Afternoon at the beach. And, no, this is not the gay beach. How can you can tell? Easy: by the absence of wannabes, selfie-sticks, and single fat chicks. Oh yes I did!
No tan lines on either of us
...but who's complaining!
A curious log concerning my goings-on in the curious, queer, and scandalous industry of illicit sex...and then, sometimes, what happens off camera too. Wicked.

I warmed up the audience with a little posing & flexing before Ian complemented the routine with muscle worship. In short order the tiny Colombian was on his knees tugging at my gym shorts and worshipping the only muscle on every faggot's mind (the boy gives good head! To see him in action is to know he loves big dicks). Soon I was rock-hard and snacking on that ass; that smooth shaven-horny-just made for fucking-ass. So that's what we did! I went to town on that muscle bottom...fucked the nervousness right out of him. You should have seen it. Before the curtain closed Ian had forgotten all about the live audience. Promise fulfilled. Booyah!
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| Who would YOU choose? CRISTIAN BUNDA (booty) or DAVID MONTENEGRO (balls)? |
