""Heart of Glass" began to play and even more dancers squeezed onto the already jammed-up dance floor. A long tall dude the color of a Hershey's semi-sweet bar strode over to where I stood. He had cheekbones clear up to his temples and the whitest smile I had ever seen. He was shirtless, and as long-muscled as a greyhound, every ripple in his chest and stomach accentuated by the party lights and a sheen of sweat. His levis hung precariously low on his slim hips, inviting the eyes downward toward a bulge that was, to say the least, impressive. I thought, "wow.""
Chapter 45 of Larry Duplechan's Eight Days a Week: