Thank God For Fat Bottomed Girls

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What the fuck?

I don't know when it came over me, but it has. I've always had a tolerance for heavy women. Not like my cousin, Diddy Junior....and this was lightyears before P-Diddy....but his wife, Elaine was as BIG AS A FUCKING HOUSE. And that boy loved the shit out of her. I used to look at picture of her and wonder, because my wife, although she was not thin since I hate thin, she was not heavy. She was right in the moneyshot. She was Italian/Polish, so she had that rakish Italian frame, with those mean Polish curves. She should have had a big fucking sign tattooed on her ass, a yellow diamond that said DANGER CURVES.

I guess that's where I picked up my love of the female frame. Not that of those of a child's which I feel many men cater to. Sixteen, fifteen year old bodies, couched in the numbers of seventeen-eighteen year olds. They are like underdeveloped fruit. A woman, to me, begins to fill out in her late thirties, early forties. When the tits swell, the hips curve out further...and oh my god, the thighs grow prominent, and the ass corpulent. That's when they're ready for plucking, and also that thing that rhymes with it.

I've noticed this mindset lately. I was watching a music video of The Black Kids, these musicians from Florida, and they had to be in their teens. OKAY, don't jump up my ass. I like new music, not the teenie bopper scene. Moving on, there are these two keyboardists in the background of the video. Why two? I don't fucking know. Their sound does not sound all that big, but that's besides the point. These teens, although far below the acceptable developed age that I prefer, were heavyset. Not fat, just BIG. Wow, them jumping up and down and dancing, Jeez, they instantly become my favorite video.

I sat in awe of the fact that I am sitting there, ruminating on turning their bodies into malleable tin. I can't take my eyes off them nor unhook my mind on their simple beauty. However, I push all of this to the back of my mind, seeing it as my teen dream that I will never speak of. I AM NOT, like all of those men who are regressing back to childhood by hungering lecherously after youthful flesh. Young, immature bodies in an effort to reclaim some past glory or fault. I guess when you never had it at the time, you envy those that did, and search for it later in life before everything goes kaput. Midlife crisis here we come. American Beauty shifted into overdrive.

Is that me now? I had my teen years, my hard bodies, my rakish women. I've done it, had it, need it no more. I'm confident in my age, proud of my years, looking forward to growing old, just not without a soul mate. I don't care to be an old man, moving slow through a building of other old men without something warm to climb into bed with at the end of the day. I'm a very physical man now, probably because it's been a fuckload of years without something to hold in bed.

But NO, I have not joined the ranks of those who vainly clutch youth. I was watching this show tonight, Perfect Couples, where these thirty somethings are dealing with relationships and a married couple is struggling with sex that they fear is becoming less sexy and more functional.  Something that actually happens in long relationships. So the wife walks into the bedroom wearing a hip long peingoir. SEXY MOTHERFUCKER! Now if you've never used that word in its proper context, that means fucking the shit out of a woman so bad her mother feels it.

This woman was all ASS AND THIGHS. I mean, her thighs looked like fresh hams....GODDAMN! Her ass was simply irresistible. From the waist down, she was all mean fucking curves. The yellow stripe through the center of her body had a fucking hard time holding on. Shit, running your hand down her body, you were sure to slip. Damn, looking at her made my erection try to bat my balls out of my slacks. Now that's what I'm talkin' 'bout. When you're stretched across a bed and your shit takes on a mind of its own.

I remember when I was on a certain head drug that literally shorted out my erection to such a point that all I could be was frustrated. I was so pissed, stressed, frazzled, worn out that I was hurting myself trying to get an erection. Then this wildly curved sexy MOTHERFUCKER walks out of the bathroom in lingerie and I swear to you, upon seeing her, my brain REWIRED my sexual synapses, it started using memories of pleasure that had nothing to do with sex. My pleasure in playing with my toys as a kid, my joy in eating sweet foods, my happiness in the hugs of my mother, and hotwired all of these, like Christmas wiring from my brain to my dick, making an erection out of pure fucking magic.

Obviously this cobbleled together wiring could not stand the voltage of any REAL sex and within moments of engaging in the act it fried itself apart, but it proves the power of a real female body as compared to that of some skinny child.

I'm free of youth. I want age. I want older. I want a real woman. Give me curves and something real. You can keep the Barbie dolls and the magazine models and the teenage girls running in bikinis. Of course a perfect body is interesting simply because of it's simplicity, but a woman's body, like a Peter Paul Rubens or a William-Adolphe Bouguereau whose power and sheer force is in her curves, the menacing swells of her physique like a storm over the ocean. She is the merit and the power and the glory that is embodied in women. It's why cars out of Detroit are sculpted now imitating the curves of a woman and not a girl. No matter how sleek you want to make the vehicle, curves are an aerodynamic shape pleasing to the eye. You can make a car look like a bullet, the most aerodynamic shape there is, but how interesting is that?

Really?

Hobobob