Bubble Butt

Girls like my butt. Unfortunately, even though I look just like my late father, I inherited my mother's rump. I thought nothing of my booty until I enrolled at a predominantly white Catholic school in the sixth grade. Within weeks, one of the girls started calling me "Bubble Butt." The moniker stuck with me through the three years that I was enrolled there. In some ways, that experience of being harrassed prepared me for what was ahead in high school and college.

The summer before high school I intentionally bought baggy jeans and shirts that were long enough to cover what my momma gave me. It seemed as though my tactic worked. Nobody was calling me Bubble Butt or commenting on my backside. I was happy to lose that nickname. Sadly, the comments resurfaced when I joined the track team as a junior. There was no way I could hide my butt in those shorts. This time around, the girls were also talking about how I had nice legs. Once again, I was being emasculated. Graduation couldn't have come soon enough...

A lot started happening in my life once I enrolled in college, so hiding the assetts wasn't as much of a priority. By that point, covering up the evidence was second nature. A month into school, my father had a stroke. The following summer, my high school sweetheart and I broke up. Along with a couple of friends on campus, she held me together during the initial stages of my father's decline. That break-up was devastating. The following year, I drank heavily and found comfort with the various coeds who were down for whatever on the weekends.

One of the coeds (Kinky) I called upon on some weekends took a liking to my butt. She was quite the character. Looking back, I think Kinky and I gravitated towards each other because we were both in pain. The year before, Kinky was raped by a couple of guys on campus. She seriously considered dropping out of college during the year. For a time, she was even suicidal. It took a lot of counseling during the summer for Kinky to return in the fall. During the first weekend of school, we established a booty call situation. We'd do our thing and keep it moving.

That's the year I learned that booty calls only last for so long. At some point, women catch feelings and it's a wrap. I wouldn't let the situation evolve into anything more, however. Kinky didn't like that. She hated not being in control. On a Friday night, I recall, she sent me a message on AOL instant messenger. Kinky wanted to have some fun and bring her toy along. I was drunk and had nothing else to do, so I told her to come through.

Me: I see you're steppin' it up. Toys now?? I've never done this.
Kinky: Oh yeh? I'm glad to be your first.
Me: So where is it?
Kinky: (pulls out a purple colored, metallic penis-looking object out of her purse)
Me: Am I supposed to watch?
Kinky: Of course not. I wanna use it with you. (flips a switch to make it vibrate)
Me: Why would I do that when I got this? (pointing downward)
Kinky: I don't want to use it on myself.
Me: (confused) I'm lost right now.
Kinky: Turn around and I'll show you.
Me: What?! You're joking, right? I'm not that drunk!
Kinky: Not at all. C'mon. I won't tell anybody...
Me: You're out of your fuckin mind! What do I look like to you?!?!
Kinky: You mean to tell me you've never thought about putting anything in there? You got a nice ass. Cmon.
Me: Yeh. You're really buggin. Time to leave!
Kinky: (rubs it on my arm)
Me: Ayo, straight up if you touch me with that shit again I'm calling the cops. This ain't even cool right now!!!