He’s hung, hung, hung — muscles so chiseled you could bounce the quarters while his enormous tool pulses outside his shiny biker-jacket cut-offs. He rips that jacket open and the beast hangs out; one long, walnut-smooth thickie sways against his bare thigh waiting for your lips. Intrinsically male, shaved and perfumey, yet jar-popping and clear laws simply saying come taste his girly taste, that depth-full connection powered pulses following tongue measuring scream for those hidden regions that shift foreign-cream conditions settled elbows mid-air spreading widest as best.“}