A Few Small Changes

Not that Chris Pratt would ever pass up the opportunity for a good photoshoot, but he could tell this one was fishy right from the get go. For starters, there was only one photographer. He told him to meet in a small, concrete warehouse on the far side of town. But the real kicker were the wardrobe requirements: no shirt.

Still, Chris was ridiculously proud of his body. He always loved the chance to show it off, he had worked so hard building up all that muscle for Jurassic World and Guardians of the Galaxy. He wasn’t going to just let it disappear behind a shirt.

When he arrived, he found the photographer waiting outside. To Chris’ relief, the guy was actually pretty young. He might have even called him attractive—if he were into guys.

They walked inside the building, where the young man had set up some lights and a white backdrop. “Right over there please,” he said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the white. “And, um…”

“Shirt. Right.” Chris pulled his t-shirt up over the top of his head, and saw the young man’s face grow red. The poor kid was almost shaking as he set up the camera. “Everything okay?” Chris asked.

The young man nodded. “Sorry, I just haven’t tried this on anyone before.”

The answer perplexed Chris. Was he talking about photography? Something else? “Put your hands above your head,” the young man said. And Chris obeyed, because this clearly wasn’t some kind of a trap. This was clearly just a kid with little experience who was—

FLASH.

He felt it almost instantly. It was as if someone had lit his chest on fire. He wondered for a second if that was the case, but then he looked down and saw something even more unbelievable.

Hair. Thick, brown hair. It startled him because he knew he had trimmed just this morning—for this very reason. And yet, with just one flash of the camera, Chris Pratt’s chest had sprouted a fresh crop of handsome hair.

He looked up at the photographer, still behind the camera. “Um, I think something’s—“

FLASH.

The second picture. This time, the changes were more gradual. More subtle. Almost too subtle, because Chris didn’t know his body was changing until he felt one of his biceps touch his cheek.

But I didn’t move my arms… Chris thought. He looked down. Muscles were rippling and inflating all over his body. He stumbled back. Abs that were previously covered in a thin layer of fat were now so pronounced, he could open a bottle between them. His thighs had become so thunderously large that he could hear the seams of his jeans straining to keep them in. And his pecs… well, now it was impossible to ignore all that hair, when they now jetted so far away from his chest.

“What’s happening to me??” Chris shouted, confused. As the photographer peeked out from behind the camera.

He cleared his throat. “It’s a special kind of camera, you see,” he said in a mousy voice, “instead of manipulating exposure, ISO, etc. I can manipulate what’s in front of the camera. Not that you need too much manipulation. I’m just making a few small changes.”

“Few small changes?” Chris laughed, “they might seem small to you but to me? I… I look like the dumb hunk on the cover of a gay men’s magazine!”

The photographer stopped. Then smiled. “That’s because you are, sweetheart. Now: smile!”

FLASH.

As the light slipped all over the dark room, as it enveloped Chris’ vision and lingered on the surface of his eyes, he felt a knot twist in his stomach. Then, it began to vanish. With it, all worries, all apprehensions, all the fear that he had coming into the photoshoot today.

And as the light continued to dance on the corners of his vision, Chris felt a brand new sensation, a tingling around his crotch whenever he looked up and saw the photographer. His perfect young physique, beautiful skin and timid smile. It was the first flashes of lust. Towards another man.

“Feel better?” the photographer asked, but he didn’t need an answer to know: just three pictures with his special camera, and he had turned Hollywood pretty boy Chris Pratt into a dumb, hairy, gay muscle model. And he could do with him whatever he liked.

“I’m kind of tired,” Pratt said seductively. He nodded to the back room of the building, “what do you say you take off your shirt and take this new body for a ride?”

The young photographer smiled. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, “but first, let me get one more picture. Now that I’ve got you right where I want you. No more changes.”

Pratt nodded, instinctively throwing his titanic arms up above his head and striking a pose, smoldering into the camera like this was his only job. Because from now on, it would be.

FLASH.