Pygiaphilia

In the first of my encounter with Lucinda (As Long As It Takes), I began to reminisce about the only man I might have married. His name was Alan, and it was forty years ago. But remembering him has prompted me to relate some of his adventures, garnered during our relaxation after his virtuoso playing of my clitivarius. As I told Lucinda, he was a specialist fetishist, an ever-expanding, collection of photos of the women. How he persuaded them to pose for him I cannot recall, but he snapped them, naked, facing, full-length, and then took the rear view, full on, in profile and with the woman bent forward, a posture which, he considered, best showed the bumscape.

All right, then, here we go with my rendition of one of Alan anecdotes.

1

Born and brought up in a small town in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), he was used to seeing big, black, bottoms and bare breasts. But his initiation, and the confirmation of his fundamental fixation, were thanks to the wife of one of the white officials then in control. She was middle-aged, rather worn in the face, fined down by residence in a hot climate. Her breasts were average in size, and shapely, but her bottom was enormous, appearing the more so because she was meagre in the midriff. You could see it from the front, because it bulged out sideways ('saddlebags' is the usual, uncomplimentary, description, implying the presence of a horse - but in her case the carriers, suitably for the continent, would have been appropriate for portage by an elephant).

Digression 1: Large though it is, my bottom cannot be discerned if I'm facing you. Though I pride myself on the curve of my flanks, hip to thigh.

The lady, Jean, was embarrassed and wearied by her posterior proportions, and by the crude remarks it drew from the unreconstructed males at the local, whites-only, social club. But Alan was awestruck. Aged 18, and soon to depart for university in the UK, he made no attempt to conceal his appreciation, which was, naturally, observed by Jean. She was initially suspicious, in case the young man was being satirical, bent on adding some telling quip to the repertoire of stale epithets and idioms.

Alan was, however, able to convey his admiration during one of the weekly Saturday night dances at the club, and to do so in such a way as to indicate that his attention was on the lady as a woman As, indeed, it was, because he rightly divined that her husband was no longer interested, and that no other man had wished to contemplate the feature other than as something phenomenal, not simply part of a woman who needed emotional-sexual attention.

Under cover of the last waltz, during which her husband was sinking his last sundowner or two, something like the following dialogue occurred:

'Could I call round for tea one afternoon, Jean - if I may call you that?'

'You may, Alan. I am at home every weekday between lunch and tiffin. Alone.'

'Would Monday be all right?'

'You don't hang about, do you?'

'Why delay? When I very much want to see and talk with you.'

'You must have noticed that I've got a big arse? And heard all the jokes - and cracks.' 'Nice double-entendre. Yes, I have heard a few uncalled-for comments.'

'And you don't want to make any?'

'One the contrary. Those making them have no appreciation of so curvaceous an

aspect of your physique.'

'You have the gift of the gab. No wonder you're going to college back in Blighty.'

'When you move, especially when you dance, it shows off your figure a treat. I can't help looking down your back.'

'So that's why you're holding me so tight.'

'Only partly. I'd be holding you tight if it were pitch dark in here.'

'Well, I think my tits are quite good, but no-one's admired my arse before.'

'If it were pitch dark I'd be stroking it, if you'd allow that.'

'Well, we'll see if you're all talk on Monday, won't we?'

'Proof of pudding?'

'How dare you talk about my arse like that.' Mock-angry.

'Well, two puddings. To be tasted.'

'My husband, over at the bar, says my mother must have been a Hottentot. You know about them? Able to store food in their arses, which can be huge.'

'Yes. Bushmen have it, too, like camels, though the humps are elsewhere.'

'Not many Hottentots in Surbiton, where I grew up, but he calls me "Hottenbot".'

Pedantry 1: Properly, the tribe is the Khoikhoi.

Pedantry 2: The term for the characteristic is called 'steatopygia' (Greek) = fat bottom. 'Pygiaphilia' = love of bottom. Since African bums are larger than European ones, suggesting they all have some ability for food-storage, some people think that the emigrants from that continent lost he steatopygic trait along with the dark pigmentation.

Digression 2: My tits are quite good, too, and they're over 50, in years, not inches. Blew up like balloons in about five minutes, it seemed like, straight to 40D. My mother said hers did the same, and it must be heredity, or 'heretitty.' My earliest lessons in word-play. She went with me to buy bras till I was sixteen. I remember her saying in the cubicle when trying one too small, 'Those puppies are showing their noses,' to which I replied, 'The cups are running over.'

In the darkest corner of the room, Alan managed to plant a passionate and foreseen kiss on Jean's lips, and then the dancing was over and the company dispersed to its bungalows, with some wives, including Jean, supporting their spouses.

2

Jean had scarcely closed the front door before Alan was holding her tight and continuing Saturday's kiss. She responded, but quite soon pushed him away. 'I think we should have some tea and talk about this a bit, don't you?'

'I'm yours to command,' Alan wanted to keep the tone light, but also be truthful.

'You're the only person in that position. Come through here. The girl has left the tray ready and has the afternoon off. Not that she would have said anything. She's more a friend than a servant. Not a girl, either. She's my age and gives me advice, like what to do today.'

He waited for her to make and pour the tea. 'What does she tell you to do?'

'She says take what's offered, and don't get too involved.'

'Obviously a wise woman.'

'Yes, said "Such it and see," only with a different first letter.'

'And is that what you'd like to do?'

'Drink your tea, and tell me what you want to happen today.'

'First, I want to take your clothes off.'

'That wouldn't take long.'

'Then I want to admire you and kiss you and stroke you.'

'That does sound nice. Would you dress me again after that?'

'If that was what you wanted, yes, of course.'

'I haven't had many men. Well, only three, including Doug. But I don't think they'd have liked stopping at that point.'

'I might not like it, but it's more important to do what you'd like.'

'You really mean that, don't you? Well, the other question is, have you been with a woman before?'

'No. Of course, I've read about it, and asked about it, mostly from our maid, who's like yours, more a friend than a servant. She looked after me as a child.'

'And what did she tell you to do this afternoon?'

'What your maid said, but I shouldn't do anything that injured you in any way.'

'Would you like some more tea? Or would you like to come to the bedroom and take my clothes off and kiss me and stroke me?'

'No more tea, thank you. I'd like to come to the bedroom.'

Alan had a slight anxiety about cuckolding Jean's husband in his own bed, but he noted that Jean had no hesitation, and that the sheets were clean, suggesting she had intended that they would be there.

She stood calmly by the bed, smiling at him a little, waiting. She was wearing what looked like a short-sleeved, cotton dress, almost certainly made by herself, since it fitted closely to the waist and flared out to enfold her lower body. He surveyed the garment and gently turned her to unzip it at the back, learning in the process that it was actually a two-piece. He deduced the top would need to come off over her head, as there was no way it was going to get past that bottom moving downwards, even if he took the skirt off first. He therefore peeled it off upwards, easing it carefully over her bosom.

The skirt was also zippered, under a tight waistband secured with hooks and eyes. These he carefully disengaged, then unzipped and began to ease the voluminous folds down over the out-jutting flesh. She wriggled a little to help the material descend, and once over her enormarse it feel easily, and she stepped out of it and out of her shoes.

In those days women usually wore a full-length petticoat or slip, so Alan was now faced by that concealing garment, which could be, and was, readily removed upwards, over her head. Since it had been loose enough there was no difficulty, and there she was, still facing away from him, in her bra and knickers.

Bras, then, tended to be crafted in stiff cotton for control, but the catch was right there in front of him and he took up the slack in the elastic of the strap and undid it. This being the first time he had undressed a woman, he hesitated a moment, wondering whether it would be permissible for him to push down the shoulder-straps and detach the cups. Should the woman take the actions to reveal her breasts.

Jean seemed to understand. She chuckled. 'The gentleman waits for permission. Well, go on, young sir, let them loose.'

Reaching round her, he carefully detached the garment and dropped it. The gentlemanly impulse led him to refrain from turning her, peering over her shoulder or walking round for the front view. Instead he threaded his hands between her arms and torso and took her breasts in his hands. The shock of delight, the delight of the shock, was so great he let out a sharp exhalation, almost a whistle. And his excitement was augmented by her little shiver as her nipples were caught between his fingers.

I have described this disrobing in detail not only because Alan did so all those years later but because it demonstrates his patient, considerate conduct in all things. He was as fully charged with desire as any man, but not for him the hasty ripping off of clothing or anything smacking of inattention to the woman's sensibilities. He also liked to relish each stage of the process, the gradual revelation bodily beauty, for it was axiomatic for Alan that any woman he had intercourse with was, by virtue of the situation and regardless of her age and proportions, beautiful. Naturally, sensing this, his partners felt, and became, beautiful.

With Jean he now found himself in one of those classic dilemmas for the currently more active participant. Should he continue to fondle the bosom, since that was clearly giving pleasure, or move on to the knickered bottom? She resolved this for him, with a hint. ' So far so fine, young sir novice, on the nursery slopes. A lady might think you had done this before. But are you now scared to tackle the mountains?'

'I was wondering whether to wait for the most to lift, or lower,' he said, moving his hands to her hips and slipping his fingers under the elastic.

'Very tactful. Bit more substantial than mist, but not covering the whole hillside.'

Indeed, Alan's heart was pounding at the sight before him. For it was clear that not even the capacious knickerage in use could contain these escarpments. Half the cheeks were bare below the straining confines, and the gusset was buried deep between. He paused again to absorb the impact of the vision.

'They will come off, if you pull hard,' she said.

So he dragged them down, noting the way they came loose at the sides first, leaving the inter-crural band to detach itself from the abyssal depths, whither he aspired to ascend.

Having ankled the knicks, and she having stepped out of them, the next decision had to be made. Perhaps he should turn her now, or move round to embrace her. But he found himself held in place to contemplate that magnificent bottom. Not just large but lovely in its shaping, as if sculpted by a master.

It had a feature he never again saw equalled. The long muscles bordering the spine developed in the small of the back into the roots of the buttocks, as if those glorious swellings were in that way anchored. The result was that between the rounded ridges of the upper parts of the cheeks there was a shallow, saucer-shaped hollow just above the coccyx. It so moved Alan that he placed the back of his hand into.

'Never seen anything like that before, have you? But, then, I don't suppose you've seen a lot of ladies' bums, big or small.'

'I haven't. But I can't imagine there are any as magnificent as yours.'

'Well, what are you going to do now, when you've finished gazing at it?'

Alan kneeled and began to kiss his way down the right cheek, slowly stroking the left one, before reversing the procedure. He was especially fascinated to slip his fingers into the deep creases beneath and gently heft the mounds.

Doing this ensured he breathed in the rich vaginaroma, which lit up the area of the brain which responds without conscious thought and transmits an instant message to the genitals, and that reminded him he was still dressed, still behind the behind.

Jean's voice came in a shaky whisper. 'You know...No, you don't know, this is all new to me, too. No-one has ever undressed me, or admired my arse, let along kissed it. Yes, I've been fucked by three men, but that was all it ever was. So I think you should either get undressed, and we'll do whatever we do, or stop now.'

Alan stood, wrapped his arms round her to hold her breasts again and said, 'Do you want to stop now?'

'No, of course I don't, you sill boy.'

He released her, stepped back, quickly stripped off his shirt, trousers, pants, shoes and socks, resumed the embrace, and she said, 'I can feel you're ready. That's new, too, one of those between the cheeks. Knocking for entry, I should say.'

A mutual impulse turned her within his arms and cemented their lips together. The delicious sensation of her breasts on his chest was so delicious he thought he might faint. He was even unsteady on his feet for a moment. 'Steady, boy,' she said, 'I think we'd better lie down, don't you?'

They lay together, heads on the pillow, gazing into each other's eyes. What Jean saw in his caused her to hug him hard and shed a few tears. 'No-one's looked at me like that for thirty years,' she said. 'You really want me, don't you?'

'Oh, Jean, I want you so much, and I want to show you how much. What shall I do?'

'Do what you want, just do what you want.'

He pushed away enough to release her from his arms and brought his hands up under her breasts, lifting them, running his thumbs across the nipples, which hardened under the touch, surprising and delighting him. As did her murmurs of enjoyment. And those inspired a moment of pure instinct, for, without taking thought, he took a nipple into his mouth. Without taking thought, she put a hand to the back of his neck to hold his head against her.

Without haste he began a long nipple-licking and sucking session, encouraged by her little exclamations of pleasure. 'Lovely, boy. How did you know? My tits are on fire.'

I know just how she must have felt, because my own tits have been on fire in Alan' mouth, and I know the instinctive urge to hold the breast-sucker's head like that. He showed that long-ago first time, too, the natural patience he had. He would have gone on with the breasts for ever, or, rather, until the owner prompted a change.

On that occasion it happened when she said, 'Don't you want to go inside me?'

'Oh, yes! Do you want me inside you?'

'That's the usual practice, judging by my limited experience, but we're in new territory - both of us. So, let's try it in a different way, for me.' Getting up from beside him, she sad, ' Lie on your back.'

Alan was nothing if not biddable and did that, curious about what she had in mind. What she had in mind was straddling him, bottom resting, temporarily, on his thighs, hand holding his rigid penis. She said, 'The three lay on top of me and pushed in, which was often painful, because a woman really needs to be wet from inside. I'm sure you know that.'

'Oh, yes, our maid told me everything.'

'Well, thanks to you I'm good and wet, so here goes.'

She raised her hips and moved towards his stomach, still holding his penis. From his position the view was stupendous. Her pubic hair was lavish, semi-circular, dark and glossy, but not so dense as to prevent him seeing the north end of her closed, but leaking, labia. She lowered her pelvis slowly, feeling for her vestibule with his cock-tip, until he registered with joy and astonishment the most perfect experience of his life so far. She was admitting him. He was sliding up into her. She was blessing him with the gift of her body. She was taking him deep into her essence. She had released his penis when it was safely housed and was looking down at him with tenderness and satisfaction.

When he was fully within, her bottom again resting on his thighs, she shuddered. Then they remained still, fully joined, for a several minutes. He felt her juices oozing out into his hair, onto his balls. She was, unthinkingly, focused on his presence within her.

She began to move, just a little, lifting her bottom an inch or so, so that she released him for a moment, before clamping down again. She was experimenting, trying what it was like to be the active partner, savouring the control with the sensation, which was pleasant but not all that compelling. 'Mmmn,' she said, 'This is good. Is it good for you?'

'It's wonderful.'

'Won't it make you, you know, shoot?'

'Yes, it could, but I don't want to. That would change things, wouldn't it? I just want you to go on doing that forever.'

'You are a strange young man. Certainly different.'

Alan was, as the above may imply, something of a genius when it came to pleasuring women. For, drawing on his lessons, he then did three things which led to the consummation. First, he reached up with one hand and began caressing her breasts again, rolling and squeezing the nipples. Second, he reached past a hip and stroked a buttock. Then he beckoned her to bend forward, so that his lips could do the breast-work, freeing a hand with which he felt into her puss-pelt and homed in on her clitoris. Meanwhile he quietly expressed his admiration and wonder in little repeated phrases. 'So beautiful. So lovely. Lovely breasts. Perfect nipples. Beautiful bottom.' They were emotional, not poetic utterances.

'I knew there was more,' she said, her breath quickening. 'Your finger there. Such a feeling. I have to move. If it makes you, just do it. Move inside me. I hope, I think it can happen for me, too.'

A further aspect of Alan's genius was that he could sense exactly the moment to move. He knew her orgasm was accumulating behind her clitoris, between her legs, spreading out through her nerve-network, and concentration on that awareness enabled him to resist too much in-out in her vagina. But, as her climax began, he withdrew half way and thrust deep, twice, four times and they came together, both crying out in astonished ecstasy.

3

Gasping in triumph and joy they clung together a long time. She said, 'I never knew it could be like that.'

'Neither did I. Well, of course not.'

'You'll have to go in a minute. Will you want to come again, now you have had your wicked way with me?'

'Of course I want to come again, and there must be more wicked ways. Besides, you had your wicked way with me, too.'