Blue Blake, who helped Chris break into Gay Porn talks about it, from his book "Out of the Blue" -
“Anyway . . . check out Frontiers in the jobs offered column. Tell them you won’t work for less than a thousand dollars a scene. That’s the going rate for bodybuilders.” Ted stood up, kissed me, winked at Gage (who didn’t like being kissed) and left the pool.
I ran upstairs to our apartment and grabbed my copy of Frontiers. I brought it back down to the pool. Gage leaned over my shoulder as I thumbed through the want ads.
“Fucking hell!” Gage shouted.
“What?!” I yelled back, jumping out of my skin.
“Look . . . in that personal training ad . . . it’s Chris Duffy!” He pointed to a picture of an enormous bodybuilder. Chris Duffy was a god amongst men. He had won the American bodybuilding championships and was always on the cover of Flex magazine and Muscle and Fitness. He was married to a female bodybuilder named Joanie. For years I had seen him in magazines and thought he was the hottest guy on the planet. He was hugely famous in the bodybuilding world. What the hell was he doing advertising in Frontiers? In the ad he reclined against a wall in a pair of posing trunks, all 300 pounds and 6-foot-3 delicious inches of him.
“I’m going to call him,” I told Gage.
“You don’t need a personal trainer,” Gage scoffed.
“No, but I need Chris Duffy’s knob stuffed in my gob.”
I had no problem paying for sex. I had never done it before, but I had been in the escort business long enough to know that everybody paid for a shag in one way or another. Whether you were buying your girlfriend a diamond bracelet or taking your boyfriend out for dinner, it was all in hopes of a booty call.
“He’s advertising as a personal trainer and he’s married,” Gage protested
“He’s advertising personal training dressed in a thong.”
“I wear a thong,” said Gage.
Why did I get involved in these ridiculous conversations with Gage?
“Just shut up and pass me the damn phone,” I snapped. “I have a date
with destiny.”
My sweaty little fingers punched in Chris’s number. The phone rang and then picked up almost immediately.
“This is Chris,” said a handsome, sexy voice.
“Hello,” I started, not even being able to conceive of the fact that I was talking to Chris Duffy. I was in heaven.
“My name’s Blue Blake . . . I saw your ad in Frontiers . I was interested in a little . . . personal training.”
“Have you worked out before?” asked the handsome voice.
“Hmmm . . . only for a year,” I lied. “I thought perhaps you could come round and give me some advice. My glutes are extremely undeveloped and need work.” Was I really saying this crap? I had a huge round ass, but I would say anything to lure my straight quarry.
Chris arranged to meet me at my apartment the following Monday night.
I was a nervous wreck. I ran out and bought protein drinks, tuna, bananas ... everything I thought a professional bodybuilder would eat to keep up his 300 pounds of studliness for an hour. I threw Gage out and told him to go bother the transvestites on the corner of the street and changed into an all in-one wrestling suit. It had blue and white stripes and accentuated my man bosom the way I imagined a straight pro bodybuilder would appreciate.
Chris arrived at 6 p.m. sharp, and we literally fell into each other’s arms . . . Well, that’s at least how I remember it. I dragged him into the living room and we stripped each other bare. He was everything I imagined. He was absolutely massive with muscles of steel. It was like having sex with Superman. He fucked me with his big cock for hours. Afterwards we lay in each other’s arms.
“Have you been with a lot of guys?” I asked.
“You’re my first,” he said with perfect sincerity. I didn’t know if he was lying, and I didn’t care.
“What about your wife?” I asked.
“Joanie? It turns her on thinking about me with another guy. Would you
like to meet her?”
“Uuuuhhhh . . . sure . . . I guess,” I said apprehensively. I didn’t want some crazed female bodybuilder attacking me with a bread knife for introducing her husband to homo love.
“She’s cool,” he laughed, reading my mind.
He got dressed and I handed him $200.
“I feel strange taking it.”
“Don’t,” I said, “I have no problem giving it to you.”
“Well, next time it’s free.”
Next time!!! Did this mean Mr. America, wanted to see me again? No, he was probably being polite.
“Call me,” Chris said, as he walked out the door.
Gage stood sulking in the hallway.
“Did you have sex with him?”
“Yes, and it was amazing!”
One of the ads Chris was using -
.
