Buttockery

[ buht-tok-uh-ree ]

noun,plural buttock·er·ies.

noun

1. Usually buttocks.

• (in humans) either of the two fleshy protuberances forming the lower and back part of the trunk.
• (in animals) the rump.

1. Sometimes buttocks. Nautical. The aftermost portion of a hull above the water line and in front of the rudder, merging with the run below the water line.
2. Ridicule, contempt, or derision.
3. An imitation, especially of a ridiculous or unsatisfactory kind.
4. Something absurdly or offensively inadequate or unfitting.

Work with me here.

Try and be patient with me. I have been to hell and back, literally. So, sometimes, I use my imagination to shift my reality. What I am saying is that I need to vent. Do you dig?

Explode or implode. That’s it.

An explosion Outward, I liken to a sneeze. A sneeze has merely a marginal propensity to destroy. All conditions remain constant.

But an implosion would be like a black hole. Who I am, that you know, will not be. What I might expand or contract to is a risk I am too mindfully -conscious to entertain.

So, explosion it is. I will tell you a story.

I was about half my age then.

Those were my days of naivety. I had just realised youth and strength. I was told I was a beautiful man – (it would take another decade to understand what that statement meant).

I was the chosen one, realising and acknowledging his gift consciously for the first time.

And so there was nothing I wanted that I could not get. At least, that is what I believed, and that is what I got.

Except I did not want it. And even if I didn’t like it, I had experienced situations that caused me to focus only on things I wanted.

As always, a woman is involved from time and aeons across realities and satraps.

“It is a man’s world” aye? 

Buttockery!

Ah, serendipitous!

You see, buttockery and the woman in question are one and the same in more ways than one.

My younger self, as a freshman, was a legend!

Hence the ‘3rd Class’. Sorry mummy… I love you…

And it came to pass that I returned to school late for the semester I am addressing. It was summer. I had a couple of odd jobs I was doing. I was making a bundle from both vendors. I had a batch of catfish on my farm. A little shy of 1,500 Catfish. I was trying to get their weight up. I wanted them all to weigh an individual one kilogram at least. I got an investor two weeks into my holiday. 

I was going to smoke-dry half the batch and retail the remainder. I eventually sold five hundred of the catfish and got my successful self back to campus.

I have always had charismatic energy. When I am organically happy, I make memories for mutual benefit.

From the hour my friends knew I was back, I became inundated.

But I love it! You see, pressure refines me. I use adversity as a launching pad. I don’t mind pressure. That is until I don’t want pressure. Either way, I get what I want.

It is not buttockery. I am serious.

By the next day, the word was one. There was a newbie on campus. 

An Amazon, I was told. She was allegedly spawned from the loins of at least one god.

She was supposedly so mind-boggling that half of the students were immediately struck by a grasshopper complex. 

“The term “grasshopper complex” is often used metaphorically to describe a situation where people see themselves as small, insignificant, or incapable compared to others or in the face of challenges. This term is inspired by a biblical reference in the Book of Numbers, where the Israelites compare themselves to grasshoppers compared to the giants they see in the Promised Land, feeling unable to conquer the land despite its promises.

In a broader psychological or social context, the grasshopper complex can refer to a state of mind where individuals or groups underestimate their abilities, potential, or worth. This mindset can lead to a lack of confidence, missed opportunities, and failure to take action due to a belief in their own insignificance or inability to succeed.”

The foolhardy alphas that had dared proposition her in any manner or form were emasculated so severely that they refused any communication about their misadventure.

They said she was almost as tall as I was. They said the entire campus had told her I was the only male suitable for her. She was noted to tower at an imposing six feet three inches. And she was stacked like an Arabian horse breed. Since I stood at six feet five inches… It was not rocket science.

They said that she was a lone ranger. And only spoke to a handful of people.

They said that she had an acutely impeccable rump.

They told me that the derriere on mademoiselle was magnificent.

They told me in no uncertain terms that the butt on that female buttressed many square inches.????

They said that her behind had a bright future, and it was a thing of beauty.

At this point in time and space, I must stress that my female acquaintances were all saying the same things. Only qualifying their intentions differently.

My younger self was stoked!

Was this a sign? After all, neither two or three witnessed this buttocked Amazon. May…a multitude stood as witnesses. They, as one, testified about the beauty god had created.

My younger self honestly saw her in a wedding gown. I was beside her, poised elegantly. In my mind’s eye, we had three children. One girl. And a set of twins, male and female. The girl would be the first, and she would be the most beautiful version of my face.

Young me began to throb in anticipation. I felt like I was pulsating, like I was vibrating from within. Since that night till today, I have not pulsated or ‘vibrated’ like that. Ever!

Can you imagine how you’d feel if you went back to school or work and everybody told you there was a new student or worker? And that since you’re single and uniquely built, your polar opposite was available. Even the women all agree that she is a good match for you? They even tell you that they’ve told her or him about you, and they can’t wait to meet you, too?

I dreamt that night that I was naked save for a clean white shirt. Her fearfully, wonderfully and beautifully shaped nude body was chasing me around a billiards table in the middle of a small room. She was chasing me with lustful intentions.

Has anyone ever overhyped another person so much that when you finally meet them, you are so underwhelmed it shows?

Or a matchmaker attempt to get you to focus on the strengths of whomever they’re manipulating you towards?

Well.

This situation was nothing like that.

In my adult life at that time, I had not witnessed collective consciousness funnelled quite as unerringly.

They were right.

Chikamso was all they said and more. 

Good people, she was a hottie!

There was a garden smack in the middle of the business administration and accounting departments. One stall sold refreshments, stationery and candy on one end. At the other end of the garden was a three-foot-high stove made of mud bricks. Beside it was a table so rickety it was hideous. If Frankenstein was a table, this would be it. An immaculate two-tier display cupboard was placed on the table by some miracle. It had a bright sixty-watt yellow bulb hanging downward from the inside at the top of the cupboard. 

It was a fifty-fifty mix of wood and glass. The inside was clean and contained rows and columns of barbequed beef kebabs at the top tier. The bottom tier displayed several spread-eagled roasted chicken. 

Between the stall and the kebab vendor were several concrete benches. Students loved the Gossip Garden. It was a muster point, rendezvous and refreshment centre all in one. 

It was a well-lit, vibrant and lively part of campus. 

In hindsight, not really. It was made beautiful (and thus beautiful in the minds and eyes of young, curious, ambitious, horny and idealistic youth).

Every student on campus, barring illness, fear or shame, stopped at the Gossip Garden at least once daily.

Chikamso was already there when I got there. 

I have keen eyesight. I have an unfair advantage seeing with my eyes. I saw Chikamso’s friends prod and poke her. Then, pointedly, I gaze past her at me. 

Chikamso had her back to me, so she didn’t see me coming. From her slight double take to the stiffening of her towering effulgence, I deduced that she had been admonished ‘not to turn and look’ while she was turning around to look at my approach.

The buttocks on her gave rise to the term’ buttockery” on campus. Her bum became the S.I. unit of the perfect pair of glutes in a dress, jeans or ghi (she loved karate). On account of the subject of buttockery… ‘Ask those who know: Chikamso, it is so!’

But that is only half of the etymology of the noun.

She was facing my general direction when I got to the garden proper. To this day, I can’t quite fathom what the obsession with her butt was. 

She was a beautiful woman. Exotic, sultry, and carefree good looks. No makeup, no wigs, extensions or jewellery. 

Love her or hate her, Chikamso was a beautiful woman.

Has a room ever gone quiet with you in it? 

Like someone said ‘the’ awkward thing at the worst time within earshot of the wrong person?

Or when the wrong person shows up uninvited and unknown to the right soiree?

The song playing from Mallam Bagobiri’s speakers was Boyz II Men’s ‘Water Runs Dry’. I arrived at the bridge of the song. 

Before Chikamso, most females rarely measured up to my shoulders. 

I’m not sure when I decided to walk up to her. But when I realised my legs and heart were tandem, I slowed. And marvelled at how much of an energetic frequency she was. 

Lovers are born, not made. You are either a lover or you are not. You have it, or you don’t. 

When you hear someone talk about teaching you to be ‘great lovers’, ‘wife material’, or any qualification of a verb about ability… Refer to the preceding paragraph.

Chikamso was born a natural lover. I could see it in her. She clearly saw it in me, too. I watched her pupils dilate. It was evident because her face was way too placid for her pupils. I saw her mouth part slightly as she began hyperventilating slightly. Her endowed chest had started rising and falling a little more frequently as I approached. 

The only sound I could hear was the music. The only face I could see was Chikamso’s. The only other person I could see was this enigmatic Amazon.

About two meters from her insane physiognomy, it occurred to me that she was real. As improbable as it was, the status quo got it right this time! 

Her perfume closed the distance and reeled me in. 

I didn’t break my stride, and though it wasn’t rehearsed, we fell into an embrace that felt like the clash of two planets. 

She was practically my height, people!

She smelled fantastic. She emanated at least three complimenting fragrances. 

For the first time in my memorable life, I held a woman cheek to cheek. Chest to chest and hip to hip. 

And it felt like paradise.

I was in love!

THE END.

This short story has been developed to about 50% completion. The whole story, alongside twenty-one others, will be released in my upcoming compilation of short stories, “22 Portals”. Please let me know what you think about the story in the comments.

Buy my most recent book? It is titled ‘111’. The audiobook version was launched on the eleventh of January. It is available here.