To this day, it amazes me how easily everything fell into place for us. The second property we saw was the one we bought and although the main house required a bit of fixing up, the outbuildings were just what we needed, especially the barn. It was no more than 10 years old and, once insulated, could house everything necessary for the training facility. There was enough height to construct a second floor. The top would be for instruction, with practice mats and separate rooms for free weights, stretching and conditioning; while the ground floor would be for housing and showers, plus a dining and recreation hall. There also was a nice-sized pond 75 yards from the facility for fishing and supervised swimming, while the entire complex sat on 50 acres less than a mile from the nearest highway.
When the movers arrived with the tractor trailer containing our possessions, Dick got a phone call from the agent in Chicago, informing him there was a buyer for his house. Three days later, we had a buyer for mine and all properties closed nice and tight both in Chicago and Oklahoma.
My new job was to maintain the finances and find students for the classes, while Dick bought necessary equipment and worked with the contractors he hired to redesign the barn.
Our goal was to get the business facility prepared first, then work on the house at a leisurely pace. This was to be a June to August summer camp, two-week course with kids grouped according to age or weight, depending on whether they were age 6 to 11 or 12 to 18. Dick would teach them free-style and Greco-Roman techniques, while the emphasis would be to prepare them for high school and collegiate wrestling, both mentally and physically.
I was to be the official preparer and server of meals, cleaner of toilets and showers, and director of discipline and recreation. I anticipated this to be much more strenuous than his function, but no matter, because I was no longer salaried. Dick had made me a full partner in our enterprise and we pooled all our resources into one pot.
We closed on the property in November, which gave us about six months to complete the construction, then I could make pictures for flyers to send out. Because of his reputation, I had no problem making contacts. Almost every junior and high school wrestling coach I contacted knew who he was and some remembered competing against or watching him in the college days. Even the elementary school officials had heard of him. Most of my telephone calls were answered with, "Dick Hodges? Sure, send the flyer and I'll post it."
By the end of April, our barn remodeling was almost finished and all classes for June were booked, with more requests for information still coming in. I could now devote more time to the house, while still handling any phone calls or other business regarding the camp.
As for the home life, it was sweet. Dick would usually hang around until noon, at which time he would putter in the training facility, adding little extras as he saw the need and using the weight room to keep his body in shape. This, of course, pleased me immensely.
There was one item he didn't consider, but I enlightened him on it. "Ok, Dick, you got insurance for the property, now you better cover our ass."
"What if a kid gets injured or there's an accident? We don't want any lawsuits. Better go to Tulsa and talk to an attorney about insurance for that."
"God damn, you're clever. I'll reward you when I get back."
"How about a reward now and when you get back?"
He was such a pushover, I could talk him into anything. One of my first priorities when we first moved in was to get the master bedroom situated, so that when he came into the house we'd have something to do after dinner. Just before Christmas time Dick told me he was unsatisfied with his old bed and asked me to look for a king size, preferably with four corner posts, and it was only after I found one and had it set up did I learn about his desired position to receive the next blow-job. It was the first Christmas eve of our new life together.
He presented to me four ropes with four nicely looped slip knots at one end. After his hands and feet were inside the loops, it was my duty to pull the ropes until the loops effectively secured the wrists and ankles, then tie each of the open ends of rope to the four corner posts. So, he was bound in a spread eagle position, and as you might have suspected, he also had draped himself over the top of two stacked pillows - representing Killer Manjaro.
Yes, Dick Hodges desired to relive the night of our first encounter, but in the much more comfortable and private confines of our bedroom. Perhaps it was therapy for both of us - a way of saying "thanks" to the bastards that humiliated us back in Chicago.
"Think they hurt me, Jimmy?"
"They did then. What about now?"
"Feels good, now. They did us a favor."
Right or wrong, what they forced us to do in public led us to repeat the act for our own enjoyment. He received the first of these in mostly the same manner as had happened in the ring, with me first burying my face into and then licking his belly, followed by an expertly-executed dick sucking.
Christmas morning, he woke me up to go through it again, but this time asked me to look for hot spots.
"Where do you want me to start?"
"Jimmy, I'm a tough son of a bitch. You take all the time you need and explore all of it."
A Christmas gift from the gods - Dick Hodges laid there bound over those pillows, while I put my tongue and lips all over him. And just as he suggested, I took my own sweet time. Big, beefy, thick and powerful, this 100 percent ruggedly beautiful male masterpiece basked in a timeless marathon of intense body worship. I found many, many hot spots and stored them for reference into my library of knowledge about the male physique - in particular, one Dick Hodges.
What was my favorite spot? All of it. He was my ideal of masculinity, just as he should be for you, so I won't ruin your fantasy with my reality. I lavished my praise onto every inch of skin from the fingers to the toes, inhaling the heavenly tastes and aromas of the ultimate man, until I again returned to kneel before his helplessly bouncing pecker. Merry Christmas, Mr. Hodges.
After I untied him, we wasted some time with a bit of snoozing and mutual cuddling, then Dick resumed his role as a dominant male and we proceeded to break in our new bed for the remainder of the day. This became our household Christmas tradition. Only on that evening would the ropes come out, and the 364-day anticipation helped us to maintain a very healthy relationship. Any time we had little spats or one or the other of us was in a bad mood, either he or I would say, "Christmas is coming soon," and even if it was only February, just the thought of what was to come made us smile.
On our first New Year's eve together, he asked for a little variation.
"Here, remember this?" He tossed me a bottle of olive oil. "Time for you to rub me down the way you used to, Jimmy."
Again, we returned to the days of his professional career, as he lay on his belly to receive my deep-muscle massage. It had been nearly three months since I had dug my fingers into him and somehow the skin felt different - smoother, more vital. No longer subjected to abuse in the ring, Dick's flesh seemed to take on a youthful glow, while the olive oil gave it a bronzed sheen, as though he were a mighty Greek warrior.
I penetrated every inch, from the back of the neck, hands and forearms to the calves, ankles and soles of feet. Then, he turned over and I saturated side two. Once I had finished the rub down, I applied the oil to his testicles and semi-erect penis. As he lay sprawled with eyes closed, I manually brought him to full erection, then mounted him. Now, he became a Greek god. His other-worldly power rushed to concentrate itself into his penis, causing my innards to first surrender, then counter-attack. The muscles crushed his cock, as I slowly raised my buttocks off his pelvis several inches, then slammed back down to sit on him, squeezing with all my strength. My rhythm was just the right pace and I could tell from experience that he was about to fire, when suddenly he opened the eyes and raised up to rest on his elbows.
He laid back down flat and with a little difficulty, I closed his dick tightly in my vise, supported myself with palms on the mattress and turned to the left, swinging the right leg over him. After one more turn, the left leg lifted over his thighs and I sat with my back towards him, still crushing the tool inside me. Dick raised up, locked me into a full nelson and slowly brought my torso to lay atop his.
"How does it feel? Want me to break your back?"
"Do what you gotta do," I clinched my butt cheeks tight. "I'm still gonna torture your cock."
"Don't move your arms."
He released the nelson and I held position, still squeezing with my rectal innards. I saw his arms move on either side of me and he scraped oil from his thighs and flanks, then transferred the thick liquid onto my chest and stomach.
"Lay your legs flat outside of mine."
As I did, Dick intensified the deep oiled rub onto my stretched torso, pressing his thick and scratchy palms and fingers into my skin. Time and again he removed oil from his body and coated me, as I continued to relentlessly crush his throbbing pole. Then, I felt utopia. He cupped my cock into his oiled hand and stroked me, which caused my entire body to twitch. I arched my back and felt his hot, heavy breath burning my ear, while both his dick and mine surged with increased strength. I crushed his and he stroked mine, until my balls shrunk to the size of peanuts and jettisoned their seed onto my chest and stomach. Writhing and contorting in uncontrolled ecstasy, my inside muscles flexed and spasmed in conjunction with my orgasm, which further stimulated his impaling cock. My contractions subsided and he slowed the manual strokes, then squeezed out whatever was left in my shaft. That's when I heard a pitiful moan and felt his body undulate beneath me, as he flooded my insides with his own semen, urged on by my relentlessly crushing and flexing rectum.
We both laid there for quite some time, silently panting for breath, until his fading unit slipped past the rim of my asshole.
I did as asked and we laid chest to chest, squishing that olive oil between us. He wrapped his arms around me and gently squeezed. "Next week, you're taking me to Tulsa."
"I'm flying to Chicago."
"Kyle's coming. His mom and dad, too."
I raised up to quiz him further. "What for? The barn isn't ready."
"Upstairs is. Enough to get him started, anyway."
"Where are they gonna stay?"
"There's plenty of room in this house."
I started to protest, because the house was nowhere near ready for guests, unless they wanted to sleep surrounded by walls with peeling wallpaper and bathe in rusty tubs with leaky faucets and walk on floors that sounded near collapse. Instead, I kissed him. Kyle was coming. What else mattered?
"Well, Mr. Hodges, I hope you're happy now that we've ruined my favorite sheets."
"Yeah, better get some new ones. Next time we'll use the conditioning room."
"Or put a plastic cover on the bed."
"I ain't laying on plastic. Gives me the creeps."
Another holiday ritual was born: purchase new sheets for the bed.
The Bixby's were good people and fully forgave us our dilapidated house. The parents and I played many games of three-handed cribbage, while their son began his first lessons in doing it the Dick Hodges way, both in wrestling and in life. The boy who gave him the incentive to "keep fightin' 'em" - to explore and accept his new career, turned out to be one of Dick's prized pupils. He attended the camps free of charge each year, becoming one of the top amateur wrestlers first in high school, then the University of Illinois and the Olympics.
Our narrator in the other story said that Dick Hodges faded into history, which is true, but that history is very much alive. Thanks mainly to the internet, Dick and those like him - real men, real athletes who were cast out of the world of professional wrestling are once again known and appreciated for their contributions and accomplishments.
There are countless web sites devoted to them and many of these "old timers" who are still alive now are in demand for speeches and even seminars on wrestling techniques and the history of the sport.
I'm not bitter about what happened to pro wrestling. It changed along with society. Our culture demanded more drama, comedy and sex at an accelerated pace. Besides, all is not lost. Pro wrestling can be entertaining as hell, plus with men like Olympic medalist Kurt Angle and the offspring of legends from Dick's time (like Randy Orton, son of Bob, grandson of Bob, Sr.), the traditions begun by earlier generations continue.
I look at it this way: that night, Dick Hodges was taken from professional wrestling and given to me. Without that incident, who knows what would have been left of him when he retired? Every time a pro wrestler enters the ring, his body deteriorates a little more, not to mention that one wrong move can result in permanent damage to neck or spine or any number of vital parts. Dick was given to me with a body still vibrant and full of life, which has been allowed to age naturally and remain a dominant force.
Another statement made by that narrator claims that I was with Dick until the end, which is also true. But the end has not yet come. He still teaches the summer camps and wrestles with me the other nine months of the year. Dick and Jimmy are still together, partners for life, the hero and his ring boy.