Dispelling The Virgin-Whore Dichotomy

Dispelling The Virgin-Whore Dichotomy

Last week I  sauntered into the fitting room of a underwear shop with a ‘daring’ piece of lingerie proudly swinging from one arm, and - as though to reassure myself, and the woman who shows me to the changing room that I am not a deluded sex goddess - a more ‘comfortable’ bra shoved under the other armpit.
 
As I manhandle my boobs into a vixen-like bra that I know I will never have the balls, let alone the occasion to wear, I look in the mirror and find that the term ‘my cup runneth over’ springs to mind.
 
Is that the look I want?  I question.  It does provide a cleavage chasm so deep that it is highly probable that I could be cultivating my very own ecosystem down there. Questions of self-doubt begin to blur my vision. Is this really me? Do I look sexy in the casual sense? Do you think they will name the species that I’m spawning in my fleshy hillocks after me, or is it only the likes of David Attenborough who is afforded that privilege?
 
I digress.
 
I kick sultry option one to the corner and reach for option two. A cumbersome specimen with strictly no padding, no lace, and straps as wide as the M25. I like to call this ‘The Tumbleweed Bra’. I gaze at the indiscernible, indeterminable yards of nude fabric, which make up the sad cups that look like deflated balloons in which I am supposed to pour my breasts. We all know the type.
 
Once on, I take a steadying breath and turn around to have another look at my reflection.
 
A sumo-wrestler-in-training gapes back at me from the mirror. Clinging shapelessly to my chest, my bra resembles a child’s bib. 
 
So, I’m stuck in the no-man’s (literally) land between cougar sexy and ‘I’m ready to take my vows, reverend mother’ type.

 
While there is no problem in anyone wanting to have their body sheathed in rivulets of supple silk, or indeed someone who wishes to inhabit underwear that is both comfortable and functional, I can say that I do not speak for these women. But I do speak for the women whose tastes straddle this design schism, and for bosoms bored of being trussed up like turkeys or decorated like Christmas trees. In short I speak  for the ‘middle-grounders’. A voice for those who long for underwear to achieve that oh-so-lovely and rare sensation of being comfortably sexy.
 

 

Written by Madame Cherry 


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