My mother and I have a running joke –I call her a perv. Ever since I was little, she’s always slapped me on the butt and grabbed my thighs. See, perv. Just as her palm, full throttle, would land on my 8 year old butt she’d say, “You’ve got your mama’s butt.” That’s when I learned how to give a mean side-eye. I never rejected my asset, especially at that age, I didn’t care. Actually, I adored my mother so any bit of her she recognized in me I would internally gush over.
Obtaining my driver license at the age of 16 coincided with the arrival of me – on BGClive and Adam4adam. I was hot and fast; I met plenty of men, and I do mean men. I remember one guy was 12 years my senior with a child 4 years my junior. During our first of two meetings, I remember arriving in my 1988 Mercedes hand-me-down at the dead of night, probably an hour from midnight. He was tall, at least 6’2”, wore black rim glasses on his elongated face, and had a swimmer’s physique. Of course, in all my Bambi like innocence, I sat in fear and anxiousness, practically holding onto the arm of the chair closest to the exit, as if it were a force-field that would protect me if he was a serial killer.
Those grown hands, brown and strong placed themselves on my thighs and squeezed. I don’t know if he thought he’d get lemonade or orange juice if he squeezed hard enough, but it was the repetitious action of the night. He uttered that he liked my thighs, and asked me to stand up to examine my butt.
He squeezed that too. He liked that too.
After being horrible at basketball, especially compared to my more basketball inclined older brother, my mother placed me in soccer, only because she said I was eating everything in the house. –Side Note: I love food. – At that moment, when I was being treated like a piece of meat or being admired, depending on your vantage point, I knew years of soccer, wrestling, football and track combined with great genes had complimented one another to create a great lower half and I would forever be indebted to my appetite (the reason why I had to play sports) and my mother.
When I was still living with my mother or just visiting from university, in my earlier twenties, I would openly go on dates. My mother was the barometer telling me if I looked tacky, slutty, or very handsome. A lot of times I was called a slut. My ass was powerful; since my days at Hampton University it had garnered its own name: Twyla. Everything I wore had to accentuate her; it was a must. As I worked out more and it got larger, my bestie and I graduated her from Twyla to Katherine the Magnificent. We saw the name on a poster when we went and got an HIV test together.
Although, it continues to grow and has caused me contemplations about Plato’s Closet presently, I still adore my ass. If I could squat 24/7, I would still need another hour and a day.