The male crotchal bulge, as shaped by modern trousers and underwear: the equivalent of female curves for the appreciative gaze of the discerning of both sexes, and an indication of the delights to be found within, also (sometimes) the contents thereof.
As with the outline of the female breast, the shape and size of the basket can be decieving: through unwise or perhaps modest choice of garments, the generously endowed may present a less-than-ample contour, while a burgeoning bulge may be merely the effect of uplift, cups or padding. Nonetheless, connoisseurship of the basket has a long history, reaching well back into the codpiece days, when a well-filled basket was as much a part of a man's good looks as a handsome face or well-turned leg. Alas, the substitution of trousers for breeches, and subsequent Victorian prudery put basket-watching in eclipse for the fair sex for many years. Nontheless, it is known that in the latter Victorian era, British noblewomen armed with opera glasses were known to congregate in groups to watch -- at a suitable remove -- athletes and young collegians at play (often under the pretext of inspecting horses, watching birds, and so forth) and openly commenting upon and discussing their subjects with keen interest. (I swear I'm not making this up.) However, this must be counted the exception that proves the case: most basket-watchers in the century past have been male. Even though this ban has been lifted since the 70's with the advent of the ever-popular male stripper, many women might feel reluctant to begin this gentle hobby, or feel it perverted or wrong. It's an unfounded fear, when you consider the example of the men who enjoy basket watching: many of them are gay, of course, but also quite a few straight men either unconsciously or consciously glance at the basket as part of a general size up of another man, independently of any attraction, and visual enjoyment of both sexes is one of the things that make us human. Here's a smallish guide for the novice who dares to brave public convention and boldly begin ogling.
Basket-watching is an oddly subtle art: reflexively, the first thing you do when you see someone, male or female, is to look up towards the face, not down, and often the object of your attraction will be at least slightly obscured by folds of fabric, untucked T-shirts, and so forth. Being seated in a place where men, and therefore their baskets, will be walking past makes the process easier, but is still problematic, since it cuts down on the time one gets to look at each one without obviously craning one's neck. Watching while walking therefore takes a little practise but is ultimately extremely rewarding, should you be so inclined: by walking down a moderately busy city sidewalk and simply directing one's gaze at a point somewhere between ten and fifteen feet in front of one's feet, one can often get a good long peek at any number of good subjects without them being the wiser. Soon, you'll get a feel for good times and locales for this kind of thing: obviously, the parts of the city where jeans are likely to be worn are better for good viewing than the bank section. Sometimes, you'll hardly see anything, even so. Relax and keep looking/walking: it's like fishing, sometimes you get a nibble, sometimes nothing, sometimes a strike. You'll be surprised at how many sizes you'll see, and shapes, and how many ways fellows fold their little friends to fit, left, right, center...also how sizes don't always correspond to the relative heights, weights or ages of their owners. You'll come to treasure the day you saw the one that bobbled, the one that wobbled, the one that seemed the thickness of a beer can, the (extremely rare) boi basket and the emphatically excited baton (!) that rose, pressing the owner's belly almost to his navel. You might wonder at what's on his mind, which leads to rather pleasant thoughts of your own, and at the very least, you'll have an agreeable pastime that makes city walking a little less boring.