Rocky Umpiccio

Rocky was a swarthy slab of cinnamon-colored muscle and unkempt black hair, furry chest broad and strapping. He had a big wide jaw and a slightly off-square face due to old injuries — he was a boxer, and his nose was crooked and squat, his ears like splattered cauliflower.

From Mr. Taggart the Burly White Daddy

Rocky was swarthy and had a chaotic mane of greasy black hair, and he was well-muscled like Tyrell. But while Tyrell was cut, Rocky was thick. You could tell he was always going to be muscular, even if he never worked out. He had that kind of body… His pumpkin-thick arms worked hard, muscles bulging. Mr. Gregarian snorted like he thought Rocky should be more graceful. Desmond didn’t. He liked a brutish man. Poor Rocky had a swollen nose and ear, a bandage on his forehead, bruised knuckles.

From Desmond Seeks Alphas

Eventually Rocky took off the sweat-soaked shirt, and Simon stopped hiding. He stood in the threshold and watched Rocky’s pecs jiggle and flex and arch and rumble. His body hair was plastered to his torso and shoulders. Simon liked the way his chest hair worked its way up and over his shoulders. Rocky grunted and heaved. He sounded angry, but when Simon finally went in there and Rocky saw him, he stood still and emotionless, sweat steaming off his bronze shoulders. The weight room was so small that Simon felt the heat exuding off him and smelled the bitter bouquet that he enjoyed and his father despised.
Rocky paused before he knocked on the door. He glanced at Simon and raised his eyebrows. He had a hard face. His facciones were Brobdingnagian, every part of his face too big for the other parts. He looked like someone who could collect a debt from a pulmonologist. He made Simon feel small and impuissant, but in a good way. Simon nodded back, and Rocky knocked.

From Rocky the Bouncer

Rocky filled out his suit too tightly. His cock bulged against the fabric of his slacks, and the shoulders stretched when he swung his arms. With his big barrelhouse chest, Rocky required a hefty pair of trousers and a bicep-tight shirt. Mister Gregarian’s willingness to pay for tailoring was limited. Rocky’s tie ended high above his bellybutton, and he frequently busted the shoulder seams of his shirts.

From Rocky the Ex-Con

“Rocky, lookin’ good, man,” Carl said when he saw somebody he knew. Rocky was a swarthy slab of cinnamon-colored muscle and unkempt black hair, furry chest broad and strapping. He had a big wide jaw and a slightly off-square face due to old injuries — he was a boxer, and his nose was crooked and squat, his ears like splattered cauliflower.
“Hey, hey, Caaahl, good buddy, how’s the missus, huh?” he said, his voice thick and garbled like his throat was full of sweaty marbles.
“Sharon’s fine, the kids are doin’ great,” Carl said. He kept talking, aware that Rocky was just making small talk, but Carl wanted to keep going. He was close enough now to smell the stench of Rocky’s armpits, the fur of which peaked out from beneath those massive fleshy arms. One of Carl’s hands casually touched Rocky’s side, which was greasy with sweat, black hairs matted to his skin.

From Mr. Taggart the Burly White Daddy

Rocky bit down on the urge to rubble his nose. He was a boxer before his prison stay, and he broke his nose dozens of times. The prison doc said he got a “deviant sceptre” or some shit like that, plus he got too many or not enough sinuses, he couldn’t remember which, or maybe the sinuses he got was too big. Or too small. But it meant his nose got clogged buncha times, and he gotta rubble it with one hand.

From Rocky the Ex-Con

Rocky turned out to live in a rinky-dink little apartment building. His place was spartanly furnished — it didn’t even have a couch. It did have a bench-press and a set of free weights, as well as stacks of protein powder containers in the kitchen. It smelled strongly of sweat and unwashed clothes, which dappled the whole apartment.

From Desmond Seeks Alphas