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I got the crap lectured out of me by a very bosomy Women's Studies major in college, who caught me giving her cleavage the eye. From then on, I made it a point when talking to a woman never to let my eyes drift below mouth level. Until years later, when I was teaching with a very nice woman who had huge, mondo, giganto-boobs, that gave her cleavage like the Marianas Trench. I kept my eyes locked to hers until I was sweating with the effort, and she just laughed and said, "Just look at 'em, dude. You're gonna pop an artery if you keep trying not to look." She reassured me that in her experience, most women who are breastaceous enough to have frequent cleavage are used to the idea that men are visually oriented, and if we're looking at their cleavage, that's just a signal that we're alive. She told me that as long you at least make some kind of effort to look discreetly, and don't just set up shop in front of a girl with wide-screen eyes and a bucket of popcorn for a long scoping session on her boobs, most women either don't mind, or are more amused by it than irritated.
I am grateful to her for this advice, to this day.
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Dull sublunary lovers love,
Whose soul is sense, cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
That thing which elemented it.
(From "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" by John Donne)
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