Bears, page 19
“I don’t want to get off you,” I told him. “You body is incredible.”
His big paws reached around to my butt. Kneading lightly, he said, “Then stay,” and we lay for some time not speaking, me with my eyes closed, savoring his bear of a body. When I finally rolled off and saw the great white mass of commingled juice, I was turned on all over again. I ran my hand across his stomach where the puddle had saturated his hair, mutual come coating my fingers. “You’re truly like a great big bear,” I said.
He growled and squeezed my buttcheeks. “We could use a bath,” he said. His finger had worked into my crack and when it prodded my bunghole I drew a long breath, knowing what was next. “Sure,” I said and we got up off the bed.
I couldn’t help looking him over, my first real view of him standing naked. Still caught up in the sight of his curves and folds, I stared openly and he did the same with me. The more I looked at this huge furry body the more I wanted to climb up it.
“Let’s get that bath,” he said and started from the room. While he ran the water I lingered in the bedroom, noting his books and magazines, the prints on his wall. I took in detail but didn’t process any of it and as I entered the bathroom I honestly could not recall a single thing I had observed.
He’d lit about a dozen candles, which gave the white-tiled room a soft glow. He’d also filled the tub and climbed in, water chest high, his flaccid prick lolling against a submerged thigh. I kneeled on the small rug and reached into the water to play with him like a bath toy, fingering the big fleshy rope until he pulled at my arm and I climbed in.
He eased me back against him and his cock settled at my crack, my sphincter contracting involuntarily. He then folded me into his arms and rinsed the dried come off my belly, my cock rising in response, head breaking the water’s surface. He reached down and began a slow stroke. “I could lie here all day,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “Just knowing I’m going to put it up you makes me the most contented bear there is.”
In response I squeezed my cheeks against his cock, and he laughed. “What’s with this Zen thing?” I asked after a while.
“The mind is a wonderful thing,” he began. “That’s where sex begins, after all, and you can teach yourself absolute control, not just when to come but when to get hard. With enough concentration you can make the penis almost prehensile.” His cock moved against my butt as if it was going to crawl inside of its own volition.
“Jesus,” I said.
He began to pull my dick in earnest then, because I was rigid and ready, aching for another explosion. “Do it,” I said and he murmured, kept on until I began to spurt dollops of come onto the water, where they floated like tiny white islands.
I thought I knew what was next but I was wrong because he seemed content simply with my body against his. He opened his legs farther and slid them up around me but his prick stayed soft against my backside. We remained like this until the water grew cold. When I shuddered, he said, “Let’s get out.”
He toweled me dry and that was when he got hard. As he ran the thick white terrycloth down my front, gently dabbing my dick, reaching under to attend my balls, his own cock filled to capacity and I thought anxiously of what I would soon receive. “Patience,” he counseled when I began to fidget. He dabbed at my legs, then turned me around and slowly dried my back.
When he got to my lower half he skipped my butt and dried my thighs and calves, then moved back up to make my ass the last of it. He drew the towel across then down between my legs, which I parted to accommodate the gentle prodding. And then the towel fell away.
There was a pause and I wondered if he might be gathering some of his Zen energy, but he pressed me down onto the rug and tucked my knees under me, ass high. I heard the condom wrapper tear, then a finger was greasing the path and I moaned but still he took his time.
“Do it, Joe,” I pleaded. I don’t think I’d ever been so ready. “Come on.”
He put his hands onto my hips and brushed my pucker with his cockhead until I moaned and then he went in, slowly but steadily until I had all of him, the entire giant sausage far up my well-lubed chute. It felt like a bear had indeed gotten into me.
He didn’t move at first, giving me time to acclimate, then began a slow thrust, pulling nearly all the way out before pushing back in. I could feel his knob skate my rim and I contracted, trying to trap him inside me. Each time he slid back in it felt like that first take-your-breath-away sweet agony of penetration.
I had my cheek against the rug, my hands on it as well, asshole the only working part. My dick hung limp as if in shock at what the back door had received, and yet I enjoyed a wonderful rise, every ounce of my insides tingling because we were just getting started.
“You’ve got a beautiful ass, Alan,” he told me, easing in once more. “I want to get to know it.”
What could I say? The act had never been so erotic. Urgency had always played the major part but I seemed to have stumbled across a Zen fucking master and had to wonder as he eased his dick up me yet again if this wasn’t what had attracted me in the first place, some kind of vibe he gave off, some aura he possessed. Maybe we were headed toward a higher plane.
I was thinking these profound thoughts and marveling that in this position I was thinking at all when Joe evidently decided to transcend his spiritual side and pound one out, because he pulled back rather abruptly, then drove in like the beast I’d imagined, a rutting animal uncaged at last.
Now we were doing it. My last coherent thought as he began to fuck me like no one ever had was To hell with self-control and prehensile cocks. Fucking was what I wanted and as I heard him grunting behind me, my own dick hardened and I reached down to grab hold and join the fun.
There was a mirror on the door. I couldn’t see us in it from where I lay, but oh, how I would have loved to watch us go. I wanted to see that huge body in action, flesh quivering, meat pounding, because not only could I feel him pushing far into my bowels, I could feel his belly against me and I could hear the familiar fuck-slap louder than usual. He rode me for quite a while, reaming me totally, going on long after I’d shot a meager wad onto the rug. He grunted and growled and when he came he slammed me hard enough to almost push me off the rug, filling me with so great a gusher that I envisioned one of his nurse’s enemas. After, he leaned forward and nibbled my neck. “Stay with me,” he said.
I raised back against him as his dick escaped my well-oiled chute. I could feel his fur against my back. “I’m all yours,” I said, a wandering cub come home.
WAKING UP BEAR
Jay Neal
Fortunately, it was a Saturday morning. Barry was just waking up, maybe for the fourth or fifth time. He hadn’t slept well, having felt all-over itchy most of the night. Now he felt out of sorts, heavy and sluggish. He snuggled back against Stephen, hoping for some relief.
“Sweetie, would you scratch my back?”
Stephen reached out and felt for Barry’s back.
“Barry, when was the last time you had your back waxed?”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve never had to have my back waxed.”
Stephen scratched and didn’t think much about it. At last Barry’s itch seemed to have been satisfied and he rolled over to give Stephen a good-morning kiss. Stephen turned to meet Barry’s lips, opening his eyes just as their noses met.
Stephen screamed. “Your face!”
Barry recoiled. “What’s wrong with my face?” He raised his hands and felt the full, lush beard growing there. His eyes opened wider with alarm. His dread increasing, he threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Glimpsing himself in the mirror, horror gripped him. He froze where he stood.
Inarticulate, Stephen’s mouth gaped and he could only point at the sight. Barry feverishly patted parts of his body. “How did I get all fat and hairy?” He moaned in anguish. “Oh no! I’ve turned into a bear!”
Despite himself, Stephen began to giggle.
Barry spun angrily toward him. “How can you laugh at a time like this?”
“Time like what?”
“I don’t know! When we went to bed last night I was smooth and buff and toned. Now look at me.” He jiggled the curves of his belly with growing distaste. “What’s happened to my abs?”
“They seem to have become flabs.”
Barry was not amused. “How could this happen!”
“Too much masturbation?”
“Would you be serious for a moment. I can’t go to the gym looking like this. What am I going to do?”
“I suggest you take a shower while I make breakfast. You’re probably hungry.”
Barry thought this was most likely another cheap shot at his new-found girth, but he was in fact feeling hungry so he walked heavily into the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
Washing himself wasn’t its usual pleasure. Everywhere he once was concave, now he was convex. His formerly taut pecs sagged distastefully. His waist was a total waste. His belly showed not a hint of rippling muscle. He discovered with a start that he couldn’t even see his dick without bending forward. At least it felt the same, which was more than he could say for his once-perfect, once-melon-shaped ass.
And the hair! Everywhere he looked or felt there was more hair than he ever imagined one body could have. Hair all over his chest and belly was understandable, but he could feel it on his shoulders, on his back, all over his ass, covering his legs. Shockingly, even his toes had not escaped its incursion.
On normal mornings, he would have ended his shower by shaving. But this morning wasn’t normal, and with all the new hair he’d sprouted he wouldn’t know where to start.
He became irritated by the weird sensations the water made as it snaked and sluiced along its hairy course. Shutting off the water and reaching for his towel did not lighten his mood. He soon found that his new body surface took considerably longer to dry.
Neither was there consolation from his wardrobe. It was clear that none of his favorite polo shirts would cover so much as half his torso; his sports shirt’s buttons would never reach the buttonholes, either. Likewise, trying to get any of his trousers even so far as halfway up his thighs was frustrating. He finally found some baggy sweatpants that he could squeeze into and an old T-shirt that he could stretch to cover most of his belly.
Looking like one of his gym’s reprobates, Barry made his way to the breakfast table just as Stephen was sitting down with a platter of bacon.
Barry saw the mischief in Stephen’s eyes. “Don’t say a word about the way I’m dressed. I’ve put on sixty-five pounds overnight and absolutely nothing fits anymore.”
“We’ll buy you some new clothes today. Shopping will make you feel better. Have some bacon.”
“And what do I wear to go shopping in? I don’t think they make Italian silk shirts in extra-extra-large. Couldn’t you have made more bacon? I suppose I’ll have to start wearing flannel shirts now.”
“That was all the bacon we had. You’ll look good in flannel shirts. The plaid will flatter your new silhouette.”
“You can scoff, but I suppose you realize this means we can’t share clothes any longer.”
“We’ll get by.”
Barry’s spirits were not buoyed by the conversation. He filled his mouth with scrambled eggs. “Obviously we’re in for some lifestyle modifications.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll have to shave more often. It will be a chore to keep the hair from poking up around my shirt collar.”
Stephen was smiling as he bit a corner of toast. “Why bother? You look more butch this way.”
“Butch! Who wants butch? Am I supposed to become a leather Daddy now?”
“Not necessary, but you’d look good in leather, too.”
“I’d look like a cow, you mean.” Barry leaned back and spread his arms out. “See the way my pecs droop and my belly sags?”
Stephen sipped his coffee thoughtfully, looking at Barry. “You are the reason the word voluptuous was invented.”
Barry took another serving of eggs. “Stephen, would you be serious for just a minute. It feels like my life—our lives—have completely changed overnight. I’m trying to think of what to do, and you’re acting like nothing’s different.”
“Exactly. What can you do but accept it? Sure, you could kill yourself at the gym to get back in touch with your inner abs, or maybe starve yourself back to a thirty-two-inch waist, or shave yourself twice a day and have your body waxed once a week to recover the hairless you, but why? You’d just make both of us miserable.”
“Miserable! Think how miserable I’ll be looking like this! None of our friends would be caught dead with a fat, hairy blob like me. No one at the bar will talk to us. We’ll be ostracized.” Barry paused with his fork in midair, then set it back on the plate. “Or at least I will be. You’re still attractive, you could always find someone else, get on with your life.”
“Oh, quit being so melodramatic.”
“It’s hardly melodramatic when my life is ruined. I can’t imagine why you’d want to stay with someone who looks like this. Maybe I should just go and pack and leave town before anybody sees you with this hideous new me.”
“Well, you can stop that train of thought before it even leaves the station. You are not packing—remember, none of your clothes fit anyway—and you’re not going anywhere, at least not without me, because I love you regardless of a little body hair.”
“A little body—!”
“Barry! I mean it. Just stop right now with the one-man pity band.”
Barry knew better than to say anything right away, so he forked the last of his scrambled eggs into his mouth and chewed fiercely.
“Well,” he began grudgingly, “you’re right, of course, and I’d still love you even if you suddenly turned fat and ugly…”
Stephen sighed his long-suffering sigh.
“…but I still think we may need some help with this. Maybe marriage counseling or something.”
“Wait a minute….” Stephen almost snapped his fingers as the thought crossed his mind. “Wait just a minute….” He jumped up from the table and ran into the den. Barry could hear him rustling through papers. Shortly there was an “Aha!”, and Stephen rushed back to the table. He set a rather ordinary looking business card on the table in front of Barry.
Barry picked it up and read:
ONSLO BIGPAW
BEAR PSYCHIC & SPIRITUAL HEALER
“WHY SETTLE FOR A MEDIUM
WHEN YOU COULD HAVE AN EXTRA-LARGE?”
Barry looked at Stephen. “And this would be the answer to what question?”
“I don’t know, I’d never heard of him before. But don’t you see? He must be some sort of psychic because this came in the mail yesterday.”
“Yesterday? But how could he have known…?”
“My point exactly. I say we call him and find out.”
Barry handed over the card, which had a number written on the back. Stephen picked up the phone and dialed.
“It’s ringing,” Stephen said. “Oh hi, Mr. Bigpaw? My name is…yes, that’s right. Well, we have this problem. You see…yes, Barry…all over, even his toes…about sixty-five pounds…yes, we sure would…tomorrow night? Sure, that sounds good…yes, okay. Thank you.”
Stephen disconnected, looking pensive.
“Well,” Barry said, “that was cryptic.”
“Spooky is what it was. Like he knew everything I was going to say.”
“He is supposed to be a psychic, you said.”
“Right, but still…”
“Am I to understand we have an appointment?”
“Tomorrow night, seven thirty, his place for dinner.”
“Sounds promising. But whatever shall I wear?”
“Right. Let’s go flannel shopping.”
Precisely at the appointed time—which made them feel unfashionably early—Barry and Stephen arrived at the door of Mr. Bigpaw’s townhouse. Barry looked tastefully casual in his flannel shirt and denim dungarees. In a show of solidarity, Stephen also wore a loose-fitting flannel shirt and denim trousers, all newly purchased.
Stephen lifted his hand to knock, but the door opened before he made a sound. “Good evening Stephen, evening Barry. I’m Onslo Bigpaw. Please do come in and feel welcome.”
Bigpaw, himself a massive bear with a flowing white beard, opened the door wider and stepped back. Barry and Stephen stepped into the hallway and Onslo closed the door behind them. Barry noticed that Bigpaw himself was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and denim dungarees. He thought that was a nice gesture, but he was a bit disappointed that Bigpaw wasn’t wearing more exotic, mystical clothing, although he didn’t really know what that would be.
“Gentlemen, everything is prepared. Please, walk this way.” He turned and headed down the hallway. Barry appeared ready to say “If I could walk that way…” until Stephen gave him a stern look and mouthed “Behave yourself.” Onslo opened the door at the end of the hallway and invited Stephen and Barry in.
“Oooh,” Stephen said without really meaning to. “This looks cozy.” They stood looking into a spacious sitting room furnished with a large futon set beside a fireplace with a warm, dancing fire. The effect was heightened by the light from the candles in the candelabrum on the table in front of the fireplace. The table itself was set for an intimate dinner.
Stephen was enchanted by the romantic atmosphere. Barry, on the other hand, realized that his appetite was asserting itself; it took no further invitation from Onslo for him to move to the table. Bigpaw sat in the middle seat, facing the fire. Barry sat on his left, Stephen on his right.
