I'm sorry, but I've watched The Warriors one too many times
to allow women's breasts (or women's seductive charms generally) to have some sort of mind control over me. There have been a variety of phases in my life to date, none of which have seen me much of a slave to tits.

1. The starting point: One time, when I was fifteen, a girl in my drama class came up to me, asked me a question or two, and went away again. Amongst the gossiping whispers that followed it was revealed that I glanced at girl's breasts when I talk to them.

As a fifteen year-old boy.

And this was apparently gossip-worthy.

I realise now this was far more their problem than it was mine, but that was the moment I started to train myself to only ever maintain eye contact with a woman, unless invited explicitly to do otherwise. This was also the beginning of...

2. Paranoia: The girls in said drama class had a vendetta against me for a time after I went out with one of their number (you know how teenage girls are). Any overtures of kindness by any of them were to be met with nothing but suspicion and an immediate and thorough mental analysis of what their real motives were. This was not insanity, this was necessary. Unfortunately, these methods infiltrated the rest of my social interactions. I was fully aware of how much a girl could destroy my reputation by flirting mildly with me, then running off to tell her friends I was a perv if I so much as acknowledged it. Thus, eye contact at all times was the necessity.

3. What my brother termed an "internal fidelity monitor cranked up to 11": Once I went to University, and gained some confidence as girls stopped being pointlessly bitchy, I found my old paranoia (mostly) melting away. However, by this time I had got firmly into the habit of consciously not looking below the chin and it was hard to break. I had a girlfriend at this time and explained my behaviour by saying that "looking at another girl's chest feels like cheating". This eventually prompted a friend to advance the theory that I had a...

4. Fear of breasts: It was a source of infinite amusement among those close to me to claim that I was scared of breasts. I did nothing to dispel this when I conspicuously looked away when one or two of the girls I lived with pulled down their tops to reveal cleavage, and managed to be the only guy at a party who dodged the flashing of the slag who was showing EVERYONE her new nipple piercing.

5. Plain ol' being a bastard: This phase is actually a footnote, intermingled alongside 3 and 4. I've always been annoyed at the power ladies hold over us gentlemen. It's getting better now, but if a girl flirted with me while I had a girlfriend, I'd let her get as far as was reasonable before dropping my attached status into conversation, and watching her face redden with embarrassment and shame. If I wasn't especially attracted to her, I'd just say something confidence shattering e.g. "well...you're not overly fat", "I'm sorry, your ass is too high" or, in answer to whether I wanted to hang out some time "mm. Maybe". This isn't to say I'm some stud who can afford to casually disregard interested parties, just that I got a bit too much satisfaction from emotionally manipulating girls, who I saw as being able to dish out plenty emotional pain themselves and needing taken down a peg or two. I'm a lot less sexist now.

Anyway. The high point of my career as a breast-disregarder came when my flatmate and her friend, both of whom I'd fancied at different times in my life, confronted me about being scared of breasts and dared me to put my hand down their tops and give them a good groping, as I had claimed rashly that I had more nerve than them and one of them was extremely competetive. Pretending to be all "ooh, this is terrible", I carried out my "dare", all the while thinking "HAHAHA! You fools! You blind fools! Of course I'm not scared of breasts! I'M A HETEROSEXUAL MALE!!!"

Years of preparation, helped out by all the unwitting accomplices who bigged up my aversion of boobs, all went into that one glorious moment that no other man that I know of could have engineered (not with those girls in particular anyway).

Length? It is a very long passage I have just written.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Sun 9 May 2010, 21:01, 4 replies)

So you feigned
udder indifference?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 10 May 2010, 7:07, closed)

Splutter
B3tard.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Mon 10 May 2010, 8:27, closed)

So basically your story is
"I don't want to admit that I'm gay"?
(Falstaff's Spiritual Successor, Mon 10 May 2010, 14:32, closed)

Sounds more like his story is
"I went to drama school. Many men there are gay. Many women are not gay. Many non-gay women get fighty and bitchy over many things, including the not gay men. Learning how to deal with this is important."

I agree that just by not looking at a woman's chest while talking to her, you gain some sort of implicit trustworthiness. It's a good thing to learn, if only as the OP says, because you can play as many manipulative games as _some_ women do.
( sanityclause is waiting until, Wed 12 May 2010, 11:58, closed)