I’m a t-girl and I have as such worked in a legal Nevada brothel, but before you become too impressed … all I did was some computer-related work, mainly making them a database-driven website and some custom database software.
Believe me, I have had (or shall I say “still have”) fantasies about working there in another capacity but I doubt that I’d be a welcome applicant for such work there.
Even so, I get invited to their parties and it’s always enjoyable to me. I’m totally gay (a girl who likes girls) so seeing some utterly gorgeous scantily clad girls dance, sing and have a good time is like visual heaven on earth to me.
I understand that folks on both extremes of the political spectrum will assure me that working girls in brothels are all miserable and exploited, and they need to be rescued from their own decision-making process, but I disagree with that mindset on many levels. Certainly seeing all these relaxed, happy, confident girls only helped me be more skeptical yet of the anti-brothel mindset. If anything, I’d guess that on average the working girls there are happier and more grounded than the average of a randomly chosen set of girls of the same age group, who don’t work in a brothel. Anyway, this subject is not my battle to fight. I mention this only in case you wonder why on earth I’d enjoy attending a brothel party.
As you can imagine, the boobies and ample cleavage being shown off seemed to be very high-quality and very impressive to me. Because my own boobies are growing rapidly, it’s always interesting to me to compare how my own cleavage stacks up compared to professionally hot girls every few months. Large boobs under clothing are easy to get if you spend $100 at Amazon and buy some outplants a.k.a. bra stuffers. However, but for actual honest-to-goodness cleavage there needs to be at least some good raw material (some boobie material under the skin) for the sports bra and bra stuffers to do their cleavage magic. To make a mountain out of a mole-hill, there needs to at least BE a mole-hill, and that’s still better than barren flatness.
I wore bra stuffers, a sports bra over that, and then my normal bra over that (for height control), and then an elegant low-cut v-neck cocktail dress over all that.
At one point during the evening I ended up in front of a large bathroom mirror, washing my hands and evaluating my own reflection critically. As a t-girl I’m often unfairly self-critical but I disciplined myself to be objective. I had to concede that the cleavage in the mirror looked at least as good as that of the least-endowed working girls and probably even slightly better. Wow. Of course, girls with massive implants are in a class of their own and I can’t compete with them as such, but I didn’t include them in my analysis. And yes, I realize that this dilutes how impressed I should be with myself.
Later, I was leaning up against the back of a red velvet couch, and I glanced down at my plunging neckline to see if everything was basically still under control. I was amazed to see a clear vertical line, as in between two large round, soft entities touching, as in the typical picture of Dolly Parton. Golly gee, I finally have some serious natural cleavage, albeit as yet with lots of help from modern technology, including medically-prescribed hormones.
I’m seriously enjoying my second pass through puberty, this time with my body developing to a shape that matches the gender of my brain wiring, yay!