Posh Totty

Some men have a taste for the finer things in life like gourmet foods, classic cars, vintage wines and that thoroughbred class of young lady most often referred to as Posh Totty but is there more to them than silk knickers and designer perfume?

Well of course there is, obscenely expensive handbags and shoes, for example.

The idea of an affair with a game bit of posh totty all sounds very nice what with endless spanking in the stables, lascivious liaisons at the summer ball and dirty talk in a cut-glass, Home Counties accent.

Not that i have any objection to any girl having a mouthful of plums nor to her waking me up with a glass of champagne and eggs benedict, it's just that myself and etiquette are akin to oil and water.  

All too rich for my blood, i'm afraid, being but a humble man of simple tastes who looks for my entertainment toward the earthier, less highly-strung woman wherever possible.  

Whereas i would class a night of passion with many other women as a three-course dinner, one spent thrashing about in the arms of Miss Posh Totty offers comparison with the most luxurious box of chocolates: very nice at first but ultimately somewhat sickly and unfulfilling.

Witwoo!

If a woman takes the time and trouble to make herself look pretty, wearing the right clothes, having nice hair and make-up, then wouldn't it be only polite to acknowledge the fact and signal one's appreciation?

There was talk some while ago about wolf-whistling being banned on the grounds that it was politically incorrect, immature and deeply offensive but there are still plenty of ladies out there who would feel the secret glow of personal pride in receiving such a tribute while they strolled past as evidence that they were still attractive to the opposite sex.

It merely means that you're still eye-catching enough for men to bother whistling at and it's no use being a head-turner if nobody lets you know that they're impressed by you.

And don't tell me that the minute you're with friends you won't proudly confide Someone wolf-whistled at me today!

Others, of course, would either frostily ignore the intended compliment and burn inside with moral indignation, directing a severe glare at the well-meaning perpetrator but i can state here and now that i have never once wolf-whistled at any woman.

This is due to the fact that i was never able to master the dubious art and have therefore restricted myself to mere ogling but many's the time i wished to signify my appreciation of the perfect female figure with a friendly little whistle.

Rumpology Laid Bare

The studious life of the Rumpologist requires great diligence and insight, perception and sensitivity, a far from easy vocation but nevertheless a lifelong interest in the well-being of others, not to mention shapely rumps, leads me to follow my calling without question.

You might, of course, look at the framed diploma hanging proudly on my office wall and ask what rumpology actually involves so allow me to illuminate the subject a little.

A client may seek an appointment with me with a view to a private and personal reading, desiring an insight into her future path in life or help in relationship matters, which i can achieve by my own careful and detailed examination.

Quite simply, just as physiognomy involves a study of the face and palmistry requires close inspection of the hands, i am able to learn a great deal about your personality, character and prospects by the laying-on of hands and insightful scrutiny of your exposed bottom.

I often refer to it as The thoughtful study of the Divine Peach, a glimpse through the crack betwixt one universe and another, a golden delicious opportunity to dance cheek-to-cheek with mysterious, hitherto unseen realms.

I feel duty bound in exhorting you to present your bare buttocks for my unique analysis at your earliest convenience as it will open a whole new world to you (and quite possibly to myself too) so i urge you to bend over, assume the position and leave the rest to me.

A Shilling Wisely Spent

I thought it only right and proper to show willing and pay a visit to our new local massage parlour, earnestly believing that one should always support such refreshing ventures...

...especially when the sign proudly pronounced A shilling a shot! 

Besides, my creaky old bones might well benefit from a little discreet attention.

As i parted with my shiny shilling, the well-upholstered lady in attendance inquired if i suffered from any bodily stiffness at all to which i replied that indeed i did on certain occasion, in fact, even as she steadily watched me disrobe and prostrate myself upon her leather couch, the familiar old stiffness began to rear its ugly head once more.

Warming essential oils administered by virtuoso hands gently soothed my sore afflictions beyond my wildest expectations and i could feel my worries simply oozing away as she worked my troubled flesh with rhythmic expertise.

She kneaded tenderly one minute, vigorously the next, knowing intuitively when to stroke and when to pummel, building up a steady head of steam while i lay blissfully resigned to my fate beneath her fantastically potent fingers.

I could feel the approaching waves of soothing relief more with every passing second until her blessed work was finally done; i avowed my shilling wisely spent and you will not be surprised to learn that i subsequently went on to spend many more shillings at this charming little establishment.

Ravishing Wriggler

The thing which most impresses me about her is the wholehearted manner in which she simply adores being a woman, long-since having let her youthful inhibitions and hang-ups fall discarded to the floor like a warm pair of knickers.

Here she is now in her glorious maturity, basking in the erotic divinity of her very womanhood, living life to the full and relishing the shapely flesh that she so confidently parades before me as i watch with dry mouth and hungry heart.

Hiding nothing because she fears nothing, allowing every last contour of her voluptuous body to be seen quite openly and without false modesty, secure in the knowledge that it drives me wild with desire as it has every other man to have beheld it's ravishing splendour.

There is even a distinct air of bestowing a great honour upon me in her looks which suggest that neither of us are in any doubt whatsoever as to who might be the lucky one here.

She needs not question that i have come in all humility to worship at her succulent altar and she correctly assumes the aspect of a benevolent goddess who gives more than generously to the  faithful servant devotedly paying homage to her ripe, full-bodied allure.

Oops-a-Daisy

What a perfect vision of womanly beauty she presented on her wedding day and while some shook their heads in sympathy at that embarrassing Oops moment, when a gentle breeze became a cheeky gust which lifted her bridal gown into the morning air, i viewed it as her crowning glory.

All that fluffy, whispy, lacy loveliness made the perfect moment in a perfect day.

The wonderful image put me in mind of sweet and fancy desserts, a celestial meringue perhaps, something wonderfully naughty-but-nice, something we were not meant to witness which flashed before our eyes like a gift from the Gods.  

I was once again the naughty boy with his nose pressed up against the cake shop window, looking and dreaming, looking and dreaming...

Envious eyes were cast towards the dashing groom at her side who had indeed the promise of a mouthwatering wedding feast ahead to judge from that fleeting glimpse of bridal heaven while the rest of us had to be content with cocktail sausages and silverskin onions.

It was a genuine moment to treasure, the little squeal of surprise she let out adding the finishing touch to a scene which will linger long in the memory and bring a pleasurable smile to my face for many years to come.

Another Notch On The Bedpost

With the benefit of hindsight it might have been ill-advised of me to let my good nature get the upper hand when asked to perform a few neighbourly odd jobs by the widow woman who lived down the lane but sadly i have always suffered from the chronic inability to say no.

Reporting for duty with my trusty toolbox in hand and a simplistic eagerness to please, i was greeted with a warm smile and an even warmer hand before being led upstairs like a lamb to the slaughter.

In fact, it couldn't have been more obvious if she'd dowsed me in Mint Sauce as i crossed the threshold.

I was told that a few things needed touching-up in the bedroom and that she had the utmost confidence in me as being exactly what she needed to make everything shipshape and Bristol fashion.

I couldn't help but notice a strange array of notches on her bedpost and wondered aloud what they might signify but she merely looked deep into my eyes, smiled and took me rather forcefully by the hand.

It was much later that evening, while she lovingly carved by candlelight yet another notch into that rickety old bedpost, that i finally came to understand...but by then i was far too drained to care and was entirely unable to raise so much as an eyebrow.

Partial Love At First Sight

We're all familiar with the concept of love at first sight and while some folk cynically snort through their nostrils and flatly state that it does not exist, other hearts of a warmer, more romantic nature will swell with sentiment and pray that it does.

My own personal experience in the matter is slightly less clear-cut, however, with the unwitting discovery of another alternative: Partial love at first sight.

The very first time i saw her, the very first second to be truthful, i fell headlong and hopelessly in love not with the girl as an entity but with one especially prominent and wickedly inspiring aspect of her personal beauty.

Yes, she was a pretty little creature with friendly eyes and a pleasing smile but my attention shot swiftly towards her perfectly formed posterior like a lusty lightning bolt and there it doggedly remained, fixed to the wondrous prize in a spellbound, trancelike state of enraptured desire.

A Rubenesque rump of such awesome splendour that it seemed a cardinal sin to look anywhere else for the entire remainder of my lifetime.

Sadly, that mesmerising, heart-stopping bottom was destined to become my personal pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, something that i would chase after and obsess about for years without once coming remotely close to achieving my fevered ambition, the vivid image of which remains forever fresh in my little treasure trove of memories.