Derriere Extraordinaire

By CATTLEPROD on 12:10 AM

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I was watching this thing on TV the other night about bottoms and their ostensible rise in regard. Pretty standard stuff and quite disappointing really in terms of an in depth study into the posterior region, so I’d like to explore it a little bit further. I am a bum man after all… not in a proctological sense mind you… sickos.

The human female form is quite possibly the most achingly beautiful entity ever to have graced this star-littered universe. Especially when viewed through the extremely subjective eyes of a human male. And I happen to be one of those individuals that are undeservedly a blessed witness to this beguiling form. A form that has the unique power to turn this heathen into a rosemary-bead fidgeting monk, genuflecting in unadulterated gratitude to its supreme creator. Either that or a sunken-eyed, slavering zombie whose boundless addiction dooms him to its eternal pursuit. Hyperbole? Not on my watch. In fact, I obsequiously beseech forgiveness for my failure to capture the essence of that beauty with mere prose. Art? Perhaps. Sculpture? Perchance. Photography? Indeed. But mere lexis? I think not. As arrogantly talented as I may be as a humble scribe, words are scant praise for such a truly wondrous opus.

I could, of course, wax lyrical about this subject for decades. Until my viciously typing fingers cracked and bled with the ferocious power of a man afflicted by a siren muse. Perhaps I shall leave that ill-fated quest for another day. Today? Today I shall dedicate to the ass. Buns they call them on those late night fitness telesales ads. Buns I tell you. That just makes me hot and cross. Ass is a much better term. How that dim-witted mule managed to garner the moniker I shall never know. Perhaps due to its ample posterior. Or perhaps the other way round. No, not its baying front end. I mean perhaps its engorged buttocks became the name for all backsides. “Lookie there Padraig, that comely wench has buttocks like an ass!” Plausible.

I am proudly a bum man. Those two rounded and pert cheeks lounging comfortably like a ripe, juicy peach can reduce me to anguished tears. I have a rather simple anatomical explanation for this predilection. Simply put, a woman’s ass is like the blue print for her body. I have amateurishly noticed that a woman’s fantastic backside is like the conductor in an orchestra. It leads the entire ensemble. If she has an empire-toppling butt, the legs follow suit, the waist above that, and well if those are in proportion the rest just falls into place like a Rubik’s cube with six of the same coloured sides.

The gluteus maximus is the largest muscle in the human body. A genetic blessing thanks to the Homo sapiens’ insistence on walking upright. And if ever there were a singular human trait, a trait that immediately set us upon our modern path, walking upright would be it. No wonder the buttocks are seemingly revered. We should have monuments to ‘The Ass’. Indeed I have a whole sub-section in my porn collection that is kind of like a shrine to ‘The Ass’. Jesting aside, I can’t understand this supposed neo-ass fascination. There is no single part of a woman’s form that is a quintessential barometer of female sexuality. That’s like saying it’s the engine that makes the Ferrari. It’s the Intel chip that makes the laptop. It’s the secret herbs and spices that makes the KFC… wait, on that account we may be right. Nevertheless, the enigma of woman is the sum of all its exquisite parts. The curves that mimic ancient sand dunes. The scent that intoxicates with a mere suggestion. The dimpled lower back like uncharted exotic lands. The bow of the neck that tempts the most abstemious vampire. The hair, like diaphanous fairy silk. The belly ripe with the promise of languid sensuality. The inner thigh smoother than glistening pearl. The back that begs the soft graze of fingernails. Clavicles that rise and fall with heated passion.

Ah… sigh. Woman. The utter excruciating beauty of woman. That said I must reiterate that I am a bum man. And so to end off with the immortal words of some daft song: I see you baby… shakin’ that ass.

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