Author: MNManmacker

Vinnie was a hefty, hairy man, dense black hairs creeping out from under his shirt, encircling his entirely bare arms, and he sweated profusely — there were always beads of sweat ringing his forehead. Earlier today, Nathan had been standing there when Vinnie reached up to grab a pan from above the stove, and since he wore a sleeveless shirt beneath his apron, that bared his armpit. Nathan had been close enough to get a whiff of rankness, but at least then it had been covered up by the smell of garlic and sausage sizzling in the pans already on the stove.

From The Redneck Ex-Con

Joey was a ruggedly handsome barrel-chested lug in a tailored suit, with a hangdog expression on his face like he was just waiting for Don Collera to call him an idiot again.

From Dubcon Alphas

Jason Halberd was a homeless, or maybe semi-homeless, man willing to wash Avery’s car for twenty dollars (his tone made it clear he would accept less than that). He was tall and broad-shouldered, smudges of black grease on his hands suggesting he worked some blue-collar job that involved engines.
Not that long ago, it would have been unthinkable for Jason to rob someone. He was a sterling young man, an aspiring cop. He had been married. He drank, but only a reasonable amount, and only at night, only when his wife said it was okay (though he always pretended to his friends that he went out whenever he wanted).
Somehow it had all gone wrong. Somehow the drinking had controlled his life. Somehow his wife was gone and he had barely even ever met his daughter and he was on probation and he had to beg a judge to let him keep his driver’s license and he found himself panhandling on weekends to buy vodka that tasted like hairspray.
Jason had been a handsome baseball star in high school. But now his face was worked and worn by wind and worry, his six-pack abs replaced by a flat belly that had gained and lost too much weight to ever have a six-pack again, and his eyes were dim and dark now, his hair shaggy and unwashed because he slept on the floor of the garage where he worked. His ex-wife said he stank. It had been a long time since a non-homeless woman had looked at him like he was desirable, and outside of prostitutes and crackheads, he hadn’t had sex in years.
From Dubcon Alphas

The cook waddled out to the front of the shop, his big cheeks ruddy, which covered up the spot of acne scarring over by his left cheek. He was thickly built — he definitely didn’t have a six-pack, but he wasn’t fat — he looked like he fancied himself a bodybuilder and lifted weights a lot, but ate too much of the pizza he cooked here to really have a great body.
He had dark hair like Robert’s, but his was curly, tangled and greasy, slick with sweat. He did not have sculpted cheekbones — he had no cheekbones at all that Avery could see — and his jaw was entirely too square, giving him a cavemanish look.
So he was not a handsome movie-star type. He looked Italian though, like he should really work in a pizza shop — he even had a map of Italy with the state of Puglia colored in tattooed on his wide but short neck — while Robert looked more like a dark-haired Irishman.
“Hey, yo, man, lemme rap atcha, huh? I know I got some hella belly, I see that, swear to God, I know fairies like ’em slim and skinny!” the cook said. He lifted up his shirt to reveal his paunch — which was really minimal, he sort of carried himself like a fat guy, Avery thought, which accentuated it. If he lost just twenty pounds, he’d have a perfect body.
Mikey swaddled in, his hefty body barely fitting in the doorway because he didn’t open it all the way — as though hiding from someone, though no one was around but Robert. His ass was big and plump, barely fitting in his nasty jeans that reeked of pizza grease — he probably wore these to work every day.
From Macho Alphas

Officer Heartley is a cop.

Descriptions

That’s because Officer Carlton Heartley was so manly it hurt, his rough-hewn face sending a shiver of desire up Avery’s spine. Avery blushed and giggled, forgetting that he had called Heartley here for a serious purpose.
Heartley walked in chewing on his cheek, square jaw working up and down like he had tobacco in his lip — he didn’t, it just always looked like that. He had shoulders so broad he walked awkwardly, like his body didn’t know how to take its own heft.
“What seems to be the trouble, suh?” he asked, his voice just a bit raspy and so baritone it echoed pleasingly in Avery’s ears. He had an adorably stilted way of talking, because he was uncomfortable talking to small men. He was flustered when Avery casually took his callused hand in Avery’s own. His giant palms and fingers were rough from overwork.
“I was robbed!” Avery ran through the details, tears suddenly overcoming him. He gripped Heartley’s leatherlike paw the size of a baseball mitt as he spoke. “Somebody broke into my shop!”
Heartley was built like an ox with arms like branches and a chest as broad as a boat. He obviously fancied himself a bodybuilder — you could tell by the way he carried himself — but he wasn’t that disciplined because he was married and had kids and a mortgage and probably a dog — something manly, like a rottweiler, Avery assumed. So he didn’t have a perfect bodybuilder’s body, which was just fine with Avery, who preferred his men to have a layer of thickness.
That was exactly what Heartley had: a layer of thickness. That and a jet-black mustache as luxurious as a silkworm’s cocoon. His face was a little too square, like God had hoped to give him that square-jawed action-hero look but ended up giving him more of a blockish caveman-face with thick bones and heavy feet.
He suddenly twitched and murmured an apology, feeling his backside to make sure his shirt was tucked in. His big barrel chest barely fit in it, so it often came undone. He had been scolded for it before, because people — women — called to complain about his untucked shirt, the occasional sweat stains under his armpit and his undershirt being visible from under the uniform shirt.
Nobody had flirted with Officer Heartley in what felt like forever, not since the eons-ago time he dimly recalled: bachelorhood. He had been free then. He’d had a six-pack, and women threw themselves at him. Women thought his muscles were sexy, and his chest hair was cute.

From Avery the Detective

“Sorry to hear about ya troubles, sir,” Officer Heartley said with the most delightfully full-bodied voice, all baritone echoes emanating from beneath his scruffy throat, a somewhat awkward tremble to it — he was one of those delightfully strong men who weren’t swaggerous and cocky. While Avery loved an alpha guy, a little note of unconfidence made it even hotter. “So you sure there ain’t nothin’ else missin’?”

From Macho Alphas