Rob

Recall that gravelly Tom Waits line: 'He's so horny, the crack of dawn better watch out.' It fits young Rob from Miami to a T. This guy's a fiend for sex, chasing it in the dim flicker of movie theaters, the tight squeeze of elevators, the salty sprawl of beaches—anywhere, everywhere. But it's been days without a fuck or even a furtive stroke. Too damn long. He's about to shatter that drought right here, right now. Rob's built slight, a wiry frame, yet he packs the punch of a mighty mite. He peels off his clothes with deliberate flair, strikes a pose—arms flexed, muscles rippling into sharp definition. Then his hand finds his cock. He strokes it slow and steady, building the heat. Minutes pass. He drops to the floor, legs hooked over the bed's edge, body arched like a bowstring pulled taut. His fist flies faster now, relentless. He stretches, twists, chases the peak until it crashes—milky ropes of cum splattering across his belly in warm, sticky puddles. 'That was great... fantabulous, man! Amazing.' He grins wide, laughs it off, that cocky swagger bubbling up as he declares himself primed for porn stardom. The kid's got the fire, no doubt.