Beauty Of Raw Photography Pt 01

Things have been tight at home, and I need to make additional money to support my dad. Right now, I work from home at a small-scale data company conducting market research on consumer products. I never planned on pursuing this career route, but my dad was too important to me.

I don't make enough money doing what I do, which is a problem because I don't even make ends meet. I need to do better for my father since he doesn't have much. I've lived with him my whole life to support him and his needs.

My name is Billy Williams. I am currently 43 years old and live in Louisville, Kentucky. I have a baby face with short, light blonde hair and glimmering blue eyes. If you saw me, you would probably refer to me as a chubby "Bubba" who is always rocking overalls. I have a high-pitched southern accent.

I am not super tall or hairy, and my pale skin glows brightly in the sun. That is how pale I am, which makes sense because I have worked remotely before the pandemic. I like to say I was one of the few trailblazers assumed to be "lazy" before it became a widespread working trend.

I needed to be creative and discover where I could generate supplementary income. I didn't have a diverse skill set besides computer and research skills. One day, I was scrolling through different ads online. I discovered a photographer stationed in Newburg, which wasn't very far from where I was. I was never confident with my body, but this may be a chance to get over that while making some cash. I needed to try.

I researched the photographer. His name was Anthony Johnson. He was a middle-aged bald chub like me, excluding the baldness, who started this photograph series to destroy the restrictive body standards men often experience. I went through a timeframe where I hated my body. It was almost a form of body dysmorphia.

I don't necessarily love my body right now. Still, I don't hate it, which is a good sign of progress, according to my previous therapist. It is something I am working on all the time. I just need someone to appreciate me for it.

After reading more about the series, I saw it included big, overweight guys, which excited me because this opportunity was what I was seeking. He didn't photograph men in the nude, which relieved me because I didn't want anyone to see my naked body. I wasn't proud of what I had down there.

Let's say my bum was hugely round and bubbled, and my junkular area wasn't close to average by any means. It wasn't a standard package and would be considered underwhelming. That is the only description I will be giving of it. Use your imagination.

I messaged Anthony and told him I was interested in being photographed. I sent him a couple of selfies, and he felt inspirited to photograph my body. The photoshoot would take around two hours, and I would receive $100.00 per hour. We scheduled the shoot for that Friday in the early evening, right before the sunset.

I asked him what I needed to bring, and his exact words were, "you only need to bring your adorable self to the studio."

That was sweet of him to describe in such a generous fashion. I really was flattered. I didn't know what to wear, so I just planned on wearing my typical overalls. After working a hectic job running dry research reports for our clients, I was ready for the weekend. On Friday, I drove to the address Anthony gave me. I was expecting a small rinky-dink studio, but it was pretty spacious and in a secluded spot.

This man had a delectable taste in interior decorating because the entire studio had an industrial style with bare bricks and metal lights that beamed in light orange tones. I walked inside this marvelous place, feeling a nice cool breeze. There were fountains with the sound of dripping water and large couches to relax on. He was playing ocean sounds in the background. Was this heaven? I thought it was just a studio.

I caught Anthony's wandering eyes, and he walked up to me to introduce himself. Wow, he was a colossal deity of a man. He was super tall, chubby, and had jewel-like green eyes that would probably glisten in the moonlight. He had a deep and gentle voice. He shook my hand, and I was impressed with his firm grasp.

Before I proceed further with the story, I must say I am not gay but have my curiosities. I would probably identify as bi-curious because I have never done anything with a man before. Still, the sight of a beefcake's body like Anthony's would cause my heart to melt. He wore blue jeans, a black shirt, and a red and black flannel. I wondered where his wooden ax was.

After he shook my hand, he made me twirl and told me I was "absolutely stunning." I blushed a bright shade of red and thanked him. He asked me if I needed anything before we started, like water. I told him I didn't and that he was very considerate. He laughed, said we didn't want any peeping toms in and closed the front door.

He had a white backdrop towards the back of the studio and placed two chairs near the camera. Whenever he photographs someone, he would like to know their story if they are comfortable sharing.

I didn't mind telling him at all. I told him my story about my dad and why I decided to reach out for the opportunity. He was very empathetic because his mother was sick, and he started this series to cover her insurance bills. He pays the models a portion of what he makes.

Still, most of the money he acquires comes from donors passionate about body positivity. I asked him why photography was his passion. I think what he started was excellent and brave, giving men the space to feel proud of their bodies.

The art of photography is what he appreciates, the capturing not of people or places but moments in time passed down from generation to generation. He had always had a knack for the camera and producing images since he started when he was really young. He recalls having a red room where he created the original photos himself.

People come and go in our lives, but the photograph can keep that specific, sentimental moment of them alive, even if they are no longer with us. He opened up about photographing his father and will always cherish their memories. The passing and grieving process was challenging for him, but photography helped heal his wounds. I thought that was inspiring. I told him about my mother's passing at a young age, which we emotionally bonded over.

I caught Anthony checking me out on many occasions. I could see he was trying to avoid eye contact when I noticed his blatant staring. I felt a little uncomfortable. He looked a little nervous. I thought I would photograph his clothes here, but he wanted me to stay in my regular garments. It was time to start, and I was scared.

He wanted me to be in my natural element to flaunt my most comfortable, authentic self. He started with essential photos of me smiling at the camera, looking to the right, and even with a severe demeanor. He positioned me in a wide range of angles and positions to show off the different parts of my body.

He was very calming and relaxing. He ensured I was okay, which made sense because I could imagine the many photographed people never liked their bodies. He told me there isn't beauty in the eye of the beholder. There is beauty in merely existing. Anthony had such raw wisdom that I wanted to explore. As we resumed, I didn't even think about the camera, just unaffectedly posing for Anthony and his creative lens.

He stopped me and told me he wanted to do something completely different than he ever did before. I was hesitant but felt brainwashed by this gentleman. He asked me if I could remove my shoes, which I did. He photographed me in my white socks. He then had me remove my socks. He closely photographed my bare feet.

After some time, he looked dubious but told me he wanted me to step out of my overalls. My eyes widened, and I sheepishly obeyed him and slowly removed them. Undoing each button felt like allowing myself to come through. Stripping for a man, specifically predominantly masculine, was new to me. He saw my little embarrassment but reassured me I was charming and cute.

I usually wouldn't be stripping for another man, but I felt tranquil in this safe space. I threw the overalls away from the backdrop. I was down to a light blue T-shirt with small tighty-whities, which was a little embarrassing. While he photographed me, he kept staring at my large body. He made me turn around and snap photos of my big butt.

Everything was going very smoothly. Anthony told me to take off my shirt then, and I did while smiling nervously at him. I felt a little giddy because no man has ever seen me this naked and vulnerable in an intimate, private setting. It was rousing and amplifying.

I took off my shirt and threw it in the little pile with my socks and overalls. Anthony saw my exposed chubby, pale, and smooth tummy. He said I had an adorable stomach. Coming close to me, this man photographed every angle of me in my underwear, the little tufts of hair on my chest, stretch marks by my sides, and the weird birthmarks on my back. He captured every detail with his camera.

He put the camera down and walked up to me. He gazed deeply into the stars of my eyes. He looked me up and down, eyeing my body while fully clothed. My heart was pounding because I didn't know what was happening. He gently held my chin with his right hand. He leaned in and was about to give me an affectionate kiss. I stood back, shocked, and looked at him concerningly and away.

He realized what he was about to do and profusely apologized. He said he didn't know what came over him, which was very unprofessional. He told me I could leave and still receive my total compensation. He left and brought me back some water. I told him it was okay because part of me didn't want him to stop.

I was just surprised and needed time to process what happened. The truth is, I've never shared a moment like that with another man. I shared this, and he understood where I was coming from. He said it took a long time to come to terms with his attraction to men.

I looked into his soul, felt his aura, and exclaimed I wanted to continue where we left off. He said he wouldn't try anything anymore. I smirked and said artists usually must be intimate with their models to comprehend the art truly. He laughed and said it was generally supposed to happen before, but he wanted to explore it if I was up for it. I really was and wanted to investigate this new sexuality. I don't know how I identified at that moment, but all I wanted was to explore Anthony more. It was time to create profound art with him.

Snap after snap! More shots of me in my underwear with nothing else. I felt more confident than ever to be silly and give him ridiculous poses. I told him I wanted to be modeled fully nude. He looked pleasantly surprised and waited for me to remove my chonies.

I wanted him to remove them because I needed his manly beefcake hands fondling and touching my privates. He looked dumbfounded and dragged his feet to me. He fell to his knees, rubbing my legs. He looked at me and asked if I was sure he could undress me. I was apparently nervous but told him I was more than ready.

He grabbed my underwear, hooked his thumbs in the tight waistband, and unhurriedly pulled them down. He saw the region where my little pubic hair grew. As he pulled them down further, my tiny, little penis bounced up in his line of sight. I was always ashamed of how small and short my penis was. I mean, it was really infinitesimal.

The baby dick guy from Scary Movie is way larger than me. I am also way smaller than Michelangelo's David. If things were like before for the Greeks, I would be the most worshiped man with the smallest penis among all men. I would be fed grapes while the world admired my little grape. It would be glorious and depresses me because I was born in the wrong generation. It was a pearl in a clam's shell.

I have watched some small penis humiliation porn, and they were even bigger than what I had or didn't have to offer. When Anthony reached for my little guy, he stopped pulling them down. He just silently goggled at the miniature pee-pee attached between my fat thighs.

He ogled every little detail about the humiliating, tiny half-inch Trolli worm. It was a sour brite crawler. He saw the strands of pubic hair longer than my acorn-like pee-pee and that I had no shaft, just a puny, teeny head glued to insignificant balls. As each soundless moment passed, my face burned with embarrassment as he looked at my soft, little baby boy penis. I could feel his breath hugging my little buddy. I thought I was ready, but now I was utterly humiliated and exposed by this daddy bear for having an underdeveloped lad.

I was visibly uncomfortable, but Anthony only noted my little sprout. Every nerve in my body convinced me to cover up the little pecker, so this hunk wouldn't have to see me in my diminutive state. I couldn't take it anymore, so I quickly yanked my underwear down to my ankles, came out of them, and covered my undersized pud with both hands.

I was positive Anthony thought I looked pathetic. The truth is, who wouldn't? He probably didn't want anything to do with me anymore after seeing me in my natural invertedness. Anthony got up and asked me what was wrong. I told him I was embarrassed because my penis was beyond tiny. I would never admit my little secret but felt safe enough to. I looked absurd, covering my smallish sausage like an overgrown child with a little patootie.

I told Anthony how my dad always played pitiless pranks on me growing up. Even today, he finds ways to embarrass me. The worst one was when he held my university graduation party. Several of my friends from school and family friends we would go off-roading with were there. Most were in the pool except for a couple of people, and I was only in my swim trunks, ready to jump while everyone chanted my name. I was happy with where I was in my life.

Before I jumped in, my dad sneakily came behind me. He yanked my trunks down to my ankles, exposing my scared innie to everyone. Everyone started laughing and pointing at my baby dick, and I heard cat-call whistles and hooting from my so-called friends. My father looked over and saw my basically flat front. Hearing ridiculous unmanageable laughter coming from his arrogant self was painful.

I looked down and was petrified to see my trunks by my ankles. I couldn't see my little, inch-less penis because my gut was so big. I felt so exposed, especially since I had a massive crush on my best female friend, Lilah Corey. I saw her giggling excruciatingly hard at my miniature mushroom cap.

I tried to cover the scared, little pinky baby, but he held my arms behind my back. I was the most embarrassed I had ever been as I stood there while people who weren't in the pool took photos. Some were awful closeups, which haunt me to this day. They were shared all over the internet.

You could probably still find the photos on small dick sites and blogs. He asked them if they shot good images, which they said perhaps. They weren't sure if you would be able to see my entire package, which made everyone laugh. After that, he pushed me in, so I was completely nude in the pool.

I begged everyone to hand me my trunks, but no one did. They taunted me with them. I was teased mercilessly, and even some pinched my little coin cell battery-sized nubble.

Mostly everyone waited for me to get out. So I had to pick myself up the pool ladder, ultimately revealed, wet, and shriveled up for mirthful pleasure. That is the only type of pleasure my little one can produce. No physical pleasure, just sheer entertainment. I covered up my small ding-a-ling like it even mattered. Everyone already saw the ChapStick tube. As I ran to my room to put clothes on, someone slapped my bouncing ass. I could hear their laughter while I was putting clothes on.

I came back and was constantly made fun of. I was asked repeatedly to pull it out, how big it got, and where it was since it was hidden and buried. I was pantsed several times. They said it was strange I was born with two belly buttons. One said they didn't know how I could make love with my impossibly tiny nugget.

Everyone was cackling and wheezing so hard that I also heard pig-like snorts. I didn't understand what was so funny. I knew it was tiny, but their laughter was dramatic and over the top.

One of my good friends laughed and said, "damn, dude, I always thought mine was small, but really, yours is insanely tiny compared to mine. I feel so much better about my own now. Sorry, little dude."

My little incher and I were the stars that night and had everyone's attention. There really is such a thing as bad publicity.

Everyone was indeed proud of me but never let me live that moment down. Needless to say, I was friend-zoned by Lilah because I am guessing she needed a hung dude to satisfy her. Most guys have a hammer, while I have a little nail. That was something my toy-sized drill could never do.

Everyone was gone except for Lilah. We were alone in the backyard, and she gave me a little kiss on the cheek. She graced her hand over my baby dinky and gave me a cute snicker.

A whisper fell upon her lips, "I don't even feel anything in your pants. Take off your clothes because I want to closely inspect your goods."

Luckily, dad left for the store, giving us some privacy. He probably didn't think I would get any action. I was reluctant, so Lilah took off her bikini, showing off her sexy, naked body. My jaw practically hit the floor seeing her tight, little body dance in front of me.

She jumped into the pool and motioned for me to join her. Steadily, I took off my clothes little by little. I was down to my underwear, and seeing me like this gave her a racy smile. Seeing my resistance, she hopped out of the pool. I watched her wet, bouncing tits come toward me.

She wanted to see what I wasn't packing by yanking down my underwear to my big ankles, putting my little penis in her view. She looked down and outright laughed at my nonexistent dick in my face.

"Wow, there is the wittle guy who bravely endured such mean comments. You poor thing. Oh my god, my titty is bigger than your little guy, Billy."

She pushed me into the pool and came in after. She kissed me all over. Swimming underwater, she placed her soft, sugary lips over my half-pinky chode, and I could barely breathe. This was the first time a girl put my imaginary penis in her mouth. It felt astronomically delightful to have my little dick swallowed in her euphoric pussy.

She told me her secret, "I've wanted you for a while now, but I need a real man to do what you could never do with your tiny dicklette. I truly am sorry. I wish things were different."

She gave me another kiss and left for the evening. We both got out of the pool. She looked at me as I walked toward her. She told me to walk her to her car. She stopped me from putting my clothes on. She said she wanted me to walk her out naked. There was no way, but I wanted to obey her every word. She held my hands as we walked to her car, which prevented me from covering myself. I was so nervous someone would see me in the nude.

She said with a wink, "congratulations on graduating. I hope you find someone that will enjoy you," as she flicked my little guy back and forth.

The rejection hurt because she was indeed into me, but I fell flat in the most crucial department area. I was lost in space, thinking about everything, forgetting where I was. One of my neighbors was out for a walk.

She looked at me and laughed, "Billy boy, what are you doing running around naked with your little thing sticking out? I am an 80-year-old woman and bigger than you."

Things started to settle in, and reality smacked me in the face. I covered my little dick and ran like the wind for my front door. I could still hear her resounding laughter as I left.