Jeff was an avid weight lifter and constantly worked out. For him it was a savage exercise and went nuts while doing it, so much so that he often broke the standard lifting equipment, and had his specially built by a welding shop in his town. It was sturdier and cost less than most commercial equipment.
While Jeff was lacking most formal social graces, he often made up for it with vulgar ones. What added to it was that he often seemed blissfully unaware that he was committing a social faux-pas. He would burp at the drop of a hat. Big loud ones that rang out across the room. He mouth would drop open and, like a frog, his cheeks puffed out and the great noise would erupt forth. Then he would settled back content like a great baby.
When he dressed and came to town, he dressed as was sensible for a farm. During winter he would show up in a large blue snowsuit, the whole body kind, and when he entered a building he undid the top part, letting it dangle behind him, like the train on a wedding dress. It was a sight to see, him walking around a bar full of uppity know-it-all college kids, with his blue train sloshing behind him. No one said a word.
And of course there was his penchant for poetry and large women. Plump, fat, rotund; whatever your pleasure, they were his. “I don’t like to hit bone.” He often said. I figured more power to him. Fat broads need lovin’ too. No that he shied away from skinny women, but just felt that they needed an adjustment. As he stated about one female friend, “Yep if she were mine I had have to keep her fully stuffed on both ends, mouth and pussy.” So when I say Jeff had a large porn collection, understand it was a large collection of fat women porn. His favorite star was an unbelievably huge female specimen right out of the Guinness Book of World Records, named Eartha Quakes. A bloated female with so much excess blubber that one part of her seemed to melt into another. The overall effect was a being who looked like an ancient monolithic stone representation of the Earth goddess, everything overblown and exaggerated. A twisted Pinocchio dream made manifest. Her skin was so pushed out that it was ruptured in many places, with purple bruise marks and stress lines crisscrossing haphazardly across her rolling frame. Jeff couldn’t get enough of her (unlike the rest of us), and she wasn’t alone in female porn stars. There is more fat chick porn than you would ever believe, and Jeff seemed to score every tape out there.
As those who’ve met him know, Jeff scared the hell out of people. He had an aura that they just found unsettling. I call it “pure country.” A stillness and acceptance of just letting things pass, that we “city folk”, who are always on the go, always working at things and having reasons for doing things, are completely unused to. Maybe it’s an animal nature that those who are used to waiting in the country have retained, and that we in the cities, used to getting everything instantly, have discarded. A hunting instinct. So just sitting back, saying nothing, and letting time pass was as natural to Jeff as a bullfrog catching flies. He was in no hurry.
This is part two of a six part series on this remarkable man.