KNEEBACKS!!!
They're the one part of a man's (and boy's) legs that really attract the attention of another male who hungers to look at them with the anticipation of putting his tongue to them. Since I've come to Los Angeles, and eventually to Malibu, I've met over ten thousand men and boys who tell me that I've got delicious-looking kneebacks...and half of them ask me if I would lay face down so they can lick them. Since I love showing off my legs (especially my kneebacks), what else could I do but give them what they want. I've been wearing shorts and showing off my meats since I was fourteen and permitting men and boys, friends and strangers, to bite my thighs and calves and lick my kneebacks. When I was attending the University of Central Florida in Orlando, I even allowed my kneebacks to be cummed if I was the reason my soccer team lost an important game. I would lay face down on a bench while every other player on my team exposed their penises and ejaculated their cum onto my handsome kneebacks. What bliss it was to feel that smooth white cream wet and dry upon my kneebacks!
Since I came to Los Angeles twenty-three years ago, I've shown my kneebacks eight thousand times, got three-quarters that amount of compliments on what beautiful kneebacks I have, had over five thousand requests from men and boys who wished to lick my kneebacks (and bite my thighs and calves in the process)...and the one weird request to permit a teenager to set my meats on fire and eat them while I am still alive!
I have collected some pictures of other actors and models with beautiful kneebacks and put them together with tales of fancy. Let me tell you their stories:
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| Sixteen adolescent kneebacks face skyward as a teacher looks on! |
Since I came to Los Angeles twenty-three years ago, I've shown my kneebacks eight thousand times, got three-quarters that amount of compliments on what beautiful kneebacks I have, had over five thousand requests from men and boys who wished to lick my kneebacks (and bite my thighs and calves in the process)...and the one weird request to permit a teenager to set my meats on fire and eat them while I am still alive!
I have collected some pictures of other actors and models with beautiful kneebacks and put them together with tales of fancy. Let me tell you their stories:
SASHA KASDAN
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| Don't my kneebacks look tempting? |
Where is the best place to begin when I'm talking about kneebacks? Why, the best place to start is with my own! After all, I've been showing them off since I was living with the two elderly people I hated the most when I was a kid...my maternal grandparents.
When I was six, my mother and I were forced to move in with her parents in New York City because my mother was being hounded by a woman from the Department of Childrens's Affairs, threatening to take me away and placing me under foster care. My grandfather, who hated my father, searched through my clothes and burned my trousers, athletic socks and sneakers and forced me to wear shorts, saying that a boy wearing shorts would learn better and show more respect for his elders. When school started, I went to class attired in a long-sleeved shirt, black dress shorts, black dress knee socks and black dress shoes...even in below zero temperatures. When I came home, I was forced to do my homework on my stomach on the carpet. And heaven help me if that old bastard didn't look down and see my kneebacks!
And being in school was even worse! There was one boy who hated me and constantly got me into trouble. So much so that when the teacher turned at the slightest interruption, it was me she caught in the act and not the other boy. The teacher told me to stand in the corner for one hour while the lesson continued. The other boy noticed that I was looking at the class. Gleefully, he told the teacher that I was not adhering to the rules of punishment. The teacher looked at me and twirled her finger, motioning me to turn and face the corner...thereby exposing my kneebacks to the class. I complied, crying while I did so. After school, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a note to my grandfather, telling me to bring the note back the next day...with my grandfather's signature upon it!!!
When I was twelve, my father, finding out all about me, won total custody of me in court in absentia. When I finally moved to Florida, I discovered that I could wear shorts and show off my kneebacks once again without impropriety. I had made a lot of friends in Florida. When my father purchased a movie prop...a hanging harness used in 1982 in a movie called "Eddie Macon's Run"...I decided to use it without my father's permission. I went into the garage...attired in a brown short-sleeved shirt, denim mid-thigh cutoff shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers...put the harness on under my shirt, put the noose about my neck and eased myself off a stool into a hanging position with my feet two feet off the cement floor. But, I did not pay very close attention to how my father used it on me when he first got the harness. The noose started tightening about my neck and, within minutes, my arms fell to my sides and I blacked out. Fortunately, my father came home and found me near death. With the help of some of my friends, he cut me down and resuscitated me. I learned my lesson after that...never to use my father's things without prior permission.
When I had turned fourteen, my father enrolled me in the prestigious American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. On-campus, I learned acting, singing and dancing. Off-campus, I excelled in sports such as tennis, baseball and, especially, soccer...which became my lifelong passion, as I follow Manchester United, Emirates and all other teams and watch them on television when traveling to the games became an impossibility. I also started my modeling career in earnest, receiving a call one day to report to my handling agency within an hour. I was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and knee-length shorts. Not liking what I saw in the mirror, I rolled the sleeves up to just below my elbows and the legs of the shorts up several inches until I did like what I saw in the mirror. The photographer, however, did not like what he saw and told me to lower the sleeves and legs to where they belonged. The way he ordered me around was rewarded by a slap across the head by the designer, who told me to put the sleeves and legs back to the way I had them before he placed me in front of a young woman in an advanced state of pregnancy. The designer turned out to be Gianni Versace and the young woman was none other than Vicki Hogan, who would later become immortalized as Anna Nicole Smith. I continued print modeling while I finished at the Academy. When I graduated with honors in 1989 and varisty letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics) and gold and silver medals (for gymnastics), I returned to South Florida and readied myself for the next four years of my education...at the University of Central Florida in Orlando.
My four years at the University of Central Florida was just as fruitful as was my time at the Academy of Dramatic Arts, both academically as well as physically. My girlfriend, Jen (who I would later marry in 1999), accompanied me to Central Florida. She took several physical education classes at the University because of her martial artist rank of fourth-degree black belt. While I took classes in advanced dramatics, I also engaged in sports. Because of my self-love of my legs, the sports which I joined in were any that permitted me to wear shorts, such as tennis, gymnastics, lacrosse, basketball, volleyball and soccer...my favorite. I told the coach about the kind of punishment I received while at the Academy if we lost a game due to an error which I made. Although the coach did not like the idea, my teammates thought differently. So, whenever my team lost the game, into the locker room and face down at attention upon the bench I went, out came the penises and the cum from within the scrotums of each teammate that drenched my kneebacks and ran down the sides onto the bench, ultimately wetting the fronts of my knees. Out from my mouth came the long sigh of satisfaction upon feeling their smooth white cream as it coated my kneebacks. Thus was how it went between the years of 1989 to my graduation in 1993. I received not only an Associates degree in Drama in 1991and a Bachelors degree in both Drama and Journalism in 1993, I was voted most athletic, most handsome young man on campus, most perfect body and most handsome artist's nude model all during my four years in college as well as collegiate letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics), gold and silver medals (for gymnastics and 10-meter platform diving) and gold and bronze medals (for 3-meter springboard diving). A year prior to graduation, my athletic ability earned me a place on both the Olympic gymnastic and diving teams...but I chose education over Olympian notoriety. After all, a career in sports would only last as long as my body did not break. An acting career, however, can last me until the day I die.
Between the date of my graduation until April of 1995, I remained in Southern Osceola County in Central Florida, first working at Universal Studios Orlando and then, because of an incident with a leaking battery pack, a position as travel journalist-photographer with the Orlando Sentinel. Then, a fateful day while visiting my former haunt at the Studios brought me together with television producer Aaron Spelling (thanks to his daughter Tori). He gave me his card and told me to see him in Los Angeles about a job on a series called Models, Inc. However, upon my arrival in Los Angeles on April 15, 1995, I was informed that the series was cancelled earlier that day. So, there I way...no job, a place to stay at the local YMCA and only $100 in my pocket. Then, another fateful day occurred. While eating a lunch on the steps of a church on the famous Sunset Boulevard, I was spotted by the actor Brian Patrick Clark, who gave me his modeling agent's card after signing his name on the back. I returned to my room at the YMCA, showered and dressed in my suit (with a red and blue striped swimsuit underneath) and made my way to the office of Nina Blanchard. Upon meeting with me, Ms.Blanchard had the photographer take me down to the studio, where he took four or five rolls of pictures of me dressed in my suit and then in my swimsuit.
Upon seeing my portfolio, Ms. Blanchard started "selling me to the highest bidders". One of the first who "took the bait" was Donatella Versace, the sister of the designer who officiated over the photography at my first photo shoot when I was attending the Academy. Her brother, which I later discovered, was murdered in cold blood by a maniac named Andrew Cunanan. She told me she wanted to take me to Italy and Greece for a three-month photo shoot. However, I did not wish to leave my girlfriend for so long a time. After all, she had just moved from Florida to join me in Malibu, where we stayed in the mansion which I would ultimately purchase in 1999 from Ms. Blanchard. Ms. Versace allowed me to bring Jen with me on the trip. On a day off in Greece, I traveled to Athens and, upon visiting a jewelry store, purchased an engagement ring. When we went to a spot in southeastern Greece on the Aegean, Ms. Versace had me attired in a Trojan-style toga and asked Jen to put on a dress for some pictures which were going to be in a collection called "Trojan Lovers". Since we were at a place where there was a blood red heart-shaped stone called the "Hellenic Love Stone", upon which any person who proposed would marry within twenty-four months, I got down on my knee, opened the jewel box and asked Jen to marry me. With tears in her eyes, Jen accepted. I stood up and put the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Overcome with emotion, Ms. Versace said that she would make Jen's wedding dress...her gift for the wedding, which took place in South Florida on June 25, 1999.
In the nearly nineteen years since then...and, ultimately, six children (three of each)...my love for other men and boys delighting in biting my thighs and calves and licking my kneebacks has never waned. I continue to love feeling those teeth biting my meats and tongues licking my kneebacks will never diminish until the day I die and my body is consigned to the crematorium's flames.
When I was six, my mother and I were forced to move in with her parents in New York City because my mother was being hounded by a woman from the Department of Childrens's Affairs, threatening to take me away and placing me under foster care. My grandfather, who hated my father, searched through my clothes and burned my trousers, athletic socks and sneakers and forced me to wear shorts, saying that a boy wearing shorts would learn better and show more respect for his elders. When school started, I went to class attired in a long-sleeved shirt, black dress shorts, black dress knee socks and black dress shoes...even in below zero temperatures. When I came home, I was forced to do my homework on my stomach on the carpet. And heaven help me if that old bastard didn't look down and see my kneebacks!
And being in school was even worse! There was one boy who hated me and constantly got me into trouble. So much so that when the teacher turned at the slightest interruption, it was me she caught in the act and not the other boy. The teacher told me to stand in the corner for one hour while the lesson continued. The other boy noticed that I was looking at the class. Gleefully, he told the teacher that I was not adhering to the rules of punishment. The teacher looked at me and twirled her finger, motioning me to turn and face the corner...thereby exposing my kneebacks to the class. I complied, crying while I did so. After school, the teacher had me stay behind while she composed a note to my grandfather, telling me to bring the note back the next day...with my grandfather's signature upon it!!!
When I was twelve, my father, finding out all about me, won total custody of me in court in absentia. When I finally moved to Florida, I discovered that I could wear shorts and show off my kneebacks once again without impropriety. I had made a lot of friends in Florida. When my father purchased a movie prop...a hanging harness used in 1982 in a movie called "Eddie Macon's Run"...I decided to use it without my father's permission. I went into the garage...attired in a brown short-sleeved shirt, denim mid-thigh cutoff shorts, white athletic knee socks and sneakers...put the harness on under my shirt, put the noose about my neck and eased myself off a stool into a hanging position with my feet two feet off the cement floor. But, I did not pay very close attention to how my father used it on me when he first got the harness. The noose started tightening about my neck and, within minutes, my arms fell to my sides and I blacked out. Fortunately, my father came home and found me near death. With the help of some of my friends, he cut me down and resuscitated me. I learned my lesson after that...never to use my father's things without prior permission.
When I had turned fourteen, my father enrolled me in the prestigious American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York City. On-campus, I learned acting, singing and dancing. Off-campus, I excelled in sports such as tennis, baseball and, especially, soccer...which became my lifelong passion, as I follow Manchester United, Emirates and all other teams and watch them on television when traveling to the games became an impossibility. I also started my modeling career in earnest, receiving a call one day to report to my handling agency within an hour. I was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and knee-length shorts. Not liking what I saw in the mirror, I rolled the sleeves up to just below my elbows and the legs of the shorts up several inches until I did like what I saw in the mirror. The photographer, however, did not like what he saw and told me to lower the sleeves and legs to where they belonged. The way he ordered me around was rewarded by a slap across the head by the designer, who told me to put the sleeves and legs back to the way I had them before he placed me in front of a young woman in an advanced state of pregnancy. The designer turned out to be Gianni Versace and the young woman was none other than Vicki Hogan, who would later become immortalized as Anna Nicole Smith. I continued print modeling while I finished at the Academy. When I graduated with honors in 1989 and varisty letters (for soccer, tennis, baseball, diving and gymnastics) and gold and silver medals (for gymnastics), I returned to South Florida and readied myself for the next four years of my education...at the University of Central Florida in Orlando.
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| The seal of the school where I was to earn Associate and Bachelor degrees! |
Between the date of my graduation until April of 1995, I remained in Southern Osceola County in Central Florida, first working at Universal Studios Orlando and then, because of an incident with a leaking battery pack, a position as travel journalist-photographer with the Orlando Sentinel. Then, a fateful day while visiting my former haunt at the Studios brought me together with television producer Aaron Spelling (thanks to his daughter Tori). He gave me his card and told me to see him in Los Angeles about a job on a series called Models, Inc. However, upon my arrival in Los Angeles on April 15, 1995, I was informed that the series was cancelled earlier that day. So, there I way...no job, a place to stay at the local YMCA and only $100 in my pocket. Then, another fateful day occurred. While eating a lunch on the steps of a church on the famous Sunset Boulevard, I was spotted by the actor Brian Patrick Clark, who gave me his modeling agent's card after signing his name on the back. I returned to my room at the YMCA, showered and dressed in my suit (with a red and blue striped swimsuit underneath) and made my way to the office of Nina Blanchard. Upon meeting with me, Ms.Blanchard had the photographer take me down to the studio, where he took four or five rolls of pictures of me dressed in my suit and then in my swimsuit.
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| This was Ms. Blanchard's favorite picture of me in a swimsuit! |
In the nearly nineteen years since then...and, ultimately, six children (three of each)...my love for other men and boys delighting in biting my thighs and calves and licking my kneebacks has never waned. I continue to love feeling those teeth biting my meats and tongues licking my kneebacks will never diminish until the day I die and my body is consigned to the crematorium's flames.
AMBROSE OLSEN
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| He's dead, but his handsome kneebacks still invite admiration! |
On April 22, 2010, I was supposed to meet with fellow model Ambrose Olsen for an early breakfast before going for a photo shoot. When he hadn't shown up by 9 a.m., I went over to his apartment. He once told me where I could find a spare key to his apartment. I opened the door...and was shocked to see him hanging by his neck, dressed only in his black silk underwear and facing away from me. I went to the phone to call the police, who informed me not to touch the body, before returning to the body and placing my finger against the dead kneebacks to check as to whether he was warm or cold. His kneebacks were ice cold...meaning that Ambrose had to have been hanging there for more than a couple of hours. Long before the police and the coroner arrived, a strange temptation came over me. I bent down, stuck out my tongue and licked the cold dead kneebacks. The other pieces of meat, however, I could not bite due to the fact that the coroner would make casts of the bite marks, they would match my teeth...and I would probably be arrested for murdering him. Remembering about my saliva probably remaining on any part of his legs, I got a wet paper towel and wiped Ambrose's kneebacks dry. I took my cell phone, snapped some pictures of Ambrose's legs, kneebacks and face...and walked into the hallway to await the arrival of the police and the coroner. I waited and answered questions while the coroner spent another six hours examining the body as it entered the stage of rigor mortis and awaiting the arrival of the county "meat wagon".
As soon as the meat wagon arrived, the attendants brought the gurney into the apartment. When the coroner had finished his report (another two hours), the body was released and taken down, placed face down upon the gurney, covered from the waist up and removed from the apartment to be taken to the coroner's lab to be prepared for an autopsy. I approached the coroner.
"Why do you have to perform an autopsy?" I asked. "It's evident he committed suicide!"
"Yes...but I have to check the internal organs to determine when he committed suicide, how long he had been hanging before you found him...whether he hanged himself before midnight or after. For the "date of death" box on the death certificate".
"Oh". I checked my watch and looked at the C.S.I. police officer. "Do you need me anymore?"
"Not at the present moment", he said. "But, give me your name and telephone number so I may reach you if there is any more information I need".
I gave the officer one of my business cards and left. Luckily, no further information was needed. As for Ambrose's body? After the autopsy, he was dressed in one of his best suits, placed in the finest coffin money could buy, flown back to his hometown of Homer, Alaska and buried.
In time, only the worms and maggots would get to taste what I could not. But...I still have my pictures of Ambrose Olsen hanging in his underwear to enjoy.
As soon as the meat wagon arrived, the attendants brought the gurney into the apartment. When the coroner had finished his report (another two hours), the body was released and taken down, placed face down upon the gurney, covered from the waist up and removed from the apartment to be taken to the coroner's lab to be prepared for an autopsy. I approached the coroner.
"Why do you have to perform an autopsy?" I asked. "It's evident he committed suicide!"
"Yes...but I have to check the internal organs to determine when he committed suicide, how long he had been hanging before you found him...whether he hanged himself before midnight or after. For the "date of death" box on the death certificate".
"Oh". I checked my watch and looked at the C.S.I. police officer. "Do you need me anymore?"
"Not at the present moment", he said. "But, give me your name and telephone number so I may reach you if there is any more information I need".
I gave the officer one of my business cards and left. Luckily, no further information was needed. As for Ambrose's body? After the autopsy, he was dressed in one of his best suits, placed in the finest coffin money could buy, flown back to his hometown of Homer, Alaska and buried.
In time, only the worms and maggots would get to taste what I could not. But...I still have my pictures of Ambrose Olsen hanging in his underwear to enjoy.
CHRISTOPHER WINSTON
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| These handsome lovelies belong to a California Baywatch lifeguard! |
I met Chris when I was working on the set of Baywatch in 1995. Since the producers of the show used beach locations, it seemed only reasonable to use many of the Los Angeles County lifeguards as extras. Chris noticed how easily I took to following the same rules as the real lifeguards. When we filmed an episode where I was one of the candidates, Chris was the timekeeper. When I returned to the beach after swimming out to a buoy, Chris showed David Hasselhoff and Alexandra Paul my time, which was forty-five seconds faster than the next fastest swimmer...so naturally, I was one of the five candidates who were chosen. And since I was the fastest, I had my choice of which beach I wanted to remain at. I chose Baywatch...the same post where Chris was stationed. I especially wanted to be posted here because this was the one where Michael Berk, Douglas Schwartz and Gregory J. Bonann chose to film the series with David Hasselhoff from 1989 to 2001.
I went across the street from where I lived with other young male models and actors at the time...the same mansion where I live today with my wife and kids. I was always on time to report for work. The producers noticed this. They approached me and asked if I had any acting experience.
Did I have any acting experience??? Why did they think I came out to California in the first place? After all, if it wasn't for Aaron Spelling, I would never have made the move from Orlando. The day I arrived in Los Angeles, his latest television venture, Models, Inc., was cancelled. If it wasn't for the fact that I was a model, Mr. Spelling would not have given me his business card. But, then again...if it hadn't been for a chance meeting with actor Brian Patrick Clark, I would never have met Nina Blanchard and she would never have given me a portfolio to show the producers of Baywatch. They were all impressed with my pictures and experience, got me a pair of the red Baywatch shorts and put me to work right away.
After working on the series for almost two years, I attended a beach party. Being a professional photographer, I brought my camera along...taking pictures of Hasselhoff, Alexandra Paul, David Charvet and many other stars of the show. I was especially attracted to Chris, who attended the party dressed in his red Baywatch shorts, Baywatch tee shirt, white athletic socks and sneakers. Being a consummate leg lover, I noticed Chris's well-proportioned kneebacks. I also noticed that his legs had virtually no hair! That meant getting a mouthful of tender, meaty thighs and calves without getting any hair stuck between my teeth. And those kneebacks!!! So tan and firm. Fine, delicious licking material for any male's tongue!
But, first...I had to get Chris alone...someplace where we wouldn't be in the public eye. I went into the Headquarters building and down to the locker room. After fifteen minutes of not being among the participants at the party, Chris came into the Headquarters looking for me. Calling out my name and getting no reply, Chris came downstairs and entered the locker room. He looked around in the light that was able to enter the darkened room from the hallway. Chris reached for the switch to turn on the light, only to be met with darkness...thanks to my removing the bulb.
"Sasha, are you in here?" he asked.
"I'm over here", I replied softly, as though I had fallen and was barely conscious.
Chris walked deeper into the locker room, distancing himself from the door beyond which was the only light that filtered into the room. The deeper he walked into the room, the darker the room became. His eyes tried in vain to accustom themselves to the darkness. But try as he could, Chris could not see anything in the ethereal darkness.
Then, suddenly...
The strike which forced him to fall prone on the floor came from nowhere. The new light which filled the darkened locker room came from a battery-operated overhead lamp. The switch that turned it on was in my hand. I walked over to the opened fuse box and screwed the fuse into the place...the fuse which would brighten the rest of the locker room. I closed the box and turned my attention back to the prone figure of Chris on the locker room floor, his tanned kneebacks facing the ceiling.
I knelt down beside the unconscious form, my outstretched hands feeling the smooth meat. Then, I stretched myself out prone, my own kneebacks facing the ceiling, stuck out my tongue and, gingerly, licked the thighs, calves and kneebacks of my unconscious friend. Before I rose to my feet, I puckered my lips and kissed the handsome kneebacks.
I then rose to my feet and left the locker room, turning back to look once more at the prone, unconscious form of Chris Winston. Smiling, I walked out of the Headquarters and returned to the party on the beach, turning to look every once in a while to watch for Chris coming out of the building and returning to the party himself. He saw me standing there, drinking an ice cold bottle of water. He came over to me and asked me where I had been. I told him that I went to the mens room and then returned to the party. Believing me, Chris went back to enjoying the party himself, never realizing that I was the one who knocked him out so that I could partake in licking his delicious thighs, calves and kneebacks.
I went across the street from where I lived with other young male models and actors at the time...the same mansion where I live today with my wife and kids. I was always on time to report for work. The producers noticed this. They approached me and asked if I had any acting experience.
Did I have any acting experience??? Why did they think I came out to California in the first place? After all, if it wasn't for Aaron Spelling, I would never have made the move from Orlando. The day I arrived in Los Angeles, his latest television venture, Models, Inc., was cancelled. If it wasn't for the fact that I was a model, Mr. Spelling would not have given me his business card. But, then again...if it hadn't been for a chance meeting with actor Brian Patrick Clark, I would never have met Nina Blanchard and she would never have given me a portfolio to show the producers of Baywatch. They were all impressed with my pictures and experience, got me a pair of the red Baywatch shorts and put me to work right away.
After working on the series for almost two years, I attended a beach party. Being a professional photographer, I brought my camera along...taking pictures of Hasselhoff, Alexandra Paul, David Charvet and many other stars of the show. I was especially attracted to Chris, who attended the party dressed in his red Baywatch shorts, Baywatch tee shirt, white athletic socks and sneakers. Being a consummate leg lover, I noticed Chris's well-proportioned kneebacks. I also noticed that his legs had virtually no hair! That meant getting a mouthful of tender, meaty thighs and calves without getting any hair stuck between my teeth. And those kneebacks!!! So tan and firm. Fine, delicious licking material for any male's tongue!
But, first...I had to get Chris alone...someplace where we wouldn't be in the public eye. I went into the Headquarters building and down to the locker room. After fifteen minutes of not being among the participants at the party, Chris came into the Headquarters looking for me. Calling out my name and getting no reply, Chris came downstairs and entered the locker room. He looked around in the light that was able to enter the darkened room from the hallway. Chris reached for the switch to turn on the light, only to be met with darkness...thanks to my removing the bulb.
"Sasha, are you in here?" he asked.
"I'm over here", I replied softly, as though I had fallen and was barely conscious.
Chris walked deeper into the locker room, distancing himself from the door beyond which was the only light that filtered into the room. The deeper he walked into the room, the darker the room became. His eyes tried in vain to accustom themselves to the darkness. But try as he could, Chris could not see anything in the ethereal darkness.
Then, suddenly...
The strike which forced him to fall prone on the floor came from nowhere. The new light which filled the darkened locker room came from a battery-operated overhead lamp. The switch that turned it on was in my hand. I walked over to the opened fuse box and screwed the fuse into the place...the fuse which would brighten the rest of the locker room. I closed the box and turned my attention back to the prone figure of Chris on the locker room floor, his tanned kneebacks facing the ceiling.
I knelt down beside the unconscious form, my outstretched hands feeling the smooth meat. Then, I stretched myself out prone, my own kneebacks facing the ceiling, stuck out my tongue and, gingerly, licked the thighs, calves and kneebacks of my unconscious friend. Before I rose to my feet, I puckered my lips and kissed the handsome kneebacks.
I then rose to my feet and left the locker room, turning back to look once more at the prone, unconscious form of Chris Winston. Smiling, I walked out of the Headquarters and returned to the party on the beach, turning to look every once in a while to watch for Chris coming out of the building and returning to the party himself. He saw me standing there, drinking an ice cold bottle of water. He came over to me and asked me where I had been. I told him that I went to the mens room and then returned to the party. Believing me, Chris went back to enjoying the party himself, never realizing that I was the one who knocked him out so that I could partake in licking his delicious thighs, calves and kneebacks.
BOBBY SHERMAN
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| My cousin told me how he wished he could have partaken in this! |
My cousin in South Florida once told me that he had always admired Bobby Sherman's legs when he had seen pictures of him wearing a swim suit. He said that he searched all over to find one of the then-28-year-old actor and singer laying on his stomach near a pool. He was totally excited when that picture showed the back of his right leg. He then waited for over twenty years until that same picture was published on the internet with the ability to enlarge it as big as he wanted so as to beautifully accentuate handsome kneeback and delicious-looking meaty thigh and calf.
He sent this picture to me, knowing full well that I would enjoy looking at this picture of meat, even though it was forty-six years old and in unappetizing black and white...and he was right!
Today, the owner of the leg in the picture above is a 75-year-old father of two sons and a grandfather of six. He is also a police lieutenant but still finds time to indulge in his original love...singing onstage.
This photo of Jon Herrmann's legs appeared as part of a full-body picture on the cover of a L.A. magazine called Male Model Scene in March, 2015. When I saw it, I knew I just had to enlarge it and add it to my online picture collection. I just loved looking at this young piece of meat. But what really attracted me was the handsomeness of what I saw between the shorts and athletic socks.
But, as much as I loved looking at the thighs and calves, what I really loved and enlarged were the beautiful kneebacks. It turned out Jon was the one model who loved showing the back of his legs to the camera.
He sent this picture to me, knowing full well that I would enjoy looking at this picture of meat, even though it was forty-six years old and in unappetizing black and white...and he was right!
Today, the owner of the leg in the picture above is a 75-year-old father of two sons and a grandfather of six. He is also a police lieutenant but still finds time to indulge in his original love...singing onstage.
JON HERRMANN
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| A little thin...but still well-built and delicious-looking! |
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| A pair just waiting to be slurped! |
