We´ve seen these blue collar guys. . .the mechanic at the coveralls, the motorist in tight, tight faded jeans in the vehicle stop, the delivery guy in uniform that looked kind of skinny, sort of scruffy, but was packing a basket that you made your cock hard regardless of yourself and also made it impossible to take your eye off the prize. We were in California if we met Jack, the handy man for the apartment building next door and even from across the road, you could find his thick dick moving in his work trousers, snaking halfway down his thigh. A couple of beers and some Ben Franklin´s afterwards, we met up with him. He’s just broken up with his girlfriend, was ready to let his internal porn star in addition to dick. He starts massaging his body through his clothes, yanking that top to show his torso and hairy nipples. After he got down to his boxers, he began to resemble a scruffy beach boy once he hauled out his pair of bloated, furry low-key, all from the ground up was man sized. He traced the outline of that cock through his boxers, revealing off thick and long it had been, making a bulge which has been obscenely huge. He’s us squirming within our very own shorts, dying to find out what had been inside when he finally sent all eight inches out the fly like a tree trunks climbing off the side of this mountain. A small, alluring happy trail on this flat stomach led the way to a complete, organic untrimmed bush. . .when you’re hung like Jack, you don´t need to cut on the grass to flaunt the real estate. . .even a blind man could tell he’s simply huge with a matching set of oversized babymakers that sway within their sack just like a few balling balls looking for a bigger house.