MH-447 Watersport
Watersport
Manhard
MH-447
Jeff Kinkaid
$1.95
FOREWORD
Well, it’s been one hell of a long time since we last heard from Jeff Kincaid—he’s the author of one of the biggest hard male action books Surrey House, Inc. ever put out: Officer Dick (MH403), the leather-and-sweat story of a young motorcycle cop and the four filthy, thick-muscled toughs who spread-eagled and gang-banged him from here to Tuesday. Jeff writes that kind of no-holds-barred book, as anybody who read his second, Manhard’s The Reamers (MH405), can tell you—nothing ever stood between those hot rods and their plans, not even when their plans were some of the most straight dudes who ever acted in front of a camera or sang rock in front of an audience of teeny-bopper chicks or fought for the heavyweight crown, not even when the stud standing in their way was the newest, heterosexualest member of the whole detective squad. What happened to Officer Dick happened like crazy to Detective Sergeant Deke Morressey, too. Sure did.
We looked forward to Jeff’s third with hard expectations ready, watched the incoming mail almost every day. Nothing. No book. No word. A couple of months went by; we were beginning to think there wouldn’t be any new manuscript out of S.F. We needn’t have worried, Jeff was just out doing a little personal research on the new one and, well, he… got involved. Who wouldn’t, out there in the schools finding out about the young dudes and what really goes on in the gyms, in the locker rooms, in the coach’s offices. The only thing Jeff won’t tell us is which town this story really took place in, and maybe that’s a good thing, maybe the city fathers wouldn’t want to know who they’re entrusting their teen-age sons to.
But the foam on top of the pool isn’t just churning water, it’s hotter and thicker and whiter and it’s being manufactured in the balls of a whole horny team of bare-assed varsity swimmers who don’t hide their lust from anybody. Especially not the new boy, the young kid named Tommy, just barely fifteen and already as big as the best of them where it counts. No wonder Jack, the raunchy captain of the team, had to crush that smooth young unblemished boy-skin against his high-arched, hair-swirled barrel chest, had to teach him the joys of boy-boy sex in the locker room, legs splayed, asshole up and vulnerable. And what difference did it make that Tommy didn’t want to do that, not at first? He’d come around; Jack knew that. They all came around. The whole team came around. So if they were good, man, Tommy’s one-owner butt would be their reward…
It’s another rough Jeff Kincaid original at last, the smell of sperm and smegma just steaming off every single page, every grunting thrust slapping home. And the best part about it is that Jeff’s fourth won’t be far behind; he’s promised it soon and he swears it’ll be just as funky as always. If it’s anywhere near as cock-sure as Watersport, it’ll be worth waiting for.
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