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.
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