I was walking down the sidewalk on a brisk fall day when I caught myself staring. Twenty feet ahead was a woman walking quickly in a pair of fitted cream colored trousers. She had high heels on and a silky red blouse. But what caught my eyes was her butt.
It was magnificent.
Each cheek, perfectly round, fluid and complete, moved gracefully on its own. I could not look away. The shape was not too skinny, too bony, too flat or too muscular. Instead, the image before me was replaced by a perfectly round shape, curved and proportioned as artistically and sublime as any thing I have seen at the Art Institute of Chicago.
It reminded me of a day when I was driving through the hills of Kentucky in the early fall as the leaves changed. As I crested the top of the hill, I could see the bright, yellow leaves triumphantly clinging to the trees, making bright round shapes that moved,swayed and shimmered in the cold wind as though they were listening to a jazz trio with a hot bassist at the foot of the trees pumping rhythm into the roots, spreading throughout the forest.
I was so pleased that she didn't hide this work of art under a coat, long sweater or tunic like so many women do. She moved with the grace of someone unapologetic for her shape, proud of who she was, celebrating what her momma gave her. She was a moving art exhibition, gliding through my world, in town for five minutes only.
Looking at her was not creepy or lustful. I knew there was a brain in her head, and a warm heart in her chest. I knew she was a real person and not just a piece of meat. I didn't want to have her, or stalk her. She was not the woman I loved. She was not the woman that has stood by all of my pompous bullshit.
No, she was just a woman that reminded me why I love women. She reminded me of all of the women in my world, all of the shapes, sizes and smells of the women who have scolded me, fed me, teased me, kissed and hugged me. From my mother to the fourteen-year-old brunette with blue eyes that gave me my first kiss, to my aunts, teachers, and finally to the incredible woman I have been blessed with as my wife, I love women.
To gaze at this beauty as she passed was not lechery, or wanton lust. No, looking at her was simply an appreciation for the works of God in all it's forms.
I like big butts and I cannot lie....
Thanks for reading,
Purgatory: A place of suffering and torment with an unknown duration. In Roman Catholic Theology-the place where the dead are purified from their sins.
By Rage Against The Machine