In a conversation the other day, I used this oft-repeated idiom. I self-deprecatingly stated that I was flying by the seat of my pants in writing this blog, I just let inspiration lead me.
As soon as I said it, I stopped, smiled, and reflected on the truth of this old phrase.
The seat of my pants is where the action is. My lover, Robert, proudly says that he’s an ass-man. He means that it is that portion of the female anatomy that arouses him most. The female derriere is the trigger to his sexual arousal. With me, he’s playing with the big guns. I have a large caliber weapon to cock his cock. Reciprocally, I can proudly state that my sexuality is centered in my ass. I think of my entire ass as a sex organ. So, I’m an ass-woman. His ass-woman.
I wonder how this strange phrase originated. Does it mean ass-backwards? Does it mean leading with your ass? I have friends with big breasts; when they come into a room, it is clear that the prow of their ship is cutting through the elements (air or sea) first and foremost. My body couldn’t be more different. Perhaps I should take this idiom literally and back into the rooms I enter, lead with my best asset, as it were.
I just Googled the phrase; apparently it’s an early aviation term to mean using the pilot’s best judgement. It was popularized by a guy named Corrigan, who later became renown as “Wrong-Way Corrigan,” so maybe my “lead with my ass” idea has some validity.
The complication is that I don’t wear pants too often. Are you familiar with intermittent fasters, who eat all their meals within an eight hour window during the day? That’s me with clothes; I wear them when I have to, like going into work for eight hours. But some days I work from home, and am as naked then as I am all the rest of the time. So I can’t fly by pants that aren’t there. I truly am flying by my bare fanny. And I wouldn’t have it any other way!
My fiance (I love saying that!) got wind that I was planning on posting about this topic (he read over my shoulder last night as I put some finishing touches on this piece). He added that it seemed to him that I was “flying” when high on endorphins during a hard spanking. That made sense to me. Then he extrapolated that actual flying entails two things, “lift and thrust.” He left my side and came back with one of our most dreaded implements, a heavy, long fraternity paddle.
"Bend over and grab your ankles," he instructed. Reluctantly, I obeyed. WHACK! Robert gave my bare and defenseless derriere a solid wallop. I both stood bolt upright and rose onto my tip-toes. "See? There's the lift you need..." he smiled. Rubbing my sore seat, I looked back and him and asked, "Where's the thrust?" He got his erection out, put it in me from behind, and we went to town. In no time, I was "flying" high.
This statue is called “Winged Victory.” It’s used as the hood ornament on Rolls Royce cars. When I think about flying by the seat of MY pants, I envision a female form like the one above, with large feathered wings sprouting out of the sides of her buttocks…