the loaf you pinch might be your own

A shockingly nice Korean ass appeared in front of me this evening-- small, tight, and thank God it didn't belong to a little boy. I was topping the rise of an escalator at the Korea University subway station when it hove into view. Clothed in dark blue denim. Accompanied by a very nice pair of thighs, and two swinging arms that were a credit to the Grand Sorority of Female Appendages. Shoulders that flared out without being broad, as is often the case with certain Western women who work out (the ones Tom Wolfe called "boys with breasts" in A Man in Full... I wonder whether Wolfe had been scouring the Web for "chicks with dicks").

Men are wired to zoom in on female reproductive checkpoints. There are leg-men. Ass-men. Breast-men. Men who can't wait to spot some camel-toe. Part of this is biology; part of this is culture. An American in Korea has to reorient a bit, allow himself to go native. Hips are slimmer here; asses tend to be flatter. Camel toe is very, very rare. It's never mattered to me much, but for leg-men, Korean women's legs can be something of a disappointment (unless you see one of those stilty supermodel wannabes swaying and swishing through Seoul). Personally, I don't mind stubby legs, so long as they're shapely. As far as legs go, I'm generally a calf-man, like the Maximum Leader.

Biology and culture come together to produce a certain objectification of the female form. For myself, though, I reject the idea that such objectification is inherently evil. If a woman wears clothing that reveals a healthy, bountiful cleavage (another rarity in Korea), she probably wants her cleavage to be seen. And why not? The same goes for women wearing tight, ass-revealing pants. Women who reject their own biology are simply engaging in another form of dehumanization. This is why I love Camille Paglia: she's a feminist who puts biological realities front and center.

So-- back to that ass. I wanted to breed with it. I wanted to make it scream things it's never screamed before. I wanted to knead it like a cat making biscuits with its claws. I wanted to--

And then the ass left my field of view.

And I promptly forgot about it until just a few minutes ago, when I decided to blog about the glory I'd beheld.

That ass now passes into the realm of myth. Hindsight reinterpretation of this moment will produce a faith-narrative that layers miracle upon miracle. The narrative begins with this blog, turns into oral tradition, then settles into written tradition. We've seen something like this before: the Exodus event. The birth narratives of both Jesus and the Buddha. This ass will be revered, in time, as the founder of a new religion. People years hence will read about how it healed the sick, preached compassion, and allowed itself to be licked, kissed, and fondled by grubby fat people for the good of all humankind. "Who created the universe, Daddy?" some child will ask in 3004. "The Golden Buttocks did, my son," will be the reply.

Let this blog stand as a shrine to that ass, whose perfect symmetry and sacred firmness have done Korea proud.

[post partially inspired by Andi's superlative post on feminism... and Lorianne, did you catch the Annie Dillard reference? hee hee]

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