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A Queer Fable

On the day of Benny’s birth, a strange and wonderful event occurred. A golden satyr appeared at the bedside of his mother and forewarned her that her son was destined for greatness. As was to be expected, Benny’s mother was taken aback by the appearance of such a strange creature, but, as this was San Francisco, where strange creatures abound, she was not so shocked that she ignored his warning.

“Your son will be admired by countless thousands. His name will become legendary in certain circles. He will lead a charmed life. But beware, for all his eminence, he will have one hidden weakness. Heed my warning, madam, if any hair on his body is ever cut, ever trimmed, no matter how short, a terrible transformation will occur that will bring great sadness to you and your family,” said the satyr, who then promptly vanished into a wisp of gray smoke.

“My oh my,” whispered Benny’s mother, as she clutched her newborn son to her breast. Then she looked down at Benny and said, “Well, I guess we’ll be saving money on haircuts.” Benny looked up at his mother and gave her a beautiful, yet astonishing grin. (Irony is usually lost on babies, you see.)

***

Time passed and Benny grew.

By one year of age, he could walk without stumbling and could talk in short sentences.

By five, he could play the piano and read at a third grade level.

By ten, he was an accomplished composer, poet and athlete.

But it was at the age of thirteen that Benny’s mother knew for certain that the satyr’s words rang true. For at thirteen, Benny reached puberty.

He had always been an angelic looking child. Other mothers would always approach the two of them when they were out shopping or at the playground and they would comment on how beautiful he was, even to the extent of completely ignoring their own offspring. Other children would always come up to Benny and ask him if he’d like to play with them. He was always the first to be asked to attend birthday parties. The first one dessert was brought to at restaurants. The first one called on in school and picked for sporting teams. He led, as predicted, a truly charmed life.

But at thirteen, all this was somehow multiplied several times over. First off, his appearance changed dramatically. His once boyishly chubby face and thin, unmusculatured frame, somehow, seemingly overnight, took on the dimensions of a young man. His body, long conditioned by several sports, was now neatly defined and chiseled, with a light covering of fine tufts of blond hair. His face became angular, with high, perfect cheekbones. His eyes, always a lovely shade of blue, were now laser intense, like a sapphire. His voice, which sang like an angel, dropped several octaves to a deep, rich baritone. And his hair, his hair that had never been cut since the day he was born, was now a dirty blond mane around his head. Much like a halo, it practically radiated off his now broad shoulders.

And his mother, though she was afraid to mention the satyr, warned Benny time and time again to never cut a single one of those hairs…or else. It was the way she said it that convinced Benny to never, ever remove or shorten a single hair. Not that he would want to. This was the one most noticeable thing about Benny that really drew everyone’s attention to him.

Even more noticeable than this sudden transformation into a stunningly handsome young man, however, was the reaction he got from other people. Now it wasn’t only mothers admiring Benny, but also his peers. Especially women. Wherever he went, Benny turned the heads of every woman he passed: women of every age, size, shape, nationality and ethnic background, but especially young teenage girls. His mother, bless her heart, was at first worried about such lavish attention, but she quickly noticed how her son simply shrugged it all off and continued on his merry way.

“My oh my,” whispered Benny’s mother, as they made their way through the mall one sunny day. Then she looked over at Benny and said, “I’m glad you’re keeping this all in perspective and not chasing all these admiring young ladies around.” Benny looked over at his mother and gave her a beautiful, yet astonishing grin. (Irony, again, was never lost on Benny.)

For you see, it wasn’t that Benny hadn’t noticed the admiration from all these women. No, he noticed it. He simply didn’t care. After all, it wasn’t women Benny was interested in. It was men. And though men were far less obvious in their attention towards Benny, there weren’t any less male admirers than women. Not by a long shot. And though Benny’s mother failed to notice this, Benny surely had not.

Benny noticed it in men’s rooms, in locker rooms, on the playing field, and all the places other young men could admire him, albeit discreetly. And that says nothing for the countless grown men who ogled Benny from afar, and up close, not so discreetly. Again, this was San Francisco. No, Benny noticed all this and more. For Benny knew, just knew without having to be taught it or told it, that these men were looking at him. Wanted him. Needed to have him. And Benny could have any one of them he wanted. Though at thirteen, he was a tad leery of acting on it. That would have to wait a couple of years. And then…watch out.

At first, it was jacking off with the other young men after a hard game of football or basketball or soccer. Benny played them all, and well. But that also meant a lot of locker room time. All Benny had to do was catch someone staring at him when he undressed, which, even at fifteen was quite a sight, and he would nod and walk over to a bathroom stall. The other boy would inevitably follow and the two teenagers would cum together standing up over the toilet. It got to the point where Benny only had to be in the locker room for a few minutes and someone was giving him that “look”. And at fifteen, this was enough for Benny.

But teenagers get bored rather quickly. So Benny, at sixteen, went searching for new ways to amuse and abuse himself. Locker rooms gave way to public restrooms and outdoor amusements. If Benny was at a McDonald’s, all he had to do was catch some stranger’s eye and, boom, they were in the bathroom. While jogging, a quick nod would lead to an encounter in a bush somewhere. At a play, or a movie, or a concert, Benny could be found in the bathroom during intermission; sometimes going from stall to stall until his hand was exhausted. And at sixteen and seventeen and eighteen, this was enough for Benny.

And then Benny was off to college where he became legendary throughout the fraternity system. And, since he could easily pass for a grown man in his twenties, the bars became his new stomping ground. And his fame grew. Within seconds of his entering any bar, gay or straight, every head was turned his way. And Benny had his pick of any one there that night.

But by the time Benny was ready to graduate, the local bar scene had become tired and he was ready for a change. His grades being what they were, a solid 4.0, naturally, he had his choice of jobs waiting for him. He chose the one that afforded him the most amount of travel. And with that, he was off and running.

He slept with men from every country and continent. Pictures of him appeared throughout the internet. Men begged and pleaded for spare minutes of his time. And though his renown was known throughout the world, and he had been with countless men, he never grew tired of being the center of so much attention. Actually, he reveled in it. Had his mother been witness to any of this, she would surely have known that the satyr had been telling the truth. She also would no doubt have been amazed at just how true the prophecy had been. Benny was, quite simply, a god among men and, alas, he knew this all too well.

By the time he was twenty-five, his hair was several feet long and had to be braided repeatedly to keep it out of his face and food. His beard too was braided, making him look like a Viking warrior, a look that only aided in spreading his fame. And, naturally, his body hair had fairly covered his entire body until little of his skin could now be seen. And still, men flocked to him in droves.

And as sex became easier and easier to obtain, and, naturally, more mundane, Benny sought out ever newer and kinkier ways to experiment. Nothing was off limits to him. And soon, Benny became the most sought out sex Master throughout the world. And throughout his twenties, this was enough for Benny.

By the time Benny was about to turn thirty, he had seemingly seen and done it all. And still his fame grew…as did his hair. Actually, he was fairly tired of carrying so much of it around. Little of his face, except for those sparkling eyes, could now be seen. His body hair was so thick that he had to buy shirts a size too big for him. Even his massive prick could barely be seen through the bush that had grown around his groin area.

And so, on his thirtieth birthday, and in search for something new and different, Benny found himself at the home of a very strange looking man. His name was Sam. Benny wasn’t sure of his last name. It sounded something like Saturn, but last names never mattered much to Benny anyway. What mattered was this man was stunningly beautiful. Almost as mesmerizing as Benny himself. He even, Benny thought, gave off a strange golden glow. That, in and of itself, was enough to get Benny’s attention.

And the sex was hot. Way hot. Sam was doing everything he could think of to make Benny’s night memorable. It was, after all, his birthday. So when Sam chained Benny to his bed, Benny was only too happy to oblige. And when Benny heard a strange whirring sound down by his privates, he thought he was in for a special treat.

“My oh my,” whispered Sam, as he clutched the electric razor between his now cloven hoofs. Then he looked down at Benny and said, “Well, all good things must come to an end, my hairy friend. Besides, I think you’ve become a bit too big for your britches.” Benny looked up at Sam and gave him a beautiful, yet astonishing grin. (Irony, at last, was finally lost on Benny.)

Sadly, with his hair now shaved, our dear Benny was transformed into a beautiful Grecian vase. And though it was a lovely vase, it simply wasn’t Benny.

***

And the moral to this story? I think it’s plain to see, so get a pen and paper and write along with me.

For this is oh so important, and I hope a lesson learned. When your britches get too big for you…

A Benny shaved truly is a Benny urned.

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