I’ve been imagining fashion model Ben Godfre
as a top shelf homoerotic wrestling god and behind-the-scenes power hitter for years. One glance at his Timoteo underwear shots
and I was hooked. Of course, my imagination transported him into a high stakes homoerotic wrestling universe in which Ben is the first in line among equals comprising the ranks of executive assistants to a post-apocalyptic titan who rules the world with the simple rule that the most arousing homoerotic wrestling performances are what really matters in the entertainment industrial complex. In the Producer’s Ring
in which this fictional version of Ben resides, the only audience that really matters is the gay wrestling kink audience.
In a further blurring of the lines between my fondest homoerotic fantasies and real life, 2012 saw the announcement
that Ben Godfre was leaving behind the world of between the lines innuendo and dipping his suckable right big toe in the gay porn world. I know, you’re thinking I’m delusional, and that my over-achieving erotic imagination has finally made me lose the ability to distinguish between fantasy and fact. You’re wrong (this time). Ben not only signed a contract with Raging Stallions/Falcon Studios
, he wrote, directed, and starred in his own solo porn production
successfully released last month. My friends, this is starting to line up very nicely with the wildly successful career path I pictured for Ben three years ago in my fiction! Coincidence? Most likely. Then again…*
When the doorbell rang at about 6 pm on New Year’s Eve, the surprise wasn’t that Ben Godfre was standing on my doorstep. His agent called ahead to let me know to expect him and his posse of skater boy fashion models planning on co-opting my place to do their New Year’s Eve damage. No, the surprise was that there was no “posse.” There was just this stunningly handsome, six-foot stud, milky hazel eyes, mussed dark brown hair, painted on black jeans, tank top. Now, to clarify, I wasn’t disappointed, of course. Just surprised. “Where’s the posse?” I asked, my voice cracking just a little.
He looked away, pulled up his shirt (showing off that gorgeous torso), and pulled down the front of his extremely low-rise black denim. His lovely trouser snake slid partway out, already semi-erect. “Oh! there it is. Please come in,” I immediately replied.
“So, what do you want to do?” I asked, looking around at the mountain of alcohol and finger foods I’d laid out for “the posse.” “Strip gin rummy?” my handsome guest replied. Fuck, yes! I thought to myself. The chance to actually beat the pants off of Ben Godfre!?
Fuck me if 30 minutes later I was in nothing but my briefs, while the 6-foot fashion model porn boy still had everything but his socks on. Godfre plays a mean game of gin rummy! I was a little self-conscious about showing so much skin in front of the chiseled physique of my guest. I mean, I’m in shape, but I’m no Ben Godfre. But for a ridiculously gorgeous male model, Ben’s surprisingly engaging and a witty conversationalist, and he put me quickly at ease. We chatted about various topics. His career path was foremost on my mind, but Ben was a little coy about talking much about the porn-turn. “It’s hot,” was pretty much all he’d say. “I’m having fun with it.”
“Damn, that looks a lot more comfortable,” he said, putting down yet another 2-card draw gin (fuck, he’s got all the luck!). By rights, it was my turn to lose my briefs, but Ben waved it off. I get the impression that hanging around in his underwear is where Ben feels most at home. So discarding the card game, he peeled out of his jeans, plugged in house music from his iPod, and gave me a little private dirty dancing routine. When he started lap dancing, I was already staining my CKs with pre-cum. That ass, sliding up and down my lap… happy new year, indeed.
I was ready to lose all self-control then and there, but Ben tugged me out of my chair (briefs at full staff), and asked me if I skateboard. My answer (“not for that past 30 years”) earned a crotch-warming grin from the tattooed pretty boy in front of me. He pulled out his skateboard (not euphemistically… this time) and made a few laps around my place. I experienced only a moment of angst about my hardwood floors, but watching his nearly naked muscles flex and stretch as he flew gracefully around my furniture was… well, it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. He made me show him what I’ve got, which was mostly falling on my ass. Ben insisted on giving me a lesson (note to self: bend your knees and lean into it is excellent advice for so many life activities!). I felt stupid for a bit. Old. Uncoordinated. But damn it all if some hands-on tutorial from a smiling Ben Godfre can’t bust right through my self-consciousness.
It was Ben’s idea to play some 1-on-1 quarters, too. Last time I played quarters was only about 20 years ago, so I was marginally more skilled at that than skateboarding. Godfre, on the other hand, is, as seemingly with everything, brilliant at it. We played with shot glasses of tequila. I averaged about 3 out of 4, which would’ve blown my old fraternity brothers out of the water 20 years ago. Godfre, however, made about every 9 of 10. I was doing shots at about three times the frequency he was. I was a mess well before midnight arrived, while he was (as clearly as I can remember) steady as a rock. Again, I had every reason to feel inadequate and a squanderer of a lifetime opportunity to get a male model turned porn star drunk. And yet, Ben was charming and disarming.
Midnight came and went, but it was a bit of a blur on my end. I seem to remember toasting the New Year mutually naked with insanely delicious cosmos he made for us (yet another thing the kid excels at). There was more skateboarding, but I think it was almost entirely him doing the boarding with me just watching his naked gorgeousness rolling around me.
I woke up late on the 1st in my own bed and, tragically, alone. Remember, this was right in the middle of my 12 days of Christmas presents, and so even a little dehydrated (I don’t get hangovers), I went to the tree first to find Mason Brook’s nipples delivered via Santa. “What’s that?” The voice seemed to come from nowhere.
It was Ben, flat on his back on the floor with his feet on the couch where he slept the night/morning. I grabbed us both glasses of water and then explained the whole homoerotic wrestling Christmas wish list thing. I showed him the pics of Mason to illustrate the idea. “Nice nipples!” he said unprompted (I swear). I agreed, of course. “What’s he like when he wrestles?”
I started describing Mason’s debut match with Blaine Janus, focusing on Mason’s surprising readiness to get down and dirty for a rookie, but then caught myself a minute into the match description. “I’ve got it upstairs,” I said. “Let me pop it in the DVD player, and you can see for yourself.”
Ben liked what he saw. A lot. In fact we spent the next three hours sampling from my rather extensive collection of homoerotic wrestling videos. Ben was fully erect and gently stroking his pornboy cock almost the entire time. Surprising trivia (at least for me) included that he was not nearly as into Brad Rochelle, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), or Jake Jenkins as much as I am. On the flip side, he was fucking crazy for Kid Vicious, Kid Karisma, and Rusty Stevens. It was after he sampled about 5 minutes worth of Rusty’s match with Mitch Colby that Ben abruptly turned to me and said, “Fuck, let’s wrestle!”
To recap, I had a 6-foot, muscle sculpted, gorgeously inked, magnetic eyed, naked, and erect fashion model turned porn star on my couch insisting that we wrestle. You do the math.
It started with Ben wanting to experience some of the holds we watched on DVD. He asked for a reverse bearhug like the one Mitch Colby worked on Rusty in their match. Now I’m considerably shorter than Ben and not nearly as strong as Mitch, but I’m not ashamed to say that I did okay. The porn kid was groaning and flailing, and when I slid my cock between his skater boy thighs, he gasped, “Oh, fuck!” He requested a figure-4 choke ala Kid Karisma’s finisher against lovely, lanky Christian Taylor. He did not have to ask me twice, I assure you. And he polished his pulsing rod like crazy the closer I got to choking him out cold. But things really started getting interesting when he whispered he wanted a Kid Vicious-style OTK backbreaker. I scooped him up, paraded him around the living room a while to let his vulnerability sink in, and then slammed him across my knee, pinning his naked body there racked backward over my thigh. And I thought he was fully erect before! Holy fuck, that juicy whopper bouncing and swaying as he moaned, head hanging upside down, was mind blowing! There was never a chance in hell that mouthwatering meat was not going to end up in my mouth (a la, KV), which seemed to take Ben by surprise at first. He jerked, seemed to even protest a moment. But my hand shoving him down by his throat and my mouth working his cock like a Hoover settled him right back down. A lot more moaning, but he took it like a pro.
After I had my fill with him draped over my knee, I dumped his gorgeous body unceremoniously to the floor and stepped on his face, pinning him to the hardwood and flexing (just to give him the full effect of a homoerotic wrestling humiliation). That’s when he suddenly yanked my foot out from underneath me and dropped my ass to the couch. The “let’s try that hold” game was officially over and done with, and an intense session of competitive tussling took it’s place. To be sure, this kid is a trained athlete with very impressive strength, lightning reflexes, and superhuman balance. When he slapped on a tit-for-tat revenge bearhug, I had a moment of panic that not all of my ribs were going to get out of this in tact. But having been humiliated by this adonis at gin rummy, indoor skateboarding, and quarters, I finally found something I’m better at than Ben Godfre.
The kid had no idea what to do about a pec claw, and what hot hunks of meat he has to claw! I literally made him cry, dragging him up off his knees to his feet with my fingers sunk deep into his pectoral muscles. I mean, actual tears streamed out of the corners of both of those gorgeous eyes! Holy shit, that was pure magic.
A stump puller stretched the lovely skate punk out beautifully, the back of his head resting on my fully erect cock as I held onto his right ankle and stretched the naked puppy’s hamstring out until it actually quivered. First, let me just clarify that Ben keeps his ass trimmed, but he’s not shaved smooth. Very nice. Second, let me just reiterate that his right hamstring quivered, jerking and jumping like a trapped animal. He screamed that submission with total panic in his voice. Damn, that was sweet!
He scored one submission on me. I took an inadvertent (I think) knee to the temple, making my head spin. When it stopped spinning, the punk had me folded over on my back, my ankles trapped in his armpits and his pulsing cock pinning my face (he like that move from Kid Karisma). Sure, I submitted. After about 10 minutes.
But the rest of New Years 2013 was all Bard, baby! A standing abdominal stretch showed off my opponent’s muscled body so beautifully, but the tough son of a bitch wouldn’t submit in it… until I reached around with my free hand and crushed his balls. Technically, I’d say there were about 5 submissions in that hold (“IsubmitIsubmitIsubmitIsubmitIsubmit!!!!!!!”). Pulling a page out of a titan that both Ben and I appreciated together, I threatened to rip his gorgeously tattooed right arm apart at the elbow, trapped between my thighs. Paying homage to Rusty Stevens, I not only made him submit there, but I also fucked with his head, alternately commanding him to stroke his cock and then stop stroking, working the kid up to a frothy lather completely under my control.
I dragged his gorgeous body on his hands and knees around the living room by a fistful of hair once he was pretty much wasted, swimming in his own sweat and broken in body and spirit. Again, with a nod to Rusty, I made my fashion model pornboy give me a naked pony ride in total submission, steering him around the furniture with my finger fish hooks in the corners of his mouth. When I slid my hips forward and tucked my cock between his ass cheeks, the bad boy of fashion actually whimpered. The horse cock hanging from between his legs as he carried me another lap around the couch made it clearly evident that I wasn’t the only one enjoying the moment.
The kid is a trooper, I tell you, and I think he could easily fulfill almost every ounce of the homoerotic wrestling fantasy I wrote for him starting three years ago. He’s every bit as hot as hell as he looks. He could charm a cobra with those hypnotically intense eyes. He’s an incredible athlete. And more to the point, he’s got a taste for the erotic power of wrestling kink… now.
Other assets Ben Godfre has to recommend him further into the gay fetish scene and, particularly, solidly into our camp? He knows how to be slack-jaw-dominated and to work up a head of steam every step of the way. He takes a bare handed ass slapping session like a pro. He gets only harder when tied up. He tastes like honey, and he has the stamina of a marathoner.
He also makes a killer fry up in nothing but an apron. Holy shit, this guy is a Renaissance man for the 21st century! If this is the way 2013 starts, I think this is my year, without a doubt. I’m on top of the world, kicking fashion model porn star ass, and recruiting homoerotic wrestling fetishists to our ranks. And once Ben buffs the skateboard marks out of my hardwoods (naked), I’ll slap him on that gorgeous ass and send him back into the world with strict instructions to contact a couple of homoerotic wrestling producers to break into the scene that this kid was absolutely made for. You can all thank me later. Happy New Year, all.
*This is entirely a work of fiction, and I have no evidence that Ben Godfre, in fact, takes career advice from this blog or my homoerotic wrestling fiction. But if he wants to, I’m ready to help.