Sexual Buttocks

Neal Medlyn
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photo by Michelle Dean

I decided to write a book called Sexual Buttocks to go along with this picture of me that is sexy and involves my buttocks and as a repository for my wisdom. Read the selection and then go to the MERCHANDISE page and buy it!!



I once had a friend named Colette Lawson who lived in the same community as me and she was older and would give me a ride home in her car. We hung out in this manner a lot. She was a twirler and she was very normal. I was sexually attracted to her but it was one of those things that there was no opportunity to pursue. Mostly I just liked her and thought she was fun. She would pretend to wreck her car because it made me jump. She decided I was a jumpy person and would laugh and laugh as I sucked wind and grabbed the dashboard.


She lived in a trailer off the road on a flat piece of ground that was full of tall thin pine trees. The land had presumably been clear cut not terribly long ago. I went to her house one day to watch the twirler practice. I sat on the car hood in the dark with all those loud ass locusts buzzing. They were rehearsing a fire baton routine and I believe they had their spangly outfits on. They had a jambox that was playing some hit of the day.


The best part of twirler outfits are the shimmery alien looking control hose. They are so thick and shine in horizontal bars. They make the legs that sickly frostbit red orange color. It takes this sexy exposure of young flesh and makes it scary and inhuman and fascinating. I bet you could start a fire if you rubbed their thigh amorously on the band bus. Maybe thats the point.




Speaking of which: Parents! Let not your children ride the band bus! It is High Debauchery personified. People are putting on makeup and listening to AC/DC and making out. Listen to this for proof: I know what sex smells like when one walks it on it because the Band Bus smelled that way constantly. Marching season is in fall, right? Fall; Cooler weather; Blankets. And these blankets are used to cover booby squeezes and ball flomping. The sun would go down, we would be driving the hour or so back to school and some rock ballad would be playing. At the red lights, if you listened, you could hear the sounds of hand jobs and French kisses and frictiony spandex fill the air.

 By: Neal Medlyn (c) 2003