There’s no other way to say this but to come out and say it: I have a sizeable ass.
I’ve had this ass, with tits to match, since the eighth grade. The same year my ass, my tits and my period sprang from my stick-like pre-pubescent frame -seemingly overnight- Sir Mix-a-Lot released the mega, iconic hit, “Baby Got Back.” Once, in the days before cell phones and caller ID, I got an anonymous call which started, “I don’t want none- unless you got buns hun.” I listened for a few bars, hung up, and then cried buckets.
All through high school I tried flannel shirts around my waist to hide the monstrosity that was my badonkadonk. They’d fall off the top shelf of my booty like a giant gingham waterfall. For the next 20 years, I’d gravitate toward long bulky sweaters, dresses, and empire-waist shirts to camouflage my two large mounds of ass flesh. At 23, when I started dating my now ex-husband, he was the first to say he loved my ass… and he did love it. Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time in our 12-year relationship he came while looking at, and fondling – but never probing – my ass. Ass-play was off the menu while ass-gazing was the main course; even though a lot of times I longed for things to get a little dirtier. But in our first year of dating, when I casually mentioned that I’d previously had anal sex, he punched a wall and called me a whore. So no, there would be no ass play in our bedroom and naturally, I married him… But I also eventually divorced him. Now he has a new girlfriend with bigger ass and bigger tits. She also has the same long, blond hair and (for now) bright eyes. Just like he likes ‘em.
In the last year and a half, since separating, every man who’s made it to my bedroom has been all up in my Big Booty Judy from the go. Although I’m not a fan, part of me thinks I should thank Kim Kardashian for being a cornerstone in the emergence of the big ass preference of late. Like some pop-culture, astrological sex calendar it’s” the Year of the Ass” and I have certainly benefitted it in my single life. And maybe this is not a new preference. Maybe men have always preferred the ass, but due to the stigma of wanting the poop shoot, only NOW have they felt free to say so. In any event, thank you society and Kim Kardashian for the Rump Shaker Civil rights. And now, unlike the last 13 years of my life, ass-play isn’t just on the menu, it’s gotten gourmet.
The first time a man tongued my ass it was awkward. I really kinda didn’t want him to stop, but I felt bad, too. There was some lingering shame clinging to my psyche, and also, I knew I was not returning the favor. I’m not into men’s asses. I can pass a knuckle, but that’s as far as I can go… for now I suppose. By the fourth man to dive in and lick my balloon knot, I pretty much expected this to happen. And with each enthusiastic taste of my crack, eventually, my shame was gone too. Eat up buttercup. In a short 18 months, I’ve been licked, probed, fucked and worn like a glove in my perineum. If I still had an ounce of Booty shame leaving my marriage, that shame isn’t only gone, but just like everything else I perceived as my weaknesses, it is now my super strength. Owning my ass, and enjoyment of ass play is like every mistake I kept secret, every desire that went unasked for, every flaw I covered up with self-deprecating humor and flannel shirts… my junk in the trunk is now a source of power. My chocolate starfish is a deep well of strength I kept hiding under all the unflattering and ill-fitting costumes I’ve worn in my life. But no more. I want you all up in my ass and that doesn’t make me a whore, or a hooligan, or a dirty deviant. It makes me desirable, and dead sexy. And the freedom of owning these desires has given me a strength and a bond with lovers that I’ve never known before.
I’m no longer in my early 20s, true. My ass has a fair amount of cellulite and one unfortunate skin tag, but that’s not what matters anymore. What matters is that I’m not ashamed of it and I’m no longer interested in hiding it. What matters is that even though my rusty bullet hole has been violated in some of the dirtiest ways, there is nothing dirty about me. I have turned shame into strength. And after 23 years… “Baby Got Back” is my jam.