First of all, I'm a bear. If I weigh 240, I feel pretty good, but if I don't watch myself, I can get upwards of 270, and that's not so good. I've got dark curly hair all over my body, forearms, upper arms and legs, but my wife always told me it was nice, not too much. I guess it's greying now on my chest and belly, but it used to be pretty dark brownish or black. I've got a good sized belly, but it's never bothered me.

One thing I always noticed over the years, was that I got checked out by as many men as women everywhere I went. And not just gay men. When I'm undressing in the locker room, suddenly the area around me seems to get populated. If I go to the beach, it's the same. Mowing the lawn if I take my shirt off, there's someone there to talk to me before long. It's always been that way, and I guess I figured that men like to look at men too. For me though, I never really thought too much about men sexually, for the most part, probably because my sex life at home was so great. Oh, there was a stray thought here and there, and I have surely never been opposed in any way to gay men, just never really interested either. I was propositioned here and there, but never felt like acting on it.

Mainly, because my wife loved sex. She loved to suck cock. She loved my body, my hair, my cock, my tits, my ass, my legs. She, I almost hate to say this, but it's true, she damn near worshipped my body. She flat out loved to fuck and be fucked by me. She loved being on top, riding the fuck out of me, squeezing my tits and reaching back to stroke my balls, and she liked being fucked hard too, lying back and having me plow into her. She always called me her 'big bear,' long before I ever heard that term the way it's used today. Maybe best of all, she was open to new things. Hell, she was the instigator. I remember we had our three little kids sleeping in the rooms next to us the first time she stuck her finger in my ass while sucking my cock. We'd been married for 12 years, and had three kids! And all of a sudden she opened up new horizons for us with that little exploratory finger. Kids sleeping next door.

That woman was the best lover a guy could ask for. She'd suck your cock and fuck you like a whore at night, and then go to church with you in the morning. Many nights I'd lie on my back getting my balls licked, my arms folded under my head, thinking to myself, what a lucky motherfucker you are. See, my wife understood one critical thing about me, which probably applys to a lot of guys: sometimes I might be too tired or stressed or whatever, to feel like making love, but I am never, never, ever able to turn down a blow job. So, that's where she had me. She knew if she started playing with it a little, and then sucked that cock hard, I'd have a change of heart for lovemaking. I don't mean to brag, but we had sex more nights of the week than not, simply because that woman loved cock. Left up to me, lots of nights we'd have just gone to sleep, but she had her understanding of what made me tick. Suck me hard, and I'm putty ion your hands, well, stiff putty. And I have to admit, she made it look like fun too, sucking that big thing, and she was always full of compliments too, about the size, the smell and the taste. She often told me that it was something I'd like if I'd only give it a try. And then she'd go back for another mouthful and try to prove it to me.

It was like that for more than thirty years, until the hysterectomy. The doctor warned us that things could change, but no one could have prepared either of us for the change that did occur. Suddenly, she had absolutely no interest in sex at all. It was literally overnight. Before the surgery we had the greatest secret in the world between us, and it was constant teasing, leering, pinching, and rubbing, everywhere, secretively, but right under everybody's noses at the same time. If we stayed at a friend's house for the night, she always made a point of sucking me off, just to enjoy having total control over me. She'd suck and squeeze and lick, knowing that I wouldn't want to make a sound, and it was a total joy. She loved that same trick in hotel rooms with the kids asleep in the next BED! But all that came to an end. At first I thought it was just a going to be for a recovery period, but she sat me down one day and, crying, told me how that part of her just didn't seem to exist anymore. And we tried, and she tried, but it was over. And no one was more miserable than she was.

She gave me permission, actually encouraged me, to find a lover if I wanted, but, really, I didn't want the drama, nor did I want to lose her. I love her. I could forsee falling in love with somebody else, and all that, and I didn't want it. What we'd had sexually couldn't be replaced, and I wasn't inclined to try. And we live in a small town, where it's pretty damn hard to keep a secret like that.

Well, there it stood, and that's the short version, 'cause I know you guys are not on this site, reading this, to find out about the good sex life I had with my wife, but that background is necessary to understand what follows.

I retired a few years ago, but Chris is still working, so I found myself alone around the house. The daily routine became, wake up, have breakfast with Chris, see her off to work, back to bed and jack off, and then just putter around the house, basement, garage. Pretty soon, you can imagine, that got boring, so I started to hang out at a garage in town where I have gotten to know the owner. I've always been a guy who liked to work on cars, and this place was a good place to hang out at. There was a hoist to use, lots of tools, so I made myself useful around there. I became a fixture.

Paul, the guy that owns the place is about fifteen years younger than me, and somewhat bearish too. A bit smaller than me, but built like a jeep I guess, small and powerful. His business exists to fund his passion, which is restoring old cars. This is another long story, and one I'm going to skip, but in short, he bought a car on ebay that he had to go take possession of in Colorado. He had to go pick it up, and since I was unemployed and basically at loose ends, I decided to go along for the ride.

We hitched up a flatbed to my big truck, and took off one day around noon. It's a twenty hour drive, and we planned to drive straight through, arriving there at around 8 in the morning, and to play it by ear at that point. We hit a little snow on the way there, through Nebraska, but not enough to really slow us down much, and we still got there to pick up the car pretty much on time. Trouble was, the guy didn't have a pink slip--the title--for us. He said he could get it, but it would be later in the afternoon. He was all apologetic, but it wasn't like we were ready to just take off anyway. We were dog tired, and decided to get a room at a motel and sleep for the day. Which we did. Not to disappoint you, but that's all we did.

But, during the long drive to Colorado, we'd had some very interesting conversations, on a wide range of topics. At some point, I don't remember which one of us it was--probably me though--but one of us said something about not having been laid in a long while. We soon discovered that we were both in the same situation. His wife hadn't had a hysterectomy though, she'd just lost interest, and come right out and told him to forget about sex with her--she was done.

We'd talked about the whole idea of finding a lover, and all the hassle that could involve, the small town shit, and all that. As the conversation kept returning to sex, I was pretty open about what a good sex life Chris and I'd had. I noticed that Paul got real quiet the first time I described it sort of realistically. I had mentioned cocksucking, and I thought maybe I had offended him, but then after some miles of silence, he hinted around, looking for more details. This same thing happened several times on the drive out, where he'd hint around a bit, obviously curious about my sex life with Chris, but then, he'd always clam up as I talked about it. As the hours rolled by, I told him about how much she had loved cock. It was pitch dark one time and I know he had a hardon, while I described one of her favorite cock techniques. I have to admit, I was hard too, and enjoying myself, telling somebody for the first time about what a lucky bastard I had been. Paul kept looking for ways to return the conversation that direction, and it gave me a lot of pleasure to talk about it.

So, after driving for twenty hours or so, we were exhausted. At the hotel, we slept the sleep of the dead, having been awake for so many hours. When we got up and showered, probably around three PM, there was Paul, checking me out, like I mentioned earlier that guys do, no big deal, but I noticed it. This time though, I decided to return the gaze, and to do it openly. He had a nice thick chest that was covered with brushy hair like mine, still brown though, while mine is more salt and pepper. He had a thick bush at his crotch and a real good sized cock. As I toweled off, he was watching me, but trying to hide it. I let everything show, dried off real slow, and dropped the wet towel on the floor to stand on. I scratched my chest, and standing in front of him totally nude, went through my overnight bag looking for my underwear. It wasn't until I was done, all dried off and half dressed, then he finally went into the shower. When he came out, I sat and watched him dry off and get dressed. And that was it. I'm not sure why I decided to be Mr. Obvious, but I did, and there's no denying it. I made sure I didn't play the 'I'm not really looking' game. He seemed pretty disconcerted by my direct gaze, and dressed rather hurriedly. I remember staring right at his cock, and then looking him in the eye. This was the moment the whole thing started. He looked away, but I knew there was a spark, inside both of us. He liked looking, and he liked being looked at, even though it made him nervous. I guess I have to admit, I was nervous too. Uncharted waters.

We left the motel and went to pick up the car. There was a certain awkwardness between us, an unspoken understanding that something had happened, but we weren't talking about it. The guy was ready for us this time, we got the pink slip, secured the car down to the flatbed, and headed east. It was the afternoon, and we would have liked to drive all night, but it was snowing a bit, and the going was slow. Towing that trailer made the whole rig heavy and unwieldy, and just a lot more of a pain in the ass. Whenever a semi would pass it was like being blinded, and the wind picked up along with the snow. With the amount of white stuff on the ground ever increasing, we just kept going slower and slower. It was stressful, and scary. Finally, somewhere in Nebraska, I'd had enough. I suggested we get off the highway, try to find a motel with a restaurant, and hope the snow stopped by morning. It was late, and during the drive, Paul had continued to occaisonally ask, and silently listen to me talk about my wife's sexually adventurous nature. When I mentioned "motel" he got real quiet. I guess he had an idea that we might be about to get adventurous ourselves. And we did.

After a quiet, somewhat tense meal, we went back to the motel room. There was a silence between us that was a lot like my wedding night had been. The motel was full, and I remember there was a TV playing in the rooms on both sides of us. Paul decided he needed a shower again, a cold one, he muttered, and as he undressed, I lay on the bed quietly watching him again, feeling really aroused. I knew he was horny, and he knew I was too. You could feel it in the air. I watched him, and he pretended not to notice me watching him, but he took it slower this time, while I maintained a steady gaze. Pretend as he might, there was no way he didn't know I was looking directly at him. Then he went into the bathroom, but came back out a few more times, crossing in front of the bed where I lay each time, wrapped in his towel, and the towel had a nice lump. Forgot the shampoo. Forgot the toothbrush. Forgot the something or other. The last time through, I was stripping down to my shorts as if preparing to shower after him. He took his time that time, as I pulled off my T-shirt. Again, he mentioned the need for a "cold" shower, and finally he shut the door to the bathroom. I heard the water start, and I sat there for a minute thinking. I thought about a lot in that minute.

And then I got up, took off my shorts, and walked stark naked into that bathroom. My cock was hard as I slid the shower door open and joined Paul. I noticed the water was not set on the cold setting. He had his back to me, but when he turned, his eyes were on my hard cock, and mine were on his. His cock was standing tall too. I remember he said, "I was hoping you'd come in here." I wrapped my arms around him, and he gave me a nice bear hug in return. Then we very naturally kissed each other. Later on we would talk about how it was the first time either of us had ever kissed a man, and how natural it had felt. I put my hand on his cock and gave it a nice firm squeeze, then cupped his balls in my hand. I couldn't quite believe I was doing this, but it felt great.

He must have thought so too, because he wanted to get right into bed. Instead, I went for the soap and started lathering him up. First his chest, and tits, then his belly, and finally I put both hands on his cock, and balls, rolling the bar of soap around them staring into his eyes. Then I got down and started to suck him, while my soaping and sudsing continued. That slowed him down. I paid a lot of attention to his cock and balls, and ass. When I got near his asshole though, he just froze up, so I'd back off and do the cock again. Every time my finger played around his asshole, he seemed really tense. I was reacting like it was Christine, who loved a finger in her ass, in fact she loved a lot more than that in there, but Paul was not Christine, that was quite evident. I stood up and pushed him down toward my cock, handed him the soap and had him try to do the same to me. He gave it a try, even poking a finger in my ass a little, but soon he got pretty lost in the cocksucking, losing track of the soap and suds routine. The man seemed to like having a cock in his mouth, and as a matter of fact, it had seemed pretty damned fun to me too. I wanted more.

Eventually I encouraged him to soap up my ass again, and got him to stick a nice soapy finger all the way into me and had him clean me out nice. Chris and I used to do this all the time, and I knew what I liked. Paul, I give him credit, did his best, but seemed pretty baffled at the whole idea of the ass as a part of having sex. I went down on him again, trying to break the ice and I had just barely stuck my finger in his ass, when he stopped me. So I thought, what the hell, it can wait.

At that point our cocks were nice and hard and clean, and we turned off the water and dried each other off. I remember feeling almost virginal again, like this was all so new, yet familiar too. It was funny. We towelled each other, and sucked some more in the bathroom, and finally made our way back to the beds.

I lay him down on his back and lay down on him, face to face, for a long deep kiss, while I pretended to fuck him, my cock sliding up and down his crotch and belly. He was shivering, and it wasn't cold in that room at all. The poor guy was so nervous, so horny and hard, and so excited he was like to burst. I sucked one of his tits into my mouth, and I thought he was going to cum right then. His cock throbbed against my belly and I rubbed it into my chest hairs. If the neighbors hadn't had their TVs running, I'll tell you they would have heard the moan that Paul gave out when his tit slopped into my mouth. I looked up at him and his face was red, his eyes wide, and his cock throbbing against my belly felt like a live animal. Man, he was ready for anything. I sucked both tits and kissed his lips some more and rubbed my cock and balls on his furry belly.

Then, I went down on him, and took that cock as far into my mouth as I could get it. He seemed like he was holding his breath so I finally stopped, told him he had to relax and breathe. It felt great having that cock in my mouth. Chris had been right: the taste was a salty sweetness, and the firm softness of the tip was new to me, but familiar, and I just wanted more of it, as much more as I could get. It wasn't long--it seemed like just a few minutes, but I am sure it was longer than that--and I was swallowing my first load of cum. I took every drop too, and he moaned so much that I really think he was partly moaning with pleasure, and partly crying. I lay on top of him then, and kissed him again, giving him a taste of his own cum while pushing my cock into his belly. I straddled his hairy body and fucked his stomach, my cock in my fist and my tongue in his mouth. He very tentatively tried squeezing my tits and sucking one of them too. I soon came all over his hairy belly with an orgasm that seemed like it had been building for a week. Some landed on his tits, chest, chin and even his face. I licked it off.

We lay in each other's arms for a long time, whispering about how great what we had just done had felt. We kept exploring each other's body, and kissing. God he was a good kisser, and loved it. I sucked his tits again and he told me he had never had his tits sucked. In fact he finally told me that his sex life with his wife had never included any cock sucking, tit sucking, or really, any intimacy at all. She just spread her legs and waited until he was done. He hadn't really believed it could be any other way. She had never really touched him, held his cock, or had her face near it. In a larger sense, it sounded like she had never actually touched him at all in a meaningful way. And then when the kids were in grade school or so, she'd stopped spreading her legs for him. I couldn't help but think the woman was a fool. Paul was, is, a fine looking man, balding sure, but with deep blue eyes, nice brushy eyebrows, a hairy chest and belly, a nice thick cock and, just a real good chunk of man.

He said that in the truck, when I was talking about my sex life with Chris, he had been too shocked to talk, too envious, too curious for more details, and too shy to ask. But too curious not to ask. To him, what I had been describing sounded like fiction, and yet he knew me, and knew I wasn't the sort to lie. And really, I hadn't told him the half of it.

He finally fell asleep, and I lay there with a man in my arms, thinking, for a long time. I thought about what it meant to be straight, or gay, or both. And I remember looking in the mirror of the dresser in front of us and seeing two hairy men curled together, and being glad that I was one of them.

continue reading...  Paul and Me - Part II