Cletus was skimpy, not skinny but tautly muscled, tan as loam but crimsonly sunburnt on his shoulders, which were bare and glistening with sweat. His unkempt mullet was tangled and greasy, blond by nature but brown by dirt and grease. He enjoyed the feel of his firm muscles, overstuffed beneath tight skin scattered with scars and tags. His greasy sweat and days-old smudges of dirt were both alarming and alluring in equal measure. His muscles were so strong. He appeared lean from a distance, but that was only because the sharecroppers ate lean. Cletus derived his calories mainly from gray-market beer and black-market moonshine. Cletus bristled, but he lifted each arm so Sasha could smell the gloriousness within. It was potent and salty like manhood itself, bursting with sunshine and brine, bracing and brilliant. Sasha slurped every drop of days-old sweat he could garner from Cletus’s left armpit, then his right. His shoulders tensed beneath Sasha’s touch. His muscles were so strong and firm, and his belly etched, his ribs ringed with solid meat. His thighs were cords of work-toned wood, cramped and hot in those overalls he still wore. Sasha’s hands moved to his taut asscheeks.
His name was Cletus, and he was a tall, dusky-skin man, his skin so dim he look almost colored, though he did deny that most strenuous-like indeed. He was long-limbed like he was mainly legs, his narrow waist all ribs and rattling bones. He looked so skinny it must hurt, Jeb thought, crouching there with his ribs overlapping and spare. He got a mullet too, kinda like Buck’s, but whereas Buck got a thick black mullet he cut in that fashion, Cletus got a dusty blond mullet that only look like that cuz he don’t clip it ‘cept where it get in his eyes, and he got weathersome limbs like he made of too-thick rope.
From Jeb the Farmboy
Cletus was skinny and his raggedy clothes were drenched in sweat. His hair was mud-spackled, his body tanned like a male robin’s breast and stained with unwashed sweat.
With a big chug from the bottle of moonshine, Cletus pulled down his loose-fit denim, once Beau told him what was up. His bony asscheeks were corded like coils of hawser, studded with coarse black hairs like sissel. He carried a burlap pouch filled with soft lard, which he swiped onto his asscrack.
Like that Creole Ovide, Cletus was lean and wiry, his skin weathered like a mountainside — they both worked manual labor without enough food to grow bulky like Beau. Cletus was tanned from head to toe, even his asscheeks and even his asscrack.
From Cajun Macho
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