I am waging a war. And I am losing, badly. My defences are being torn down by the battering ram of a heaving cleavage, tightly wrapped in a V-neck blouse. I can ‘t take my eyes off, and I don ‘t quite want to either. A fighter cannot be distracted. Yet distraction walks in the form of a pair of sexy, tanned legs in a short skirt and high heels. My guard is down, and I pay for the lapse in attention badly, when a beautiful face leads a cavalry charge against me.
I surrender, but not before artillery in the form of a smoky glance in my direction sends me running for cover.
Ladies and ladies, I am fighting a war, which I enjoy losing every time. Whether it be on a MRT train, on the streets, or simply on the TV screen, this is a war I wage everyday, in trying not to objectify women.
I can ‘t really help it: I love women so much I sometimes wonder why it took me so long to come out to myself. It is hard not to check out women all around me. As a woman, it is so much easier to get away with it, as even straight women check each other out all the time, but more for sizing up competition.