The Power of Boobs

Easily $10,000 for breast implants.  A woman I knew once pointed to each breast and said, this is Mastercard and this is Visa.  Now why, I wonder, would a woman pay to have unnatural silicone things put into her breasts, usually to make them larger?  Perhaps, it’s the power of boobs.

I’ll admit it, I love them and ogle them like a creep.  The truth for most guys is, boobs are the Siren Call of women.  They are the Eyes of Oedipus and his complex.  Breasts have royal power, and if a man sees them naked, in person or on film, a sort of dumbing and blotting out of everything happens.

Is this right to have a breast fetish or to enlarge your breasts?  Does it concentrate too much on the physical and not enough on the mental, emotional, and spiritual?  Well, it does ignore the latter three.  However, any woman who wants attention from men will say she emotionally feels happy, because of her augmented charms.  And to stand up for her, men, wouldn’t you feel better if you got noticed for having a better body, such as if you worked out at the gym, with Sisyphus diligence?  Suddenly your arms are stronger.  You have a washboard abdomen, and gluteal muscles are nickel bounce-worthy.  Attention is everywhere, except on what your profound wisdom is saying.  Do you care?  No.

Is this right?  In a real sense, yes.  In a rational sense, no.  In a rational way, we should be beings who care less about our bodies’ image and more about healthy bodies, in which our healthy minds inhabit.  Choosing a girlfriend or boyfriend, because they are compatible and real—these are the rational ways to go.  And usually the fatter, uglier, those who wear thick, thick, glasses, and the poor—walk the rational path.  (I know that’s mean).

In the Real World, if you are pretty and have money, it is right to pump your breasts so large that eyes, even women’s, will bulge.  And I’m not saying this because I have a fetish for them.  I am saying this because there is an eternal power struggle between men and women.  That’s the rub.

The power of boobs isn’t just the Siren Call or the Milf Fantasy.  It is a weeding out of beta males.  But breasts aren’t the only way.  There are so many ways in which women and men use sex, use the mind, use the kitchen sink, to control one another—and if you think this is my family or my relationship.  Guess again.  Power is about control.  Whoever can control the other Wins.  And in our culture, Winning is a good pursuit.

For example, with one couple, they cooperate.  However, power subverts cooperation.  We can say that this couple is functional and cooperative.  Both husband and wife earn their daily bread.  He’s a shoe salesman, managerial.  She’s a graphic designer.  Now they both have a joint account.  It all looks cooperative, until one day, he decides to add a second account, a savings account for a house, new car, whatever.  Who has made this decision?  He has.  And so they fight over the idea, whether it’s good or bad.  In the end, she opens up her own savings account too.  Who won?  He did.  He made a decision without her, thereby causing the fight and her to start her own account.  But is there such thing as winning in the household?  Not exactly.  But there always will be between men and women.

Whether it’s a peek at nipples or savings accounts, there is and always will be a power struggle between men and women.

Someone I know says, “Women use sex to get love, and men use love to get sex.”  This is the game, the game so many people talk about.  This is the American way of saying—eternal struggle between men and women for power over one another.  And this game is in our DNA as a form of competition.

Female poets rarely spend time writing about their bosom.  Many write more about their Vagina.  That’s the sacred pleasure zone of the goddess.  Its power is life.  But it does not war.  It is peace.  It is birth and the pain of birth.  And men give it pleasure.  Boobs, although for breastfeeding, are eye candies.  And hence, in the power struggle between men and women, beauty and prettiness are not only blinding to the witness, but dumbing as well. 

It is the losing man who continues to stare at cleavage till his death.