Steve Kelso presses his palm into his hairy chest, fingers tracing the inked lines of his tattoo as he leans against a wooden fence, his legs spread wide over the rough planks. His dark hair falls forward, obscuring his face as he grips his crotch, thick, heavy, straining against his grip, while the sunlight catches the sweat glistening on his muscular arms. Every pose locks him in place: a wall, a fence, a surface, his legs bent or splayed, his hand never far from where his cock throbs, his smile sharp and unguarded when he looks up, as if daring the air itself to touch him.
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