Ah, those good old Cape May days… by Jackson D’Catur
.
I have a remarkable derriere. I can’t count the number of times that people have stopped and complimented me on it. Well, actually I can, as I keep a note of it in my journal: 3,127 at time of writing. Of course, it all depends on the fashion of the time: in the days when men wore skintight silk breeches and were bedecked in lace and ruffs, I could hardly walk down the street without some lady or gent passing a favorable comment. A hundred times I had to dissuade people from touching my buttocks in admiration, either with a polite gloved hand (for the ladies and more handsome young gents) or a vicious rap across the knuckles for the older chaps. I posed for many artists and a little known fact is that my cheeks are those of Michelangelo’s David: he was a randy old goat, that one. I must stress, though, that the statue’s other attributes do not compare to my own.
Of course, such glutes do not appear by chance. I confess I had a good start with Ma D’Catur’s dancer’s genes, and my own early skill at fencing, horseriding and rutting gave me a bum so muscular that from a sitting position I could flex and hurl myself upright onto my feet without use of arms or legs.
Then, later, I perfected the near-perfect by a simple yet rigorous daily exercise regime including 3,000 squats and the same number of lunges before breakfast, often with my faithful manservant, Kitchener, perched atop my shoulders and Young Albert tucked under my arm for extra weight.
These days I have cut down my regimen a little to perhaps 1,000 of each, but still, I have the buttock power to stay on a bucking bronco, without the assistance of saddle, stirrups or hands, for any period I choose. Of course, for proper grip I need to be wearing my assless chaps, and that can be too disturbing a sight for bystanders, plus that horsehair tickles something awful.
I do like a lady to have a nice bottom, as there’s nothing worse than a fine-looking lass (or laddie, for that matter: I am an equal opportunity aesthete) turning round and displaying a jelly-like derriere, or worse, none at all, just a sheer drop from waist to knee.
Really, there ought to be whole gymnasiums devoted to just that one body part. In fact, I think I will have Kitchener call that handsome bald local PE instructor, Mark, and demand he start “Mark’s Buttocks Workout” classes from this day on.
Adieu.
