Does ass have a different DNA than the other skin/muscle groups in the body? 

I would have to say yes.  YES YES YES.  There can be no other explanation why it fascinates me so much.  It must have an extremely unique DNA…  It’s too special.

Mr. Sandwich Guy came over this afternoon.  I can’t believe how into it I got with him at various moments.  He just laid on my bed, with his face down and his ass spread open.  I like looking at him naked.  The pure physicality of his body.  He has a very broad and muscular back, narrowing down to a pair of buns that was gladiator-like in its musculature: meaty and strong, the perfect blend of hard and soft.  He just let me have my way with his booty.

I was massaging these two mounds of man buttocks.  Time stood still.  He loved having his ass played with.  And I squeezed it.  Tapped it with a soft nudge of my hand.  Watched as the cheek make a little wave.  So white.  So inviting.  I couldn’t help it.  I lowered my head so my mouth can get in on the action.

Cassandra, he said, don’t leave any bite marks or hickeys. 

I would never be able to explain them to my wife.

This is the way an ass should revel in its glory.  Asses need to be worshipped.  Caressed.  I want to whisper sweet nothings between his ass cheeks.  Before I plow them mercilessly with my shecock.  Violating the very same purity, the part of the body always covered from the sun, from the public, exposed only for my pleasure.  For me to plunder its virginity.

And I came.  Voluntarily.  I was gently kissing and licking the top of his crack, and I just shot my load all over his calves, where I had been rubbing my shecock. He got on his knees and shot into the palm of his hands.  A very considerate guy.

I remember how I first named him Sandwich Guy.  He had been to see me a couple of times before I came up with the name.  Sandwich Guy was a frat boy who now lives in the suburb with a wife and two kids.  He is very happy, blissfully so, with his domestic life.  But he still likes to “party” every once in a while.  That’s usually the core of our get-together: we smoke weed, we have a couple beers, maybe do a few lines.  Sometimes we even get around to having sex, but it’s not the most important thing on the agenda.  Sandwich guy just wants to hang out and chill.

One time he asked me to buy him some weed.  Easy enough request.  After we took a few bong hits (quality control stuff, you know) he wrapped the weed up and put them in a little plastic container that he uses to take his lunch to work everyday.  He explained that his wife makes him sandwiches every night. 

I couldn’t believe this gigantic, hulking figure of a MAN could subside on such a meager little sandwich. 

Is that all you eat for lunch?  I ask incredulously.

He explains his wife also bags a banana or an apple.  Sometimes she even puts a small bag of chips.

Right after he left I was so overcome with a feeling of awe and appreciation for the guy that I had to tell Reuben.  Of course, it may have been the weed and the coke talking.  But the fact that he ate a sandwich for lunch everyday, not to mention one that he brought from home, was so beyond my realm of comprehension.  I mean, what’s the point of work when you can’t even ponder what you’re going to eat for lunch?  How do you make it through the morning?

This must be something that only white people can do, I always think to myself.  So much restraint.  Self-control.  Repetition. 

Maybe it’s because Reuben is from East Oakland, and I grew up an immigrant where my parents owned a Chinese restaurant.  But when I told Reuben about Sandwich Guy, Reuben understood me exactly. 

We’re both completely amazed at these little idiosyncrasies of white people.  How is it possible to eat a sandwich for lunch everyday?  I once turned down a job on Oyster Point Blvd in South San Francisco because there were no places to eat nearby.  There was only a little cafe tucked into the corner of the lobby where they sold sandwiches. 

They didn’t even have a deep fryer. 

I am reminded of a letter my mom once wrote to a delinquent customer who tried to get out of paying his tab: Man does not live by bread alone.  Amen!  A man needs his Thai.  Mexican.  Indian.  Italian.  Korean.  Chinese.  Greek.  Good ole American cheeseburger with fries.  And fried chicken is sacred.

Sandwich guy explained that he saves up the money he would normally spend on lunch on other things.  He’s really excited about the solar panels he’s putting on his roof.  He can’t stop talking about it when he’s stoned.

If life is all about such sacrifices, I would much rather give up a kidney.

You win, white people.  I am so impressed.

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Tags: gladiator ass, race, things white people do, what to eat for lunch