In the attic

When you are as voracious a consumer of porn as me, some faces become very familiar indeed:

They are either signals to turn away immediately (there's nothing for me there...), or, as in this case, beacons of hope.

I see a friendly face and am as a moth to the flame, lured to my doom (but hopefully not my death) by the intensity of his brilliance.

Or, as in this case, by the chance for a flash of cock.

This particular chappy is endowed rather more massively than is my normal taste but, as is the case with my real friends, I am prepared to forgive them pretty much anything for our friendship.

So there you have it: another confession from me. God, you must be so bored to keep hanging around here!