When Fantasy Becomes Reality · Chapters 1-6
by PapaWereBear and UrsusMajr
Posted December 2008

What follows is a work of fiction. Enjoy the fantasy, but please do not confuse it with reality. None of the incidents portrayed happened, and none of the characters are meant to depict actual persons, living or dead. This story contains descriptions of sex between consenting adult males. If such offends you or is illegal for you to read, please leave now.

Chapter 1

Mitch Wilkins walked into the main hall of Thomas Jefferson High School with just a touch of trepidation. He hadn't been here in almost exactly forty years; not since his graduation. He looked around and realized that he was early. Walking down the empty hall, he was hit with a wave of not especially welcome nostalgia. "Buck up, man," he thought to himself. "You've come. You're here, make the best of it."

Notices had come for the ten-year reunion and he had pitched them in the trash. After ten years, the memories were still painful; the rejection, the teasing, the cruel pranks and names were still raw in his memory. He stroked his new mustache as he read the reunion letter. It was a thick, wide, black mustache and it looked good on his face. He'd tried a goatee a couple of times through his college years but it just didn't suit his face, so he had trimmed it down to just the mustache. He'd given thought to a beard but decided that look was too 'old' for him.

He had graduated from college with honors and had been working on his doctorate. Consequently, he felt no reason to return to his old high school and reopen old wounds. Besides, he told himself he didn't have time for such nonsense between work and his studies.

After twenty years the notices came and again Mitch pitched them in the trash. Mitch's black mustache had given way to a full jet-black beard. He figured he was old enough now to carry it off. His face wasn't so 'boyish' anymore and the beard gave him a certain air of 'maturity'. Mitch had been hairy in high school, but not completely covered; now, twenty years later, he had a full pelt of dark hair that almost obscured his skin. His barber shaved the back of his neck below the collar, but it was obvious after just a week that Mitch was a very hairy man when the hair grew back as neck stubble, thick as ever.

Mitch had projects that needed to be completed, he had a busy life and it was mostly full. Well, full with work, anyway. Somehow, the social aspects of life seemed to elude him. He was very shy in social situations, though lecturing was easy enough. When it came to personal interaction, he was tongue-tied and could not voice how he felt. Mitch was almost forty and felt he was very distant from the young man who had survived high school.

Most of the memories had faded but a few lingered. He remembered being called ape, monkey man, Captain Hairball or simply "freak" by his classmates. Mitch had thick chest and belly hair even then and was beginning to grow stray hairs on his back when his classmates were just barely getting some hair around their nipples. Mitch had started shaving occasionally at eleven and could grow a full beard by fifteen. Since late grade school until he graduated from TJ High he'd been teased about his body hair. Other kids used to ask him if his son had come to school with him or say that he was so hairy he didn't have five o'clock shadow, he had two o'clock shadow. He was dubbed 'Ape' or 'Animal', and they weren't terms of affection.

The teasing made Mitch a loner, it isolated him and it locked him away within himself so no one could get in and hurt him. He remained alone as he got older, never getting close to anyone for fear of being hurt. In college, he wore long sleeved shirts that covered up his hairy arms and neck. He never wore shorts or a tank top when exercising, opting for long sleeved jerseys and long legged sweatpants to cover his hairiness and he never took physical ed courses that would reveal his pelt, like swimming. Mitch didn't have a social life, he studied and stayed in the dorms for the most part. A few times he had tried to reach out to someone, but these fumbling attempts hadn't worked out. In the end he felt it was better to be alone than to run the risk of being hurt again.

When the notices came for the thirty-year class reunion, Mitch was away on vacation in Europe. By now, he was a successful research scientist and almost fifty years old. His beard was salt and pepper and his pelt was just as salted as his beard with silver strands all over his body; Mitch liked the feel of his body hair and had come to appreciate it. He no longer let the barber shave his neck, allowing it to grow naturally. In many respects, he had learned simply to not care what the rest of the world thought. He wore shorts now, and tank tops, kept his body fairly well fit though he had more than a bit of a belly. He would get looks from people as he jogged by, children sometimes stared and laughed; but by now Mitch had forged thick enough armor to deflect the snickers and stares. What completely threw him though were the rare looks of appreciation; they made Mitch uncomfortable. He knew how to disregard revulsion and ridicule, he had been practicing since grade school on that; attraction to his body was quite something else and it made him feel like a freak all over again. It broke through the 'I don't care' armor he'd grown.

Mitch had written many papers and was considered a brilliant mind in the field of genetics. In fact, his college had asked him to speak to their graduating class only last year as an honored guest. His high school's reunion committee sent him an invitation to speak at the reunion a year in advance. The alumni association wanted to honor him at the upcoming reunion. Mitch crumpled up the letter and pitched it in the trash.

"Yeah, they want to honor me now, now that I would be worth bragging about." He muttered darkly. Standing by the trash can, his mood clouded as he once more began to remember painful events from school he thought he had erased.

He thought about the time some of the guys on the football team had caught him in the locker room, held him down and had stuck packing tape to his chest and pulled it off. He remembered it hurt, but not half so much as them parading it around after showing how much hair they'd pulled off and telling everyone who saw it that it was a small fraction of what still remained on their victim.

"This is fucked," Mitch thought as he angrily flipped through the rest of the mail. He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat. "Its almost like they are trying to buy my friendship now that I could be an 'asset' to them," he grumbled. He thought about all the friends he hadn't had and the one he sort of had. His name had been Walter. He was a big guy, good looking and popular but only graduated at the same time as Mitch because he'd been held back a year for bad grades in his junior year. Walter Miller -- God, Mitch had had such fantasies about Walter in high school. He'd always sought to be close to Walter; he wanted to be Walter's close friend, his buddy. But that never happened and at the moment he didn't know why he thought about him.

He had a crush on Walter then and he thought about how different his life might have been if he'd been Walter's buddy… ah, 'what if'… his life had a lot of 'what ifs'. He thought about all his missed opportunities and possible 'happy endings'… What if he'd talked to that well built, hairy handed bearded guy in the bar who was giving him 'the eye' a month ago instead of just smiling, paying his tab and leaving. What if he'd actually acted on the invitation to meet a local bear from the chat room for coffee? What if he'd come out in college? Mitch shook his head to clear out his sad musings but his thoughts turned again to Walter.

Walter had had a respectable amount of fur on his chest, not nearly as much as Mitch, but a good amount and like the hair on his head, it was dark, nearly black. He also had a reputation for being an independent guy. He was popular, but he didn't hang out with the 'in crowd'. His popularity seemed to stem from his 'independence' and self-confidence. The fact that he didn't care what other's thought and he spoke his mind seemed to cast him in the part of 'rebel' and that was exceedingly attractive to most of the girls and seemed to make other guys want to follow his lead.

Walter had sort of lessened the blow for Mitch on several occasions when he was being teased in the shower room. On one particular occasion, when 'Moose', one of the nearly hairless stars of the football team was making monkey noises at Mitch, Walter told him that it took balls to grow body hair and then looked pointedly at Moose's smooth chest; leaving the suggestion that maybe Moose didn't have any balls just hanging in the air. After a heartbeat of silence allowing the suggestion to sink in, laughter erupted from everywhere in the locker room; but it wasn't directed at Mitch this time. It quickly spread throughout the locker room that Walt had said that Moose didn't have any balls and Moose decided to take out his embarrassment on Walt. Moose threw a punch and Walter, cool headed as always, just stepped out of the way. Moose overbalanced and slipped on the wet tile, banging his head on one of the concrete and stainless shower pedestals, bringing more laughter from the crowd. When the coach Franklin got there, the laughing crowd suddenly melted away. Moose was unconscious and bleeding from a nasty cut on his forehead. He'd hit pretty hard and the coach was quick to bark at Walter for half killing Moose.

The coach quickly found out that Moose had done it to himself and it was no one's fault but his own. Moose was bundled up into the coach's car and taken to the hospital. It was the news around school the next day that Moose had a concussion and wouldn't be playing football until he healed. Mitch thought about how Walter had winked at him when the laughter began and how the teasing seemed to lessen when Walt was around after that. The act of kindness was all the more appreciated for it being a rare occurrence in Mitch's high school life. He actually sort of felt sorry he'd missed the thirtieth-year reunion when he thought about Walt. Perhaps he'd go to the fortieth.

Ten more years passed. When the notices came for the fortieth-year class reunion, Mitch was a mature man with a full beard that had gone mostly white along with his body hair. He'd read everything he could find published about hirsutism and it had become a sort of hobby to search the net for new articles on the genetics of the condition. Mitch had become somewhat of an expert on it, though it wasn't his specific field of professional interest. Nearing retirement, he had not taken on any new research projects in the last two years and was rapidly completing those underway. His other hobby of investing in real estate and mutual funds had prospered of late as well. He wasn't fantastically wealthy, but he had enough money to travel when and where he wanted to and indulge his love of music and art without dipping into retirement funds.

Mitch had succeeded in killing his junior high and high school demons. He was in his own and the world's eyes a confident, successful man; a leader in his field. So, after forty years, Mitch decided he'd go back and actually see what had become of his old tormentors. Who knew, maybe even Walt would be there and they could catch up.

Chapter 2

The school had changed some in the last forty years, but the layout was basically the same. There were new buildings and some of the old ones had been modernized; but there was much that Mitch remembered. Mitch walked through the main hall to the greeting and sign in table. In short order he had a 'Hello, my name is' sticker on his suit coat. The volunteers working the table didn't seem to remember him and Mitch inwardly sighed in relief. He was surprised to find himself afraid that someone would see him and tag him with one of the many derogatory nicknames he'd collected while in high school.

"Oh, get a grip!" he thought.

Mitch stepped through the door and was immediately hit by another wave of memories; it wasn't just the look of the place, though little of that had changed except the paint color. The basketball backstops cranked up high on the walls, the bleachers rolled back and folded into their storage lockers along the long walls of the gym, all that looked familiar; but it was more the odor of the place that pitched Mitch back in time. It was a mixture of male sweat, rubber, Heet, lingering peripheral smells of under arm deodorant and foot fungus spray and the damp chlorine smell of wet concrete that all gyms and locker rooms seem to share in older schools. The faint odor, only partially covered by disinfectant, almost instantly brought forth strong memories, ones he had nearly forgotten.

In particular, Mitch was remembering his first week as a freshman in this gym. His PE teacher, Mr. Franklin, had been an imposing figure, standing 6'2" with a barrel chest and a blond crew cut with silver at his temples. His thick gold and silver mustache and end of the day scruff enhanced his already masculine aura. His bulky form spoke of an athletic past. Indeed, he looked like exactly what he was... a high school and college fullback who had added a layer of comfortable padding as he had aged. His legs were still thick, arms, too; but the belly had morphed from a washboard to a more rounded gut, almost but not quite a beer belly. An eagle tattoo on his outer right biceps looked like one that many service men had after WWII and was only visible beneath the thick hair owing to the fact that the hair was as light as his mustache. It still made the tattoo hard to distinguish as more than a blob from a distance of more than six feet. Mitch remembered the instant surge of lust in his groin as he looked closely at his sixth period teacher.

He had been dreading PE, based on his experience in junior high with all the teasing about his newly sprouting body hair. The first time he had been called 'monkey boy' and all the other kids in the locker room had taken up the chant, it really hurt. He'd been depressed for weeks. Throughout junior high, a good day had been when he was ignored by the others. A bad day was... well, most of them had been bad days. Since he had only gotten furrier as he moved towards high school, he could only imagine what was in store for him. But looking at Coach Franklin, standing there with his clipboard calling roll, he thought that at least there would be something to look forward to in gym this year. He carefully feasted his eyes on the tall, stocky man, noting the fur creeping out of the collar of his tee shirt and the golden hair on his arms and legs and stored the images for later enjoyment in the privacy of his bed.

The memory of that first day faded and was replaced with one from later in high school. Mitch had been talked into being the manager for the varsity football team, since that year he had last period PE. He took the job partly because he would get to skip some of PE during football season, but also because he would get to work with Coach Franklin in the locker room and on the field. It also meant that, because it was last period, he could skip showering and just go home. He always enjoyed looking at the coach's stocky body and the luxuriant arm and leg hair that promised a thick pelt on his chest. He found the look of the coach with his golden, end-of-the-day stubble and the mustache blazing in the late afternoon sun gave him wood he struggled to hide.

He imagined that one day the coach would notice all the ragging and teasing and would stride up and chase the bastards off. He'd take Mitch aside and try to make Mitch feel better about himself. He pull up his jersey, showing Mitch his ample densely hairy chest and belly and say, "Don't let them get to ya kid. Real men like us have hairy bodies; they're just jealous 'cause they don't have any. They're intimidated by you and that's why they're making fun of you." He'd wink, tousle Mitch's hair and tell him to get back on the field. Such were the things of which Mitch's adolescent dreams were made.

But one day, the Gods smiled on Mitch in reality and took pity on him for all the teasing and the loneliness. They threw him a bone; but what a bone! It wasn't a measly rib bone, no, they'd thrown him a heavy thighbone with scraps of meat still on it!

Football practice had gone very late and it was Parents Back to School Night, so teachers and parents would be returning to the school for the program. Indeed, some teachers had not even left after 7th period was over. Coach Franklin, like all the rest of the team, was hot and sweaty from the long practice. The rank smell would not go unnoticed with the parents. The guys made a beeline for the showers and coach made a beeline for the PE office, which had a shower of its own. Mr. Franklin planned on showering and changing into clean clothes there rather than going home before Back to School Night started. He reached for the shower handles and muttered a curse; no water. The janitor had mentioned having to shut off some of the water in the gym from maintenance work on a persistent leak. Damn! Nothing for it but to use the main showers. Most of the team were done anyway and dressing at their lockers or already gone home.

Mitch was checking in some equipment and looked up in time to see the coach striding down the row of lockers, butt naked. His protective instincts failed him briefly, as he stared openly at the coach, whose back was covered in silver-shot gold fur. A wide set of shoulders were equally furred and tapered only slightly to still-muscular glutes that had dark golden swirls of hair covering them. Mitch nearly passed out. He found a reason to go to his locker, which had a view of the showers and with fortune smiling upon him, the row where his locker was located was empty. He carefully looked around the corner and was able to see Mr. Franklin soaped up in profile, just working shampoo into his flattop with his eyes closed.

Thick wet, fur, clung to his softened, but still impressively muscular body. Mitch had a stiffy he knew he would have trouble concealing. He knew that coach was close to the end of the routine. For most guys shampoo is the last job, and coach's flattop didn't take long to get clean. Mitch headed back to the office. About five minutes later, he was (as he had fervently prayed for) treated to the front view as Franklin passed back through the emptying locker room to his office, now dripping. The coach's chest and belly were thickly furred and Mitch loved the look of the silver spread across Coach's pecs. The water made all of it cling to his skin. A heavy cock swung slightly as he walked and a dense bush of dark gold hair covering his crotch made Mitch nearly pass out again.

"Hey, Mitch! Toss me a towel, will ya?" Coach Franklin's deep voice snapped Mitch back to his duties and he reached for the asked-for towel from the pile of clean ones he was unwrapping. Coach took the towel, ran it through his flattop dried his mustache and standing naked right in front of Mitch while doing so. Had the coach noticed his stare? If so, he never said. He thanked Mitch and headed into the coach's office to finish drying off and change to street clothes for the evening. Mitch went home, the sights playing over and over again in his head, making it mandatory that he walk with his books carried in front to conceal the raging hard on. For months afterward, Mitch relieved himself to those images. They became his favorite jack off fantasy.

They also gave him hope that he was not a freak of nature. Surely someone as hairy as the coach must have been hairy in school, too; maybe as hairy as he was? Obviously, the coach had survived. In fact, the coach seemed popular both with students and with other teachers, so maybe it was possible to have friends even if you were a freak or a monkey boy; just maybe.

"Hey, Mitch!" The voice penetrated Mitch's fog of memories. He snapped back to the present and looked around. "Man, you must have been a million miles away... I called you about three times!" the voice said.

Mitch looked at the man standing there, hairy hand extended, a grin on his face. He was bald in the typical male horseshoe pattern. He had a big thick beard, slightly wild and on the long side, a lot of it dark red but with substantial amounts of silver throughout. The hair in his mustache was lighter red mixed with silver and there was a pure, silver-white patch of hair on his chin below his lips bounded on either side of his chin by a very dark inch wide patch of almost pure red beard that tapered up into his mustache. The hair that was a fringe around his head seemed to be evenly mixed between silver and red. He was a very large man, substantially bigger than Mitch. He was muscular, even his wool suit didn't hide that, but you could also tell he indulged in a second helping occasionally, too; because the suit didn't hide that either. He looked like an ex-pro football lineman or something. Mitch felt a stirring in his loins looking at the ursine man as he took his hairy paw.

"Do you remember me?" The man asked expectantly in a bass voice.

Mitch looked at the sticker on the pocket of the brown suit coat and read the name. "Norman 'Moose' Gretsky"

"It's me, Moose!" He said and his face was alight with cheer. "I've been lookin' for you at these things for decades. You finally came!"

Mitch kept the smile on his face, but he was less than thrilled. Moose was, after all, the one who had branded him with the name "Captain Hairball".

As if reading his thoughts Moose said, "Ol' Captain Hairball! He paused and took a breath. "Hey, I'm sorry about all the grief I caused you back in school. I wanted to say sorry back then, but I was a thick headed, prideful kid and didn't know how."

That was it. That was the starting flag! The nickname gave Mitch full permission for what was to happen next. Moose had opened the door and now Mitch was going to rush through it. Moose let go of Mitch's hand and Mitch proceeded to say something he'd always dreamed of saying, something he'd rehearsed over and over. All the lockeroom and classroom memories bubbled up to fuel what came next.

"Moose, I don't know if you even had the barest inkling that what you and the others did to me was cruel. It was mre than that, it was crippling. It made me feel like I was less than human and all that over something completely beyond my control. I hope you understand, now that you're an adult. And I hope that if you have kids, you've taught them better than that. I hope they've learned just how deeply words can cut, I hope you taught them that. I haven't been back to this place in forty years because of what you guys did to me..." Ashen-faced, Moose started to interrupt, but Mitch barreled on. "...the practical jokes, the teasing and name calling... Goddammit, they hurt! Every time I got one of those reunion letters, I tore it up as if tearing it up and throwing it away would destroy some of the hurt I felt." Mitch worked himself to a climax. "So I hope you've raised your own kids better. I hope at the very least you've learned not to ridicule people for things they can't help."

Mitch stood there triumphant, victorious. He had kept an even, strong tone of voice using emphasis in just the right places to verbally punch this man. It was the same voice he used when lecturing and certainly, he'd just given the most heartfelt lecture of his life.

Moose stood there, shock on his face but more stunningly, tears standing in his eyes. Without any warning, Moose grabbed Mitch in a big bear hug and whispered in a voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Mitch."

He released Mitch, quickly wiped his eyes and made an almost embarrassed exit. Another man, somewhat rotund with a red-gold, neatly trimmed beard called after him, "Norman, Norman…" The short, stout man took one dagger-filled look at Mitch and hurried after Moose.

Mitch stared after the two retreating men. No doubt, about it, Moose had meant what he said. Moose really was sorry.

Chapter 3

But damn, it had felt good! He'd felt so exultant seeing the shock on Moose's face. He had dealt a verbal blow that obviously had struck deep in Moose's heart in the same way all the taunting and teasing had hurt him.

So why did he now feel... flat? What started as a heady, fizzy feeling of success now tasted more like old, warm champagne. What was the phrase from Hamlet '…stale, flat and unprofitable'? That was how it really felt. Mitch sat down on a handy folding chair next to an empty table and thought for a bit. It had been forty years, and that was a long time to nurse a hurt. On the other had, it HAD hurt... a lot; and for Moose to remember it and to actually try to make up for it meant that Moose himself had been thinking about it as long as he had. Perhaps Moose really was sorry. Maybe he'd been wrong to hang on to the hurt and the hate for that long.

As Mitch gazed around the slowly filling gym, a familiar little voice in his head piped up. "Why should I have to be a nice guy about it? After all, I was the one who was wronged. I was the one who was excluded and tormented over something I had no control over, right? Damn straight!" Mitch pushed that voice back down deep, where it had been for much of his adult life. What the voice said might have some truth to it but the voice was also that of a wounded young man, not a mature one. It was a different voice that spoke to him of how he'd made Moose suffer just now. That voice understood compassion and was the one that made him feel like he had to go out there and talk to Moose to make him feel better.

"Why?" The first voice asked. "Why do I feel bad for doing that? I had every right to do that."

"Perhaps it was that look in the eyes of the other man, the look that said, 'You've hurt someone I love,'" the second voice said. "Perhaps it was because Moose has been torturing himself all these years and may have been coming to these stupid reunions all along to apologize to you. Perhaps it's because Moose really is a nice guy, after all," the second voice finished simply.

Mitch sat there and finally said to himself, "You're a jerk, Mitch. Now go fix it."

Mitch walked outside into the cool evening and looked around. People were still arriving so he wove in and out through the clumps of people standing around talking while they waited to check in. There, about 100 yards away on a bench sat the bearded, bald, handsome bear of a man, Moose; and his equally gorgeous buddy. They were talking intently and Mitch took the opportunity to skirt around them so they wouldn't see his approach until he was close enough to speak without shouting. As he got within distance to hear what they were talking about, he coughed politely to announce his presence. The two looked silently up at Mitch.

Moose was a little red-eyed, but that was all. The red-gold bearded man regarded Mitch as if waiting to respond to a further attack. There was an awkward silence and Mitch was about to speak when Moose said, "Look, Mitch, I guess I deserved that. It's just I've been coming to these things because I'd hoped I would see you so that I could apologize. I guess maybe I thought it might go better than it did. I'd fantasized that we'd smooth it over and have a good chuckle about the names. I'd hoped you'd say, 'Ah, forget about it, that was ages ago'. I'm sorry; I guess it still hurts you a lot."

Mitch spoke up, "I'm sorry too. We're both grown men but I acted like a jerk. I'm sorry if what I said hurt you." It was lame, he knew; but then he never had planned an apology of his own. He never thought he'd need one.

"Well, what you said in there was nothing next to the torture I put you through. I saddled you with those names and there's really no excuse for it, but there is an explanation, if you'll hear it." Moose looked over at the man sitting next to him and took his hand lovingly in his own, then looked back at Mitch. Mitch noticed that the men both wore simple gold rings with identical geometric designs.

"See, Mitch, I'm gay. I knew I was gay back then, too; and well, I was a little bit attracted to you back then, and I hated myself for it. I was young and confused. I was... I was angry and afraid and paranoid that someone might find out. I was scared of what my father might do to me if he found out. I guess I directed some of that anger toward you."

All this had tumbled out. Moose paused and took a breath. "It took me years to understand that about myself and when I finally did, I wanted to tell you and couldn't. I couldn't face the possible ridicule I might get from you for admitting that I was attracted to all that hair you had on you. I finally screwed up the courage to tell you about twenty years ago; about the same time I came out of the closet..." Moose looked into the eyes of the short man who had moved closer to Moose while he was talking. The man had put an arm around him in an almost protective way. Moose looked back at Mitch and continued. "After my divorce, I met Rusty here, and we started living together. Of course, my ex took my kids and made sure I didn't see them. I couldn't even get visitation rights because back then they wouldn't allow that for gay fathers. By the time I could see them, their mother had poisoned them against me. I sent gifts on their birthdays and Christmas and at first, they were just returned. Then they were returned all torn up. I confronted my ex with it and she said the kids had destroyed them because they didn't want anything from me. I didn't know if it was true, but it still hurt. I took the hint and stopped having any contact with them. What you said about raising my kids really hit me hard because I wasn't allowed to raise them. I guess I deserved it. What goes around comes around, right?"

"Yes," Mitch said, "and it's gone around enough; too far in fact. It should have stopped with me." Mitch moved to the other side of Moose and sat down. "If I had known; if I had kept my mouth shut long enough to let you continue, I guess I might have found that out and not said those things. I wish I could take them back."

Moose blinked and smiled. He pulled Mitch into a hug and growled out, "It's OK, it's forgotten. I'm just sorry that I didn't have the chance to know you better forty years ago. If I could have gotten over my self-loathing, I might have tried to be your friend instead of your tormentor. How about we try now?"

Moose released Mitch from the hug and Rusty spoke for the first time.

"And to think that only took forty years to resolve this; amazing." Rusty smiled, first at his lover, then at Mitch. "You know, he's been going on about you for as long as I've known him and to tell you the truth, I was a bit jealous for the first ten years or so; but I've come to accept that he's not holding a torch. He's just a nice guy who's wanted to set things right all these years," Rusty's eyes were shiny as he petted the back of Moose's head.

"Well, shall we go back in, grab some punch and catch up with everything over dinner? I hear the menu for tonight is rubber chicken surprise or pork loin a la hockey puck, your choice. Oh, yes, and over-cooked vegetables with rutabaga sauce," Rusty said merrily in a light tenor.

"Sounds good to me, even if its roast hyena... I'm starved." Moose said.

The three got up from the bench and headed toward the gymnasium.

Two men stood deep in the shadows nearby, unseen and upwind of the trio. An iron-gray bearded man who looked to be about forty-five or so dressed in black boots, blue jeans, white oxford shirt and gray wool suit coat with no tie watched them leave. One could tell by how he wore the shirt and coat that this was as 'dressed up' as he ever got.

The man smiled to himself and said quietly to his companion, "He finally made it to one of these things after all these years and it looks like he's made new friends. I guess my persistence paid off."

The other man standing by was as tall as his companion, looked to be about the same age, but with a blond gray beard. He was a bit chubby but it was obvious he was strongly built under his layers of padding... the kind of man who could add that weight to his already strong muscular punch for devastating effect in the boxing ring. He wore a worn black leather jacket that was a little tight on him, new dark blue jeans and worn black boots. He puffed on the last three inches of a fat cigar, the reason for standing upwind as they watched the others. The whole effect made him look powerful, imposing... and a little dangerous.

He growled around the cigar in a gravelly voice to the iron-gray bearded man, "You better get on in there, son. You've waited forty years for this, I'm sure he'll remember you. He was a good kid with a lot of inner strength. If he hadn't have been, he would have crumbled and never done anything with his life."

The gray bearded man laughed, "Yeah, he's a tough one, even though he doesn't know it. I'll see you up in Tahoe in a couple of weeks, should be good skiing by then."

There was some sort of announcement calling the attendees to the gym.

"I'll see you then." The leather-clad man said. Removing the cigar from his lips with thick hairy fingers, he pulled his companion to him and gave him a kiss full of smoke and tongue. "Have fun, boy," he said as he broke the kiss and replaced the cigar.

The blond gray man began to lumber away but stopped suddenly, turned to his companion who was watching him leave and without warning and with what seemed to be uncharacteristic refinement for a man so large and clumsy looking, began to waltz as if holding a phantom partner to a tune apparently only he could hear. His movements were precise, his body carriage erect and formal, the smile on his brutishly handsome bearded face distant, pleasant, sincere and serene as if he were lost in memory. His steps were of seemingly unnatural grace as he puffed away on his cigar. He stopped, winked and bowed to the gray bearded man who was laughing.

The gray blond man was showing off; a whim he indulged in on rare occasion. They waved goodbye to each other, and the man in the gray wool suit jacket turned to go to the gym.

The other puffed on his cigar and walked to the parking lot, his next few steps light, poised, catlike and as if switching mental gears, he returned to his lumbering, functional gait.

"So many memories this place brings back," He said softly as he walked away. "so many memories."

Chapter 4

Mitch had thought he'd just leave after he'd made up for his attack on Moose, but Rusty had sort of changed his plans. He could read that Rusty really wanted the 'healing' to continue, that it wasn't enough to just 'make up and dash'.

The three of them sat at a four-person table, with a seat remaining empty, talking as they waited for the evening's activities to begin. Moose said they'd most likely trot out old school pictures from the yearbook and project them on the screen behind the speaker's podium as they had at prior reunions. A speaker, one of the alumni, would present a 'then and now' report on all the former students and of course, toward the end of the presentation news of those who had passed on since the last reunion with a moment of silence to follow. It was depressing, but expected; and then, the dancing.

Mitch got around to asking about Mr. Franklin and Moose smiled and admitted quietly, "I really had it bad for The Coach."

Mitch laughed. "He was something else." He said in a non-committal way. He didn't necessarily want to 'come out' to Moose and Rusty, at least not right now.

"Do you remember the 'Back to School Night' when coach Franklin's shower wasn't working and he had to shower with us?" Moose asked.

"I vaguely remember that." Mitch lied. Forty years had passed and Coach was still a favorite jack off fantasy.

"I have a confession to make." Moose said in a whisper. Mitch looked at Rusty who rolled his eyes in a, "Not that old chestnut again" way but didn't interrupt.

"I was the one who caused that to happen." Moose said.

Mitch was surprised, "Really? How?" he asked.

"Well, my dad was a plumber and I used to go out with him in the summer and help him out on the job. I didn't really work much on things, but I found out all sorts of things about plumbing." Moose said.

Mitch gave a quizzical look and Rusty interrupted, "It's true, he's still pretty good at fixing plumbing problems around the house. We've only had to call a plumber twice and those were both major issues."

"I could have fixed them." Moose said.

"Yes, well seeing as you were the cause of one of them and didn't get it fixed in the two days after, on the third day I thought it prudent to get professional help." Rusty said with a smile.

"Well, anyway," Moose continued, "I'd learned a bit about plumbing and had gotten into the back rooms of the gym where the water heaters and plumbing were a couple of times. I'd managed steal a key from one of the maintenance guys. I traced the pipes back to the coach's office and sort of loosened the fittings to the pipes with an available pipe wrench. I didn't know at the time that they'd be working on it during Back to School Night, all I wanted to do was fix it so the coach's shower wouldn't work and maybe he'd have to shower with us after practice. I'd hoped I'd get a look at him and boy, did I!"

"You did?" Mitch asked again in the non-committal way.

"Yep! I was showering at the other end, about three stations over and managed to not get caught looking." Moose said with a big grin.

"Now you see the kind of man I'm married to? A complete sex maniac and has been since high school." Rusty said wryly to Mitch.

"Yeah, I remember that day now." Mitch said.

At about the time Moose had finished his story a tall man with an iron-gray beard in a suit coat, shirt and jeans interrupted the trio.

"May I sit here?" the man said smiling widely. Mitch felt a twinge in his crotch looking at him.

The three looked up at the newcomer and Moose said, "Sure! How have you been Walt?"

Mitch's eyes widened as he looked at the bearded, pony-tailed man standing. "Yep, it's me, Mitch... you finally made it to one of these!" Walt extended his paw to Mitch and Mitch started to shake it, but Walt took a firm grasp on the offered hand and pulled him up out of his seat to give him a bear hug. "Heh, looks like we've both filled out a little over the years; it's good to see you!" Walt thumped Mitch on the back and released him.

The two men sat and began to fill each other in on their lives. Walt had seen Moose and Rusty at other reunions, but rarely in between, so there was news to share there as well. The conversation flowed easily between them as the meal progressed.

"This stuff is, umm, chewy... I wonder what kind of animal it came from," Moose said, poking at the gray substance on his plate.

"Oh Norman, stop complaining and eat your soylent green." Rusty said with a grin.

"Be glad you didn't take the fried rubber," said Walt, pushing the circular black objects to one side. "The veggies aren't too bad."

"I swear the food gets worse every time." Rusty gazed at Moose. "Did YOU do the cooking?"

"Oh, you are SO getting swatted for that!" Moose growled.

"Oooh, when?" Rusty asked with playful excitement.

"Later... we don't want to shock the children." Moose grinned, nodding towards the rest of the crowd.

"Actually," Rusty said to the others, "he's not half bad in the kitchen. He's learned a lot since the days of beanie weenie casserole and mac and cheese when I first met him. Not as good as I am, but he's learning and he's great in the sack; so that makes up for a multitude of sins." Rusty said and smiled an evil smile. Moose actually coughed, blushed and looked down at his shoes in embarrassment.

"He's so cute when he gets embarrassed." Rusty said and took his love's hand.

"Speaking of shocking the children," Walt said through a mouthful of creamed something, "I guess you know about these guys being married and all, so I it will have to be you and me when the dancing starts." Walt waited with a sly grin on his face.

Mitch turned ashen and fumbled with his fork and started to stutter a kidding response, but Walt laughed and stopped him. "Easy, there buddy, easy. My gaydar might be rusty, but it ain't broke. And don't look like that; you aren't 'obvious', not at all."

Now it was Mitch's turn to blush.

"But, but how did..." Mitch tried to interject.

"Let's just say I always know; always." Walt smiled again. "It's a... a 'talent' I have, I guess. We're all family here, so don't worry about it."

"Oh, man, if you could see your face!" Moose chuckled at Mitch. "You look kinda like I must have when I found out about Walt at the first reunion. I had no idea. Hell, one year I had a locker next to him and I never knew. I only had suspicions about you back then, but I already told you that I'd been checking you out; but even so up until we talked outside and I hugged you again, I didn't know for sure. I guess my gaydar is broke!"

Rusty interjected, "Well yours might be, Norman, but mine's not." He looked at Mitch kindly and said, "You're a handsome Bear and so straight acting you would probably score a 'Bruce Willis' on the online 'Butch Test'. But I can read the subtle signs; I can spot a Bear in a crowd of 'Regular Joes' as easily as picking a white bean out of a bag of pintos and trust me, you're a glowing white bean to me. I could tell by looking at you when you first saw my big brute here." Moose let out a soft pleasing growl at being called 'Brute'. "Norman just doesn't really pay much attention, but I love him in spite of his minor faults." He gently squeezed Moose's hand and they exchanged a smoldering look that said, "Later."

"We're all Bears here; we're 'tuned in' to other bears." Walt explained, "Most people look at us and never think 'gay' or 'bi' and those that do are probably other Bears, so don't worry about it, you're high on the Willis/Fierstein scale."

Mitch gave them all a 'Huh?" look and Rusty explained.

"It's one of those silly online 'how gay are you' scales. You fill out the questionnaire and it rates you from one, which is Harvey Fierstein or 'sissy', to five, which is Bruce Willis or 'macho'; personally, I'd rather they had used Sean Connery for a five. Wesley Snipes or Patrick Swayze are a three, probably because of that 'Wong Foo' movie; you know, straight but can play being gay and so gives desperate gay men hope. Nevertheless, you're a five, I'm probably a four, Walt's a five and my Norman is a five until you get him in the bedroom and then he drops all the way down to a two." Rusty's evil grin returned.

"You are definitely getting that swatting for that." Moose said.

"Made me earn it, didn't you dear?" Rusty said. Moose growled slowly and the smoldering look between them reappeared.

"Well, I had no idea, especially about you, Walt." Mitch muttered, still trying to find his bearings. He'd just been outed and found out that two of the most masculine guys in high school had been gay like him; all in about thirty-five minutes.

"Listen. This place is about to get all dark and soggy with prom-like nostalgia. They're moving chairs and tables already; why don't we cut out? There's a bar and grill back at the hotel. It's quiet; we can have a couple of beers there and chat comfortably." Rusty looked at the other three. "What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me," Walt said, "is the 'pub grub' any good? I'm still a bit hungry."

"After that meal, I think we all are." Moose said eagerly.

"It's better than what we just attempted to consume here." Rusty said.

"You up for it, Mitch?" Walt said and though it wasn't in his voice, Mitch could see the 'Please say yes' in his eyes.

"Umm... yeah, I guess so." Mitch agreed. "How far is it? I walked over here from the motel."

"Not far. Walt, do you have your bike? Or we can all go in my car." Rusty said.

"The bike's outside, but thanks for the offer. Mitch, why don't you ride with me?" Walt turned to Mitch and waited. Mitch nodded, secretly pleased that one of his long-nursed high school fantasies was about to come true, riding double with Walt. He remembered in their senior year Walt had ridden to school the first day and all through the year, on the bike his dad rode. It was an old WWII 'surplus' Harley like the one his dad had ridden in Europe during the war; still had the olive green matte paint job on it. He inherited it when his dad bought a new one for himself. Walt never did go for the 'Bad Boy Biker' image; he was far too independent to join a club, though looking at him now, Mitch could tell the 'biker life' had left a mark on Walt.

Rusty smiled slyly, "Right, well I'll lead the way then."

Outside, Rusty and Moose pulled out ahead of Walt and waited. Walt dug in his saddlebags and pulled out a helmet. It was a flat black half helmet design with yellow-orange flames. Mitch looked and saw it was the "A Bucket of Brains" helmet, rather reminiscent of the WWII German helmets which were popular with bikers in the 50s and 60s. He handed the helmet to Mitch and sat on the bike while putting his on. While Mitch was figuring out how to strap his helmet on, Walt took off his suit coat, folded it and pulled out a rather worn black leather jacket with pins all over it. There wasn't a club logo on the back, but the pins had the names and years of different runs on them and there were many going back a couple of decades or more. Walt put the suit coat back in the saddlebag from where he'd taken the worn leather jacket.

Walt's helmet, taken from the chromed 'ape hanger' handlebars of his chopper was of the same design but had a custom air brushed graphic on it. The same graphic was on the gas tank. It was a roaring grizzly bear in metallic silver, black, white and gray on a black background with glowing fluorescent green eyes on the left side. A claw mark that had bright crimson blood dripping from the silver gashes was on the right side and unlike Mitch's helmet, it was clear coat finished so it was high gloss shiny.

Walt laughed, "It's a portrait of me." He said pointing to the bear after he put it on. Mitch thought it was a very appropriate symbol for Walt that hinted at his sexuality. Walt adjusted his seating so Mitch could sit comfortably behind him. He checked Mitch's helmet and muttered something about 'damned helmet laws'.

"Hop on, buddy." He said to Mitch and signaled to Rusty who pulled forward and out of the parking lot. He revved the motor, a sound that thrilled Mitch. With that, Walt signaled to Rusty and they pulled out of the parking lot.

"It's safer if you put your arms around me." He growled to Mitch over the deep, throaty, burbling rumble of the powerful motorcycle. Mitch gladly did so and sighed.

"What's the sigh for?" Walt turned his head a bit so Mitch could hear him.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," Mitch confessed. "I was just so bottled up in myself; too afraid I guess, to even try to open up to you. You were the only guy I felt I had any chance of being friends with and I've always wanted to thank you for how you stood up for me in the locker room that one time. You have no idea how much that meant to me."

'Oh, I think I do,' Walt thought to himself and smiled. "It's nothing, buddy," he said aloud to Mitch. He reached down and back to pat Mitch's leg.

"Nothing to you, maybe; but it was a whole lot of something special to me." Mitch gave Walt a tentative hug.

They arrived at the hotel a few minutes after Rusty and Moose. They entered the dark bar and grill together and took a corner booth.

"What's your poison, gentlemen?" Rusty asked and ordered beers all round. The group ordered appetizers, sandwiches and burgers to go with the drinks.

The conversation once again flowed easily, from what each had done after graduating high school, to jobs and college and relationships, to politics to current work to sex to plans for the upcoming holidays. Mitch felt Walt's paw on his thigh and surprised himself a bit by resting his own on Walt's.

'Hell, he thought, what does it matter, anyway? I guess I really DON'T care what the rest of the world thinks.' He gave Walt's hand a squeeze and was rewarded with a warm smile that split Walt's iron-gray beard.

More beers and more talk eventually led to closing time for the barkeep. "Sorry, guys... gotta close." The men all headed out to the hotel lobby.

Rusty looked at Moose, "Time for bed, big guy?"

Moose grinned and said, "And more, I hope!"

Rusty turned to the others, chuckled and said, "This man has one of two things on his mind most of the time; food or sex. Little wonder they call us bears, eh?"

They all joined the chuckle and then there came that awkward moment when no one knows just how to break what was on at least several minds.

Moose glanced at Walt, then Mitch, then back to his lover. "Well... do we or don't we?"

Rusty spoke up. "Spoken like a true romantic!" He kissed Moose and turned to Walt and Mitch. "I never quite know how to word this, but if you're interested, you're very welcome to come up. Norman and I occasional play with other couples if the chemistry is right. We discussed it in the car and we think the chemistry is right between the four of us."

Rusty paused and cleared his throat; Mitch could tell he felt a bit awkward, as he was somewhat less glib than usual.

"Mitch, I know we've all just met... well, sort of just met; anyway, what I'm trying to say is that we would enjoy your company if you'd care to join us. We've played with Walt several times before and we all enjoyed it, but it's your call. I'm just very glad we finally got to meet you after all these years and I know Norman here is happy you came."

Mitch was dumbfounded. There was a long pause as his brain worked out the possibilities of all three of these handsome bearish men in bed with him. His erection began to tent his pants, but went unnoticed amid the visions of furry sex filling his brain.

Walt nudged Mitch. "You're supposed to say something here, buddy." Mitch actually blushed.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't get out all that much. I didn't mean to be that slow-witted. I AM glad we all got to meet, too. If you are asking what I think you are, well... it's been a long time and I could sure use some R and R. That is, if Walt is interested?" He looked at the big bear standing next to him.

Walt put an arm around Mitch. "With you? Of course I am! I've waited a real long time for you to ask."

"Well then, it's agreed!" Rusty said rubbing his hands together somewhat excitedly. "Next stop room 808!"

The four entered the empty elevator and as the doors were closing Moose said, "Damn Mitch! Are you pitching the big top in those pants?" Roaring laughter could be heard fading away as the elevator climbed up the shaft.

They got out on the eighth floor and Moose led the way to the room. Once inside, Rusty gave Walt a hug and they began to deep kiss and as easily as that, the married couple had wordlessly decided the paring for the first round.

Moose hugged Mitch, lifting him off the floor. Bones in Mitch's spine popped and he gave a sigh. "Oh, that felt good!" Mitch said.

"You think that was good? I'm a licensed physical therapist. I can massage you in ways you never dreamed possible all while we're making love. I like to give pleasure as much as receive it." Moose said with a lustful grin.

Rusty turned to the pair; his shirt was off by now his torso front covered in strawberry blond fur that had a substantial silver patch on his upper chest. Walt was working on opening his pants, kissing his way down from the chest to his belly.

"You're in for a treat Mitch, my Norman gives me a full massage while he's fucking me from behind." Rusty said.

There were two king sized beds, one with a couple of suitcases on it. Moose put Mitch back on the floor and moved the cases off the second bed. "Plenty of room for bears!" Moose said and began undressing Mitch.

Rusty stood completely naked in front of Walt. Rusty didn't seem to have much hair on him except his beard and on his chest and belly, his groin being the only other place and that was covered in a thick bush of flaming red-gold curly fur of a slightly darker hue than that on his face. His body and crotch fur had silver strands scattered through the strawberry blond. His cock and balls were a compact set; a thick tip nestled above his nuts, with no shaft showing yet.

Walt stood and Rusty began to undress him. Walt looked over at Mitch who was being undressed by Moose. "Now see how much fun this is, Mitch? If you'd bother to come to these events, we could have been doing this all along!" Walt said and winked at him.

Moose interjected, "Well, let's make up for lost time, shall we?" He paused in his undressing, having just removed Mitch's shirt and looked at Mitch's furry torso. He ran his hands over Mitch's chest and let out a sigh of pleasure followed by a soft growl of lust. Moose pulled the shorter man into a sloppy French kiss. Mitch's tongue wrestled with the bigger man and Moose's hands ran all over Mitch's back, feeling the thick salt and pepper fur. Moose broke the kiss.

"I realized some years back that I've wanted to do that since I saw you naked in the showers in high school. I've wanted to run my hands over your hairy body for decades. Am I forgiven?" His bright blue eyes looked down into Mitch's from his six-foot plus height.

"Of course you're forgiven." Mitch said, reaching up with both hands to pet Moose's thick silver and red beard, running his fingers through the soft silken strands. Mitch felt deep in his heart a final release, a healing he never thought possible. Warmth grew and radiated from that area in his soul where he'd nursed the hurt for so long, melting and obliterating any last trace of resentment he ever felt for Moose.

A single tear ran from Moose's left eye and Mitch wiped it away. They kissed, squeezing tightly against each other. Then Moose pulled away and opened Mitch's pants. Mitch kicked off his shoes and his pants dropped to the floor. Mitch sat on the bed to remove his briefs and socks and Moose almost tore his clothes as he hurriedly removed them. By the time Mitch had finished, Moose was standing only in his tighty whities, an obscenely huge bulge stretching the fabric out.

"Fuck me running if you haven't gotten even hairier, Mitch." Moose said in a low appreciative growl while looking Mitch over.

Mitch let out a gasp as he touched the front of Moose's briefs, rubbing the moist area that covered the tip. Rusty, who was now getting head from Walt, moaned, looked over at an astonished Mitch and said, "Did I forget to mention that Norman is hung like a Bear as well as being one?" There was an impish grin on the stocky man's face.

Mitch pulled Moose's pelvis to his face and buried his groin in his beard. Mitch snuffled deeply, drinking in the manly scent. Moose closed his eyes, tilted back his head and let out a low satisfied moan as he rubbed the back of Mitch's head, pushing it softly against his groin. Mitch was sucking on Moose's shaft through the fabric, licking and sucking the precum out of the underwear.

Moose looked down and said huskily, "You're going to make me nut if you don't let go."

Mitch pulled away, he gently squeezed the hefty balls in their cotton sack and kissed them and then he moved back further onto the bed. Moose dropped his briefs and bent over to remove them from around his ankles. He stood naked, covered in dark red body fur with silvery strands distributed throughout his pelt from neck to toes, not as hairy as Mitch, but he was definitely a furry critter. Mitch could see when he bent over that his back wasn't covered like his chest and belly, but it had a goodly amount all the same. His cock was huge, at least nine inches long and even with it still slightly flaccid it was meaty and thick. It emerged from a dense bush of deep red pubic hair that covered a substantial portion of his groin. Mitch guessed that Moose probably would take just a bit more stimulation to get full on hard, probably growing an extra inch at full mast.

Moose grinned. "Don't remember it being this big, do ya?" he said to Mitch.

"Well, given our relationship back then, I didn't really dare look." Mitch said. "But damn, when did you get so furry? You were really smooth in high school."

"Well, surprise then! I got my fur in my twenties so I experienced first hand what it felt like to be stared at, and sometimes made fun of, too. Made me feel really bad about how I'd teased you. I was about this well hung then but grew a little more as I moved into my late teens." Moose said and the pride in his voice was evident. Mitch didn't begrudge him that pride; a man that well endowed had every right to be proud. "My ex used to complain about my size. She said that it hurt when I'd put it in her so, if I'm too big, we don't have to fuck; we can do other things."

"Your ex was a fool." Rusty said. "But her loss is my gain." He let out a passionate grunt; Walt was sucking his balls and licking his cock. He had a couple of fingers up in him, playing with his prostate. "It just takes a little know how to accommodate such a wonderfully big cock, almost anyone can do it with the proper technique and preparation."

Rusty petted Walt's head and smiled down at him, "Oh what a jewel you are."

Walt came off Rusty's cock and balls and spoke up then, "Well, I can sympathize with Moose." He said with that same tone of pride in his voice Moose had. "He and I are twins separated at birth." He stood and showed off a cock at least as large as Moose's. "I'm glad Rusty here has the experience to take me."

"My pleasure, believe me." Rusty said with a grin as he fondled Walt's stiffening member.

"I need to put a condom on." Walt said and fished around in the leather jacket he'd dropped on the floor, found a condom, opened it and rolled it on.

Mitch looked at the thick iron-gray fur covering Walt; Walt was easily as furry as he was. Walt had tattoos on his arms, chest and back. They wouldn't have been so easy to discern were it not that Mitch was only a few feet away and a lot of the fur on Walt was silver. Mitch noticed an ursine theme: bear paw prints, roaring bear faces and bears in profile or clawing their way out of Walt's skin. Mitch understood now why Walt had said the grizzly on his helmet was a 'portrait'. Walt was a silver and black grizzly.

Moose moved to the bed, Mitch scooted over and the two lay together, face to face. Rusty and Walt moved to their bed and into the classic all-fours position.

"What would you like to do first, buddy?" Moose asked, caressing Mitch's furry arms. Mitch, of course, was running his fingers through Moose's thick chest fur.

"I'd like to be in you." Mitch said. "I want to fuck you and then I want you to fuck me, but you're going to have to take it easy. I've never had anyone in me as big as you before and it's been a few years since I've had anyone at all."

Moose smiled, "You got it buddy. I'll take it slow and be gentle. How do you want it, face to face or belly to back?"

"I'd like to do it facing you." Mitch reached up and traced a finger along the vertical scar on Moose's forehead that had once stretched into his hairline but was now completely revealed by his baldness. It was the scar he'd gotten from slipping and hitting the shower pedestal so many years ago. The gash that had to have thirty stitches. "You're a handsome man."

"Who, me? I'm a homely, grumpy ol' grizzly bear with scars all over me from years of playin' sports and damned lucky to have a cute little pocket bear who's willing to overlook my imperfections." Moose smiled warmly, "Thanks, though, I think you're pretty damned handsome too."

He rolled over and retrieved a tube of lube from the night stand. He coated Mitch's cock and put some on his puckered hole. Moose then rolled over on top of Mitch and kissed him deeply.

"How about you relax and I'll straddle you to take you inside of me?" Moose said and bent down and nuzzled Mitch's neck as he positioned his hole over the tip of Mitch's cock.

"Oh, God, that feels good!" Mitch said.

In the other bed, Walt was roughly plowing Rusty. The shorter man was growling out between thrusts, "Fuck! Fuck me… oh!… harder... fuck me... harder... and smack... my ass!"

Walt growled back, "Shit! I forgot how rough you like it." Walt whacked Rusty's ample butt three or four times and Rusty moaned in pleasure.

"Oh, that's it." Rusty said. "Pump... that cock... deeper!"

Walt was pounding into Rusty, his groin and balls slapping against the smaller man. Walt could see why he and Moose liked to have sex so much. Walt was about Moose's size and he fit perfectly over Rusty in the 'Bear position'. Fucking Rusty from behind, clinging to the smaller man's body made for a very intense fuck. Walt could plunge deep into Rusty and because he could squeeze the pocket bear's thighs shut, it made for a very satisfying stroke both in and out. Of course, Rusty was enjoying his plowing as much as Walt was. Walt was a good playmate; he knew just how rough to be and was generous with the kisses on the back of the neck, the nibbles on the ear and neck. He was also long on praise, telling Rusty just how hot and sexy his chubby little body was. The only thing Rusty wished Walt would do is bite into him hard enough to draw blood as he went into orgasm, but Walt had flat out refused to do that from their first encounter years ago and that hadn't changed over the years. Rusty figured everyone had their quirks and kinks and well, Walt was a hell of a good fuck, so it didn't matter. Norman could bite him later when it was just them.

Moose lowered his ass over Mitch's erect cock and slowly engulfed it. He slid down Mitch's average sized pole and once Mitch was completely inside he wrapped his arms around him, kissing him, gently biting him softly here and there, as he pumped his ass in rhythm to Mitch's thrusts; he growled as he nibbled. Papa Bear was enjoying his new playmate.

"You feel so good inside of me, man," Moose said as his strong hands worked over Mitch's hairy body, massaging, caressing and working his muscles expertly as his ass muscles worked their magic on the throbbing erection inside of him. Mitch was larger than Rusty. Rusty had been so defensive about his size when they'd first got together, but Moose had changed that with the way he worshipped Rusty's dick. All Rusty had needed was encouragement and love to realize that his size was not an issue. Rusty's sharp wit and tongue had been his defense against comments about his endowment and all in all, Rusty was only a little smaller than average at five inches. But what he didn't have in length or girth he made up for in endurance an enthusiasm. Moose had been the first man who had even asked Rusty to fuck him; most men assumed he was only interested in being a bottom and indeed, he still was more often than not, but Rusty also enjoyed being the top on occasion and Moose had brought out that side of him.

Mitch was bigger but it really wasn't an issue. Moose and Rusty had played with other men, some rather big, and there was Walt too; he was damned near Moose's twin for size. When Walt had first fucked Moose, he had been as gentle and as slow as Moose would be with Mitch tonight. Moose had always wanted Walt to bare back him, but Walt had refused. He'd talked it over with Rusty later and both had concluded that some guys just had their own ways of doing things. Perhaps Walt couldn't get off unless he had a condom on. A fetish didn't have to be logical, after all, and some guys really didn't get their nut without a condom. Still, Moose always wanted Walt's seed in him. Mouth or ass, it didn't matter, but that was his own particular fetish; Moose liked the imagined feeling of virility transfer and exchange between men. He'd fantasized about Coach Franklin filling him with his virility, pumping him full of his hyper-masculinity by giving him his seed all through high school and still did occasionally. Of course, now those fantasies didn't fill him with shame, self-loathing and undirected anger as they did then. Now they were healthy outlets for his lust.

Mitch moaned as Moose worked his ass muscles on the upstroke, "You smell so good; musky, manly... so masculine."

Oh what that did for Moose! It was as if Mitch were reading his thoughts about masculine exchange. It increased his arousal for his furry partner; put a tingle in his balls that if he didn't slow down would cause him to shoot right onto Mitch's silver and black chest hair and into his nearly white beard.

With a great roar, Walt shot his load, "Shit!! Oh, fuck!" Walt growled, still pumping into the condom buried in Rusty's bowels. At almost the same time Rusty cried out, "I'm coming!"

Mitch and Moose both looked over at their companions.

The two shuddered and bucked in orgasmic bliss; growls, grunts and expletives came from Walt. Rusty came all over the bedspread; he and Walt were still in the classic bear position with Walt's arms locked around Rusty's chest, his bearded face lying on Rusty's upper back. Walt's eyes were distant, unfocused with orgasmic bliss as he looked into Mitch's face. Mitch felt the animal, the beast within Walt, through his glassy unfocused stare as his pumping continued and then slowly eased up. Walt closed his eyes and he and Rusty collapsed together, both out of breath and sweating profusely.

Moose began to ride Mitch's cock faster. "It looks like we're behind." He said and chuckled merrily. Mitch began to thrust harder into the great bear on top of him. Sweat dripped from Moose onto Mitch and Mitch rubbed it into his furry chest. Moose's fur began to cling to his body and it was the same for Mitch.

Rusty and Walt were lying together, fondling, kissing each other in the afterglow. After a few minutes, Rusty repositioned and was lying on top of Walt. Walt had sheathed in him again. Soon, both were dozing together as their partners continued to fuck.

It didn't take long; Mitch hadn't had a chance to relieve himself this morning, having awakened late and run a few errands before going to the reunion. Mitch was charged, primed and ready to fire and in short order with a strangled cry that's exactly what he did. Mitch pounded Moose's ass from below, thrusting into him with a passion and need that burned brightly. Moose held Mitch's wrists tightly as he bucked under him, squeezing his own cheeks together as much as he could to give Mitch the tightest fuck possible.

Moose, feeling the hot rush of seed filling his bowels, was pushed to the edge of orgasm. In his mind, Mitch was filling him with his furry virility, his masculine essence, and of course, this meant the exchange needed to be complete. With that thought, Moose looked down just in time to see the first of five powerful shots, plaster Mitch's chest and beard. Moose roared and cursed, his ample flow pulsing out slightly weaker to coat Mitch's belly. Now, to finish; Moose collapsed onto Mitch with Mitch still inside of him. He began rubbing his cock in the sperm caught in Mitch's belly fur and was rubbing their furry chests together. Mitch was already trying to lick the come out of his beard and mustache and Moose decided to help him with that, collecting it on his tongue and feeding it to Mitch as they kissed. After a short while, both were asleep, Mitch still partially coated in Moose's bear seed.

Thirty minutes later, the pair was awakened by the sounds of Rusty and Walt fucking. This time, they were spooned and Rusty was pushing in and out of Walt's ass. The two were locked together passionately.

"Switch!" Moose said to Mitch so Mitch pulled out of the bear's slick hole.

"I've gotta take a leak, those beers we had gotta come out and now!" Moose said.

"I'll join you." Mitch said and the two went into the bathroom. They held each other's cocks as they pissed, feeling the flow through their tubes as they emptied. They kissed and Moose swatted Mitch's butt as he turned to leave.

"I've gotta do a little more than piss buddy, how 'bout you join my hubby and Walt, I'll be in there to fuck ya in a minute." He said.

"Right." Mitch said and shut the door.

As Moose was doing his business, he looked around and saw Walt's discarded condom in the waste basket. Since he was wearing another, Moose guessed that he'd put a new one on and with good reason it seemed. Moose picked it up, it was half-full of Walt's seed and he guessed that, having mostly filled this one, Walt needed a new one. Moose's half-hard cock came to full mast. He was going to indulge a long held fantasy; taking Walt's virile seed into his body. Moose heard the sounds of three men having a really good time in the next room and knew he'd have a few moments of privacy to savor this rare opportunity.

Carefully Moose squeezed some of Walt's cooling sperm out into the palm of his hand; without hesitation, he licked it off. The taste was heaven to him: salty, sweet and just a little bitter. It was strong and musky too, like Walt's under arm scent and it left a slight tingle in his mouth. He squeezed out a little more, no more than a teaspoon and coated a finger in it. He reached back and pushed the sperm coated finger up his own ass, massaging it in and licked the remainder from his palm while doing so.

Moose put the still partly-full condom back in the wastebasket, flushed and washed his hands. It was time to get back to the fun now that he was all horned up; time for him to complete the virility exchange again and fill Mitch's ass.

When Moose opened the door, he saw his husband still slow fucking Walt. Rusty was now face to face on top of Walt, pushing his cock in, thrusting hard. Rusty was moaning, telling Mitch, "Harder! Harder!" Mitch was behind Rusty, buried deep in the chubby ass. Apparently, Rusty had provided Mitch with his life cast dildo of Moose's cock that he carried in his suitcase and the two had lubed and inserted it into Mitch. Moose could see the end of the dildo bob with Mitch's thrusting.

"Perfect!" Moose thought, "He's already stretched and ready for me."

Moose walked up behind Mitch and pushed on the testicle base of the 'Rubber Moose' as Rusty called it.

Mitch moaned as he thrust into Rusty. "Oh, that's good!"

"How about replacing it with the real thing?" Moose growled and waved his completely stiff cock to show Mitch he was in great need of a good fuck. He was feeling extra horny after tasting Walt's seed. He needed to breed Mitch now. He was a horny, virile; hyper-masculine papa bear that needed to shoot his seed in Mitch to complete the exchange.

"Well that's why rubber Moose is up there now. I didn't want to wait for you to open me up; I wanted you as soon as you were finished." Mitch said, reached over and squeezed Moose's cock.

"You'll get no complaints from me!" Moose said as he pulled his rubber twin out and swiftly replaced it with the hot, throbbing, real thing.

"All right,now that Norman's decided to join us, let's ramp up the action a bit." Rusty said and began pumping into Walt faster. He grabbed Walt's cock and began pumping it in his fist. Walt reached up and pinched Rusty's nipples, eliciting a moan of pleasure from the chubby pocket bear. "Fuck! You can do that all night if you want." Rusty said gritting his teeth as Walt pulled on them and twisted.

It wasn't long before they all got into sync, catching each other's rhythms. Sweat poured off them and soaked their fur. Moose humped Mitch harder than he had expected to and asked occasionally if everything was OK when Mitch would grunt. Everything was OK, according to Mitch, "Better than OK... fucking fantastic!" The energy in the room was building. The smell of man-sex was making the room musky and locker-room like, a smell that turned all of them on and pushed them closer to climax.

The well-timed rhythm broke as each began to feel their needs peak.

The first to shoot was Mitch; taking his cue from his ursine buddies, he let out a deep growl and clung tightly to Rusty. His clenching ass set Moose off, who panted between sexy growls as he filled Mitch. Walt was next, cursing and grunting at the same moment Rusty shot and let out a higher pitched moan than the rest. For several moments there was twitching and quivering as electric shocks of orgasm pulsed through them at random moments, but quickly they subsided. Each of them was drenched with sweat but none were energetic enough to get up and go to the shower. Instead, they agreed to sleep for just awhile, together in one bed, tangled up in each other. Walt spooned with Mitch as Moose and Rusty wrapped themselves around each other, face-to-face, kissing.

Walt reached over and pulled the cover off the other bed and draped it over the four of them, being that he was closest to the light he turned it off too.

Each said good night and huddled together, very warm, very musky and very sleepy. In no time, Moose was snoring and Rusty's face was buried in his chest fur. Before drifting off into sleep, Walt whispered to an already sleeping Mitch, "Later buddy. We'll have some alone time, I promise."

A few hours later, Mitch awoke in the darkened room. The soft snores of the other bears were oddly comforting to him as he idly thought about what had happened in the past few hours. It had been so long since he had shared a bed with someone, and he had forgotten the joy of sleeping next to another living being. He shifted his position slightly and Walt, still asleep, draped an arm over Mitch and pulled him protectively closer. Mitch smiled, hugged Walt's arm closer to himself, and drifted back to sleep.

Chapter 5

The morning sun was bright against the closed curtains of the hotel room.

"Do we wake him?" Moose asked.

The noise of the shower through the opened bathroom door ended as Walt finished and stepped out to dry off as the other two looked at each other.

"I think we should. I don't remember when his flight is, and it's already nearly eight," Rusty replied. He shook Mitch gently. "Time to get up, guy. Wakey, wakey." Rusty continued shaking Mitch's shoulder

Mitch slowly surfaced, yawned and stretched. Unconsciously, he reached for Walt's warm body. "Ummm... morning, guys." Seeing the two bears dressed and Walt behind them, toweling off, he said, "Geez, how long did I sleep? What time is it?"

Moose sat on the second bed. "Its almost eight, you were really sawin' the logs. We decided to let you sleep while we got breakfast. Walt brought you back some coffee and Danish. What time is your flight?"

"11:10. I should be on my way. Mind if I take a quick shower here?"

"Help yourself." Rusty said. "We can drive you to the motel to get your things and take you to the airport."

Mitch rose, scratched, and padded towards the bathroom. As he passed Walt, he reached around and hugged the still-damp bear.

"Morning, woofer." Walt growled and returned the hug tightly. "Why don't I give you a ride to the motel?"

Mitch looked up at Walt, grinned and nodded. "Sure!"

Mitch made quick work of his shower and was dressed shortly after. The four headed to the elevators and down to the lobby. "I want you to know how glad Norman and I are that we finally got together with you. It's been a real treat. Let's stay in touch... I mean that." Rusty's face radiated sincerity. Moose shook Mitch's hand, then pulled him into a huge bear hug. "Don't be a stranger, man and don't let's wait another ten years to see each other!" Mitch wrote his address and email on a business card and traded information with the two.

"Come on, Mitch, time's wastin'," Walt seem a bit anxious to be on their way. Mitch waved again to Moose and Rusty, and climbed onto Walt's bike. Walt waved back at the two bears, short and big, standing on the curb; and they roared off.

The motel wasn't that far and they arrived quickly. Mitch climbed off the bike and removed his helmet and handed it to Walt. "Come on in, it'll take a few for me to pack up." Walt nodded, shut off his motorcycle and brought both helmets inside with him.

Mitch started to fold his clothes into the small overnighter and checked the bathroom.

"Hey, buddy. You got a message." Walt pointed to the flashing light on the room phone. Mitch walked over and picked it up, and listened while Walt nuzzled the back of his neck. He reached for the pen and pad and made a note.

Hanging up, he turned to Walt. "That was the airline. My flight's delayed due to mechanical problems until at least 4:30." He stopped, and then looked back up at Walt.

Mitch stood back a bit, looking at his new friend and tried to memorize the image. Same leather jacket from last night as were the boots. He wore a black bandana with little white outlined grizzly bears all over it tied around his head like bikers usually wore under their helmets, the jeans were not the new 'stone washed' ones from last night but instead were grease stained and ripped a bit on the legs. A chain ran from his belt to his back pocket where his wallet was. His white oxford was replaced by a faded to charcoal gray 'black' T-shirt; mirrored wraparound sunglasses hung from the neck and the end of them nestled in the fur that spilled out over the top of the shirt. He took a deep breath, trying desperately not babble... or drool.

Walt cleared his throat. "Ummm... I was kind of wondering..."

In his nervousness, Mitch spoke at the same time. "So, since I have time, we could maybe..."

"...if you... well, if you wanted, we could maybe..."

They finished together, looking at each other, and broke out laughing. "Aren't we a pair of chumps," Mitch said, still laughing. "I really liked last night. I mean I REALLY liked it. I've never done a four way before. It was... different. I think Rusty and Moose are good for each other, don't you? They DO look a little like Mutt and Jeff, with their different sizes, but they are hot together and your cock was huge, I really liked feeling your fur..." Mitch was babbling.

"Come here," growled Walt and folded Mitch into a big furry bear hug.

Mitch stopped babbling and sighed deeply. "Don't let go," he whispered.

The two clung to each other for a long time, absorbing the feel and smell and heat of each other, paws rubbing backs and butts, beards nuzzling and meshing, lips searching, then finding. The kiss was not at all tentative; instead, urgent and filled with both question and promise.

Mitch and Walt fumbled with each other's belts and flies, Mitch's falling first. Walt reached inside Mitch's boxers and cradled his balls in a warm paw. Mitch moaned. "Please...," He breathed and then knelt in front of Walt and finished undoing his Levis. They fell, and Mitch buried his face in the warm spicy muskiness of Walt's bear parts. His tongue lapped at Walt's ball sack, moving the contents back and forth. Walt's big paws caressed Mitch's head, then reached down and drew him up again to face level. Gray eyes probed blue, each searching for a sign. The little voice in Mitch spoke once again, "Don't be stupid... you'll be gone soon and you may never see him again. Don't throw this chance away." Mitch grabbed Walt and hugged him close. "I want you."

Walt wanted to lift Mitch up and carry him to the bed, but there wasn't enough space in the motel room for that. He settled for gently pushing Mitch back and taking his shirt off. Mitch's hands were shaking slightly as he tried to return the favor and Walt said, "Here, let me," and pulled his own shirt off over his head. He sat on the bed and pulled Mitch next to him and laid the both of them down on the rumpled sheets. They kissed again and again, tongues darting, beards getting damp from spit. Paws joyfully explored each other's bodies, remembering some from last night, but discovering new places and feelings. Desire rose and the two bodies thrust and strained against each other, cocks dueling and then sliding against each other, slick with precum. Walt's growls turned deeper and seemed to come from lower in his chest. They rolled against each other, first one on top, then the other, lips and tongues finding nips buried in furry pecs. Nursing and biting, teasing; then licking and soothing.

Mitch rolled on top and then slid down and took most of Walt in his mouth and traced the ridge of his glans with his tongue. He probed the slit and then laved the underside of the bigger man's shaft, working his way down to Walt's loose ball sack. He took one nut in his mouth and tongued it, soaking it and then traded it for the other. Walt moaned in pure pleasure. Mitch tugged on the hairy sack gently, which caused Walt's rigid meat to rise then slap back down against his fur-covered belly.

"Gods, that's a pretty sight!" Mitch said.

"Look all you want, buddy, but then it's my turn" Walt said. Eventually, Walt pushed Mitch over on his back and worked over his hairy body in much the same way Mitch had molested him. With all of Mitch's cock in his mouth, Walt started to chuckle.

"What?" Mitch managed to gasp out.

"Heh, I just thought of that phrase... 'You can't molest the willing'! And you're sure willing!" Walt said as he once again swallowed Mitch down to the root and worked his tongue up and down against the underside of Mitch's meat.

"Fuck, that is SO good... you've done this before, haven't you?" Mitch laughed.

Walt pulled off Mitch's cock and look up at his buddy quizzically. "Hey, you aren't the only one who can crack jokes, ya know!" Mitch retorted. To get even, Walt scooted up and stopped Mitch's laughing mouth with a wet sloppy bear snog.

Walt didn't stop, and the atmosphere changed. This time passion ignited, and the two grappled urgently. Walt rolled on top of Mitch, pinning him to the bed. Mitch thrust up against him plowing his dick through Walt's thick belly hair, slick with precum. Walt answered thrust with thrust.

Mitch's eyes looked deep into Walt's. "I want you in me, Walt. I want to feel your heat in me." Walt slowed his thrusts and rose up slightly.

"How many times have you been fucked, man?" Walt asked.

Mitch's eyes widened, and flashed. "What difference does that make? This is us, here and now. Why should you ca..."

Walt stopped Mitch with a "Sshhhhh" and a finger gently placed on his lips. "I didn't mean it that way. I meant how long has it been since you were fucked, other than last night I mean. How loose are you? I don't want to hurt… I don't want to hurt YOU," Walt said, the softness in his eyes the essence of caring.

"I'm sorry... I should learn to keep my big mouth shut, I guess. It's been years except for last night; I don't have much of a social life like I said." Mitch looked a bit sheepish. "But after 'Rubber Moose' and Real Moose last night, I think I'll be OK. You and he are about the same size."

"It's OK, buddy. I just need to know, that's all." Walt got up and padded to the bathroom. "You got any lube?"

"Yeah, but it's in the case there," Mitch said. "I'll get it."

Walt returned, his thick erect cock bobbing as he walked, his chest and belly glazed with his and Mitch's precum. Mitch took a moment to admire Walt. He had a little bit of a belly, probably from good beer and road food, but he was very muscular. The tat on his upper left pec was a bear paw print with cursive writing beneath that read 'Daddy', Mitch thought, but couldn't be sure as it was fairly well obscured by his chest fur.

"Seeing Moose last night got me to thinking. I don't remember you being that big in high school," Mitch said, admiring Walt's sizable meat. "Not that I got a real good look at you either, a guy has to be discreet when he thinks he's the only queer in the locker room," Mitch said. In fact, Walt did look bigger today than he had last night.

"Yeah, I grew a bit, I guess." Walt said casually, in a somewhat distracted way. Mitch thought Walt was playing down his pride because it was just the two of them in the room now. A man might puff up about his manhood in a group of men, but when it was one on one, that same pride might be interpreted as 'lording it over' the other man. Walt reached out and Mitch handed him the tube.

Walt squeezed out a generous blob and warmed it in his paw. "Roll on your belly, Mitch." Mitch did so, and Walt began the slow loving work of loosening his buddy's ass.

"Mmmmmmm... feels, UNGH!" Mitch grunted as a thick finger slowly entered him.

"You OK?"

"Yeah... don't stop."

"I don't intend to," Walt said, grinning. He slowly stretched Mitch's ass ring, eventually working a second finger in, wiggling them and enjoying Mitch's grunts in the process. "Still OK?" Mitch nodded. Walt pulled out his fingers, added some more lube and then went deep with one finger, searching for Mitch's prostate.

"GOD!" Mitch nearly shouted as Walt massaged the fibrous lump.

"Hurt?" Walt asked.

"Damn! Yes… no… it feels... weird, but good. Almost like I'm going to come but not quite. It's a little tender, but I'm OK. Mitch looked back over his shoulder to Walt kneeling behind him. "Try two fingers again." Mitch grunted again and breathed deep. "Is that two?' he asked.

"Nope. Three," Walt growled. He stretched Mitch a bit more, but his rising need was beginning to be more than he could master. He pulled his fingers out and asked, "Ready?" Mitch nodded.

Walt tore open the condom packet with his teeth and rolled the Magnum over his swollen cock. He got a final glob of lube and spread it on his hard, hot, latex covered meat. He prepared to mount his buddy, lowering his furry body forward and down. His cock found the cleft between Mitch's hairy cheeks and slid in between, missing the hole.

"You're not..." Mitch began but was cut off.

"I know, just relax. This helps grease you up some more." Walt slid up and down in Mitch's crack some more and then searched in earnest for Mitch's hole. Walt's cock was on autopilot, searching seemingly on its own, and finding the spot stopped, and began to press slowly in. "Deep breath, buddy."

Walt pressed his cock in deeper, feeling resistance. "I don't think I can." Mitch said.

"Sure you can." Walt pulled back some, nosed in again a bit further, pulled back some and once more pushed in. He kept his cock pressed against Mitch's hole and waited until he felt Mitch relax momentarily. Just then, he pushed harder and slid nearly all the way in. Mitch gasped and Walt sighed. "I knew you could. Just rest easy and I'll hold still while you get used to having a bigger bear in your butt."

Mitch closed his eyes and focused on the feel of Walt, thick and deep inside him. So many times, he had dreamed of doing this, hoping to gain some of Walt's confidence and manliness in the process. Now, as an adult, what mattered most was to be connected with his new-found friend.

Walt stayed still for a short while but the heat of Mitch's ass and the feel of his hairy body pressed against his own and the scent of sex filling the air broke his resolve; and he began to pump his cock deep in his buddy's ass. He could see the greasy swirls of Mitch's butt fur drag against his cock as he pushed in and pulled out, could feel his buddy's ass ring tighten trying to keep his cock in on each outward pull. He put his paws on Mitch's slick, sweaty fur-covered shoulders as he strained to climb deep inside the bear under him.

The sounds of bear breeding matched the motion of thrusting as Walt drove towards his climax. Mitch was meeting his thrusts as best he could, trying to get all of Walt in him with each shove. Suddenly, Walt pulled completely out, reared up and pulled Mitch up into the classic all-fours bear breeding position. He slid easily back in, grunting as his flared tip popped past the muscle ring. Balls-deep, he began to jackhammer Mitch's butt, sweat-soaked crotch and thighs slapping against Mitch's ass cheeks. Mitch braced himself and surrendered to pure animal lust. Not thinking, just reacting, shoving back hard to meet each forward thrust, growing more intense and more excited with each second. Walt's triumphant roar as he unloaded deep in his ass pushed Mitch over the line. His own cock sprayed thick seed all over the sheets as thrust after thrust squeezed the last bit of come out of them both.

Walt eased Mitch down on the sopping sheets, wet with come and sweat. Their breathing rasped as their hearts slowly returned to a more normal pace. Walt pulled out, holding the condom heavy with seed and then tying it off before he sank down next to Mitch. Walt curled around the smaller man and cuddled him close, holding him as if to protect him from all hurt or harm. They stayed that way for a long time, each enjoying the peace that a body drained of all passion gives.

"Walt?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why did you insist on condoms last night? You wore one again just now. I DO trust you, you know." Mitch waited out Walt's silence.

"I know you trust me, but I have reasons. I don't have VD or AIDS."

"What, then?" Mitch asked.

"Let's just say that if I did that, things wouldn't be the same between us. I want to know you better, before I put part of me in you," Walt said.

Mitch reached over and caressed Walt's beard. "You DID just put a big part of you in me, you know." Mitch paused. "I'm not sure I understand, but I suppose we are taking this just a little fast."

Walt sat up. "Awww, man... I didn't mean to rush you or anything. I didn't mean... Damn, I always seem to go too fas..."

"Hush." Mitch pulled Walt back down on the bed and stopped his words with a long kiss. "I'm not rushed, and I'm not sorry about anything. I just didn't want YOU to think I was prying or trying to get you involved in anything you didn't want to be."

"Buddy, trust me. I'm here because I want to be. Last night was fun, but this was... more. I hope we can spend more time together... a lot more time. Deal?"

"Deal!" Mitch said and he meant it. This was what he'd dreamed of and his gut told him it was the beginning of what he hoped would be much more than sex.

Walt grinned happily, and then rolled over and took Mitch in his mouth and showed him just how happy he was. He began using every cock sucking skill he possessed to bring Mitch to another orgasm, flipping Mitch's legs up on his shoulders and rolling the pair of them slightly forward to he could work Mitch's meat with his mouth and Mitch's nips with his paws. Mitch astonished himself by becoming engorged and erect again so soon after what had been a shattering climax.

Walt's tongue traced the outline of Mitch's fat tip and then lapped the sensitive underside. His paws worked Mitch's nips hard. He worked down the shaft then back up, rotating his head slightly so the angle of his tongue and lips varied. When Mitch moaned louder, he moved one paw up to the base of his cock and gripped it, pulling down slightly to stretch the skin tightly. He used his teeth very lightly to scrape against the shaft and watched as Mitch thrashed in ecstasy.

Moaning, Mitch thrust upwards into Walt's warm wet mouth again and again. He gripped Walt's hairy forearms. "I'm close, Walt... oh, shit, I'm gonna cum!" Mitch tried to pull out but Walt held his hips tight with his arms and his cock tight with his lips, nodding his head to let Mitch know it was OK. Mitch tried again to pull back, but then surrendered to the inevitable and shot into Walt's eager mouth.

Mitch collapsed back on the bed, utterly spent. Walt eased down on top of him and nuzzled his beard and then kissed Mitch, sharing some of his own seed with him. The two lay quietly for a while, peacefully enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies and the closeness they had achieved. With a lazy sort of eroticism, they stroked each other's bodies and hugged and nuzzled. Eventually, Walt pushed himself up on one arm and asked Mitch, "What time do you have to be at the airport?"

"A couple of hours, but there's security and all," Mitch replied. "I guess I should shower. Join me?"

"Heh. If I do, you'll miss that flight." Walt's face was a mixture of lust and playfulness, and something else Mitch couldn't quite put his finger on. "You'd best get cleaned up first, I think."

While Mitch showered, Walt sat on the toilet seat and shouted over the hiss of the shower head. "I'm going skiing in Tahoe in a couple of weeks; a friend is lending me his cabin there. You free then? We could make a long weekend of it."

Mitch stuck his head out of the shower. "Weekend of the 14th? Yeah, I can be free." 'Try and stop me,' he thought to himself. "Where should I meet you?" Mitch thought in a flash about booking a flight to Sac International while on his way back and making truck reservations with the rental place. He'd need chains too; undoubtedly, they would be needed in snow country.

"I'll email you directions to the place. You got gear?" Walt thought to himself, 'If he doesn't, I'll buy spare stuff,' and continued out loud, "because if you don't , I have spare gear."

"Yeah, I do, actually... I used to ski a lot," Mitch's voice echoed from inside the shower. "It will be good to get back on the slopes."

"Great! I figure Thursday night to Monday morning... that suit you?"

"You bet!" Mitch called out happily, "Might even extend it all week, God knows I've got the vacation time coming. Could you get that much time off?"

He shut off the water and reached blindly for a towel. Walt put one in his hand. "I think I could arrange it, I haven't taken serious vacation time in years and it's to the point now that if I don't use it, I'll lose it. So I take three-day weekends once a month to keep my hours below maximum. Damn!" He paused, looking at Mitch's wet, hairy body. "You're a handsome fuck, you know that?" he said as Mitch dried himself.

"Nothing to compare to you," he said, toweling the warm water from his chest fur.

"Nah, I'm just average. Here, let me do your back." Walt took the towel and rubbed Mitch's furry shoulders and back. "Lift," he growled as he gently mopped between Mitch's ass cheeks, reaching under his lifted leg to give Mitch's balls a gentle squeeze.

Mitch turned and gave his friend a warm lingering kiss. "Thanks, Walt."

He gestured towards the shower, "Your turn."

Walt glanced at Mitch's watch on the sink. "Oh, shit, man. Look at the time. We gotta get you to the airport." They embraced once more then Mitch hurriedly dressed. Walt resisted the urge to fondle Mitch's body as he pulled clothes on, but got in one last hug before they opened the door of the motel room.

"You got everything?" Mitch nodded as he closed the door. Walt hefted Mitch's overnight bag onto the small rack and bungeed it down.

"That should hold." Walt handed Mitch the spare helmet and put his on as he straddled the bike. "Hop on and hold on. It's gonna be pedal to the metal, but we'll get there on time, you'll see!" Mitch just cinched his helmet on as Walt climbed on. Walt finished cinching his bear helmet down when Mitch put his arms around Walt's belly and hugged tight. Walt fired the bike up, stepped on the gearshift, twisted the throttle and roared off.

The ride to the airport was brief, but Mitch wrung every minute of enjoyment out of it. It felt like flying, not least because he was holding Walt in his arms as they sped along the highway. Unable to talk over the wind and exhaust, Mitch contented himself with tighter hugs as a form of communication. Walt found himself uncomfortably hard and unable to do much about it, but damn, it was worth it! When they'd hit a stretch of road where no oncoming or parallel traffic would be witness to it, Mitch would reach down and stroke Walt. Walt yelled back after about the fourth time that if Mitch didn't stop that, he would be late because he'd pull over and fuck his brains out. He longed to squeeze back, but he concentrated on piloting them safely to the airport. He pulled up to the curb of the terminal just as the speakers were announcing the initial call for Mitch's flight.

Mitch climbed off the bike as Mitch steadied it. Unhooking the bungees, he took his bag and started to speak, but Walt cut him off. "I'm shit at good-byes, buddy. Gimme a hug and I'll see you in two weeks, OK?" Mitch set his case down and hugged the big man fiercely.

"Take good care, Walt. Safe trip home. Don't forget the directions to the cabin." Walt nodded, and stepped back onto his bike. "Oh, and here's my card, it's got my email and stuff on it, home phone is on the back." Mitch said, digging it quickly out of his wallet and handing it to Walt.

"See you in a couple of weeks, buddy... I... I... oh, hell," Walt said and didn't finish the thought. Quickly, and before Mitch could respond, Walt revved the engine and was off.

Mitch watched as he rode off, and saw him turn once and raise his hand in a good bye. Sad at the parting, but hopeful for the future, Mitch turned and walked into the terminal.

Throughout the short flight home, Mitch saw Walt's raised arm and wave, and could even catch a whiff of his scent on his clothes. He closed his eyes and replayed the scene at the motel over in his mind, in-flight magazine carefully positioned on his lap to hide the resulting stiffy. Several cherished dreams from high school had come fantastically true for him in the past twenty-four hours. Best of all was the tantalizing hope that one more might come true... the one where he found a lasting, true friend to share his life with.

Mitch had heard more than once that there was a difference between 'playing' and 'making love'. He hadn't felt that difference until today. The play between the four of them last night had been erotic and great fun; he had rarely felt so sexually excited and alive. But his time with Walt today went beyond that. Way beyond. Sexually, they had reached a level of intimacy Mitch hadn't ever really experienced before. He wondered if their personalities would mesh as completely as their bodies had. There hadn't been that much time to explore facets of their lives and see how their views on things compared. What little exploring they had done indicated to Mitch that there was real potential.

Moose and Rusty had made a go of it and their situation wasn't that different. Moose was obviously rather rough and earthy and Rusty more refined and bookish. Walt was very earthy, rough, strong and wild. Mitch knew he was, without a doubt, a geek. The parallels were striking between the four of them so, there was hope. If it worked that well for Moose and Rusty, maybe it could work for him and Walt.

A nagging worry for Mitch was his lack of experience in making and keeping friends. Basically a loner much of his life, he lacked the easy grace that the popular people had in social situations. Things had gone well with the four of them last night at the reunion and later, but then, there were others there to pick up the slack and lead the way. In spite of his years and professional confidence, Mitch felt socially inept. What if he pushed too fast and scared Walt off? What if all Walt really wanted was occasional sex with a buddy? Could he accept that? What if he somehow trespassed on Walt's private life and offended him? Would Walt think less of him for his social inexperience? Thoughts buzzed in Mitch's head. He sighed as the cabin crew began to prepare for landing. "Time will tell, I guess," Mitch said softly to himself.

Chapter 6

Two weeks later, Mitch found himself on Route 60 at Echo Summit, just outside of South Lake Tahoe. The cell phone chimed on the seat of the rental truck. "What the... ?" All during the drive, Mitch had been thinking pleasant thoughts of the days ahead. Days he would spend with Walt, hoping to be able to deepen their friendship, days of skiing mixed with nights of passion. Although the truck was more comfortable than Mitch had expected it would be, more than once he had gotten uncomfortably stiff thinking of Walt's furry body and had to pull over and walk it off. And more than once the little voice in his head spoke of his fears of not being able to make that connection that lead to friendship. Worries of going too fast or pressing too hard and having Walt back off.

For the past two weeks, Mitch had thought of little besides Walt and the coming weekend. Work was a struggle, and even normal household tasks had been sidetracked by thoughts and worries about Walt and friendships and the weekend to come. The email and chat with Rusty and Moose had helped fill the hours and had drawn them closer. He was impressed with how much Moose had changed as a person. Their invitation to spend Christmas with them was a very pleasant and welcome surprise. He had gotten out of the habit of celebrating holidays.

The phone chimed insistently. "OK, OK!" Mitch pulled over at a turnout and flipped the phone open. It was a message from Walt's home number. The little voice in Mitch's head began to speak pessimistically, 'See?', but Mitch pushed it down and listened to Walt's voice over the tinny speaker. "Hey buddy! You wouldn't believe the day I've had. Whatever could go wrong has gone wrong. Stuff at work, late deliveries, and now a flat on the bike. Don't worry, I'll be there, but it's a four-hour ride, not good at night. I'll leave early tomorrow morning and be there between 9 and 10, OK? Make yourself at home there; the key is in a notch on the top of the third post on the right of the porch. Sorry I won't be there to greet ya." There was a pause. "I'm really sorry, buddy. But I'll make it up to you when I get there, OK? See ya soon."

Mitch closed the phone and looked at the directions Walt had emailed him. So far, so good; it looked like only a few more miles to the turn off. Then he would have to watch the odometer carefully. The last turns were based on mileage. He eased the truck back onto the state highway and struggled with his disappointment. He had been looking forward to a hot night with Walt, maybe in front of a fireplace; but at least it wasn't the blow-off the little voice would have predicted.

He reached the turn off and swung the truck to the right onto a rather narrow paved road. Watching the odometer, he drove slowly, his headlights illuminating the tall conifers in the darkness. Occasionally he caught a pair of eyes in his beams at the roadside, and once a deer bounded across the road. Turning left at .6 miles, he bounced along on a dirt road, for a further half a mile, then turned left again and after a short ways, saw the cabin.

Cabin was a misnomer. From the outside, it appeared to be a substantial older house, a classic rock and timber dwelling with a wide porch and steps, more like a lodge. On the left side of the house were large windows that would give a magnificent view of the rugged mountains and trees. Mitch parked the truck and stepped out, inhaling the clean cold air. "Damn, that smells nice."

Mitch climbed the steps and found the key Walt had mentioned. He opened the door, then returned to his vehicle and opened the door. He shouldered his skis and poles and climbed back up to the porch and leaned them against the wall by the door, and returned again to the truck and pulled out his bag and a box of groceries. Walt had said there was no need to bring anything, but Mitch hadn't felt right showing up without contributing to the food larder. He locked the truck and wearily took the rest of this stuff his stuff inside.

Several Tiffany shaded lamps sprang to life when Mitch flipped the switch inside the door. "Wow," Mitch breathed as he looked around. The interior of the lodge certainly was much more comfortable and stylish than the outside had promised. It was plain that whoever owned this place had put a lot of money into its furnishings without having relied on glitz or trendiness to make an impression. Soft leather and good sturdy Craftsman style furniture invited relaxation. Thick area rugs softened the floors, and yes! a magnificent cut stone fireplace dominated one end of the living room. Soft thick drapes covered the wide windows to keep out the cold, but would open to provide a magnificent vista. Several beautiful paintings were on the walls and shelves by the large chair by the fireplace held an array of well-worn books. Upon Mitch's examination, a number of them proved to be signed first editions. Two bronze sculptures of bears, looking very much like the work of Remington sat on other shelves. A large floor lamp by the chair promised good light for reading, comfortably close to the fire. Another equally large chair was across a rug from it, and a large couch completed the arrangement in front of the fireplace. Mitch took the groceries into the kitchen and saw a much more modern galley than he expected. Again, it wasn't 'fashionable' but obviously designed by someone who valued convenience. "And someone who likes lots of food," Mitch said out loud, seeing the large pantry and the equally large refrigerator. "Sub Zero... nice!" Mitch put the perishables in there, and stacked the rest of the provisions, noting ample counters and a variety of utensils, all readily available to hand.

"Time to explore." Walking into the first bedroom, he wondered where he was to sleep. This one was obviously the owner's. It had a huge bed, covered in what looked like bearskins, and another one of the comfortable large chairs he had seen in the living room. More books lined the walls and another fireplace filled a corner, and a closed door, presumably the bathroom. He walked down the well-lit hall and did a double take as he looked at the spotlit painting on the end wall. He moved closer and looked carefully. "Oh, my ears and whiskers... that's... that's a Monet!" Mitch gazed in wonder at a pair of haystacks, partially covered in snow and shimmering in pale winter sunlight. The small masterpiece hung proudly alone on the white wall. Mitch turned and looked in another bedroom, this one also filled with a huge bed with a large painting of William Beard's 'Bear Dance' over it, more books, a thick area rug, and what looked like the back side twin of the fireplace in the first bedroom. This room was smaller, though, and Mitch took it to be a guest bedroom. There were other rooms opening off the hallway, but their doors were closed and locked, so Mitch decided that the second room was intended for guests and slung his bag on the bed and started to unpack.

Stripping and padding into the bathroom to take a badly needed leak, he noted that this, too, was larger than he expected, with a huge walk in shower. He shook off and stepped into the enclosure, turned on the water and jumped. Water cascaded out from multiple shower heads embedded on the walls as well and the main one extending from far up on the wall. "Better and better," thought Mitch as he soaped his hairy body and let the hot pulsing spray rinse off the road fatigue. His cock swelled as he soaped it, but he resisted the urge to jack off to the images of him and Walt at the motel. The real thing would be there soon enough.

Stepping out of the shower and toweling off, he padded naked around the house, making sure doors were closed and locked and lights were off. He gazed again at the painting in the hall. "Wow." He turned down the covers (more bearskins?), wondered about the painting over the bed (original? it certainly looked like it) and crawled into the huge bed. "This guy's guests must all be basketball players," Mitch thought. "BIG basketball players." He had wanted to think of Walt and plans for the weekend as he fell asleep, but the hot shower, the oddly pleasant musky smell of the bed, and tiredness overtook him and he fell almost instantly asleep.

Mitch woke and stretched the next morning, comfortably buried in a mound of pleasant smelling sheets and covers. He couldn't quite place the scent, but it reminded him of musk and spice; and oddly, of Walt. He crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom and relieved himself, washed his hands in the large sink, and went naked to the kitchen. He set coffee to brewing and fixed himself a bowl of cereal. The place was cold but not unpleasantly so. The pale light from outside drew him out onto the porch. His balls immediately snugged up tight against his body and he felt his cock shrink, 'Shit, its COLD out here!" He stepped to the railing of the back porch and sipped his coffee and he look out on the small meadow that spread out before him. "This is beautiful." He turned but stopped as he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. He gazed intently at the dark trees off to the left of the back porch, forgetting the cold for the moment. He thought he had seen a shadow move. There it was again, the slight movement. A bear? This close to Tahoe? It certainly looked like a bear. He looked again, but the shadow had vanished. He waited to see if it would return, but it didn't. He turned again and went back inside, shivering, and poured another mug of coffee and looked at the clock. Walt would be here in less than two hours, he thought. "Enough time for a hike, I think."

Mitch padded down to the bedroom and put on clothes for a short hike. He strapped his watch on so he would know when to turn back in time to meet Walt. He stopped at the kitchen table and wrote a quick note to Walt that he was going on a short walk and would be back by 9:30, 10 at the latest. Grabbing his bright blue ski parka, he walked out the kitchen door.

Walking across the meadow, he gazed around him. Thick pine and deep green fir trees formed the vegetation off to either side of the meadow, along with granite, glinting gray and mica. Tall mountains provided the backdrop to a rugged landscape. "Whoever owns this place sure picked a prime spot." Mitch thought has he strode off across the meadow towards one of several trails he spied. He scanned the sky. A thin layer of clouds screened the sun and cast a pale cool light on the trees and patches of snow. The path he chose climbed, slowly at first, them more steeply as it angled off through the trees. Mitch found himself listening to the wind sighing in the trees, a sound he hadn't noticed crossing the meadow. As he climbed, the sound increased, and Mitch noticed that the sky had become noticeably grayer. The path was steeper, too. Puffing, Mitch sat on a log for a minute. "I must be in worse shape than I thought." He rose, checked his watch, and resumed walking. Suddenly, the path leveled out and the trees dropped off to his right. A ridge opened out and gave him an impressive view of a ravine and the rugged Sierras beyond. The climb had winded Mitch more than he expected and he stood there looking, catching his breath and sweating. "Parka might have been too much," he thought, and unzipped it, intending to tie it around his waist. The sweater and shirt would be enough for a bit. He looked out across the ravine and noticed that the sky now had black clouds scudding in from the north east, and the wind was more insistent than ever. "Maybe I should keep the parka on," he mused and untied the sleeves from his waist.

A sudden strong gust of wind tore the parka from his hands and blew it up and away across the ravine. Mitch watched and swore as the errant gust deposited it in a snow bank on the other side of the ravine. "Damn it to hell!" he cursed. He stared at the ravine, noting the steep side and pockets of snow and what looked like ice. "How the fuck am I going to get down there?" He walked across the ledge, looking for an easy way down. Nope. He walked a ways further. Still no joy. The temperature was beginning to drop rapidly with the wind, and Mitch anxiously scanned the sky. He continued to walk along the ridge, hoping to fine someplace to cross over the ravine and walk back up to get his parka. He looked again at his watch. "I can just make it back if I can get that parka now." He spied what he thought was a path leading down to the bottom of the ravine. He began to step carefully among the rocks and snow. Patches of ice made the going slow and difficult.

"Don't want to fall and break my fool nec..." Mitch's foot suddenly bent nearly double under him as he stepped on a patch of unseen ice and slipped. He began to topple over and flailed his arms in a vain attempt to right himself. He tumbled forward and sideways and landed hard in a pile of small rocks. Loose and unstable, they gave way and pitched him down the side of the ravine. He landed on the broken branch of a dead pine tree. The broken, jagged splinters of the branch pierced Mitch's side, gashing open his sweater and shirt and rapidly soaking them with blood. He tired to lever himself up off the branch but a splinter of wood broke off and stayed in his side. His hand slipped on the blood-slicked rock and he rolled over into a small puddle of melt water that covered his chest and legs. Searing pain shot up from his badly twisted ankle and around from his side and collided together, making him gasp for breath. Something was terribly wrong, he thought. He gasped again and again in spite of the heavy pain each time he did so, but he still felt as if he was suffocating. He stared up at the heavy snow-laden clouds gathering. His vision blurred and then saw only black.

Walt reached the lodge a little after 9:30, and was pleased to see that Mitch's rental was parked there. He bounded up the steps and reached to open the door. It was locked. "That's odd," he thought. He reached for the key in its hiding place, but it wasn't there. Mitch's skis and poles were there, so Mitch obviously had gotten there and unloaded gear. He walked around the porch to the back and tried the kitchen door. "Ah." Walt opened the door and stepped in, shedding his old leather jacket as he did so. He looked around and sniffed the coffee in the pot. Pouring himself a mug, he called out, "Mitch? You here?" Receiving no answer, he walked through the familiar rooms, looking for his buddy. "Well, he's been here," he said, looking at the rumpled bed. "Wonder if he's out exploring?" Walt walked back into the kitchen to get a refill on his coffee and noticed the note on the table. "Well, that explains it," reading the note.

Walt took his mug out on the back porch and sat on one of the chairs there, sipping and looking at the sky. "Damned if that isn't a storm blowing up." A sudden feeling of deep unease passed over Walt. It wasn't just the pending storm; this was a feeling of almost dread. He'd had these feelings before and had gradually learned to heed them. Something was wrong. He paced, went inside, and reread Mitch's note. "He says a short walk. Its just 10 now, so he's not really late... not yet." He paced more, then went back out on the porch and sat. Restless, he rose and paced some more. His unease grew. The neglected coffee quickly chilled as the temperature dropped and the cold winds increased. Walt went back inside, through the living room and out the front porch and un-strapped his bag from the bike and took it inside. He went to the room Mitch had slept in and hung his few clothes in the closet. He peed, then brought wood in from the front porch and occupied himself laying a fire in both the living room and bedroom fireplaces for later in the evening. He checked the reefer for food, and then let himself into the basement and check the large walk in freezer there for more supplies. He took out a couple of large steaks to thaw for dinner. His feelings of 'wrongness' hadn't abated. He looked at the clock, seeing it was nearly 11. He grabbed his jacket and fanny pack and stepped outside into the cold and wind.

The weather had deteriorated in the hour he had been inside. Thick, heavy snow clouds now filled the sky, and a viscous wind cut across the back meadow, bending tree branches and grass. Now deeply worried, Walt looked around him carefully and then, satisfied, willed his body to change. He pointed his face into the wind and took in a great lungful of frigid air, questing for scent. He moved off toward the back of the meadow and stopped, confused, at the multiple paths leading off in different directions. He carefully went out a ways on one path, scanning the ground for any sign of Mitch's passing. Finding nothing, he retraced his steps and went down another path, each in turn. His search yielded nothing. Frustrated, he knelt to the ground and examined it at eye level, then sniffed. A wisp of something called to him. He set off at a lope up the last path.

Taking the rising path in stride, he reached the level area that opened to a ravine. He turned this way and that, squinting his eyes against the stinging wind. He inhaled again, deeply. There... the faintest tinge of blood. The winds were making this very difficult. He headed down the ridge, scanning the terrain as he moved, looking for any sign. Suddenly, he spotted what looked like a patch of blue... bright blue, there, across the ravine! He focused on the color and made out a sleeve. A parka of some sort. Mitch's? Walt stepped carefully down the rocky side of the ravine, placing his feet with care. He reached the bottom of the ravine and reached into the snow bank and retrieved the parka and sniffed. Yes, definitely Mitch's. His head swiveled up and down the ravine. Where was he? Frantically, Walt tried to focus his hearing against the wind. He inhaled. More blood scent, this time from down the ravine, the wind now working in his favor. Walt moved as quickly as he could in the rocky icy ravine bottom, picking his way among the fallen branches and boulders. His boots crunched through thin ice on puddles. Suddenly, he saw a blood-soaked form on the ground ahead, half in a puddle, leg at an awkward angle. Unable to see its face, Walt stumbled rapidly forward. Yes! Mitch. He knelt and placed his hand against Mitch's neck. His skin was icy cold, his face drained of all color except for a blue tinge to his lips. He detected a shallow, fluttering pulse. Walt lifted his head with a silent 'Thank you' and lifted the limp nearly frozen body, wrapping it in the parka. Snow started to fall.

Walt hefted Mitch's weight in his thick arms and slowly walked down the ravine to the same broken path Mitch had started to use nearly two hours ago. His powerful legs steadied them both as he climbed the side of the ravine, carrying Mitch's body as gently as he could. Cresting the ridge, he looked around. Snow was falling faster now, whipped by the winds. The cold cut through his jacket like a knife. Walt bent his head close to Mitch's mouth and nose and felt faint shallow breaths. His face looked utterly bloodless. He rapidly considered. "He's going fast, who knows how much blood he's lost. The cold will have slowed that some, but it also lowered his temp. Lying in the icy water saw to that. I can't get him back to the lodge in time... he'll never make it." His eyes scanned the immediate area. Nothing. He moved as quickly as he could back down the path along the ridge and then down into the trees.

He moved on, snow blinding him at times, legs churning through the blowing snow. When the wind shifted, he could see better, if only momentarily. But, yes... there, up a ways on the path. Surely a ledge, maybe an opening of some sort. Walt struggled up the slope and was rewarded with the low opening to what might be a cave. He carefully set Mitch down on the rock ledge, fully expecting to have to do battle with some animal for the right to shelter there. Senses alert, he crawled into the opening.

Inside, the cave opened up, allowing him to stand nearly upright. The cave was dry, but more important; it was empty, with no signs of recent occupancy. The back of the cave angled off to the right, providing some shelter from any gusts that might blow in the cave mouth. Walt quickly returned to Mitch and gently moved him inside. Stretching him out, he made a pillow of the parka and placed it under Mitch's head. He looked carefully at Mitch's inert body. The shallow pulse was still evident when he placed his fingers against his neck, but he was SO cold. He saw Mitch take a very shallow breath and heard a bubbling sound. Gently lifting the torn sweater and blood-soaked shirt, he dislodged a large clot and saw fresh bleeding. He also saw the jagged splinter of wood embedded in Mitch's side.

"Oh, shit!" Walt knew he had hard decisions to make. Removing the splinter would likely cause more bleeding. Not removing the splinter would make moving Mitch without causing more injury nearly impossible. Walt felt sure Mitch's lung had been pierced by the wood, the bubbling sound when he tried to breathe making that a certainty. Walt knew little of first aid. "He's going to die," Walt thought as tears welled in his eyes. "I can't get him to safety in this weather, and if we stay here, he will die, I know it." He bushed tears away savagely and thought hard. "I'll leave the splinter in place for a bit... he's so terribly cold. Shock, I think, and loss of blood. He needs to be warm."

Walt hurried outside in the snow and looked around. Struggling to see in the blowing snow, he spied some deadfall a few yards form the mouth of the cave. He broke several branches into smaller pieces and tossed them onto the rock ledge in front of the cave. He then took the log and tore it into medium size chunks, and tossed those, too. He scrambled back into the cave, dragging the wood in behind him. He opened his fanny pack and took out the knife, safety matches and the fire starter sticks. He quickly shaved some bark from the smallest branches and broke the fire sticks in pieces. He laid the larger pieces of kindling on top and lit one of the safety matches. It flared and went out. Walt, big hands trembling, lit another. This one stayed lit and the kindling caught. As the flames grew, he stoked the blaze. He felt heat begin to penetrate the cave. He stripped and lay down next to Mitch and curled his body around his friend, willing his own warmth into his dying buddy. Gently hugging him, he closed his eyes and growled softly and hummed, tying to get as much of his own fur covered skin in contact with Mitch as possible.

He looked again at Mitch. His skin did feel a bit warmer. He felt his pulse. It was more erratic than it had been, nearly undetectable. He carefully eased Mitch over on one side, put one hand on Mitch's side and with the other tried to ease the splinter out as carefully as possible. It came out surprisingly easily, but was followed with a slow welling of dark blood and an increased bubbling sound. He sniffed carefully at Mitch's wound and then his breath. There was the faint but unmistakable scent of impending death. Mitch was dying. For a moment, Walt stared at his friend, weeping silently. He took a great gulping breath and bellowed. He knew he had no choice, no hope for rescue in time or a miracle. He stood above Mitch naked in the cave. He bent by the fire and reached for the knife and raised it in one hand.

He moved his arm over Mitch's wound, and slashed at his wrist. His own blood, hot and red, spurted and ran down his arm and dripped into Mitch's dark blood covered wound. Walt's flow rapidly slowed, and the cut began to close. He cut again, and once more the bright fluid spurted and ran down onto Mitch. A third slash and more blood. In spite of the fire, it steamed in the cold air. The flow slowed, then stopped altogether. Walt leaned back, tears once again in his eyes. "Forgive me, buddy." He reached out and put a warm paw on Mitch's forehead. "Forgive me, Mitch."

Walt watched the miraculous process he had seen before. The hole in Mitch's side began to close slowly. Walt bent down and began licking the wound clean. He knew the saliva would help sterilize the wound and increase the speed of healing.

He watched the wound close and knew that where his blood had found its way into Mitch, the healing would be as rapid. Mitch's lung would repair soon, and his blood loss would stop; but if he didn't get warm, he could still die. All of it would be for nothing if he didn't get Mitch warm.

He stripped Mitch out of his wet clothing and moved him closer to the fire. It was blazing now. He took the clothes he'd stripped out of and draped them over Mitch. Walt had long since ceased to actually need clothing in all but the most extreme cold. Walt to shifted more deeply into Werebear form, but still short of the full transformation. Half form still allowed for bipedal movement and use of his larger clawed hands. He'd be able to bring back larger logs and tear them apart with his paw-like hands. He looked at the cave, realizing there must be some sort of opening at the other end because it was not filling with smoke. It was a natural chimney.

Out into the snow Walt strode. He'd need to work fast. He looked around, seeing plenty of fallen wood lying round, some of it fairly dry. With ease born of hulking ursine musculature, Walt pitched large branches toward the cave mouth and after about thirty minutes had enough firewood to last through two nights. If Mitch survived through two nights, he'd survive period.

Walt pulled the wood into the cave and shook the snow out of his fur. He walked over to Mitch, knelt down and checked his pulse. It was weak, but still there and Mitch's breathing was steady, if shallow. Some color had returned to his face, but he was still pale and a little blue. Walt looked at the wound; it was gone, completely, as if it had never been. Walt's eyes welled up with tears. "I'm so sorry buddy. I didn't have much choice and it looks like you have none at all because of my choice," Walt whispered.

Walt turned back to the woodpile. He needed the fire to be bigger. He began breaking the wood it into smaller bits, strong claws gripping the wood, rending it down the grain. Walt had also taken the opportunity to throw a few stones into the cave. He'd set them by the fire to use them as heat sources later. He turned from his work and checked on Mitch again. No change, that was good, it meant he'd stabilized.

Walt went back out into the snow, looking for bedding, something to put between the cold ground and Mitch. He knew where he could find some, too. Under some of the branches, he'd seen pine needles mixed with bracken. In three trips, Walt had enough for a small bed about four inches deep. It wasn't a feather bed or fiberglass insulation, but it would have to do. He'd taken as much of the snow off as possible before gathering them up, but there was still some that clung to the stuff. Walt arranged it around the fire far enough and thin enough to dry, but not catch fire. Again, he checked on Mitch; he actually looked better and his breathing seemed a bit stronger. Walt wondered how much of it was wishful thinking and how much was actual perception. He sniffed Mitch's breath. A little blood scent but that was to be expected; his lungs wouldn't reabsorb it for awhile. The best part was that the smell of death had vanished, which meant that Mitch's systems were no longer shutting down. He worried about the persisting bluish cast to his skin, though.

Walt placed Mitch's naked body on his furry belly to keep him warm while the bedding and Mitch's clothes dried. Walt's clothes didn't provide much of a blanket and he curled his furry legs and arms around Mitch. An hour or so later Walt checked the bracken and pine needles. They were dry and ready. They were even warm, which would be good as long as it lasted. They were a bit sticky from sap, but beggars in these situations couldn't be choosers. Walt gathered up the bedding into a thick pad and laid Mitch on it. The bed was between the cave opening and the fire so any wind blowing into the cave would be to Walt's thickly furred back.

Walt knew Mitch had to have his core temp raised soon, before nightfall. He rolled Mitch over on his side, facing him toward the blaze. Walt lifted Mitch's leg and began rubbing his cock head against his puckered hole and was thankful of the penis bone that formed when in this shape. Soon, precum coated Mitch's opening and Walt started pushing into his unconscious friend.

Normally, Walt would never consider taking advantage of an unconscious man, but this was a desperate situation. If Walt could put his very hot cock up inside of Mitch, the warmth would radiate out. Mitch's insides felt cool, not warm; and that worried Walt. He very gently pushed his tip inside Mitch, but even in his unconscious state, Mitch gave a weak moan. Weak or not, Walt took that as a good sign.

Soon, Walt's longer Werebear cock was buried deep inside of Mitch. Mitch's back was firmly against Walt's belly and chest fur. Walt curled around Mitch and drew Mitch into an energy conserving fetal position and then Walt changed completely into his full grizzly bear form. Mitch was completely surrounded by Walt except for small portion facing the fire, which was covered by Walt's clothing. Inside, Walt's growing cock stretched Mitch further and again, there were moans, these stronger but only because the were likely due to pain. Walt cried for the pain he caused his love, but knew this was likely the only way he would survive the night.

Mitch's backside was against a very warm Werebear and his front was facing a large warm fire. Inside, Walt's cock was radiating heat deep within him. Walt could feel warmth returning to Mitch's skin. Walt closed his eyes and concentrated on generating more heat. He'd taken meditation lessons and if a Buddhist monk could dry a wet cloth on his naked back in the Himalayas, he could increase his body heat to warm his love to save his life.

Slowly, Mitch's breathing grew steadier as his skin warmed. The bluish cast slowly, ever so slowly, receded. Walt lay holding Mitch though the afternoon and into evening, dozing. The cold in this form was bringing out a hibernation response in Walt, but it would take several weeks for him to go into full hibernation. Walt would occasionally wake and see that the light had faded a little more. After the third hour of lying with Mitch, Walt felt he was warm enough inside to disengage and did so carefully. He inspected Mitch's hole and saw that it had bled some. Walt spread Mitch's legs and began licking into the hole deeply, cleaning and lubricating it with healing saliva. If there were any tears inside from the growth from half to full bear, the spittle would close them. Walt shifted to half form, piled more wood on the fire, curled around Mitch, and shifted back to full form. This time, he did not enter Mitch, but did pull him into the fetal position and wrapped as much of his bulky form around him as possible. It was seven in the evening, pitch black outside and the snowstorm still howling. All the while Walt had been keeping Mitch from dying, he'd also been considering how he had taken Mitch's humanity from him, had changed him forever and how none of it had been Mitch's choice. His sleep was fitful, marred by concern and troubling dreams.

Early the next morning, with the fire burned low, Walt was woken by the sound of someone coming toward the cave. The howling wind had ceased and all was quiet except he sound of someone plowing through the snow on foot. Quickly he roused, and pressed his nose against Mitch; his temp had improved and he could tell by smell that Mitch was on the mend. He moved toward the cave mouth. He gave a low growl and was answered back by a low growl he recognized. He sniffed; the smell was familiar. It smelled like bear, and human, but very strongly of cigar and a particular kind of cigar. Walt knew that brand very well, had smoked it with someone he loved dearly many times.

Into the cave strode a tall man with a full blond gray beard wearing heavy winter clothing, mirrored sunglasses and a stocking cap covered by a hood. He was, of course, smoking a cigar.

"Boy, you had me scared out of my wits; not so much for you, but for your buddy. Found you by following the smell of smoke. What happened?" The man asked.

By this time, Walt had shifted to half form and was standing. He turned, bent down and scooped Mitch up in his strong furry arms.

"Oh, Papa. He almost died." Walt said.

"Almost??... you mean you saved him, didn't you boy?" The man asked. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth, unzipped the clothing and buried his face in Mitch's clothes and began sniffing. Half a minute or so later, he pulled his face out, zipped the clothes back up. He looked Walt square in the eye and gave him a cold penetrating stare.

"I suppose there wasn't any other choice, was there? I can smell the change on him; it's faint yet, but there as sure as the sun. By all that blood I see on his clothes it looks like he had some sort of wound, a bad one. What was it, liver, lungs, spleen?" The blond man said, putting the cigar back in his mouth, rolling it around in his mouth.

"It was his lungs. He's lost a lot of blood, but that should rebuild fairly quickly... now." Walt's eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"Yes it will, boy." The man chewed thoughtfully on his cigar. "Can't say as I'm displeased with you. Looks like you did all you could without resorting to transformation and used that as a last resort... and you loved him. I can't fault you for that, but it does complicate things... for me." He drew deeply on his cigar. "Don't worry, Mitch isn't like Eddie, Mitch is a lot like you inside. Eddie was a mistake," he said.

He unzipped his thick parka, revealing that he was dressed in a heavy sweater beneath. "Take this, wrap him up in it. I'll bring back the truck, but you're going to have to carry him. I suggest you get dressed. You'll want to be human when you take him out of here."

The blond man turned to leave and then stopped and turned back and said, "I love you son... I'm sure I'll love my new grandson just as much... even if his disappearance will cause me a headache and a half.

"I love you too, Coach." Walt said.

Coach Franklin chuckled and walked out of the cave, saying he'd be back within the hour.

continue reading...  Becoming the Bear - Chapters 7-12

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PapaWereBear has other werebear stories at http://www.geocities.com/papawerebear1

UrsusMajr has further, non-werebear, stories on the Nifty.org site, in the Gay Male/Adult Friends section, under the directory "Bear".

PapaWereBear and UrsusMajr have another joint werebear story that will appear on Nifty.org, called Mack. Look for it under the Gay Male/Adult Friends section.

Happy reading!

Please tell us what you think... PapaWereBear and UrsusMajr

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