I can’t help it. I just want to squeeze her booty.
Her booty always runs through my mind. She owns a round and thick booty. Booty cheeks bigger than a handful.
I feel guilty about my booty obsession. Why? She appears to be a nice woman. Yet, I placed her booty before her personality.
Feminists reading this will throw a fit.
“Is that how you rate women? By the size of their butts? You sexist asshole!”
They would be right. Instead of the current century, I belong in the last century. My booty obsession forces me further and further behind times.
Something about her booty forces me to act like a damned fool. Can’t help it. I’m a rump chump.
Supposedly, both of our horoscope signs match. Yet, what if she turns out to be a psychopath? Could be a future stalker for all I know. She could be stalking my Facebook page right now.
Like a drug addict, my hands are itching and twitching. I want to place both hands on both booty cheeks and squeeze away.
What do I do about my booty obsession? You don’t confess booty obsession to a woman. Last time I did that, the object of an infamous booty poem wouldn’t talk to me for ten years.
Should I try getting to know the woman better? That would be faking. Being nice just to get a squeeze. On a date, I wouldn’t care about her career plans. Wouldn’t care about what kind of movies she likes. Wouldn’t care about what kind of music she likes, either. Only thing I would care about? Squeezing the booty. Would be asking myself do I get a squeeze tonight? Or do I have to wait?
Like I mentioned earlier, I feel guilty placing booty before personality. Yet, I can’t help it. I just want to squeeze her booty.
Photo credit: Buyalex.