He spray paints them on, I know he does. That's the only possible explanation. Christ, what those jeans must do to his cock and balls. Every step he takes, he must feel the pull and rub of the fabric. Stroking. Teasing. Bloody hell! He must walk around in a perpetual state of arousal. The whole package is just nestled there, cradled by an invisible palm. And his arse! Oh God, look at the sweet curve of his arse!

My hand would cup that arse so perfectly...

It's criminal, mate. Don't you know what those fucking jeans are doing to me?

-- THE END --

May 2008