Michael Musto on a Lawyer Turned Porn Guy—Who Loves It!

9.23.2013

By Michael Musto

Also: Michael Alig’s release from jail is imminent

Photo of Ben Beck by Charles Quiles

Evolving from a lawyer into an escort-turned-porn-star has been a surprising career trajectory for 35-year-old Ben Peck—and you’ll be glad to hear he considers it a step way up. Ben’s titillating trek from ambulance chaser to booty flasher has allowed him to keep a high hourly rate while maintaining a lot more integrity, not to mention the chance to screw only the people who want it!

First, the background: Connecticut-born Peck graduated in comparative literature from Columbia in 2000 and went on to become your everyday freelance German translator. But Peck’s boyfriend suggested he get a degree with more ka-ching to it, so he dutifully ended up at law school. But that landed him a job at a personal injury firm, which he found extremely injurious. “The things you were expected to do were borderline criminal,” Peck told me, “like impersonate doctors and intimidate people, all done to make money.” In 2006, he left that position and did some legal consulting. So far, so bland.

But the next year, his partner was injured in an accident—they needed some real lawyers—and Peck became a full-time, NYC-based caregiver. By this point, Peck was in need of serious restorative therapy himself. “We used to have a very engaged sex life,” he revealed. “Never monogamous. We went to sex parties and bathhouses and had basically hundreds of other partners. But that stopped with his injury. His libido vanished. I was struggling with, ‘How am I going to replace that sexual diet I used to have, which went from feast to famine overnight?’ ” 

A gym buddy of Peck’s suggested escorting, which made instant (dollars and) sense. It was a way to pay back student loans, get some sexual satisfaction, and still have plenty of free time left. Bingo! The johns didn’t exactly look like A&F models, but hey, Peck enjoyed having a sexual outlet and a venue for performance. “It was wonderful being adored, showing off for these people, and being rewarded for it,” he told me. “It gave me an emotional high that I hadn’t had for years.” And he has a whole notebook full of anecdotes about it—like his encounters with guys who’ve asked him to speak German as he strangles them. (At least his Columbia degree finally came in handy.) “And it’s usually Jews who request that,” Peck added, laughing. Also, Peck is a boxer, so a lot of clients have wanted him to use them as punching bags, if he wouldn’t mind. And he doesn’t.

“And there’s plenty of piss play,” he interjected. “I have one long-standing client who has a special chalice set aside for me. I walk in, we have a conversation, I unzip and piss in his chalice, and as we’re talking, he drinks it. None of this seems strange to me. I love being able to accommodate their deepest desires.” I’ve certainly been to worse open-bar parties. 

“A lot of people are interested in getting some kind of link to my DNA,” Peck continued, as I didn’t dare run to the bathroom. “One guy actually puts my cum in the freezer. When I see him, he has me thawed out and injected into his asshole. Cum concentrate!” Speechless here. (And concerned too. This is NOT recommended behavior.)

Peck doesn’t take on new clients anymore—not because he’s shot his wad (hardly), but because he’s become indelibly wrapped up in porn. After doing onanistic videos for Xtube, then a bunch of titles for Kink.com, he says, “I’ve taken off on this second career of husbanding really big loads. People get excited when they see a big ejaculation.” And for that kind of largesse, he thanks hydration, vitamins, minerals, herbs, and the right diet. “And I do dick exercises,” he adds, chirpily. His penis must have amazing abs. 

With porn salaries dropping like hardons, it’s lucky Peck isn’t in it for the cash; he’s more into the exposure he’ll get for his ultimate ambition—to co-conceive and star in a new porn genre that he says will be more artistic, revolutionary, and convention breaking. “I’m omnisexual,” said Peck. “I want to start doing straight porn, but the same principles could be applied to gay porn. I want to convey a feeling of respect between the actors so what’s presented is positive and makes the audience feel good about their sexuality. I want to get away from this notion that porn is taboo, dirty, borderline criminal, and something you don’t want to be involved in. It should be therapeutic and healing. 

“For me, escorting was partly about knowing I’d affected a person’s life. I’ve had clients who hadn’t had sex in 40 years and decided I’m the right guy to make them feel good again!” 

Lovely—but does Peck ever wonder how a legal eagle could have turned into such a porn dog? “No, I don’t regret having gotten that education at all,” he replied. “But law studies versus law practice are oil and water.” And that makes for some very bad lube.

Photo of Johnny Weir at G Lounge by Sonny Norton

A NEW BEGINNING FOR MURDEROUS CLUB KID

Meanwhile, porn might not be borderline criminal, but killing definitely is, so ex-club kid leader Michael Alig was imprisoned in the ‘90s for collaborating on the murder of a clubbie named Angel Melendez. Alig was the outrageous promoter who would have loved the idea of urine-filled chalices, though his kicky debauchery turned to way more unsavory mayhem as all boundaries seemed to drop off like an escort’s BVDs. 

Well, double bolt your doors, because an insider tells me that Alig is getting out of Elmira Prison before Thanksgiving. The facility approves this move: Alig’s just waiting for the green light from Albany, and it looks like it’s happening very soon. Once released, Alig will live in the Bronx with an ex-club kid friend of his, with whom he can compare any unused drink tickets. He’s finishing his memoir, Aligula, and plans to have an art show of his paintings. And what does he want to do for an actual living? “What you do,” the insider told me. “Michael wants to be a pop culture writer and commentator.” Oh, shit. I can just imagine what he’ll do to get my job.

Let me keep doing it for now and report that skater Johnny Weir told me he hopes to avoid imprisonment on his upcoming trip to Russia. At a party for the redesign of the long-running G Lounge—which has to look fresh to try and keep the gays in Chelsea—Weir told me he’s going to the Olympics anyway, because “Russia is where I do business and where I skate.” “Well, don’t push the gay agenda,” I cracked, sensing that Johnny may be skating on thin ice. I mean, there are no gay lawyers left to call—they’ve all become porn stars.

THERE SHE IS…

Right here in America, you can not only promote the nelly agenda, you can nab some glory out of it in the Miss’d America pageant, an Atlantic City staple that annually turns tucking into tiaras. I’m one of the recurring judges of the fab contest, this year held at Showboat casino’s House of Blues and hosted by that female drag queen Michelle Visage. The competition was so stiff that even the one contestant who sang a whole song live didn’t place! (Another one whose swimsuit had a sincere sentiment on it—“Jersey Shore: Stronger Then The Storm”—was done in by the misspelling. Oh, well. She was pretty.) 

The tiara and biggest check went to Victoria Parker, who cleverly worked a pork chop into her swimsuit competition. Victoria, you’ll remember, was the very first contestant ever thrown off Drag Race, but she pork chopped her way to this whole new triumph, while vowing to attend the next Miss America pageant in full Miss’d attire, meat and all. The top five were rounded out by NYC stars Margeaux Powell, Dallas DuBois, Bootsie Lefaris, and Holly Dae, who served pageant queen glamour and eye-popping talent. It was great to see what these gals can do on a large stage for cash prizes.

Roslyn Ruff, Condola Rashad and Jayne Houdyshell in R&J| Photo by Carol Rosegg

SOMETHING’S COMING

Somewhat of a miss’d opportunity—or at least a mixed one—is Broadway’s latest Romeo and Juliet revival. A modern dress R&J with gangs and racial tension? We already had it! It was called West Side Story, and it was quite good! But director David Leveaux has dipped back into the formula, albeit without the songs and with black Capulets instead of Hispanic ones. The stars are Orlando Bloom, who pulls up on a motorcyle and takes off his helmet for entrance applause, and Condola Rashad, a two-time Tony nominee, who can’t help but fall for this stud in ripped jeans and a tight-fitting shirt. Bloom does well with the language, but resorts to excessive posturing, while Rashad has a lovely sincerity, but fails to magnetically connect with the material. Some supporting players stand out, like Jayne Houdyshell as the salty, affectionate nurse, and Christian Camargo, who’s all Christopher-Walken-like weirdness as Mercutio. The result has moments, but (unlike the set) it doesn’t quite catch fire. Maybe put the songs back in? Oh, well. At least they never drink from that special chalice.

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