Anal Bum Cover

Originally featured at The Aries Chick

Now, I am not going to be doing a piece on Anal Sex this evening (that is another time entirely), but I am going to gush over the bum.

The male backside.

My man’s backside.

Sure, we’ve all heard girls talking about gawking at some hunk’s bum in our time, but I never understood it. What was the allure of the shape, size, movement, muscle tone, of what I knew to be a hairy disgusting part of the human body. I was once the sad victim of having to see a naked ex-boyfriend bend over while nude only to realize the guy had bum crumbs. Bum crumbs! Are you fucking serious?

Anyway, so needless to say, I was never a huge fan of the backside.

Then I met “My Future Husband.” Or more aptly, I met “My Future Husband’s” bum. (There is a picture of it on my computer somewhere. I’m going to go gawk at it in a moment, but for now, I will imagine….)

He has the most perfect, toned, juicy, gorgeous butt in the history of mankind. The curve of the cheeks, the divets in his lower back, the round perfect bottom that just makes me ache to squeeze it. At first, I didn’t take too much notice, I was too enamored with his perfect manhood to notice how perfect his bum was while I was grabbing onto it screaming “Don’t Stop.”

Then he dropped his towel one morning after a shower and stood at his bureau and I took my first good look. I’ve been planning its assault ever since.

Now, I have threatened a tickling finger during blow jobs before (not during my performance, but I threatened in conversation to see how he’d react. He used the word ‘erotic’ so I assume we’re a go) and I have given him long languid massages that involved my lips and tongue just inches away. His response was always positive. Still, I don’t think he realizes just how bad I want to give it to that tush.

I want to smack those cheeks, bite them, squeeze them, raspberry between them, and…get this…I think I want to toss that man’s salad.

Are you fucking kidding me, you ask?

I know, right?

The thought always disgusted the crap out of me (oh my pun addiction rears its ugly head), whenever Chris Rock mentioned it in his stand-up or it was mentioned on Oz, for that matter, I cringed and shivered. All I could think of was images of those bum crumbs from when I was a teenager going out with a man who couldn’t apparently wipe his own ass. Yet, “My Future Husband” inspires me so completely. I want to please every inch of him.

It’s the most unnerving urge I’ve ever had, sexually.

Hopefully it won’t be too unnerving when I’m performing the “Dirty Trombone” on my mancakes.

[Via http://threechicksondicks.wordpress.com]