The University - The Jocks; Trevor
The man of the hour. The massive man of the hour.
Whatever you wanted to call him... the star athlete, the pack alpha, the leader of the jocks... all the names shared one same concept: Trevor was the biggest and the best of them all, and if he wanted attention, he got attention.
It was easy to tell when he was coming--his enormity always announced his approach. At almost 14 feet tall and easily over 1100 pounds of raw, unadulterated beef, his massive 29-inch-long, size 68 feet, powered forward by his thick, monstrous legs, would slap loudly against the linoleum hall floors, leaving heat footprints that'd make Sasquatch shake. You'd hear the slamming of metal, indentations in the door frames from where Trevor simply didn't care about one of his huge shoulders colliding with the frame as he ducked through.
Clothing might as well have been randomly generated, because Trevor always picked out some clothes in the morning, and depending on just how insane of a pump he got to that day, or if he just grew period, whatever ripped off of him wouldn't be replaced. If you had a nickel for every time Trevor walked into a class completely naked, his unrealistically gigantic python and cantaloupe-sized balls slapping against his thighs as he ripped a bench out from the hallway and slammed it down in the classroom to have somewhere to sit... if you're being honest, you'd have 37 nickels, because you're keeping count in your journal along with all your polaroid pictures you snap. Trevor doesn't just love the attention--he expects it. You've become a kind of record-keeper for his progresses.
This was one of your favorite pictures, though, and a pretty recent one at that. You think that Trevor somehow managed to have a shirt still by lunch because he had broken the campus gym's cable machine the day prior, so he must've skipped his chest and only focused on arms and legs. Normally those pecs would bust a shirt wide open, but the image of him still having one was almost more fascinating at this point. He was patient with the novice touches of the guys in the hall, allowing them to grope and feel at his huge lats, his pec insertions, his biceps, the deep wells of his armpits. His manspread was one of the hottest things about him. He'd always seemingly just sit himself down in a spot, start flexing, and without fail, hordes of guys would just come up and start grabbing at him. He'd reward the most fervent one with a grab to the back of the head, shoving him into his flesh, edging toward the brink of suffocation in the hot, sweaty man-meat.
