I came back out to the park even though it is god damn motherfucking freezing, because there are two girls doing yoga, in yoga pants, on the grass. I came out so I could look at their asses.
They are going to look over here and see me looking. Fortunately this laptop gives me legitimacy. I have some ostensible purpose other than leering at their asses in their yoga pants. That’s right– stand on one foot, grab the other foot, lean forward. You are bumbling. You are going to fall over. Your expression of physical vulnerability is delightful. Also, I commend you for your commitment to flexibility and health. Your yoga pants are being consumed by your ass crack. Your buttocks are meaty and robust. You are in fact slightly heavier than one would expect for someone so committed to yoga. This is an asset. You are the kind of girl with whom one thinks he has a shot. By retaining a slight layer of padding, you are not pricing yourself out of the market. I think that if I met you through a friend I would talk to you and charm you and you would end up drunk on red wine in my filthy apartment cozying up and watching The Dark Crystal on my Xbox before I ate you out on the carpet and got rug burns on my knees. If you were thinner I’d assume you wanted someone with money.
Now you’re just straight up bending over. Your asshole is like a bullseye. Your loins are presumably flush with exertion. I want you to hold on to that pine tree while I flood you with babies from behind. Your god damn head is touching the ground. I commend your flexibility. Stretching deep into the hips. I hope it doesn’t make you too flashy in the bedroom. I don’t need you putting your legs behind your head or any of that shit. We’re not making a movie here. Let’s not gild the lily.
Both of you are now positioned in a way where you might notice me. Not notice me in the same way I’m noticing you, which is, look at that beautiful person I want to talk to and have sex with. Noticing me like look at that rapist pig probably trying to take pictures with his little laptop… look at that god damn pervert; this is why we can’t do yoga in the park, these god damn men ruin everything. Join a yoga class, they tell you. You will meet tons of girls. You go to yoga class and you can see their thought bubble: is that pig looking at my ass?
One of the best lines in all of cinema is in Superbad where they’re looking at convenience store porn, and one of them says “Imagine if girls wanted to look at us like this. Wanted to see our boners.” Imagine if they were drawn to us and curious instead of creeped out and appalled.
I’m maintaining a respectable distance. I’m only glancing to the side occasionally. I have not positioned my chair so it’s facing them; in fact I have to turn my neck like I’m changing lanes on the freeway to even look at their precisely defined cameltoes. Still. They know.
One girl left and one got behind a tree. Avoiding the Male Gaze. How would you feel if there were a bunch of nine foot tall ogres built like gorillas who stared you down constantly like you were a piece of meat. Well, it happens occasionally with steroid-laden gays and it feels pretty god damn great. They try to fuck me; they try hard; they are not subtle. I’ll suck your dick so good your eyes will pop out of your fucking head. I’ll have to take your word for it, I say, but thanks. I walk away with a little spring in my step. It’s nice to be noticed.