Chuck: A Photo Booth Outtake (musc mc)

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As Chuck Briggs sat at the nightclub amongst a sea of women, he could only think of his father. “Go get some buddies in your life, boy! Play football! Take a carpentry class! Just hang out with some men, for God’s sakes!”

Chuck had pretended not to hear him. But as the years marched on, and his number of female friends grew while the male number dwindled, Chuck justified it by saying he became friends with souls, not with sexes. It didn’t matter that all of his friends were women, it only mattered that he had friends, right? Despite being 26 years old, Chuck was a shy soul who had never dated anyone and didn’t even know if he was gay or straight. He didn’t know if his attraction to women was as a friend or a lover, and he didn’t know if, when he noticed a man, he was noticing a potential buddy or a potential boyfriend. He just…noticed.

But as Chuck sat in the middle of a bachelorette party, the lone representative of his sex, he began to wonder if he’d maybe let things get a little out of control.

He knew all the women, they were his friends and they loved him and he loved them. But tonight was a little much. The sex toys made him feel uncomfortable and the boozy flirting with all the men in the club made him feel horribly jealous and excluded. Why didn’t girls ever flirt with him?

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Chuck announced to no one in particular, and he walked into the night and lit up.

“’eyyyy bro, can I bum one o’ dem cigs?”

Chuck turned and saw a massive Italian stallion next to him. Really handsome with dark features, unbelievably tanned skin and a big greasy black pompadour. Their heights were comparable, but the guido bouncer was easily twice as wide as Chuck. All the juicehead’s muscles were on display, as his shirt only had two buttons fastened, the two lowest ones right by his belt. The rest of the shirt was pulled wide to showcase the thick, oily slabs of meat that bulged out of every corner of Vinnie Cassarino’s blown-out, bulky body. The big collar framed his tree-trunk neck. It was a white club shirt, with a really fine floral pattern, but it was at least two sizes too small. Chuck could see the bouncer’s veins underneath the fabric.

When Vinnie gratefully took a cigarette, Chuck caught sight of “D&G” embroidered on the cuff of Vinnie’s long sleeve. He then felt pangs of jealousy as he watched the bouncer light the cig, the gesture curling Vinnie’s arm into a basketball-sized shape.

“Thanks so much, bro, really ‘ppreciate it,” Vinnie grinned. The accent tumbling from his thick lips was so heavy that Chuck could barely understand it. As the bouncer continued to talk, Chuck was pretty sure Vinnie was explaining that he didn’t normally smoke, and then he assumed Vinnie made a joke, because the big Italian laughed and smacked Chuck on the back, nearly knocking him over.

Vinnie felt a couple drops of water hit his face. “Aw, fawck, rainin’? Fawck,” he cursed.

“Hey, is that mall open?” Chuck gestured over to the lit-up shopping mall, a parking lot’s distance away. “I wanna walk around to clear my head a little bit but if it’s starting to rain…”

“Nah, yeah, it’s open,” Chuck heard the bouncer say. He tried to interpret through the thick accent and all the slang. “Some stores might be closed, but you can probably buy an umbrella or sumpthin’.”

Vinnie sauntered back to the awning over the club’s entrance. “Thanks for the smoke, bro.”

“No problem,” Chuck responded softly, mesmerized by the power that Vinnie’s body held. The man looked like he could overturn a car. Vinnie went back to checking IDs and keeping out the uggos, and Chuck darted across the parking lot as the rain began to come down.

The mall was kind of spooky at night. Not many people were there, and most of the stores had their metallic gating down, so Chuck just wandered and acknowledged the occasional passerby. He was reflecting on his lack of male friends, and worrying about his masculinity, when he saw an old wooden photo booth. A little girl put a quarter in and was about to step inside when her mother pulled her away, saying it was raining and they needed to get home. The girl screamed and cried that she had wasted a quarter, and the mother quickly provided another as a replacement, saying they’d come back another day. Chuck watched the scene from afar.

The girl and the mother had disappeared from view when Chuck turned back to look at the booth. The curtains of the booth were open and Chuck saw the booth begin the session, unaware that it had no occupant, of course. A flash popped, like a quick strobe, and Chuck winced in surprise despite being several yards away.

“Should be getting back,” he mumbled under his breath, and he broke off in a brisk jog out of the mall and across the parking lot as the rain came down. Chuck’s gorgeous white teeth were locked in a grimace as he jogged. His balls felt twisted inside his terribly tight pants, and every step shot a jolt of pain through him. His feet hurt, his back ached, even his chest felt a little tight. He undid some buttons on his shirt to loosen it up. Probably gonna be an early evening if this old man shit keeps up…

Chuck cursed under his breath as he saw that a line had formed behind the velvet rope outside of the club. He took one step past the line when he saw a man in a pinstriped suit shake his head ‘no,’ so Chuck begrudgingly stood in the back of the line, fidgeting with his nutsack and trying to inconspicuously adjust himself.

“’eyyyy, ‘ey, he’s cool, he’s cool,” Vinnie said loudly, motioning for Chuck. Chuck smiled his pretty Colgate smile and walked over to the musclebound guido. Built like a brick shit house, what a strong bloke, Chuck thought to himself, realizing briefly that it was a rather odd way of saying the bouncer was a muscular guy. But whatever. As he breezed past, Vinnie stuck an arm out. “Hold up, brah, my boss is over there, I gotta check your ID again just for appearance, kapeesh?”

“No drama, mate, no worries,” Chuck said congenially, making full eye contact for the first time with the bouncer as he handed over his driver’s license.

“Charles, huh?” Vinnie grinned. “That’s my cousin’s name. There ya go, Charles.”

Charles took his ID and shook the bouncer’s hand, iron grip matching iron grip. “Thanks heaps, mate, didn’t want to miss the rage in there.”

As Charles re-entered the club and craned his neck to see where the ladies were, the lights of the club flashed extra brightly and he stumbled back, briefly shocked.

After a few blinks, Charlie’s vision re-adjusted to the contrast of the dark club against the bright white lights. His big ol’ cock felt a little better, but his shirt was now bunching up under his arms and around his shoulders, and he awkwardly hunched to avoid ripping the fabric. Charlie unbuttoned the shirt down to his navel and pulled it open wider to let his chest breathe. The rainwater sat on his skin and made it glisten, made his muscles look really pretty and cut. Not that he had huge muscles…his pecs and abs were only just visible, not huge or ripped or anything, but he certainly wasn’t fat. He’d inherited wide shoulders from his father and a narrow waist from his mom, so his natural V was enough to fool people into thinking he was in better shape than he actually was.

Charlie plopped his tall frame back into his seat in the private booth where his friends were partying.

“Hi, gorgeous, we missed you,” a redhead he didn’t recognize said to him. “Just freshening up, huh?” She placed a hand on his chest and began massaging. Charlie was surprised at how much movement her hand created – maybe his pecs were bigger than he remembered…

Charlie smiled nervously. “Just took a short break, yeah, but didn’t want to miss this rip snorter.”

She giggled drunkenly. “God, I LOVE your accent! I just want to make you talk to me so I can hear it.”

“My accent? Huh?”

She yanked out a small point-and-shoot digital camera, and without asking, pressed her face against his and took a picture of the two of them. The club’s blaring music drowned out the man’s pained groan of surprise.

He bent over and rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, should’ve asked,” she slurred. “You’re just so cute.”

Char had never thought of himself as cute, but when the redhead showed him the camera’s small display, he had to admit he was really attractive. Big white teeth cocked in a half-smile, framed by dimples. His nose was sharp, his cheeks were sharp, his jaw was extra sharp. The flash of the camera illuminated the vibrant grass-green color of his eyes.

“Oh nooo, your shirt ripped,” she laughed, and he reached his hands behind his back to finger the tattered cloth. “I bet you meant to do that,” she whispered in his ear. “But I won’t tell. You have a nice back. You have, like, muscle lumps on it that I’ve never seen on guys…” She guffawed at her own inarticulateness. “Muscle lumps?! Ha! Listen to me! God, I’m drunk…”

Char’s breathing was shallow and confused. He could feel his chest rising and falling as he inhaled and exhaled, and it felt so weird, so different. When he looked down at the open shirt, he saw two large pecs, striated and square, and a washboard eight-pack. He felt the grooves of his abs and smiled, just a little. “I didn’t mean to rip it, I really didn’t. I swear.”

She yanked his shirt off and exposed his torso. His arms were pumped, his chest high and proud, his back and shoulders big and surprisingly wide. Char had an impressive physique, there was no doubt. The baby oil smeared on it really showcased his muscles, too.

In surprise, Char leapt to his feet and tried to escape, but he got tangled in all the legs that were stretched from couches and tables around him. His arms swung and he almost fell, making him look like a newborn giraffe struggling to walk.

He heard all the voices chattering.
“Look, I can see his whale tail!”
“That’s so funny!”
“Quick, quick, give me a bill.”

Char felt the waistband of his underwear get yanked up, fabric digging into his ass as something slid against his skin. Reflexively, he stuck his hand into his underwear and pulled out a five-dollar bill. He stared at it crumpled in his hand, confused, and looked around the crowd of women. They all had those little fucking cameras in their hands, like a school of piranha about to attack. He shut his eyes as hundreds of flashes dug into his brain.

The first thing Chad felt was the fabric of his thong being swallowed by his two ass cheeks swelling. His jeans began to rip and he struggled to take them off, his inhibitions quickly dissolving as he fought to just make himself feel comfortable. But the movements he had to make as he disrobed, well, they were odd to Chad. He bobbed his hips one way, then the other, then he rolled his torso back and forth and thrust his crotch forward, bucking like a bull at a rodeo.

When the jeans finally hit the floor, Chad looked down at his gorgeous, tanned, oily body. Every muscle bulged with dedication. It was one of the best bodies he’d ever seen – maybe even the best. Like a magazine cover, but so much more vivid in person. Chad couldn’t find one flaw with himself.

He felt crinkles when he moved and noticed dozens of dollar bills stuffed underneath the flimsy strap of his black thong, like a wreath of green around his waist. The slip of fabric in between his butt cheeks wasn’t even visible; it had disappeared underneath the two basketballs he called glutes. His penis bulged obscenely outward, bundled inside the small black triangle on the front of the thong, threatening at any moment to slip out. His considerable manhood was explicitly obvious and completely inappropriate. He pulled another single out of his thong and looked at it, realizing he owed these ladies something.

Eying the redhead, who he knew was into him, Chad headed over and straddled her, swinging his hips around and around and grinding his crotch into hers. She squealed with delight and didn’t know where to stare at first. Sure, his body was heavenly, but his face was so hot and manly - his strong cheeks, jaw and chin, and his sweet full-tilt grin, with the dimples that were downright boyish. The spiky blond hair on his head looked great in the lights.

Another flash threw the buff stripper for a moment, but he quickly regained his rhythm. Chadwick’s body swelled in response, going from the lean and lithe muscles of a dancer to the bigger, bulkier body of a man’s man – a man who had grown up working construction with his father. “Ooooh,” he moaned as his eyes rolled back, feeling his skin stuffing itself with power. Inch after inch of beef was added to his arms and chest as they burst outward, putting him just a few notches shy of the size of a true bodybuilder. Chadwick knew that if he grew any bigger, he’d lose the mobility he needed for his profession. His crotch swelled larger and more erect, and he moved his feet further apart to make room for his enormous thighs. Even his feet cracked four sizes bigger.

The redhead reached to yank down his thong and expose his cock, but Chadwick gently swatted her hand away with a smirk. “Not yet, sweetie,” he said in the impossibly thick Australian accent that drove his clients wild. “We’re in public now. That’s for the show in the hotel room later.”

She giggled and he turned his 6’1”, 220-pound bulk around, shaking his ass back and forth in her face. She smacked it playfully and watched him entertain the other women, curling his arms into a flex and licking his biceps, running his large hands around the planes of his magnificent body.

The cameras popped and Chadwick loved the adoration that his beauty got. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, with people paying to worship him and ogle his Down Under hotness. He didn’t even feel like he was working at all, gyrating and showing off.

“Now, which one of you lucky ladies is the bride-to-be?”

A woman on the other side of the group turned red and raised her hand. Chadwick smiled wolfishly and headed her way, leaving a trail of dollar bills in his wake – his thong was too stuffed to contain all of them.

“I saved the best dance for you, sweetheart,” the Aussie hunk grinned as he began to bob to the pulsing music. The girls all hooted and hollered as he began his dance, lost in love for his own body.

And back in the mall, a film strip printed out: six frames of a massively buff, tanned male stripper smirking cockily at the lens, his bare shoulders dripping with baby oil.

To be continued?