“His manhood was the manliest of members, dripping with testosterone. It stood erect, like the leaning tower of Pisa, but with less of a lean lean and more girth. It was a girthy girth. A manly girth. The girth of manhood. It was the manliest thing I’d ever seen.”

-R https://twitter.com/patrickattawayy/status/1252057284764729345

“He strutted toward the bed. No, it wasn’t a strut. It was a saunter. Perhaps even a gambol. But definitely not a stride. She admired his form. It was the lean form of a masculine man who had perhaps been a track star in younger days. Or perhaps field. Maybe he did shotput?”

-R

“She laid on the bed, awaiting his attentions. His attentions were all she could think about with her tiny, primitive brain. His rough, manly hands on her fragile, lithe, infinitesimally small body. She was so tiny compared to this manly, masculine man with his girthy hands.”

-R

“Slowly — ever so slowly — he crawled upon the bed. No, not crawled. Leapt. He leapt upon her like a ferocious animal. But also like a gentle animal, one that took care to keep his rough manliness away from her. He was both rough and gentle. A sort of gentle roughness.”

-R

Yeah I could definitely do this for 50 pages. -R