Ass Angel
This weekend I became acquainted with something that I think every girl should have--an ass angel. That is, someone who is dedicated to doing nothing but watching over your ass.
Most women I know--myself included--are less than enthralled with their posterior. Any time we spend thinking about our derrieres is limited to three things: 1) trying desperately to sculpt and change it; 2) looking for clothing that hides it; or 3) complaining and/or feeling insecure about it ("Does this make my butt look big?" the answer, ALWAYS "NO.")
Anyway, I've been blessed what the women in my family affectionately call the "Essman Ass." It's big and it's out there. I've never counted it among my best features.
So imagine my surprise when out Saturday night, a guy approached me specifically to tell me that I had a "smokin'" ass. He wasn't tryinng to pick me up--this wasn't a conversation starter; he came over to politely share his observation, then retreated back to his place at the bar.
From that perch, he continued to stare at my ass, examining it from every possible angle.
Now typically, this kind of attention to any body part of mine would make me squirm just a little bit. But for some reason--it didn't bother me at all. In fact, it made me feel kind of good to know that someone out there--my very own ass angel--was looking out for the welfare of my backside.
Most women I know--myself included--are less than enthralled with their posterior. Any time we spend thinking about our derrieres is limited to three things: 1) trying desperately to sculpt and change it; 2) looking for clothing that hides it; or 3) complaining and/or feeling insecure about it ("Does this make my butt look big?" the answer, ALWAYS "NO.")
Anyway, I've been blessed what the women in my family affectionately call the "Essman Ass." It's big and it's out there. I've never counted it among my best features.
So imagine my surprise when out Saturday night, a guy approached me specifically to tell me that I had a "smokin'" ass. He wasn't tryinng to pick me up--this wasn't a conversation starter; he came over to politely share his observation, then retreated back to his place at the bar.
From that perch, he continued to stare at my ass, examining it from every possible angle.
Now typically, this kind of attention to any body part of mine would make me squirm just a little bit. But for some reason--it didn't bother me at all. In fact, it made me feel kind of good to know that someone out there--my very own ass angel--was looking out for the welfare of my backside.
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