With confidence, broad, square jaw and knowing gaze, Petty Officer Doyle exudes masculinity. His handsome face is that quintessential All-American military man, down to the deep carved dimples that are revealed when he flashes his killer smile. A charming and disarmingly frank about his role as a soldier, he tells his friends he made for life, as well as the bomb, "blow shit up!" With this much testosterone in the room, sometimes for some action, and Doyle gets down to the product. After taking off his button-down shirt, he paws at his pants, pulling the fabric to and fro, until something starts to move! On the hunt, his hand digs aggressively beneath the fabric. Doyle pulls his head fattened, mushrooms topped it engorged and shiny. His hips are compressed as he pulls the rigid shaft, each tug causing violent screech of friction. Doyle lies on his back, his pants to his ankles, pulling him meatslab with rapid bursts of intensity. His breathing quickens, and shine with the brilliance of his forehead, he hastily throws off his shirt. Doyle gets ballsack, kneading the flesh Wiley, as he pulls the tool. Its bulbous NaDS prick and tingling, almost ready to burst. Doyle pulls a hardened member as the head seems to focus on their goals. Suddenly his rocket shoots, clear across the bed, and thirst carpet below!