Rumpology

A voluptuous English woman at the safari guesthouse reveals the secret of her sex appeal.

“It all about balance, GB.” she explains. “I’ve got a huge arse, but it doesn’t matter because my boobs are equally enormous. My top and bottom parts balance each other out and make my waist look smaller.”

I nod in agreement.

“Yes, you’ve got to look at body shape in a holistic way,” I say. “Look at elephants. Their arses are absolutely massive but you never hear them complaining about it. There’s nothing wrong with a big behind if the rest of the body is in good proportion. I’m glad you’re not one of those women who hate their bums.”

“If I did hate my bum I’d ask you to spank it for me!” she says saucily.

“And I would be glad to oblige,” I reply. “However given that my paw would only cover a small portion of your hindquarters, the punishment inflicted may be slight.”

“On the contrary, GB, my naughty bottom would be chastened by your long-armed follow through!” she insists.

I thank her for the compliment and study the object in question as she saunters off. It wobbles a certain amount, and yet I wouldn’t change a morsel of it. There is something very engaging about a woman who is comfortable in her own body. As she approaches the end of her stay, I begin to harbour squalid thoughts of giving her juicy buns a good squeeze. It is fortunate that I possess a high degree of self-discipline in such matters.

Anyway, this full-bottomed female reminds me of a fortune teller I met in my circus days. He claimed he could foretell a person’s fate by examining their buttocks.

“Every crease, crevice and crater is imbued with prognosticative significance!” he declared grandly. “I have just examined the ringmaster and he has a cleft rump!”

“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked.

“Everyone has a vertical cleft, my dear ape, but few are privileged to have a horizontal one as well. In essence, there were four buttocks rather than two. The vulgar members of my profession call it the ‘hot cross bum’.”

“Well I never!” I exclaimed, amused at the ringmaster’s peculiar deformity. “Whatever does it mean?”

“The number four is generally thought to be unlucky in China, but in some dialects it sounds like ‘get fortune’. So the ringmaster is probably destined to have bad luck, with an outside chance of acquiring great riches.”

“That should keep him on tenterhooks,” I said. “However his only connection with China is his weekly noodle-fest at the Chu Chin Chow.”

“The wisdom of the Yellow Emperor is universal.” explained the rump-reader. “Would you like a quick appraisal on the house?”

“If it’s on the house, why not?” I replied, turning round and bending over.

“Hmm,” he mused. “Based on the thick covering of hair, I would say that you were a gorilla. Am I close?”

“Spot on!” I confirmed. “And to think I was sceptical about your powers!…phut… Oh I say, I’m sorry! It must have been the lentils I ate for lunch!”

“Fresh air, fresh air!” he gasped, staggering away. “Damn you, Bananas, open the door! You poisonous effusion is killing me!”

He survived to read more rumps, but was careful to inquire after his subject’s recent diet before future examinations.

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