Sonja's Sojourns – an Irreverent Look at Internet Dating  

I decided long ago that, as it appears I’ll never make the mark of a supermodel, I may as well sit back and appreciate it when someone thinks my assets are of great value, instead of all the arguing about how they couldn’t possibly think so -- even if I don’t. After all, a man doesn’t have to be a hunk in order to be a turn-on for me, either.

However, aside from the fact that I don’t like to see overweight people in sausage-like attire, let alone be one, referring to body parts as items to be selected from the refrigerator case in a butcher shop, to me, lacks a certain amount of charm.

And, thus, my dilemma when being notified of one of the latest sites touted by the kind folks at SexyAds, www.primebutts.com. Call me old-fashioned, but I just have to take umbrage when someone refers to a nice ass as a “prime butt.”

I don’t like to compare human flesh with meat I’d buy in a store, any more than I like soap that smells like food. It tweaks my brain around in a confusing fashion; I just can’t help it.

Just the same, I do so appreciate looking at a fine ass, and now with the primebutts thing, my eyes want to vacation all over the lower hemisphere. And, with the awareness, this new site brings asses to the forefront, both literally and figuratively.

A friend of mine in Michigan had a collie as a regular visitor to his home during inclement weather, when he apparently broke free of whatever home he had on a more regular basis. My friend dubbed the dog, "Puddles."

The dog would sit next to my friend's armchair during football games, where he served very well as an end table. Turns out, that Puddles' head was perfectly flat and he'd hold completely and contentedly still, probably just happy to be out of the freezing rain, while acting as a place for my friend to park his perennial can of beer.

It was a very reciprocal relationship, I'm sure.

Whenever I think about Puddles, I can't help but to think of my own shelf-like ass. It's been said that someone could place a beer upon it, and it would remain undisturbed while I walked around all day.

To some, perhaps, this sort of, shall I say, "ample," feature is pleasing to the eye, and should be further accentuated by the tightest clothing available. The guy I’m seeing now is one of them, so I arrived for our latest date, wearing some skin-tight, stretch jeans. There is, however, a certain amount of bagginess that occurred during the drive over to his place. I’m not talking much more than an inch around the knees, mind you.

“But, Honey, you should wear tight jeans,” he said as he ran his hands over my hindquarters. When I protested that any more of a squeeze, and I’d run the danger of self-inflicted asphyxiation, he laughed.

“Do you really think that men care if your circulation is cut off, as long as we have as unobstructed a view of your ass as possible?”

Actually, no, I thought, not since learning that the Culprits of Invention responsible for torture devices such as high heels were of the other gender.

I said as much to him during a football game last weekend. In a complex play combining feigned deafness and perhaps not-so-faked ignorance, he leaned over my shoulder as I made hasty half-time preparations of a rump roast, and said, “Why don’t we upload a pic of your prime butt?”

“Hey, you’re the one with the tight end,” I said as I attempted a high-five while almost tripping over the coffee table. “Good hustle,” he said as he slapped my ass, and reiterated his appreciation for my bustle.

While playful remarks such as his soften my hard-ass stance, I don’t think I’ll be a contestant in primebutts.com any time soon. Old fashioned? Yeah, well, call me what you will, but I don’t really mind being a little behind.

You can write to Sonja at sonjakatz@sexyads.com if you're a SexyAds member!