Men always stare when I bend over

You already know why cleavage like this stops traffic — the way it pulls every eye in the room without asking permission.

You feel it before you see it, that gravitational pull drawing your gaze downward, your brain briefly forgetting whatever it was doing a second ago.

You catch yourself staring, then staring a little longer, watching the slow rise and fall, the soft press of skin against fabric, the way the curve disappears just far enough to make your imagination finish the sentence for you.