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Upon entering the clearing, Jason found a group of men around a campfire. All of them shirtless and downing beers. There was a picnic table with ribs, steaks, fried chicken, and sausage along with collard greens.
All the men were big, some toned, others had some meat in their bones. But the ringleader was the biggest of them. Tall, six-five, groomed goatee and short cropped yet scruffy hair, black peppered with specks of grey.
Shirtless, just in jeans, he had big hairy gut that stuck out, drooping over the band. The denim of his jeans hug around his bbefy thighs and round meaty buttocks. His chest and arms were string, but softer from padding. He had a mischievous smirk to his face.
“And what is going on here?” Jason turned his flash light on. The men don’t seem bothered.
“Nothing worth trouble” the leader says, killing his beer and pats his gut. “Name’s Alcide Herveux. Me and my pack here are just having a good time.”
“Pack?” Jason puzzles.
“You know, me and the guys. Pal around, see who can eat and drink the most. So far I’ve remained uncontested!” With a heavy hand, he smacks his belly, and it jiggles a bit. “But, by the looks of you, I reckon you can give me a run for the money? What you say?” Gesturing a hand over to the food. “Sit down, have a plate and see if you can still see your toes when done?”
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