The Power of Cleavage – and Lacy Little Things

by admin

The Power of Cleavage – and Lacy Little Things

I never really thought much of lingerie. It’s going to come off so what’s the point, right? Plus, when it comes to underwear, I’m cheap. I just hate shelling out thirty bucks on a tiny piece of stretchy lace. Boy was I wrong —all wrong.

It was not until my most recent breakup that I began to understand the power of sexy panties and great cleavage. Not power over men—that is not what this article about. But power from within myself. There is something so empowering about feeling sexy, especially when no one else in the office knows you are wearing a lace-up corset underneath that oxford shirt. It’s coy, secretive, and fun.

As a woman who went from an A-cup most of her life to a barely C (my mother still contends I’m a B-cup, but all the bra fitters disagree), I always thought there was something inadequate about my breasts. This is no secret to my mother or my friends. I was obsessed with other girls’ boobs in college. It’s sad but true. I would check out other girls. Then I realized I was not alone! Most of my friends also checked out other girls, admiring their physiques and comparing body parts. There was nothing sexual about it. We were simply comparing notes. We all picked and choose our body parts to create the perfect woman—my legs and butt, Sophie’s breasts, Linda’s arms. Together we would make one smoking hot lady!

It was not until after college and some weight gain that I finally realized the power of my breasts. I had always appreciated the power of my legs, especially when I wore short skirts and high heels. Recently I had a triumph in the undergarment department—a bra that gave me just enough of a boost, but not so much that I couldn’t wear it with a lower-cut top to work. But still, I could not achieve my goal: cleavage. That’s right, ladies, for some reason cleavage eludes my body. Taunting me everywhere I turn. My grandmother had DDs and lots of cleavage. My mother has cleavage but she hides it. If I had cleavage, I would proudly proclaim its glory and shout it from the rooftops. Or so my inner voice said while staring at myself naked in the mirror. That is until last week.

That’s when it happened. I found the engineering marvel that gave me—drum roll please—CLEAVAGE! And without a ridiculous amount of padding, I might note. It was an absurd amount of padding mind you, but only an eight out of ten on the false-advertising scale. As an added bonus, the bra was lacy and sexy in a pale come-hither pink. Finally, I get the appeal of lingerie and the power that comes with being a woman. Let’s just hope I can use that power responsibly!