Dangling a bottom on a stick!

Dangling a bottom on a stick.

It is days like this that I love coming to work. I do not mind sitting at the desk because I am provided with a rare insight into the male mind and how it perceives the world. While I construct the most enormously complex spreadsheet full of formulae, the simplistic nature of the male mind and its motivations are revealed.
I glanced over at the office cheeky, “is everything okay? You haven’t said anything rude today.”
“Oh, sorry... Just busy,” he replied.
Admittedly he did look completely harassed and immersed in numerous complex calculations and charts.
“I want the fun one back,” I replied.
“Okay I will just pop to the loo and then tell you about the perfect gym experience that I had last night,” he said. With that he stood up from the desk and stretched.
When he returned he had one of those cheeky glints in his eye.
“So... I was at the gym last night and running on the treadmill and some kind of planetary alignment must have taken place because the perfect motivation took place. You know what it was?”
I studied him, “naked can-can dancers?”
“Nope three Latino bottoms on the cross trainers in front of me,” he replied smugly.
I frowned, I had an image of dis-embodied bottoms residing on the foot placement pads of the cross-trainer. “I take it they had women attached to them...”
“Yes the most perfect women you could imagine. I don’t know why they even have to go to the gym,” he said entering the fantasy dazed state.
“Well surely that is why they are perfect. They go to the gym daily and maintain their bodies - so therefore are ideal. If they didn’t go and ate pies they would probably look very different,” I replied
“Chicken and egg,” he said.
“So regarding these women’s bottoms... I sense that there is some kind of bottom hierarchy / measure to gauge the perfection of a bottom.”
“There are three types,” he replied.
Surely there had to be more than three types of bottom. Still I did not butt into the bottom flow.
“There is the Latino bottom, which is the ultimate in bottom. It is full, voluptuous and firm. There is plenty of meat on it. There is the Afro-Caribbean bottom. A similar kind of bottom, full, solid and beautiful and then there is the ‘other,’” he said with a smile.
There was a silence while I waited for his bottom measure elaboration / justification.
“The other comprises of all manner of bottom. You have the small Asian, the American cheerleader and many others. Three categories are more than enough for men to determine where something sits in terms of bottom,” he said with a definite nod.

I had honestly never considered a bottom hierarchy before. The office cheeky had changed my perception of the common bottom. “Okay what about men then?”
“There are two types: hairy and non hairy.”
How fair was that? There had to be more bottom categories for men.
“So tell me more about your motivation then,” I said allowing the male bottom hierarchy to churn in the back of my mind.
“Well being mesmerised by the bouncing bottoms, I realised I could divide my run into targets. When I achieved the first couple of kilometres I got the first one. The thought of her and her bottom kept me running. Then when I hit the second goal I was rewarded with the second beautiful bottom.”
I studied him; it was the office cheeky.... “You were rewarded with both weren’t you?”
He smiled a cheeky grin, “yep! Then when I got to the third...”
“Okay... I kind of get it...” I said before a full visual elaboration took place.
“The fantasy was fantastic... It worked really well apart from when I was running for the third posterial reward... Unfortunately the three of them finished training. I was so disappointed,” he said sadly.
“And let me guess an overly sweaty man arrived in a thong.”
“No... But it was a sad case. I ran faster to try and catch them,” he replied.
“You ran faster on a stationary treadmill to try and chase the Latino ladies?” I asked.
“Metaphorically yes. In my mind I ran through the treadmill and caught them all! It was amazing!”
“I think it would have been better if Mr sweaty and his white t-shirt had appeared. Or three flabby bottoms wobbled in front of you,” I said imagining it.
“Who is Mr Sweaty?”
“You have never heard of Mr Sweaty?”
He shook his head with a frown.
“He basically floods the area with sweat whenever he exercises. He is amazing. We once did an abs class and he sweated so hard that he created a sweat puddle. When he walked off he turned to us and said you know you have had a good work out when you have sweated. He often wears a white t-shirt which sticks to his hairy back. The hair sometimes makes patterns according to how he has been laying.”
“That is gross!” replied Office cheeky.
“He seems quite proud of it,” I replied.
Mr cheeky seemed absorbed by something.
“Okay what’s going on? Your eyes are wiggling... “I said.
“I am thinking... So how come some women wear lots of make- up to the gym and others don’t?” he asked seriously. Was there some kind of pattern?
“I have no real clue. Although my friend was saying about two women she saw at the gym. They were dressed in the smallest clothing, had done their hair and wore full evening make-up. They had rather pert parts and displayed braless- lycra-clad breastage. After they had posed around the gym she heard the pair of them in the stretching room saying ‘God men just stare all the time. They are such pervs. It really puts you off going to the gym!’”
The office cheeky looked dumbfounded, “but they are dressed like that – what do they expect? Men are visual! It is their instinct to look!”
He was right.
“As I said before men spend the majority of their time imagining women naked,” he said drifting into the glazed eye look.
“Yes I had a question about that... What even fat ones?” I said.
He shook his head and appeared to have a smell under his nose. “No they are invisible. They become an extension to a wall or a pillar. We just don’t see them. In fact we selectively filter to enable maximum naked fantasy of hottyness,” he said.
I shook my head, “that is not nice.”
“It is reality and truth... If a person wants to be imagined naked – make it nice for the fantasiser – I say!” he replied.
For a moment the pair of us sat in contemplation. I wondered how women perceived men at the gym. They grunted, a few posed but the majority appeared to exercise. In the meantime it was like a mental nudist camp for the men. How could the gym dynamic be sooo different for men and women?
The office hotty trotted past so I waved her over. “Do you go to the gym?”
“No,” she said.
“If you went to the gym would you wear make-up?”
“Probably,” she replied honestly.
“Do you know any women who wear make-up to the gym?” asked the office cheeky.
“Oh yes... One girl I know wears make-up and revealing clothing but that was because she fancied the instructor,” she replied
“Did it work?”
“Yes an escapee nipple resulted in her having a date and a cheeky kiss,” she said matter of factly.
Office cheeky and I gave each other a look. So by flashing your nipples at the gym instructor a person could get a date. I must have been bought up in a different era. It seemed the learnings I had had through my life had missed out that key fact. It was the same as the not running when taking part in a game of kiss chase. Hmmm maybe the gym was another equivalent to kiss chase in the exercise dynamic.
“The gym must attract two types – those who pose and those who actually want to exercise. Gym dating...” she said thinking about the make-up conundrum.
“Actually I was always bemused by a girl who used to come to the gym wearing Lycra with a leopard skin thong over the top. She used to saunter around the gym, stretch and bend over in front of the grunting men lifting weights. Suddenly it makes sense,” I said.
“Did they grunt louder went she bent over?” asked the office hotty.
“Yes much louder. Actually one time, at the same gym, one of the lycra-clad bending-over girls distracted a man on a treadmill who shot off the back and landed on my lap on the bike. It was quite funny really,” I said remembering how embarrassed the poor chap was.
“Really?”
The pair shook their heads.
“So how do you measure a man’s bottom? I mean in terms of pertness in the bottom hierarchy?” I asked the office hotty.
“Well there is peachy and not...”
“There must be more... Men have Latino, Afro-Caribbean and other for women,” I said.
“Other?” said with a bemused look.
“All the other categories,” I said.
“Let me just say there are lots of lovely bottoms in the ‘other’ category,” said the office cheeky.
“I think there are buns of steel, flat bottom and peachy,” I said thoughtfully considering the male bottom hierarchy.
The office hotty agreed. “I am not into the flat bottom. Just the peachy,” she said.
“There must be women who are specifically attracted to the flat bottom kind,” I said.
We all looked at each other. Was a woman attracted to a certain kind of bottom? What would determine that? It seemed the office hotty had developed a selective bottom filtration system. I had a tendency towards buns of steel and the walnut cracking kind. It seemed to tally in with the fact that I was fitness obsessed. She was curvaceous and had an attraction to a peachy bottom. I had never considered bottom hierarchy in the survival psyche. Nor had I realised that dangling a bottom on a stick was a key motivator for the male exerciser. I knew that sex was a motivator but I had one final question.”
“So if we created a man only gym with films of female bottoms playing repetition would the men get fit?”
“No. It isn’t real. You need the bouncing action to be real and close. That way we will fantasise about chasing it. It is all about the display and the potential.... It stops the pain in the limbs. You can ache like hell but you will keep chasing,” he said.
Hmmm. I smiled to myself.
“What happens if you get overly excited?” I asked.
“The treadmill will take care of that and eject you!”
I had never considered this before... I had never considered men running whilst excited... Was that possible? So I wrote on a pad “Can a man with an excited sausage run?” and handed it to the office comedian and the office cheeky.
Answer: ‘yes – when I was at school we had a swimming race. One of the kids had that same problem, jumped in the pool and won the race,’ said the office comedian.
I wonder whether he used it as a propeller....
Although, according to the office cheeky, there was more to it...
“I think I should explain...” he said thoughtfully. “There is a self safety process built in my system, it only needs a starting point where everything is calm before getting on the treadmill.... As a person gets more excited, the hope of getting the incentive grows, so you run faster putting all the extra blood to better use. Until that person thinks some more, gets more excited, runs faster, blood circulates ... And there you go a safety loop which is also the exercise driver ... and whole point behind the theory. Fantasy drives the physical!”
It made perfect sense.
“So what if a person is already het up?”
“Well that could prove sticky... If a person is already excited, then they will never start running until they take care of business manually. Or if they are half man and half amazing they will get the incentive to take care of business for them unfortunately the running becomes redundant.”
I was a little confused.
“So....”
“To answer your question regarding the sausage - no in all possible scenarios ... No running with a live hotdog,” he said.
How come the office comedian believed a person could run with an inflated extra leg and office cheeky was stumped by a hot dog in motion?

“But he says that his friend won a swimming competition whilst in a state of sausage excitement,” I replied.
The office cheeky rolled his eyes, “Water is a completely different medium with ,naturally, its own set of rules and theories ...”
I should have known!
In summary:
It seemed that motivation was more than just excitement. It seemed the simple suggestion that caused the lower regions to twitch could heighten a performance. But what did that mean? Did it mean that a person’s drive was stimulated by the potential physical reward? Was it primeval? Or was there something paramount that I was missing? Why were women so different? A woman would not necessarily run faster on a treadmill if three hot men were in front of her. If they were behind her she might run faster... Or she might slow down if she had been aware of the ideal strategy in kiss chase! Obviously these thoughts have distracted me. If you have answers to this conundrum I would love to know!
So to the morals of the story...
1) Place a large bottom on a stick to motivate a man to get fit.
2) Never be offended if your bottom falls into the other category.
3) Never run with an inflated hotdog unless you have the capability to use it as a propeller to win a swimming race.

Since the discussions Mr Cheeky has since informed that using a male appendage is unwise because it potentially could take the swimmer out of the water - kind of like a helicopter. "It should be more of a fin!" he said.

TWO BRAINS - NOT ENOUGH BLOOD AND THE WORLD OF WOMAN THROUGH MALE EYES!

So how often do you receive a phone call asking how obvious you are on a scale of one to ten?
I would guess not very often, well I have just had a call from the mail room asking me that very question. ‘Are you a blonde or a brunette,’ he asked.
‘Neither, I am red,’
‘Ah fiery then… Good I like fiery ones…’he replied.
Apparently I came off the phone looking rather confused and the men in the close vicinity were studying my expression and pointed out that I was blushing.
‘So what is making you pull that face?’ they asked.
‘On the scale of 1-10 how obvious are you?’
For a while there was silence. The general consensus of opinion was that most people in the office were about a five. So why was I nominated an eight?
A few minutes later, our trusty mail man turned up with my book delivery… Yes I have my books delivered to my desk – how luxury is that? In truth I have every delivered to the office because I can’t take the delivery at home.
“Ah a fiery one…” said the mail man.
I shook my head, “I’m not fiery…”
“Is she fiery?” he asked my male colleagues.
Both nodded, “really fiery!”
“I knew it!” he said.
Thanks!
Anyway, whilst rummaging under the desk I heard a chap say ‘boobs,’ under his breath. There was an elongated silence and all the men in the vicinity stopped typing, breathing or making random comments. It was eerie to say the least, so I popped up and looked around. The mesmerised look of a man who had been hypnotised was the only way I could describe the facial expressions of all the men in close proximity. In that moment I was struck by a bolt of inspirational lightening and it was then that I identified ‘the male compulsive blurt. ‘‘Sorry?’
‘Boobs,’ he said with a whisper and a nod in a certain direction. Admittedly there was a pair jiggling past in too looser bra. Two angry ferrets in sacks wrestled and were intent on escape.
I turned to my other male colleague who was smiling and had a similar expression on his face.
‘Busted!’
It was then I was provided with an insight into the male office view. So it seems that whenever any woman walks into the room the men have a tendency to imagine her in the way that nature intended.
“So what every woman who comes into the room - you know… You imagine?”
The pair smiled a very knowing male smile.
“That is a male secret. We have disclosed something very precious to you. You are now an honory bloke!’
Great!
“So what all women?”
“All women except those that are ugly or over sixty,” said the office cheeky.
“Really?”
“Actually all women…”
I studied them both and the pair grinned as a couple of women walked through the office carrying coffee. In that moment, I glimpsed the world through their eyes…
“So what about the blurt? Is it kind of like when you say something before you mind filters it.”
The pair shook their heads.
“That is just women who do that,” came the response.
“Okay then… Can you justify that?”
“Men think before they speak, but the blurt is different. It is a male reflex action that enables other men to know there is potential visual absorption in the area, just in case they miss the display. Look at it kind of like a call. In fact it is a natural tribal instinc - you would not want your friends to miss out on the potential sight.”
“What like when women go to the loo together?”
The men shook their heads, I was obviously a woman and still could not step into the mind of a man – even if I had been privilege to become the honorary bloke.
“So meetings…”
“Let me just say if you walk into a room full of men you are not likely to wow them with intelligence. We are men and we are visual – you should know that!
I glanced at them both and suddenly it all made sense. I call it the two brains not enough blood syndrome. Obviously there is only a certain amount of blood in a man’s body and when any type of twitching occurs in the nether regions, the blood slips from his cerebral cortex to the alternative location for thought.
“This kind of thought only comes with the male appendage. Think of it like the appendage being the hard-wear and the blurt, in terms of boosooka recognition, is the software…”
I sat for a while brooding about how different the male mind is from a woman’s and came up with a few morals of the story.
Moral of the story: To avoid being envisioned naked at work - wear clothes that contain mirrors.
Second moral of the story: If you don’t want that kind of attention move at great speed erratically flapping your arms.
Third moral of the story: If you want that kind of attention do the can-can as you walk into the office. Or maybe possibly shout ‘here I am boys!’ When doing the can-can make sure you have not left your knickers behind!

Oh and before we go any further I have to share my amazing linguistic discovery. After returning to the office after a run at the gym I noticed a general air of doom. It seemed that room had a grey cloud of Friday afternoon boredom descending upon it. And then it hit me they were all suffering from BOREDOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
That little combination will be milked until the literary cow is dry!opportunity. Are you suffering from boredooooom? I feel a bit of boredooooooooooooom coming on! They mystery of the angry hamster and the office of boredooooooooom! Right that is off my chest now. I feel better.
I have had my escape from mundanity! Hooorah!