I've wanted to tell my story for a long time, and have finally decided to sit down and do just that. There's a reason why I'm doing this now, you'll find out why if you read the whole story through. For as long as I can remember, I've always been attracted to men. In particular, cigar and pipe smoking men. Not just any man who smokes a cigar or pipe, but BIG, hairy, muscular men. Face fur is a must for me too. A full beard and a nice bushy moustache, along with a shaved head or a crew cut, gets my heart thumping real fast. If he's got the kind of suntan that only a man who works outdoors can get, and he is sporting a few tattoos, that's an added bonus. Throw in a pair of tight Wrangler jeans, and some well worn leather, and you go to the top of my list. I find that most men who fall into that category are bikers, cowboys, construction workers, or truckers. Give me any part of that combo, and if he's got a briar or stogie jutting out of that furry face of his, he's got my complete undivided attention. WOOF! Needless to say, but that's my idea of what a Bear should look like. I stand 6' 1" tall, weigh 215 pounds, have a hairy chest and back, am of average build, not muscular, not thin, wear a full beard and moustache, sport a crew cut or shaved head depending on what I feel like at the time, smoke cigars and a pipe, and although not a cowboy, wear a cowboy hat. I like western wear, and that's all there is to it. All that I've just written is so you can understand what I look like, and what I look for in a man.

Although I said that I've been attracted to men for as long as I can remember, I never realized that I was gay until I had my first experience at the ripe old age of 22. It didn't amount to anything but being a sloppy drunken cock sucking affair where neither one of us got off. I was in the service at the time and just chalked it up to being horny and very drunk. I was 25 before I had my second experience with another man. I had stopped at a rest area to take a leak when a truck chaser offered to blow me. We got together a few times after that and he taught me how to flag truckers who might be looking for some rest stop action. Even those times with truckers were nothing more than cock sucking affairs for me. I then moved to a very rural part of upstate NY for my job, and remained "celibate" until the ripe old age of 35. I did have a few flings with women during that time that left me frustrated and very unsatisfied. Sorry for the long winded introduction, but I'm sure that there are many men who go through something similar in their lives before they finally find what they really need to be happy.

I met my Dad when I was 35 years old. I was a very lonely Cub up until that time and never even knew that there was another meaning for the word "Bear" until I met one. I was not "out" and the closest type of gay anything was an hour and a half away from where I lived. Not being a bar-fly, my very few visits to these places were disappointments that left me even lonelier than ever. I was driving my pick-up truck along a back country road a few miles from my home, going nowhere in particular, when I got a flat tire. There was a large pull off area where the log trucks could swing in and turn around in to my right so I limped into it to change my tire. I'll be damned if I couldn't get one of the lug nuts loose. I'm no weakling, but I couldn't get that one nut to bust free for anything. This road doesn't get much traffic so I'm figuring I'm shit out of luck when it comes to getting any kind of help with my situation. Here I am crouched down sweating like a pig, cowboy hat tipped back on my head, and a cigar, very soggy by then, clenched in my mouth, when one of those tractor-trailer type log trucks slows down and pulls in blocking my truck from view of the road. Still crouched down, I turn to see the driver's door open and my definition of a Bear steps out onto the fuel tank of the truck. Leaning on the open door looking down at me, smirk on his face, is a 6' 3", 255 pound, heavily muscled, full bearded, fur covered, cowboy hat wearing, stogie chomping Bear. My future Dad was wearing a white "wife-beater" t-shirt with fur popping out all over the place, an unbuttoned red and black plaid logger shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of well worn, tight leather jeans. Although for a real brief instant I thought it unusual that a trucker was wearing leather jeans, I sure wasn't complaining, and the tightness of that well worn leather outlined what that there Bear had hanging between his legs---WOOF! He had one of those big ol western buckles on his belt that said BULL in big letters and underneath it "5x10". Believe me I know, I was staring right at it. I was to learn real soon what 5x10 meant!

Got a problem boy, he said with that smirk still on his face. All I could do was stare at him and barely croak a yes sir. Later on he told me that he knew he had me right then and there when I called him sir. He also told me that the only reason he had pulled in was because he saw a bearded, cowboy hat wearing, gar smoking man. Seems like his definition of a Cub was similar to my definition of a Bear! They call me Bull(and right they should)he said as he jumped off the truck and extended a huge hairy paw out to introduce himself.

Mike, I said, as I stood and stuck out my own hand. Pleased to meet ya "Hoss" he said with that ever present smirk, and Hoss, boy, or son is all he ever called me from that moment on up to the day he died. He busted that nut loose for me like it was a twist tie on a bread wrapper, fired up another cigar, and stood back and watched me change my tire. We talked while I changed my flat. The usual, from around here, what do you do for a living, kind of stuff. I learned that he was a 45 year old cowboy from Montana that had had enough cow punching to suit him for a lifetime, had wandered around the country for a few months, and had ended up settling down in this area 6 months ago. He owned his rig and was an independent driver hauling logs for local logging companies. I was intensely conscious of his presence and hoped that he didn't notice how badly my hands were shaking. I was wondering what type of man he was, and if he preferred men or women. I of little experience wasn't sure how to steer the conversation that way without letting the cat out of the bag, and getting the living shit kicked out of me by this hulk of a man. Finished, I stood and thanked him for his help. Still smirking around his cigar, he looked me intently in the eyes, and asked me if there was anything else he could help me with. All I could do was lower my head and stare at his boots. I just didn't know what to say. I felt one of his big paws on my shoulder, and I looked up at him as he was firmly pushing me down to my knees. Trust me; there was no resistance on my part. His other paw was unzipping his pants and he pulled out the biggest cock I'd ever seen in person. I know what you need Hoss, he said as he stepped forward, his hairy, thick cock in hand. He pulled my hat off and tossed it on the hood of my truck. Open up boy he said, and I did just that. He stuffed the big knob of his cock in my mouth and said polish it up good boy, and then you can have the rest. Polish it I did. I fed on his cock knob like the starving Cub I was. It had been close to ten years since my last taste of cock, and I was going to get my fill. As I worked his knob I could feel him growing bigger and bigger. Damn, how could I take all of that? He grabbed the top of my head with one of his big hairy paws, tipped my head back and started sliding his bear meat down my throat. I gagged at his size, but was determined to take it all, even if it killed me. Now I knew what 5x10 meant! With a lot of work from me, and very little coaxing and persuading needed on his part, I managed to swallow his whole pecker while his one paw kept my head tipped back, and he massaged my neck with the back of his other paw. This Bear had been around and knew how to feed an eager Cub all of his tool. Here I was kneeling in front of the man of my dreams, sucking his big hairy bear cock, while he stood there smoking his cigar. His cock tasted of his sweat, and a musky leathery smell from his pants. He warned me that he was gonna cum, and pulled back so that just his knob was in my mouth, and let loose with a load that had me swallowing in double time just so I wouldn't loose any of it. Hot, thick, and salty, the best I'd ever had, and I wanted more. He smiled down at me and let this hungry Cub go another round. This Bear was one hot, horny stud, and I was loving every minute of it. When he had finished feeding me his second load of pecker snot, he growled to me in that deep voice of his and said stash the goods boy and mind the zipper, we don't want to damage the equipment, do we? I stuffed his cock back in his pants(that made me hotter than hell, that he let me do that)and carefully zipped him up. He pulled me up, smiled at me, patted my head, and put my hat back on me. He pulled one of his cigars out of his shirt pocket, took the wrapper off, stuffed it in my mouth, and fired it up for me. I fell in love with him right then and there. I blurted out my entire life story from 22 to 35 to him in about two and a half minutes, wasn't really much to tell anyways. He smiled at me and said he had to go, asked me for my phone number and said that he'd call me when he got back into town tomorrow. I watched that broad-backed Bear lumber back to his truck, climb in, wave to me out the window, and rumble out of the pull-off area. I figured that that was the last time I'd ever see him. I didn't sleep very well that night. All I did was toss and turn and I kept reliving that afternoon. I hung around my house the next day waiting for a phone call that I figured wasn't coming. It came! The phone rang and it was Bull. He didn't ask me, he told me. I just got home and I want you to come over right now. Yes sir, I said, and he gave me directions to his place. He lived 17 miles from me on a dead end dirt road. A real nice log cabin set back in the woods. It's mine now, he willed it to me. He came out of the house when I pulled into his driveway, smoking a cigar, different shirt, but with the same leather jeans on. I knew right then and there that I was his whenever he wanted me. No questions asked, he called, I came. The door to my truck had just barely closed when he grabbed me, threw me to the ground, and started tearing my hat, boots and clothes off. I was scared for a moment till I saw the look in his eyes. It was lust, not homicide. He picked me up like a sack of potatoes and threw me over his shoulder and headed for the cabin. For a moment I got scared again, wondering if I'd bitten off more than I could chew. The rest is history. He was the first man to ever fuck me, and fuck me he did. He fucked my brains out the rest of that day, and half of that night. A few hours rest here and there, and then he was banging me again like a screen door in a hurricane. He knew he was my first, and took it easy on me the first few fucks. It was the most sensual and erotic time I'd ever had in my life up to that point in time. He was rough yet gentle with me, and I also knew that he was holding back because it was my first time. To make an already long story short, I ended up selling my house, and moving in with Bull. I called him Dad, and he called me boy, cocksucker, son, or Hoss. It all depended on the situation as to what he'd call me. To tell you the truth, I didn't care what he called me as long as I could be with him. We shared the same interests in many things. Books, movies, food, fishing, hunting, Harleys, leather, cigars, pipes, and a love of the woods. Our most important common interest was sex. I had found a man who was as horny as I was. I became his best friend, lover, and son. All in one neat package. It was my job to keep his briars clean and polished, the cigar humidor rotated and stocked, his leathers clean, and his cowboy boots shined to the max. I also took great pride in keeping his Harley, pick-up, and rig looking good. I did it all out of my love for him and I know that he loved me too because he told me so on a regular basis. My Dad was killed by a drunk driver while riding his motorcycle home from town. The state police got his address from his driver's license and came to the house. That is where my story ends. I'm 50 years old now. We had fifteen great years together, and I miss him badly.