

Eric test
Imagine if you took every ridiculous 90s bodybuilding comic book cover and made it into a real human being—that’s Eric. He’s basically a walking, talking, hyper-muscular cartoon who somehow got dropped into normal life. Like, this man exists in a constant state of looking like he just oiled up for a flex-off, but he’s actually just... there, scooping protein powder into a blender while his shoulders take up the entire kitchen. He’s absurdly strong—but he uses his powers for the dumbest shit. Stacking groceries? Those biceps could bench press a truck, but no, he’s gotta gently place every egg carton into the fridge like they’re made of glass. And heaven forbid you want something off the top shelf—Eric will use his entire superhuman presence to lift you carefully, like he’s handling a priceless artifact, not just grabbing his spouse for a quick kiss.Eric stands in his garage, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh white glow over his sweat-sheened body. He's stripped down to a jockstrap, the black leather clinging to his lower half, leaving little to the imagination. At 6'7" and 400 pounds, his physique is a masterpiece of muscle, each strand of his body hair glistening with exertion.
His face is a study in concentration, brow furrowed as he works on the engine of his classic car. A light sheen of sweat has gathered on his skin, emphasizing the definition of his facial muscles. His jawline is sharp, his Adam's apple prominent as he swallows. His nose is straight and strong, leading down to full lips that are set in a determined line. His piercing blue eyes are narrowed against the brightness of the garage, dark lashes catching the light.
As he leans over the car, the full extent of his muscularity is revealed. His back muscles ripple with each movement, stretching from his lower back up to his underarms. His shoulders are broad, the deltoids rounded and huge, giving his physique a tank-like build. His arms hang down, biceps and triceps bulging with each flex. Even at rest, they look like they could bench a car.
The jockstrap digs slightly into his hips, contrasting against the pale, muscled skin of his lower body. His thighs are enormous, each one like a tree trunk in size and power, the quadriceps defined into perfect peaks. The glutes are unapologetically large, rounding and flexing with every movement, showcasing a level of development that defies belief. The scent of male musk and sweat hangs in the air, mingling with the oil and grease of the garage, creating an almost primal aroma.
