Ass You Like It

Most things start at the beginning. This blog, however, will not. I think that we may do better to start at the end. Or, should I say, at the behind.

Male admiration of the female form has been a powerful force in history. Helen of Troy, of course, had the face that launched a thousand ships. But imagine a beauty so powerful, it can stop a man in his tracks, consume his attention, and bring a whole city to a staring standstill. Now imagine that luscious loveliness multiplied by hundreds, by thousands, so that every street of the city is replete with examples of captivating beauty and captivated men…

This beauty that I speak of is glaringly absent from the rhapsodies of history - a backdoor sort of beauty, if you will. Yes my friends, I speak of the booty, and I’ve discovered that the power hidden within this humble mound is staggering. More specifically, its power to affect men’s behavior is staggering. Remember, gentle readers, that I am a midwestern priss at heart, and since moving to the Big Apple I’ve noticed a few trends in the way men look at women which would draw a slap back home.

My interest in this tuchas trend began when I discovered that I myself was ogled. The realization was gradual and came out of nothing more than an inkling – a sixth sense, even - that I was being watched. I was haunted by this peculiar feeling for weeks until the day I caught a causal admirer who sheepishly betrayed that it was, in fact, the back of me that was being watched. This is how I gained enlightenment: men are checking out my keister everywhere.

I must admit, shock took hold first: I had never been exposed to such brazen behavior back home! Perhaps farm boys are more interested in a woman’s heart than in her hiney -we are America’s Heartland, after all- or maybe no one has taught them to check for junk in the trunk. Whatever the case, this male behavior came as a new phenomenon to me, and I’ve taken to researching it like an eager student, to the point where I’m all but(t) obsessed with my latest project.

When watching men throughout New York, one can instantly recognize the difference between a tourist and a New Yorker: the tourist will be gazing upwards, appreciating skyscrapers. New York men admire architecture too, but a more mid-level kind, usually walking right in front of them. Here, everyone is a tourist, but for residents no site is more exquisite than a broad’s backside.

I ditched my reading material on the subway and sat enraptured, following eyeballs slowly sneaking away from the New York Post or Wall Street Journal to follow each rump throughout the car as it stood up, walked, sat down. I studied the policemen in front of Macy’s, swiveling their heads in unison (like the audience at a tennis match) to survey the women walking by. I was bemused to find that construction workers are able to inspect the bum while working - and they say men can’t multi-task! From my third story office window I was knocked breathless by my aerial view of a woman in a tight red dress weaving her way through a sea of oncoming men on the sidewalk below. As she passed through the Neanderthals, each head rotated in turn to pay homage to her caboose, creating a unique and magnificent ripple from above.

All of this, and yet men are instantly sheepish when discovered checking out your boodunka-dunk…how cute! Upon being caught in the act, man turns away with hangdog shame and discovers a violent interest in his iPod or the passing cloud formations.

No doubt by this point you are shocked at the pressure that the New York woman has to go through each day as her seat is speculated on by hundreds of men. Please – save your shock for the fact that men manage to maintain the lifespan that they do. Most New York women are barely scandalized or even bothered by this behavior. As for me, I initially felt flattered, though by now the endearing faux pas of a stranger has melted into a trivial annoyance. Nevertheless, this behavior is considered completely harmless…and completely expected.

These days, the more I study men gawping, the more it moves me. There are so few activities in our modern world that men of all ages, shapes, sizes, creeds, and classes can collectively enjoy. How sweet that the male race can come together, without competition or hate, in one deep and true love for the arse.

In the spirit of “Monkey See, Monkey Do”, my head now turns in unison with theirs to appreciate every passing culo. On the bus, in the deli lines, at the gym, and wherever else I go, I have become a tushie tourist. I too now adopt a look of hangdog shame when a woman catches me ogling her dupka (though I will argue I am slightly more embarrassed than y’all).

So thank you boys, thanks a lot: look at what you’ve done to me!