Briefs’ Brazen Salute
Oh, briefs, a cotton cage stretched taut as a drumskin’s beat,
They cradle the bulge like a sculptor’s fist, fierce in their tight retreat,
A swollen mound rises, a proud hillock beneath the white-hot seam,
It strains against the weave, a pulsing knot in morning’s steamy gleam.
Elastic snaps like a hunter’s bow, biting hips with savage grace,
The outline juts, a meaty ridge, framed in a fabric embrace,
No fold can tame its hefty thrust, no shadow dims its reign,
A primal crest that greets the dawn, bold in its coiled strain,
Through quiet rooms or locker haze, it stands unbowed and true,
A briefs-clad titan, raw and ripe, bathed in sweat’s fresh dew.
Swim Trunk Swagger
By the pool’s chlorinated kiss, swim trunks cling like a siren’s snare,
A nylon shroud of cobalt or lime, dripping wet with brazen flair,
The bulge blooms bold, a sodden peak crowned with water’s sheen,
A hefty swell that parts the waves, majestic and serene.
Drawstrings sag beneath its weight, outlining girth in liquid hue,
It bobs with every stroke, a buoyant beast breaking through,
Chlorine beads like pearls on its curve, a trophy of the deep,
A glistening arc that mocks the tide, fierce in its watery keep,
On sun-scorched decks, it dries and struts, a king in summer’s glare,
A swim trunk saga, vivid and vast, rippling through the air.
Jean Jock’s Throne
Denim grips like a blacksmith’s clamp, faded gray as a thunderhead,
The bulge reigns supreme, a rugged knot where thighs and pelvis wed,
Stitching groans beneath its heft, rivets gleam like steely stars,
A thick ridge pulses with each stride, a denim-wrought memoirs.
Worn patches stretch over its swell, a canyon carved in blue,
It prowls through dust and gravel paths, a rebel’s lusty cue,
Frayed seams bow to its command, a meaty throne laid bare,
A saucy bulk that grinds the day, wild in the open air,
Oh, jeans, you forge him like a blade, tempered in desire’s flame,
A streetwise bulge, rough and proud, staking its fierce claim.
Track Pant Triumph
Track pants drape in silken waves, a glossy shroud of midnight ink,
Yet tighten where the bulge commands, a hefty prize on passion’s brink,
It swells beneath the polyester sheen, a plump arc kissed by sweat,
A shadowed beast that sprints through dawn, too bold for regret.
Elastic cuffs cling to its base, framing girth in sporty vice,
It bounces with each pounding step, a rhythm fierce and nice,
No breeze can blur its vivid bulk, no fold can steal its might,
A juicy mass that stalks the trail, primal in the light,
Through misty fields or gym-lit nights, it strides with brazen cheer,
A track pant king, untamed and free, roaring far and near.
Shorts’ Summer Crown
Shorts of summer, khaki or mesh, ride high on sun-baked thighs,
A loose veil turned tight where the bulge defies,
It thrusts like a cannonball primed, kissed by noon’s relentless fire,
A sweaty heft that taunts the heat, stoked by raw desire.
Hems fray against its girth, a swollen prize in daylight’s blaze,
Through barbecues thick with smoke, it reigns in sultry ways,
The fabric clings, a shallow cave where dampness pools and grows,
A saucy knot of fleeting sun, vivid as the rose,
Oh, shorts, you crown him like a stag, rampant in the glare,
A bulge that roars of liberty, wild and debonair.
Boxer Brief Ballard
Boxer briefs stretch, a hybrid grip, black as a raven’s wing,
They mold the bulge like molten lead, a heavy, swaying thing,
A thick ridge ripples through the knit, crowned with cotton’s bite,
It lounges bold in twilight’s hush, a monarch of the night.
The pouch sags beneath its load, outlining every curve and vein,
It shifts with lazy swagger, a beast too grand to chain,
No seam can dull its meaty arc, no shadow cools its heat,
A boxer brief empire, fierce and full, pulsing to the beat,
In bedrooms dim or morning’s rush, it holds its regal ground,
A bulge of quiet majesty, rich and richly crowned.
Suit’s Subtle Swagger
A suit, tailored sharp as a razor’s edge, hugs hips with pinstripe guile,
It cloaks the bulge in woolen grace, yet hints at primal style,
A gentle swell stirs beneath the fly, a secret carved in gray,
A tender heft that whispers low, bold in a muted way.
Each step ignites a subtle bounce, a bulge that dares to tease,
It glides through boardrooms, sleek and sly, a wolf in polished fleece,
The zipper strains, a fleeting ridge, kissed by office light,
A hidden bulk of quiet power, stirring in the night,
Oh, suit, you mask him like a king, yet let the wild peek through,
A bulge of class and cunning, sharp as morning dew.
Jogger’s Jolt
Joggers flow in tapered streams, a soft cocoon of ash or teal,
Yet cinch where the bulge demands, a meaty truth too real,
It juts beneath the drawstring’s pull, a plump knot slick with sweat,
A bouncing mass that storms the park, fierce and unoffset.
Fleece hugs its girth like a lover’s grasp, tracing lines in dampened hue,
It leaps with every stride, a beast unbound, breaking dawn in two,
No wind can tame its vivid thrust, no pocket hides its play,
A jogger’s bold companion, loud in the sunlit day,
From trails to streets, it claims its reign, a pulse of primal cheer,
A bulge that sings of motion, vivid and severe.
Speedo’s Stark Glory
Speedo gleams, a lycra vise, red as a matador’s dare,
It grips the bulge like a vice of steel, brazenly bare,
A swollen crest surges forth, a torpedo in the pool’s embrace,
It cuts through water, a glistening spear, fierce in its race.
Wet fabric clings, a second skin, outlining every ridge and swell,
It dives and rises, a hydrodynamic king, too proud to quell,
No wave can blur its stark relief, no depth can steal its fire,
A Speedo’s stark confession, fueled by liquid desire,
On tiled decks, it struts and shines, a trophy of the lane,
A bulge of aquatic splendor, vivid as the rain.
Jockstrap Jubilee
Jockstrap, a warrior’s gear, straps taut as a bowstring’s hum,
It cups the bulge like a chalice of steel, a prize where passions drum,
A meaty mound thrusts through the pouch, kissed by locker steam,
It reigns in the gym’s raw haze, a gladiator’s dream.
Elastic bites into flesh, framing girth in rugged thread,
It swings with every squat, a beast too bold for bed,
No prudish veil can mute its roar, no cage can hold its might,
A jockstrap’s fierce legacy, glowing in the fight,
Oh, jock, you crown him like a god, rampant in the fray,
A bulge eternal, thick and wild, ruling night and day.
OxonWoods Man 
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