Oh Ivan! Ivan! Ivan!
How I have dreampt of your
Satin flesh
sultry flash!
Packaged date and grapes
in red and blue!!
Golden skin like honeyed yam!
How Sweet upon the tongue!
Long fun!
So smoothe, how hairless,
Silky as lips upon lips!
You're black nostrils
Flairing
with Tropical Passion!
Oh! Oh! Oh Ivan!
I am! I am! So eager for Ivan!!!
You're perfectly shaped
Muscles!
Must nuzzle
Like overly ripe Mangos!
Drip! Drip! Ooze Ivan!
Ooze, ooze, Ivan.
Passion Fruit, ripe too ripe!
Drip! Ooze!
Ivan!
HC
Saturday, March 14, 2009
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4 comments:
It's mesmerizing. What's wrong with me. Am I bad? Sick? I feel no shame. Is that wrong?
And it's not 5:10 in the morning
Ugh. I *keep ... coming ... back ... to it*. Can't turn my eyes away.
It took a while to figure out what's so wrong with this young fella.
Once when I was a teenager I found half a cat in the road. Don't ask me. Just the hind part. The hip/legs and tail. As if it had dug into the concrete.
That's what Ivan is like. Just a set of pretty good upper arms, delts and pecs. Stuck somehow on a little guy's body. Look at his forearms when he shows his biceps. Like a girl's. His biceps are bigger than his calves. It's just inharmonious, is all.
Well, that's all obvious, and I saw it right away. But it's his neck. His neck. It's just an average neck, tendons because he's working, but nothing much. That completes the perfect picture, of a typical small-framed guy, who just somehow got disproportionate arm/delt/pecs. Like a two-by-four scarecrow with a six-by-eight crossbar.
Ivan is the posterboy for the typical gym bodybuilder. He's everything he thinks he should be. But it amounts to a bag full of deficits. The perfect mirror muscle man.
I wouldn't write him any love poems, but he is a magnificent specimen of what he is. And isn't that song great?
J
male gymnasts tend toward that type of look nowadays but not as extreme.
ridiculously overbuilt in the upper body but tiny from the waist down.
There is no strength in the lad. It's all about puff. Look at the overhead press he does on the smith machine. What, 20 pounds?
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