I’ve been playing this ABCs Game for approximately a decade, and it’s time to wrap it up. It’s time to wrap up all my blog series so I can move on to other things I need to finish and start. I’m halfway done with the letters, some of which have been accidental repeats. Who cares? No one is keeping track! Well, I am now. But now, onto our feature presentation.
A couple of weeks ago I saw the above clip on Twitter and didn’t really think about blogging anything connected with it—despite the fact that one of my favorite places to imagine keeping a tiny man is there, firmly tucked between my cheeks—until the next morning when story ideas started to flutter in my head. If you ask anyone, they’ll tell you that a derrière is a really odd place to keep anything one wishes to keep intact, no matter what you see in Doctor Who episodes and the movie Bridesmaids.
Then don’t ask anyone. Instead, ask one of your people, your size people, and no matter their opinion on the matter, they will nod knowingly because “assplay” is as familiar to any of us as morning coffee. I have no interest in the female backside unless it’s my own. My ass is the vehicle in which many stories I write about little men—and the butts that love them—ride. My own ass is the perpetrator, the savior, the refuge, the addict and the enabler. My ass is everything.
It took me a very long time to realize how fortunate I am to be shaped as I am, but far less time to begin to tell stories about that very tiny man I adore in his every incarnation, and his run-ins with my ample posterior. This blog entry is about that favorite garment I use to rein it in. As you see, J is for Jeans.