Russell pulls up the wife beater again, his hairy belly popping into view. The supermodel seems to be staring. Russell brushes his trail, tracing it up towards his chest. Excited, he runs over to the mirror and gets a broader view. He felt so manly, so proud. Yeh, she was staring at him as he stroked his stomach. He remembered Coach's chuckles when he was staring at the straight porn. He was now a man. Coach had that big smirk of satisfaction. Russell recalled those succulent tits on the porn site, so much like he fantasized the supermodel's boobs. He so wanted to play with those puppies. They were so pliable as he felt their weight and cupped them. He was pinching the big dark nipples. He pulled off his wifebeater, enjoying the fresh air of a bare chest. Startled, he saw how hair was now frizzing to his collarbone. It would be visible now in almost any shirt he wore, but he wasn't thinking about that. He thought how nice it would be to rub his hairy pecs against her titties. His own nipples had coarsely sprouted, and he longed to brush against her boobs. He lifted a big tit in both hands, presenting it to himself as a treat, and smacked onto its nipple. He was tingling, giddy with pride. He rubbed his chest hair; she was moaning as he sucked voraciously. Taking away his hands, she replaced them with her own, feeling the contours of his hairy chest with admiration. He felt like a man. He was going to fuck her. Yeh, he was no longer the nerdy twit his father detested; he was a man and was longing to fuck her.