Show me the arse...

So apparently, I need to get on with what I am good at...wondering...I sincerely hope that I am also good at other things, but for the purpose of moving on and blogging, let us wonder together shall we?

I have a very good friend who is worried about her arse.

Really?
Yes, really. Most women do, but she is worried about it so much that it is playing on her mind with regards to her sex life.

I actually spent some time yesterday morning, groping her arse to get some sort of idea of what she was concerned about. Alas, she refused to show it to me, even though I showed her my cheeks in full bloom much to her horror and equal merriment.

I am not overly impressed with mine to be honest, however it does the job it needs to do...it provides me with a seat, it gives me something to hang my jeans on and gives me some shape...some may say too much shape.

Alas, as always I digress.

She is concerned so much about her arse that it is preventing her from experiencing a particular position with her fella that she rather enjoys. Now most of us have hang ups about parts of our bodies, but normally once the chips are down and the kit and the lights are off, you can normally get over it and go with the flow...however, alas she is deeply concerned about his thoughts on said posterior.

"He already knows what your arse looks like," I tell her while listening to her concerns and sweeping my kitchen floor...we roll like that...multi tasking I think they call it.
"No," She says horrified, "He has never seen it."
I roll back onto my feet, dustpan and brush in hand, "Of course he has bloody seen it. He may not have seen it naked, but he has seen it, he knows the size and he will have a pretty damn good idea of what it is like."
"No...he won't know, and I can't show it to him."
"Show it to me then."
She looks at me horrified, and mouths a silent, No.
"Oh for gods sake woman, just show me your arse, let's see what we are dealing with here."

She of course refuses...so while the hobbits are playing upstairs, I drop my trousers and moon at her...
She consequently falls into a fit of hysterics...well, I never said mine was great.

"It really is that easy babe, it doesn't matter. He really likes you, for who you are. He will know already what your arse is like and it is the whole package that is important."

She absolutely refuses to believe me, so while she is making the coffee I cop a feel against the kitchen work top, "Feels fairly solid to me, good shape...can't see the problem myself."

"What is it," she then asks me, "about men wanting to do it in that position?"
I shrug, "They don't want to look at your face?"
She looks at me seriously, "You are not helping."
"I don't bloody know, I am not a man...positioning, feelings...who knows...I'll ask my dad, he'll tell me."

So to my dad, or to any male who may read this...what is the answer to today's problem? Tell us, so that we can understand and perhaps appreciate the position somewhat more. Tell us if size matters...and tell us why in that position women pretty much have the added pleasure of...ahem..the extra noises.

I await your comments...