breasts. But I have trained myself in the last few years to steel only a fleeting glance and then look the other person in the eye and smile. Most times I am rewarded with a smile in return. Those smiles leave me with a much warmer feeling than any breast sighting ever could.
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