24th January 2007

I was driving along in the car yesterday when I noticed up ahead of me a lady cyclist with the most wonderful bottom. I’ve always been a bottom man, as opposed to a tit man, so quite naturally, after checking in my rear view mirror that it was safe to do so (I almost called an accident once in a similar situation), I slowed down to get a more relaxed and longer ogle at the luscious lycra-covered derriere. Nearer, it was even more magnificent, and leapt right into my top ten, between Kylie and Beyonce – which is where I wouldn’t mind being.
As soon as I passed her by I looked in the rear view mirror to see what the owner of the lovely bum looked like. As I’ve said, I’m a bottom man first and foremost, a staunch believer in the maxim ‘You don’t look at the mantelpiece when you’re poking the fire’, but given the choice I naturally prefer a girl to be pretty. This girl was very pretty. The only trouble was she was a man. There’s a slight chance, due to the absence of anything that could remotely be described as tits, that it could have been Keira Knightly, but if it was she’s grown a moustache since the last time I saw her photo in the newspapers.
This isn’t the first time something like this has happened of course. To a bottom connoisseur such as I it’s an occupational habit. But it did leave me a little shaken. I mean I’d been fancying a man’s bottom for Christ’s sake! A serial straight like me.
I mentioned the incident to Atkins Down The Road.
“That’s the advantage of being a tit man like me,” he said. “That sort of thing can’t happen to a tit man.”
“What about man tits?” I said. “Lots of men have tits as big as women nowadays.  Bigger. How do you know you haven’t admired a pair of tits which belonged to a man?”
“Well I’d know it was a man wouldn’t I”, said Atkins, surprised at my suggestion. “I’m not so senile that I’ve forgotten what a man looks like.”
”I’m not so sure,” I said. “There are plenty blonde-haired pretty men around, and both sexes wear trousers all the time nowadays, you could very well have lusted after a man and not been aware of it.” 
“Do you think?” said Atkins, not so sure of himself now.
“More likely than not in my opinion,” I said. “More likely than not. Probably a certainty.”
“Shit!” said Atkins.
Atkins was now as shaken as I had been. I felt a lot better about it. A concern shared is a concern halved.

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