WELL-DRESSED WOMEN

Everyone should have a pleated skirt of decent length and a strand of pearls. As well as an opaque blouse. That's just the way it is.
The proper young lady must own clothes that are suitable for any occasion that involves people of other generations, who might be easily shocked.

This blogger attended an event recently that achieved precisely that.
I am surprised at how easily shocked I am.


One of the rail-thin models that paraded around wore a floor-length see-through gown, with her crotchety portion covered by a black lace pantie clearly visible underneath. The brassiere that would have matched it was missing in action, though possibly the same one that the bright little miss helping out at the addictive substances counter which was the reason for my presence there was wearing underneath her thin white blouse.


Between the two of them, the breast paradigm was fully delimited. They weren't the only two young female personages whose attributes could be described in full detail by even the terminally obtuse -- of whom there were many in attendance -- but they marked the extremes.

Remarkably, I can describe neither set of breasts at all. In the case of the gauzy stick-insect, I deliberately looked away out of a sense of modesty, and as regards the young lady with the black bra and white blouse, I do remember her intelligent facial features but not her figure. All the other mammaries freely floating about remain equally formless, alas.
This is the end-result of a lifetime of auto-conditioning.
I automatically look somewhere else at times.
Instead of confronting things head-on.
Despite a fondness for... umm.

My aesthetic greed takes a back-seat to maintaining equilibrium. It is uncouth to stare, and the proper conditioned reflex to exhibitionism, whether intended or accidental, should always be to turn the head.
This may be to my own dis-advantage, as many women will take it as apathy, lack of interest, or even a complete absence of all the right sensibilities.
Yet the people who would demand public mammary focus are by definition not the types of person with whom I wish to associate.

A woman who chooses the right moment to privately reveal herself will find in me a much more attractive audience than she has imagined. I can indeed react appropriately. With delight and happy surprise, even. "Wah, for me? That's so nice!"
Or should that be "they're so nice"? I'm not sure how it should be phrased, as it's an intellectual concept; I haven't looked at actual breasts in a long time, due to the previously mentioned habit of gazing fixedly elsewhere.
But I'm certain I still know how.
It's probably like riding a bicycle; you never forget.


If something is casually shared with the world, it cannot be as intriguing as that which is sensibly covered; the mental idea is far more taunting than the haphazardly brazen display. And this is precisely why every proper young lady should have a skirt that extends past the knees, plus an opaque blouse -- possibly oxford cloth -- as well as a strand of pearls.
Presentation, deportment, and good taste.
Admirable and fascinating qualities.



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