Cleavage. The great equalizer. Man or woman. Gay or straight. We have ALL made idiots of ourselves over cleavage at one point or another. If you tell me you haven’t, I will assume you have done something so entertainingly horrific over cleavage that you are still in court ordered therapy for it.
Because if Jane Mansfield and Sophia Loren can create this masterpiece of inappropriate staring, then imagine the scene common humans like us create every day.
In the dungeon, I wear my cleavage like a weapon. Fredricks of Hollywood helps me raise my well worn milk makers to new heights creating a monument to boobs everywhere. I play a mean game of “I Dare You To Look” with my cleavage and my whip hand.
And boys lose every time.
Of course, in the dungeon, it’s a consensual game. I put my cleavage out there, and they gladly pay the price for a peek. And truthfully, it’s a sad day when they are so well trained that they can resist looking.
In real life, cleavage has its ups and downs. (Heh. See what I did there?) Ever been in a job interview where you realize your interviewer is paying more attention to your ladies then what is coming out of your mouth? Or plucked the boobs up out of your armpits and pulled your shirt down tight against your bra innocently making the most of your cleavage while the highway patrol is taking that long, slow stroll up to your window? Or arrive in a strange town only to realize that the dress you brought to wear to a wedding that evening no longer covers your, new, larger, pregnancy/progesterone boobs?
What is your relationship with your cleavage? Friends? Or Enemies?