The Booty Mom

I'm making the long trek (!!) from Orange County to New York City today for the BlogHer conference.  I will be trying to get few posts up while I'm gone, but they may be appearing on a less regular schedule.  It will be very chaotic and busy (and fun) in NYC.  

Today, I am thrilled to provide you with a guest post by Shawn Burns – better known as Backpacking Dad.  Shawn isn't going to BlogHer this year, but he attended last year in Chicago.


Ok, so that's not a very flattering photo of either of us, but ladies – Shawn is just plain hot.  And more importantly, he's a Nice Guy in real life.  How often does that combination happen?  Shawn has a beautiful wife and two adorable kids.

(How much do ya want to bet he's blushing now and regretting he ever offerred to guest post?)

I hope you'll give Shawn a very, warm welcome!

Thank you, so much, Shawn for offerring to fill in for me today!  

The Booty Mom

My son is in daycare three days each week. His daycare is a parent co-op, which means that every Friday I spend two hours at the end of the day chasing babies around and cleaning up the kitchen and disinfecting the toys. The parents are very involved in the daycare, serving on the board and in various positions for the center, like newsletter writer, classroom organizer, laundry service, or furniture-putter-together-of. On one particular Friday my son's class held a pot luck dinner for the families to celebrate a new group of babies and the "graduation" of older kids to different classrooms. I was still engaged in my co-oping duties when the other parents started to arrive with their dishes of food. I don't recall who arrived first because there's only one encounter that I remember at all: The Booty Mom.

She, well, uh…she invited me to check out her ass and I obliged and now I don't know what I'm supposed to do with the information I have about what her booty looks like. I mean, it was nice, I suppose. I don't know. I don't make a habit of looking at women's asses. I don't. I know, I know, every guy is always looking at posterior perfections, but I just don't. I keep my eyes where they ought to be. Usually. Unless I'm clearly invited to look, and then, come on, who DOESN'T look if that's the case? So what am I supposed to do? Forget I've looked at her ass?

How did this all happen? I know you're curious. Lurid hijinks at the daycare potluck don't come along every day. Well, not at my co-op. Maybe yours is different. Maybe yours is awesome.

So, there I was, minding my own business in the kitchen, when she came in, loaded down with trays. She was bringing food in from the curb while also wrangling one of her kids, and she was doing well. "So, ready for the potluck?" I asked her, giving her dishes a once over much more cursory than the one I would later give her, uh, dish.

"Yeah, this is crazy," she replied. "I can't believe how much food there is to bring in."

"It's a lot alright," I offered.

"It's especially hard," she began, turning away to make another run out the door, "when you're all bootied up." And with that she looked at me over her shoulder, then directed her gaze down her back while she flexed her foot up, raising her rear a little as she glanced toward it.

I was completely stunned. This really came out of the blue. We had had some chit chat conversations here and there about the kids and how they were doing and we couldn't believe they were going to be leaving the nice, sanitized, germ-free baby room and heading out to the toddler germ-zone any day now. But there was never even a hint that she would flirt like that. I was really thrown off-balance for a moment. And of course, I looked.

Who wouldn't look?

It's like being told to not think of a pink elephant. Go ahead. Don't think of pink elephants. Don't think of pink elephants showing you their asses.

It was only after a beat and a half of reflection that I realized I had gone to a place I shouldn't have. Because while I thought she flexing her foot to pop her ass out a bit, she was really just showing off her booty.









As in "footwear".


Because it's a classroom full of infants we all have to don little shoe covers when we come in. But we can't wear them out on the sidewalk and then walk on the carpet again. And we certainly can't wear them out to the curb to pick up food, so Booty Mom had to bring food to the door, put it down, then slip her booties on then come into the kitchen, put the food down, then go out the door, take the booties off and run out to the curb and do it all again. She was not, as I suspected, flashing her cheeks at me.


Well. Free ass look, then, I suppose. Score. 

© Twenty Four At Heart 

8 Responses to “The Booty Mom”

  1. Michelle

    Well……..ummmm……..I can see where your problem was. You just had your mind filled with stuff and that comment gone thrown out and your mind took a left at Albuquerque and…..well that was always Bugs Bunny’s excuse! 🙂
    And I love the fact that you are protective of your relationship with your wife (I don’t make a habit of looking at women’s asses. I don’t. I know, I know, every guy is always looking at posterior perfections, but I just don’t. I keep my eyes where they ought to be). Not enough men do that. I’m glad mine does too.

  2. Joanne

    boy, that picture really kind of put a damper on that story, huh?


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