While scouting a photo shoot location for the Breast of Canada calendar, I found myself sitting pool side in the athletic centre of the U of Goo. Besides the members of the Breast Strokes Dragon Boat Team, who are all breast cancer survivors and regulars at the centre, the pools seemed filled with buff, young students. Go figure eh!

Everyone but me sported bathing suits. The women, full piece, speedo types and the men, small, hip hugging varieties. Nothing new here.

I don't spend much time around pools. I'm not fond of the chlorine or getting cold and wet. I also find the acoustics have too much reverb. But there I was, a fish out of water so to speak, observing the dynamics and layout of the joint.

What I observed is not new. What is new is how I observed it.

At least half the patrons of the pool had their nipples exposed. Clear as the nose on your face. And no one seemed to care. Coaches kept coaching. Swimmers swam. Divers dove. Pool life just doggy paddled along with no sidelong glances.

Strange? Enlightened? Evolved? Actually. None of the above. All the nipples belonged to men.

So, there I am, a heterosexual woman, surrounded by male nipples. I'm not drooling. My heart rate is constant. I'm not making suggestive noises, looks or gestures towards any of the nipple owners. In fact, I doing what I set out to do. Looking for a location.

And I'm wondering. Why am I easily able to experience male nipples in a public context in a non-sexual way? Nipples are nipples after all, be they male or female. And there is a time and place for everything isn't there? Or does that only apply to half the nipple owners?

Sue Richards

PS My other blog is called: Calendar Girl Blog