Marina tried to keep up with her and ended up giving-up on exercise altogether. I don't blame Marina. It's easy to get disenchanted working out with Rukhsana. Try hopping around for a minute. You'll be coughing out a lung. Rukhsana does much more and keeps talking and smiling for several minutes. This morning she is wearing a particularly slinky, body-hugging sweat suit, the advantage of which soon became apparent, as she got down on all fours and started working on her glutes. Or that's what she would like you to believe. Ha.
You can see it. I don't have to tell you. Her butt is one-of-a-kind. When you see it like that, you can't help but think of the Tikki Lounge and wide-eyed Africans in grass skirts banging wildly on their bongo drums. Of course, with her around you don't need no bongo drum. Vida Guerra, you've got competition.
White scientists worked day and night and came up with butt-implants for their lame-ass white brothers and sisters. They cut you up and put silicone pads into your butt and then you go around shaking that silicone in everybody's face. That's how desperate some asses are out there. And here, you have round, titanium orbs that have been bounced, stretched and (hopefully massaged and caressed) into such a lovely form. It's not easy.
Like a sculpture or an artist, Rukhsana has worked most of her adult life to chisel her body and buns to such perfection. She should at least be able to showcase her achievement to the public. I have a dream. I have a dream that butts like hers, will one day be seen wandering around our beaches, separated by only the flimsiest Wicked Weasel thongs. I have a dream.
But for now, I'll settle for Rukhsana doing these splits in those sweats. If I had to choose how I had to go, I'd ask to be crushed by such strong, smooth, supple thighs. What a way to get off. For both of us.
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