Officer! Stop That Leatherman! He Just Stole My Ass!

So today, in anticipation of my MAsT appearance this Sunday, I dug out my harness and leather jock, both of which were purchased several years ago at Bear Man's Leatherwerks in Fort Lauderdale. The harness, which always nets me some compliments, still looks good. But the jock--which admittedly I don't have much occasion to wear--that was another story.

The leather strap with the snappy things that loops through the O-ring at my hip bone was about five inches away from my hip bone. I was expecting it to be a little tight, but not like this. Luckily, it's adjustable. So I did some adjusting. Letting it out all the way, as far as I could go, and with herculean some effort, I managed to get it on.

When I checked out the package in front of the mirror, something I've suspected was clearly confirmed: baby's got back. I've got something of a booty going on.

Now, I've always thought I had a pretty flat ass. Even back in the days when I was squatting six plates at the gym, lying on my stomach it sort of resembled an Indian burial mound. And same thing standing up. There was no crescent shaped crease. And in admiring the asses of others, I've always found that crescent shaped crease pretty beguiling. I think that's what is often referred to as a "bubble butt."

I knew my waist size had increased. Since junior high school up until a few months ago, I bought pants with a thirty-two inch waist. But, starting a few months ago, while I worked at my Previous Place of emPloy and wasn't able to go to the gym, my pants with 32 inch waists that were previously snug became unwearable. I just bought a new pair of Carhartts with a 34 inch waist. (I like'em to hang a little bit, because as we all know, ass-crack is the new cleavage.)

Not that I minded! A beer-gut beats six pack abs every time in my book, and I sure wouldn't mind that development on me.

But I didn't quite put it together that the increase in girth could be attributable to what's going down around back.

And then, bedecked in my harness and leather jock, I looked in the mirror today. And, my heart pounding, I turned around and took in the view from the rear.

And there it was!

A shelf! On me!

For real!

Now, I'm going to be 43 this year. (Age, not waist.) Isn't this the age when things are supposed to go in the other direction? Where did that come from? How long will it stay around?

A guy I used to hang out with in NYC once observed upon spying a particularly fine example of masculine callipygian pulchritude, "Look at the ass on him! He must have stolen it from a fifteen year old Black girl!"

Now I wouldn't put myself in the same class as your average fifteen year old Black girl, but I do get the sensation that I'm walking around with somebody else's ass.

Not that I mind.