Jaycee is a young man.
He was gloriously thick. That was why Avery liked him. Avery loved any man with a massive, incredible ass, and Jaycee’s was bigger and plumper than seemed possible. He was a naturally heavyset man but worked out enough to keep himself an imposing figure, not fat at all, just hefty and curved and chunky in all the right ways.
He turned around, aiming his ass at one of his buddies. His jeans sagged low, so about half of his asscheeks were covered by nothing more than yellow boxers. He patted his ass, making his own cheeks jiggle and his friends laugh — he must have been making some kind of point about how nice his ass was, Avery thought, and how much girls wanted to taste his badonkadonk. It wasn’t a fantastic ass at all. Avery appreciated it, but it was not a Hollywood-hunk ass, not the kind of thing people would normally brag about.
It was juicy as hell though. Avery keenly appreciated the male physique, of which Jaycee’s was a remarkable specimen.
Jaycee lifted his shirt to show off his chest and laughed — he didn’t have that kind of body, he had a little pudge and a big broad chest like a gladiator, not a six-pack
From The Catcaller
