Attack of the Killer Cleavage

Camis (camisoles) are typically pretty handy for cleavage concealment (crucial in most office settings), and while I admit that they do help mitigate the effect, I find that I will often have residual cleavage peeking out from beneath the cami. It would appear that even my cleavage has cleavage – like some demented recursive Escher funhouse of boobs. Never fear. I have plenty of workarounds, but it would seem my curves are high maintenance and I will need to act as their handler until I can starve the bastards down a bit more.

Though feeling mostly male inside personality-wise, I’ve been busty since I was 8 years old, which has meant that gender-wise I am essentially a drag queen, where I feel very different inside than outside but present another image flamboyantly and fabulously (in an attempt to circumvent dysphoria and have fun with the absurdity that is my physical shape).

Whatever the case, I don’t know what I’d do without my army of cardigans.

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