One might consider me a connoisseur. I am a connoisseur of cock: hard cocks, soft cocks, cut cocks, uncut cocks, big cocks, little fat ones, straight cocks, arched or curved cocks, definitely thick cocks. They say, "Variety is the spice of life". When it comes to the male sex organs, I like life very spicy. I like to look at, feel, smell, and taste well formed, animated, responsive cock. When attracted, I will be solicitous, affectionate, and pandering toward the cock, balls, bush, and ass of any man who meets my fancy. In the following account, I will confess more about my narcotic predilection toward the most vital part of those of my own gender.

An uncle of mine convinced me to spend time at his ranch out west. I managed to schedule my local clients' work over the longer term. Negotiating with neighbors to tend and house sit my rural property, I hastily packed my small car for the cross-country trip. I had convinced myself I need the change of scenery. In the month or six weeks I would spend with my uncle, I agreed to organize his business data to be automated using a well-known accounting and small business software package in exchange for his hospitality. Upon arrival, I found the wide open vista of green sloping valleys surrounded by the rugged snow capped mountains a pleasing change from the close and cramped steep and deciduously dense hills, partitioned by the narrow "hollers", so typical of my Appalachian environs. I also noticed the diligent ranch hands were not unpleasant for my perusal. One in particular warranted a double take. He seemed to this easterner almost a stereotype of western outdoor masculinity and then some. His jeans were decidedly tighter than the others wore, flatteringly outlining outstanding definition in thighs, narrow hips, bubble butt, and front bulge. By mid day his western cut plaid flannel or denim shirt was unbuttoned half way down, revealing a breathtaking spread of chest hair up to a collarbone stretched to connect to strong broad shoulders.

The hair on his chest matched the close-cropped dark brown head of hair, festooned with well-cropped sideburns. Piercing brown eyes set off by distinct high cheekbones characterized a perpetually sensuous expression. The incessant teasing he endured from his mostly older workmates triggered him to frequently break out in a sunny but rugged and toothsome smile. Arriving on the premises at dawn for a pancake breakfast, he would sport a Stetson that would seem at least one-quarter size too large. His elaborately patterned freshly polished cowboy boots would always be dirty and scuffed by day's end. He would be accused of donning this impractical garb to suit the fancy and whims of his "lady". "Boy, you might take a lot of crap to get some pussy, but take it from some old ranch fuckers; you don't want to let yourself get whipped." The way they would feign real concern, mouthing this advice with their colloquial drawls, had an especially comic effect.

I was prepared to take risks to see more of this manly beauty. I would watch carefully to note where these "dudes" would take breaks to pee in the open. I hoped that I would be able to detect a distinct pattern in his urinating routine. I would be able to position myself seemingly innocently at a point in front of where he would thrillingly withdraw from his tight garments that concealed prize that would be the object of my focused study. In defeated frustration, I could discern no consistent movements to gratify