"Leggings are not pants."

My wife, 5'10" tall in her bare feet, with perhaps the longest legs on the planet, often used that expression when confronted by one or more young women whose shape was not suited for such a revealing garment. 

I, on the other hand, thanked the Lord when my gaze fell on young women - scratch that - any women, younger or older, who wore them and whose shapes were most definitely suited for them.

It was another chilly winter afternoon, and we had just popped into the grocery store to pick up a few provisions for our evening meal. As we started for the produce section, I looked up to see a pair of young women entering the store. The younger one was just another pretty girl, but it was her companion that caught my eye. Slim, tall, perhaps 5'8" or 5'9", with short blonde hair framing a pretty face, she was wearing a pair of pale grey, ankle-length leggings, tight enough to show every curve, every muscle of her long, exquisite legs.

As they walked to the opposite end of the store, I slowed long enough to surreptitiously take in the view from the rear. And that's when I saw perfection. Suddenly, every other bottom I had ever seen, in real life, a magazine, on the internet, the television, or indeed anywhere, paled in comparison to this one.

It... was... perfect!

We've all heard the expression, "My heart skipped a beat". Mine did.

We've all heard the expression, "He/she moaned softly". I did.

We've all heard the expression, "He felt his penis harden immediately". Mine didn't.

C'mon people, I'm no longer a healthy, virile young man with an overloaded libido! That ship sailed a while ago. Besides, this is not a tale to appeal to our disgusting prurient desires but rather an expression of reverence for perfection. Not since Alexandros sculpted the masterpiece of Aphrodite has the world seen such beauty.

Every square inch, no, every square millimetre of that material clung to the warm skin hidden underneath. The only crease in the material was the vertical one between her cheeks, which split into two and curved around where her thighs met the rise of her buttocks.

"What do we need, Jerry?" I was brought back to the mundane realities of life with a dull thud by my wife's question. How could I possibly be expected to debate the merits of yams versus sweet potatoes when my thoughts were filled with visions of perfection?

"Yams, broccoli, and onions," I said automatically, "and a video camera," I muttered under my breath, as I desperately tried to hold on to the mental images of that incredible bottom.

"Oh, don't forget we need a packet of Bisto as well, sweetie."

"Bisto browns, Bisto seasons, Bisto thickens, all in one go, so......

pass the gravy, ahhh, Bisto!" Isn't it amazing how those silly advertising tag-lines stick in your brain for decades? The delightful mental images of The Bottom began to fade as I absent-mindedly sorted through the yams and onions.

With the necessary root veggies in our cart, we headed off to scan the shelves for the gravy mix in aisle seven. More accurately, my wife was scanning the shelves while I leant on the cart glancing left and right just in case....

My prayers were answered! The two girls were walking down our aisle. With my head lowered as if scrutinising the contents of my cart, I lifted my eyes and gazed at the blonde's long, shapely legs. She stood, tall and straight, her feet together as she stopped beside us. Her calves touched, her knees touched, and the tops of her thighs kissed each other.

"We're in your way aren't we?" I looked up into her eyes and smiled at her. She smiled back. Her skin was flawless, her lips full and her blue eyes sparkled as she replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quietly as she squatted down to retrieve something from the bottom shelf, turning slightly as she did.

I moved back out of her way, and there it was again. The Bottom. Perfectly curved and firm, almost inviting me - no, daring me - to take a quarter from my pocket and validate that frequently heard expression. I didn't have to, I knew the answer. It would definitely bounce, and bounce high. The thin grey material of her leggings stretching deliciously in the cleft between those cheeks as she squatted lower. I was mesmerized. 

Her top, a loose concoction of virginal white cotton, was no longer able to reach the hem of her leggings as she bent forward and a sliver of her naked skin appeared. I could feel the flush in my cheeks, and glanced up to see my wife looking at me with her eyebrows raised in an unspoken query, a smile playing over her lips.

"YES, Damnit, I did like!"

As suddenly as this magic moment in time had started, it came to an end. The girl stood up, placed her product in the cart, smiled at me again, and the two of them walked on down the aisle. I knew I had but one more opportunity to revere her amazing derriere. I swung my cart around and gazed longingly at perfection as The Bottom slowly stepped out of my life forever.......

My heart skipped a beat. I moaned quietly. But, nope, nothing from my penis....