Fade in, day dream.
He's shirtless - absolutely shredded. How many pack abs? Fuck, who has time to count? He's holding puppies, but also too many to count. Pants fit just right. There's drool...
Snap back to reality, please. You were reading my post. I am none of that, so hamper those expectations just a lot. Abs? Sometimes, depends on the light. Not chubby, not shredded. Puppies? Just one. He's about eighty pounds though. Pants fit just right? Why yes, of course. That's the beauty of buying them in your size. Drool? Well, I'll blame the dog.
I am an outdoorsman, bearded, love plaid and chopping wood. Settle down, I'm not finished. I have red hair, I don't have the annoying Wisconsin accent (Jesus H, SETTLE DOWN!) and I'm pretty good with my hands. I can write, read and cook with them when I'm not using my tool. For the record, those are actual tools... not a euphemism for my penis. Your mind is something else. My non work time sees me go on hikes and runs with my pup, I like to work out in my home gym and I like to eat. Chubby kids don't stop being chubby kids just because they found the gym. They just become in-shape chubbos.
Also I'm six foot. I passed your height check, I'll brag to my short co-workers on Monday.
I'm going to have a shower and hopefully chat up when I'm fresh, clean and clothed.
"Did he write this post naked?"
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