The Curse of the Bootyless
Officer Flat Booty, reporting for duty.
I don’t know what it is people see in the male arse, I know only they see nothing in mine - if they see it at all. Even butt-naked, if I do meet the base criteria, my butt is all but invisible.
My gluteus minimus has none of the characteristics of a buttock. Just a swathe of skin stretched over a shallow pelvis. The inconclusive curvature of my tush was the genesis of flat-arse theory. The concave bumper of a rear-ended dump truck. A bum so uneventful that, by default, the hole is the most appealing part.
There is no way of discerning where my back ends, and back side begins - because it doesn’t. My bottom, a story never told. Just a lower back, far lower than most.
When the big man upstairs was dolling out be-hinds - one of his more hands-on duties, I’m told, the dirty omnipresent git - he really was scraping the bottom of the bottom barrel.
Somehow, the more fat I put on, the flatter my buttocks grow. How can flat-packed fat get flatter the fatter it gets? My outsized torso tapers off into a furry, slitted plateau, giving me the backshot of an uppity silverback.
I repeat, this is Officer Flat Booty, reporting for duty. Over.
When, on special occasions, I naked handstand twerk for my girlfriend - birthdays, anniversaries, memorials - my badonkadonkdonk barely registers a batinktinktink. Perhaps for the best, as otherwise my inverted condolences can come across as “disrespectful” - to quote one or two pallbearing killjoys.
My entire form reverberates, with one insignificant exception. However, for the grieving, I understand, that the jiggle and clap of my midriff provide a solace not often found outside the cradle of traditional religion.
As with many of us, I learned the hard way to question the credentials of any man whose chest bears the qualification, “Certified Bootyologist” or “Female Booty Inspector.” Then again, for a few bad apples, are we to dismiss the field entirely?
A reputable, local botty doccy* once asserted, “We cannot question that booty standards have changed over time,” while administering my complimentary roadside rectoscopy.
What the good doctor lacked in precision, he made up in incisiveness. Looking back, the ideal ‘90s heinys could draw blood from a church pew. Nothing like the man-made curves of a Kardashian’s gaster. But, in this age, I’m stuck shaking the pittance my mother gave me.
There is hope. Unlike a misshapen face, we can forge a bum into something worth sitting on. That instant Insta-booty is only ever a few hundred thousand sits on a few hundred thousand imaginary chairs away.
Arsed, I am not, and, arsed I cannot be. I’ll just stay seated, until the post-posterior era.
*Lovely chap. Studied at Harvard, don’t you know.
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The 3 Myths About Dick Size Part 2
The Forbidden Joy of Itching Butthole
I Found Love through a Porn Site Sex Advert
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The 5 Stages of Balding
The Side Effects of a Glow-Up
Flat-Arse Theory is a washout and a sellout, the last refuge of the level-cheeked scoundrel.
I have a doctorate in arseology from the University of Soggy Bottom and I'm here to tell you that all Arses have a measurable curvature, even you my fine fellow.
My dear friend, you are in good company. The late and terribly missed George Carlin had the same problem and told the audience all about it. His solution was to double up on wallets in back pockets, although he said it was not a perfect out, by any means. I, however, am a great believer in finding solace in random ideas and suggestions, so here are a few:
1. A man who is interested in women does not necessarily have to display his behind when making love, thus he can feel less self-conscious.
2. As you pointed out yourself, there is always the option of remaining seated or leaning casually against something.
3. at some point in life, you might, with the help of good friends and excellent booze, wish to consider what would be the best midlife pick-me-up you reward yourself with: a cool car or butt implants. (I personally would vote car, but I am not certain I am invited to said discussion...)
4. Arsed you should not be, because, after all, it is all about the hole and the hole is still there. I have an entire theory about the pot of gold at the end of the hallway, but I fear it is neither the place nor the time. In any case, most women can close their eyes and ignore physical things about their man, but once he opens his mouth, they cannot turn a deaf ear. Which is to say: thank God, you are not an idiot, nor do you have an issue of expressing yourself. So my sense is that you do just fine, don't worry about it.