One of the things Rose liked the most about gardening was how it gave her time to think. That morning, on the sunny south side of the rose garden, she had plenty of time to get her head around what was important. As ever, that was the usual big issue - her bum.
They had rather a difficult relationship, Rose and her bottom. A love/hate thing. First of all there was its shape. She spent lots of time in front of mirrors and she was sure that it stuck out more than other girl’s bottoms did.
It’s hard to be entirely objective about these things. Bottoms are not well placed to be viewed by their owners. She knew that the act of looking over a shoulder changed the shape of the behind you’re trying to view.
She twisted, she turned, she arched her back. She used a hand mirror to get an extra dimension, but the angles were never quite right.
But when she looked at her shadow or shop window reflection she was almost certain; there was a sticky-outy thing going on. It wasn’t that it was a big bottom because she was mostly rather slim, what it was, was prominent.
She’d asked friends, but mostly they just laughed. Becky, her lesby friend at uni, had very strong feelings on the subject. She insisted that Rose’s bottom was so near perfect that it was almost too much for her to bear. Or did she mean to bare?
Rose preferred not to be reminded of her and Becki’s drunken romps. If she thought about them too much she got distinctly damp. Better to get her thoughts out of that particular furrow, she warned herself.
Back to her backside. Whatever anybody else said Rose was more than a little conscious of her cheeky, round apple-crisp behind and show-offy prominence.
And it was also an issue at work. Not that a girl could let her backside decide her career choice for her. That would be like the tail wagging the dog, wouldn’t it? But it had to be said that horticulture was a problem for a girl with a problem bottom.
It was an unavoidable fact that gardening involves a lot of bending what with all the weeding, hoeing, raking and mowing . And you spent a fair bit of time on your hands and knees, with your butt cheeks thrust out.
That might be a problem for any girl, but it was a real headache for a slim girl with a big girl’s bottom. She often caught colleagues looking. She’d be on her knees firming in seedlings then look around to find one of her workmates looking at her. Or at least at the tightly-stretched seat of her tough, but unflattering, work jeans.
So, issue one was her bum’s shape. Issue two was its naughtiness. Can a bottom be ‘naughty’? Rose felt that it could. On a logical level she could see that sex and love were wonderful things to be celebrated fully in a healthy, natural way, but she and her sub-conscious were at odds on the issue.
Sub-conscious Rose thought about sex 24-7. Not just any sort of sex either, but dirty, kinky, wicked sex. In her world view what went on was a struggle between brain and bottom; brain thought good, intellectual thoughts, while bottom was fixated on sucking, licking, kissing, fucking, peeing – and smacking.
Rose’s bottom courted attention. It stuck out in a brazen, look-at-me way. It wiggled and it jiggled. It defied her and her brain was certain that what that bottom needed was to be well and truly reddened.
I was on a train yesterday and found myself thinking about gardening and spanking, mostly thanks to Hermoine's great Wellred Weekly article I think. I love gardening, I love spanking, so why not put them together. And this idea came into my head. I'd like to take it further - perhaps it could become a short story? Although I'm not sure what should happen next.