Bears, page 9
Why, you might ask, is this important?
Hold your horses (which, by the way, shit even more than the cats do); I’m getting to the why. But it’s the who that makes my job tolerable. Scratch that—makes my job bearable.
His name is Ben. Ben is the bear keeper. Ben is big. Ben is beautiful. Ben is…Ben is…did I mention big? Hella big, actually. Six foot plus and well over two hundred pounds. Big and round and cuddly, much like the bears he tends to, only without the nasty temperaments and mean-ass claws. Fortunately for me, bears shit too. Better still, as I mentioned, they shit in the pen next to the cats.
In other words, they share a feeding room, a veterinary room, and a cleanup room—all rolled up in one. Meaning Ben and I cross paths quite often. Meaning, I get to eat with Ben, chat with Ben, and…here comes that drumroll again…change clothes with Ben.
“Hey, cub,” he likes to say when we arrive for work.
“Yo, Ben,” I usually reply, hanging up my jacket and stealing sidelong glances at him as he slips into his work uniform, which fits him like the proverbial glove, tight in all the right places. Then he goes about his day, feeding the bears, keeping records, tending to their daily needs; and I go about mine. Besides cleaning up the cat shit, I chop up their meat, clean their dens, and make sure their pools are nice and clean. Pretty boring stuff, but once I’m out of veterinary school, the real fun begins.
Ben, naturally, makes it fun already, just by being Ben.
And then one day, fate, or Mother Nature, throws a socket wrench into the works, and things get a bit, um, hairy.
“Hey, cub,” he said, on that particular day, like he always does.
“Yo, Ben,” came my typical reply. Though there was nothing typical about anything that followed.
“So, cub, wanna see where babies come from?”
“Um, yeah, I think that one was covered by my mom already, thanks.”
He grinned, revealing a wide, white smile that melted my heart and put a boing in my boxers. “No, I mean see. As in watch Lulu give birth tonight. She’s already dropped a half a foot. I’d say she’s got about eight more hours to go.”
Lulu was the mama bear in the pen. Jake was the papa, and then there were Frick and Frack, the twins. This was Lulu’s second birth, but the first since I’d been at the zoo. Of course, seeing a bear give birth was a big check in the plus column. “Eight hours? But the park will be closed,” I practically stammered, already aware what that meant.
“Not afraid of the dark, are you, cub?”
Actually, I was afraid of being alone in the dark. With Ben. Still, a bear giving birth was exciting stuff. “Well, sure,” I replied. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“You’re hard to forget, cub,” he replied, cryptically, a red flush creeping up his neck, almost hidden as it was by his dense beard.
After that, the day went by in a blur, with my head swimming with ideas of what was to come—or who, since my thoughts tended toward the more carnal, most of the time. And then the park closed and we were alone, sitting in the back room a dozen feet away from Lulu, who paced nervously in a holding cell, the rest of her brood now separated for everyone’s safety, especially their own.
“Now what?” I asked him.
“Well, now we wait. Lulu’s not a first-time mother. She knows what she’s doing. We’re just here to give her moral support. Makes her feel safer when I’m nearby. Luckily, bears rarely have complications.” He flicked on a television monitor, and we had instant access to the inside of her birthing den.
The minutes ticked by. The room was silent save for Lulu’s paws moving back and forth. Sweat trickled from my brow. “Hot in here,” I whispered.
He grinned. “Take your shirt off.” The smile remained, but there was now an edge to his voice. A teasing edge.
I upped the ante. “You first.”
His grin faltered for the briefest of moments. Still, he reached for the top button of his work shirt and began making his way downward, quickly revealing a dense matting of chestnut brown fur and a big, strong belly that jutted out beautifully. I followed suit, matching him button for button, until both of us were shirtless. “My, my, cub,” he said, taking me in with his beaming blue eyes, “the name is, um, befitting.”
I stroked the blond down that covered my torso. “Hopefully, Lulu won’t take me for one of her own,” I said.
“She should be so lucky,” he said, the red flush returning to his face, followed by a nervous cough.
I was making Ben as anxious as he was making me. This, I reckoned, was a good thing. The ante raised, I decided to lay my cards on the table. “And the rest of me is just as hairy,” I said. “Maybe even more so.”
He gulped, audibly. Ben, it seemed, was as bashful as he was big. “Um, the, er, the rest of you?” he whispered, his head sunk down to his thick, fuzzy chest. “Can I, can I see?”
Jackpot! I’d been dealt a good hand, and the upper hand at that. “You wanna see me naked, Ben?”
His smile returned, lascivious and lustful, and it spread from one side of his handsome face to the other. “Sure, cub. Do you wanna see me naked?”
Now it was my turn to gulp. “It has crossed my mind.” Like a million times.
I’d often imagined this moment, him coming on to me, me coming on to him, both of us coming on each other, but I was surprised at how quickly it was happening. One minute we were watching Lulu, the next we were shucking our sneakers and work slacks. And there he was, bigger than life, in more ways than one.
Ben, to my good fortune, was hefty all over.
He towered over me, covered in glorious hair, with his big belly and big chest, his tree-trunk thick legs and beefy arms, and a slab of meat jutting up and out, and said, “Careful, it senses fear.”
Well now, fear was not exactly what was racing through me at that very moment. Instinctively, I sank to my knees, the beast now mere inches away, its slick, wide helmeted head beckoning me. My tongue darted out and circled the soft, pink head, taking in its salty, pungent taste. I moved in closer and engulfed it, gliding my mouth down and around the fat cock, and eliciting a groan from Ben as he placed his mitt of a hand at the back of my head and pushed me in, gagging me and sending a lone tear down my cheek.
“Oh yeah,” he groaned again, the sound rumbling around the small metal enclosure and then down my spine and out my crotch. “Suck it, cub.”
And suck it I did, taking as much of it as I could as he bucked his mammoth frame, pushing his prick down my eager throat; in the distance Lulu’s grunts matched our own. I pulled on Ben’s swinging nuts. He crouched, slightly, and repeated, “Oh yeah.” I pulled harder, harder still, yanking and tugging on his balls as I spit-shined his rod. His legs widened and his knees buckled. I momentarily released his prick from my mouth and quickly shot a wad of spit in my hand, and then I went back to sucking and slurping as my slick fingers found their way to his newly-exposed, hairy hole.
He reached behind and spread his cheeks even farther apart for me, allowing me easier access to his inner workings. I prodded and poked, sending one then two wet fingers in and up and back, feeling his soft, muscled interior. His hole drew me in as I continued to chow down on his rod; and still he repeated his oh yeahs, grinding his ass down into my hand as he did so.
“Better stop, cub,” he soon rasped. “Unless you want that pretty mouth of yours shot full of come.”
Enticing as the offer was, I wasn’t quite ready. “What would be option number two?” I asked.
He laughed, a big, roaring laugh that caused my cock to bounce. “How about your ass full of come?” He reached into his slacks and removed a rubber and a small packet of lube.
“You’ve come prepared to come, Ben,” I said, rising off the ground and looking up into his sparkling peepers.
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen how you look at me, cub. Just like those cats you feed: hungry and salivating. I kinda figured these might prove handy tonight.”
He opened his mighty arms and encased me in a, for lack of a better term, big bear hug. I reached up and tugged on his beard, pulling him down, face-to-face, mouth to mouth, until his was on mine, soft and wet and eager. His tongue wrapped around my own, slithering and snaking inside my mouth as he mashed his massive body into me, until I didn’t know where I stopped and he began.
“Oh yeah,” I said, echoing the general sentiment of the evening.
“Oh yeah,” he agreed, pulling back to allow his hands to roam up and down my furry torso, resting his sausage-like fingers on my eraser-tipped nipples, which he tweaked as he continued his perfect lip-lock. My hands traversed the giant span of him, soft and downy, strong and firm, until they worked their way south, to stroke his seven solid inches.
We stood that way, exploring each other, until he lifted me as if I were light as a down pillow and gently placed me on my back atop his workbench. I locked my eyes on to his, willing him inside of me. He grinned, keenly aware of what was on my mind—what I had been thinking for many months, in fact.
Big Ben and his big ben were finally gonna fuck me silly.
I quickly raised my legs and winked my tight hole at him. He crouched and gave it a lick and a slurp, sending the bristles of his beard up and down and around my upturned ass. I giggled and pushed my rump into his face, until his tongue worked its way inside. I sighed and began a slow stroke on my cock, which was already heavily slick with precome. A million volts of electricity shot from my cock to my brain, and I waited for him to up the voltage.
When he had me good and wet and wriggling on the bench, he stood and sheathed his dick before lubing us up, gliding two sticky fingers up my chute to get me ready for the onslaught. I sucked in my breath and clenched my hole around his digits, but soon relaxed, exhaled, and smiled at him. “Fuck me, Ben.”
He grinned. “Planning on it, cub.”
He squatted and placed the head of his mighty cock against my ring, holding my legs up and apart as his belly slid over my own cock, pressing it down as he entered me, gently, tenderly, inch by inch. I felt the familiar half-pain, half-pleasure burn as he slid on home, filling my ass.
“Oh yeah,” he said, the now-familiar refrain, and he tilted his head back in ecstasy as he began a slow thrusting up my ass, while his gut slid over my sensitive cock, rubbing it so that we had no need for our hands.
In and out he rocked, each time sending a burst of sparks through my body and a steady stream of sweat down my chest; and all the while I stared up at him, at his huge protective frame that had me pinned in place, and at his eyes that now bore into me, laser intense, blue as the midday sky.
“So tight, cub,” he groaned, rocketing his cock to my furthest recesses.
“So big,” I moaned back at him.
He grinned and let me have it with both guns, pumping my ass for all it was worth, until I thought the bench beneath us would give way. Instead, it was me who gave way first, my cock erupting under his belly, spewing ounce after sticky white ounce of hot come that shot, shot, shot onto my stomach, my chest, my chin.
And with my asshole now wrapped tighter than a drum around his fat prick, he too shot, moaning low and deep and loudly as he filled the rubber with his own heavy load. With a final “Oh yeah,” he collapsed, his cock slipping out of my ass with a distinctive pop as his hands reached up to stroke my chest, running rings of come through my dense matting.
I patted his head and smiled, joyous, as I glanced at the monitor screen beside us. “Hey! Lulu’s a mom again!”
He tilted his head and laughed. “Big day for both of us. She had her cub, I had mine.”
“Speaking of which, you think we can try this on a bed next time? This bench is murder.”
He laughed, and his cock stiffened. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“Just so long as I don’t have to clean up after it, he can shit anywhere he damn well pleases.”
“And can I fuck you any time I damn well please, cub?”
I held on to him tightly, and replied, “Oh yeah, Ben. Oh fucking yeah.”
CONFERENCE CALL
Don Shewey
You know how wild people get attending out-of-town conferences. Unleash a hotel full of horny doctors on a full-moon Saturday night and—look out, world!
At a medical research conference in Lake Tahoe last summer, I was sharing a room with Dr. Blau, a rheumatologist from St. Louis with the looks of a Sunday school teacher and the soul of a Drummer Daddy. We’d spent our lunch hour chatting and flirting with Dr. Greenberg, a handsome young radiation oncologist from Denver who was a female-to-male tranny-fag. After dinner, Dr. Blau let me know that he had made a date with Dr. Greenberg, who’d asked if it was okay if he brought some rope. Apparently, our young friend was not only a gender rebel but also an experienced leather master with a specialty in bondage. Dr. Blau was so intrigued that he was willing to surrender and be topped, for a change. We worked out a signal system: when I was ready to go back to the room, if the DO NOT DISTURB sign was out, that meant their scene was still in progress (I was welcome to come in, but be forewarned); if the SERVICE PLEASE sign was out, that meant the coast was clear.
I left Dr. Blau to his intriguing new experience and wandered off to the swimming pool area, where a mellow but active social scene unfolded. Most people were hanging out in the large outdoor hot tub, some of them naked, so I gladly tossed my Speedo and joined the bareass bathers. The atmosphere was friendly, low key, and increasingly sexy as the evening moved along and the full moon peeked through the scattered clouds.
I noticed Dr. Whitehead, a bearded, burly middle-aged neurologist from L.A., wading toward me from across the pool. We’d had a tryst the day before that included a fair amount of enjoyable cuddling and mutual sucking, but way too much kissing for my taste. I like kissing, so it wasn’t the amount of kissing I objected to, it was the style. Dr. Whitehead was one of those kissers who latches on to you like a rubber suction cup, creating a vacuum seal you literally have to tear yourself away from to catch a breath.
I greeted him politely but gravitated to Dr. Blackmun, a handsome young policy wonk from Washington, DC. I held him from behind and floated him in the water and gave him a bit of a back massage, while we discussed the financial woes of community health centers with Dr. Brown, the conference’s keynote speaker, who beamed indulgently as his boy-toy Cobalt frolicked naked like a baby seal.
The pool started to fill up. There were a few women in the group, but mostly men. And things got more and more touchyfeely. Freshly hatched couples made out along the edges of the pool. I’d exchanged places with Dr. Blackmun, who was cradling me in his arms, with his enormous boner pulsing against my back. Dr. Whitehead hovered nearby, hoping to drum up some more action with me or at least warm himself on the heat starting to build with Dr. Blackmun. Dr. Redding, a beefy hairy-chested GP from Montana, seemed eager to join our pod, so I wrapped my legs loosely around his waist and drew him in. Soon all four of us were idly fondling one another’s joysticks under the water.
It got to be midnight, and the hotel security guard came around announcing that the pool was closed. She didn’t bat an eye at the sight of bearded naked MDs tongue-kissing by moonlight. She just wanted to do her job and go home. We registered good-natured protests and took our time responding. “Where shall we go now?” someone asked.
Dr. Redding piped up. “Room 253 is available! It’s a big room and I have it all to myself.” He invited anyone within ear-shot to make it their post-pool destination and moseyed off to tidy up in preparation.
The pool party wasn’t over yet. Dr. Blackmun was still nuzzling the back of my neck, while Dr. Whitehead stood in front of me, poking me with his long stick. Dr. Rosario, a luscious lesbian gynecologist from San Antonio who was soaking next to us, got inspired to introduce some last-minute party games. She produced a foil-wrapped Hershey’s kiss, unpeeled it, and popped it in Dr. Whitehead’s mouth. “Pass it around,” she said mischievously.
He was only too happy to pass it along to me. The chocolate sweetness was enough of a novelty to make another encounter with the suction-cup lip-lock tolerable, and it also gave me a good excuse to break it off with him and pass the candy from my mouth to Dr. Blackmun’s. We let that transfer linger lovingly. Dr. Blackmun relayed the kiss to Dr. Whitehead. I demanded a return engagement, and then I passed the kiss to Dr. Rosario. It had been a while since I’d kissed a real live goil, and she was voluptuous enough to get me going. She was surprised at first but didn’t back down from a sweet, slow tongue-dance with me.
Then we all dragged ourselves out of the water, dried off, and dressed. I fell into a conversation with Dr. Gray, a holistic practitioner from Petaluma, California, and he joined the parade of hot-tubbers gravitating toward Room 253. I thought there would be a couple of dozen victims of Saturday night fever taking Dr. Redding up on his offer, but when we got to the room, it was just five of us including our host. He was busy adjusting the lighting in the room, trying to transform a nondescript Best Western into an inviting sex den. His king-sized bed definitely called out to be inhabited by more than one sleepy visitor.
Having just come from the pool, we didn’t have much clothing to shed, and what little there was quickly hit the floor. I stepped into the bathroom to take a quick pee. While I was taking care of business, I noticed that the room went strangely silent. When I went back to the bedroom, Dr. Redding, Dr. Blackmun, and Dr. Whitehead were standing on the bed engaged in a naked three-way kiss. Dr. Gray must have gotten cold feet, because he’d slipped out. Goodnight, Dr. Gray! Sweet dreams!
I went over and sprawled on the bed, enticing Dr. Redding away from the others. He fell on top of me and we rolled around in a playful bout of wrestling. I’m a hairy beast, too, so we enjoyed the Velcro rustle of furry chests as we licked and stroked and handled each other’s bodies. He rolled over onto his back with his arms outstretched and said, “I’d like to be stretched to the four corners of the bed.” I got the hint. Even though the hotel bed didn’t come equipped with D-bolts or wrist and ankle restraints (what kind of five-star hotel is this anyway?), I was happy to step in and take control as Dr. Redding fell into a total bottom-boy trance.
