Pecs. I love them.

    People who can transform into other people tend to have one part of a body they love. For me, dicks are cliché and ass is boring. I could see why people would like feet but I'm not that type of guy. But pecs. Sweet, sweet pectoralis major - the largest and superior muscle on the chest wall, that's where the gold is at.

    Whenever I transform into other people, my pecs are the first thing I change. The feeling of having your man-boobs stretch and get filled with dense muscles is one of the most euphoric feelings a man could feel. Oh, the joy of waking up knowing that you can grab and squeeze both jigglers.

    Most of the time, I like to keep them hairy. For me, hair in your chest exudes brimming manly strength. I like to cop a feel for my pecs and feel the light bristles of my hair run between my fingers. It's kind of therapeutic when I do that. Whenever I show them to other people, they either get intimidated or infatuated. I like both, but the latter gets you several invitations to the bedroom. When I do get invited, I always make sure to have my pecs satisfied.

    Although, there are times when I like the absence of hair. I assume it's a placebo, but I'm more sensitive when I lack hair. I moan immediately when someone's finger explores my pecs and nipples. How I'd squirm when they circled my areolas. Or how I'd get to my knees when their tongue prods my nipples.

    To make the best of both worlds, I like to keep a tiny patch of hair just between the two breasts. Such big and magnificent pectoralis pairs pretty well with a manly bearded face.

    It's always fun saying, "Hey, my eyes are up here," whenever someone stares at my rack. I love it more when I grab their hands and tell them that it's okay to squeeze them. The fluster on their faces is always a priceless thing to see.

    So, yeah. I'm the pecs guy. I love it. I'm practically obsessed with it. I don't think I'll ever change, and that's a good thing.