A FEW MORE CRUMBS OF HOT MEAT FROM THE MUSCLE FEAST OF H
IS ROYAL HUGENESS, CARLOS DANIEL ESCOBEDO Yes, I'm taking what little I can sadly scavenge of this arch-stud at this point, but then again, a little bit of King Carlos still equals a huge amount of Man. See below:
Yes, these are all kinda indirect shots, with him maddeningly clothed, and probably not even freshly pumped (though it might seem otherwise). But still, just gazing upon a thick slice of his arms, stuffed into those tortured sleeves like steaming honey baked hams--is enough to leave me uncomfortably moist...
Am I right? Jesus Lord God, just look at those guns! Again, not even pumped, or flexed, just bent. And just about to burst through the ripping cotton, and the little chunk of my brain he left behind.
I would happily give up my color vision forever for one fleeting sideways peek at the heaving hardened ocean of muscles that those mighty Mississippis flow in the dark & humid paradise beneath his shirt. But alas, I can only cling to the image of those Herculean arms, wrap my fragile little arms and legs around them as I wish so painfully I could to the real ones. Or feel them surrounding me, burying me, crushing me and collapsing me down into 2 dimensions, then one, and finally squeezing me out of existence altogether--where he always wanted to be...