Experience my version of man on woman sensuality

It seems like a lot of men in DC take care of their bodies...yea well so do I.

I’m sitting here at my keyboard digesting my lunch while I pound out this missive. Panda-burger with cheddar. No bun. Listening to plaintive vocal stylings of Lloyd Cole. His voice soothes this savage beast. Anabolic-androgenic steroids, natch. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt.

The rainy morning had me catching the 42 bus to the red line at Dupont. Waiting for the train, I notice a young lovely noticing me – my totally ripped physique, savage intensity, striking good looks . I am though cautious as Bel Biv DeVoe wisely teaches us to never trust a big butt and smile. The lovely could be poison. And poison is the last thing this body needs, with the Bali Jute Mill Bodybuilding Invitational coming up. No. I must stick to a strict regimen of high-protein endangered species and my SuperFreak Workout for Juiced-Up Psychos. Also, handfuls of PUMP TECH™ washed down with ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange and shots of Goldschlager should get my body in top physical form.

I give the red line lovelies at Dupont Circle a couple of poses as I ride to Judiciary Square. I head for the gym for my daily workout. I take care of my body. My body takes care of me. Put on my extra large lime green banana hammock, first slathering on the bikini bite to keep everything in place. I get to work. Preacher Reverse Curl, Seated Concentration Curl, Crossover Chest Fly, Pullover Crunch. Done, I hit the shower. I air dry. My body glistens as I practice my pose downs in the mirror.

Me you ask? Public transportation. Low carb diets. Looking good. Taking care of my body. Recognizing that women with big butts can be poison. That is what I am about. And if you want to experience the raw and animalist man on woman sensuality that only I can provide, drop me a line.

He gets letters:

"Send us at last your pic in Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Your pic gets mine, also in leather."