Random Gay Bear Fandom

These are my thoughts; what is NSFO and why I am proclaiming

REAL. UNEDITED. RAW.

Feeling Isolated? Alone?

No one has the real answer.  We are all uniquely different in the ways we approach life, others and how we treat ourselves.  What works for me may not work for you - same in reverse.

Just know, this is a terrible TREND in the “gay” universe.  For me, I’ve got to start with the idea just because we are all attracted to same-sex, that does not at all make us a community.  Being gay (based on what you prefer sexually) has actually turned out to be a really empty existence.  

We think others with the same proclivities will cause us to identify with them and for them to identify with us.  UNTRUE. All it really means is we can surely suck dick together.  Not much more.

I have discovered the cultivation of interests and hobbies OUTSIDE SEX is very important to finding valued relationships when gay.  If you think about it, this makes a lot of sense.  If we are “gay” and have nothing else going on with our lives, all we CAN do with other “gays” is sex.

Free love and sexploration is wonderful.  Fuck Friends GET ON! Eventually, a person might find they are only and ever connecting with other human beings for and about sex.  For some, that is a really devastating blow.  Some find sexual mechanical motions are replacing authentic and REAL interactions with other human beings.  It may slide into a really dark place where one is casing dark restrooms in search of something….. that is never really satisfied when the cum stops shooting.

Personally, I have not found myself in that situation.  I’ve always had other things on my mind and other interests in my spirit to keep me interested in myself and others.  NSFO stands for No Sex Friends Only. It’s a time in my life where it seems like things can go either way.  I could seriously begin seeking out empty sex habits just because I can, or I can choose to say NO to that and try to develop authentic relationships that are not PnP and ANON and Blow & Go.

I am proclaiming this, thus, defining it.  I am choosing to tell everyone - as much as is possible - I am not into sex with you.  But I am open to any friendship that ma develop.  To be real, with most gay men, if you don’t do this, the expectation of having sex will always be there.  For some, you may not really know if another guy is hanging out with you because he likes YOU or likes your DICK or BODY.

I know………. to some, the above are the same.  Some have lived that way so long, they genuinely do not know the difference between enjoying someone’s company to enjoying some sex fetish.  Or, they have closed themselves off for so long, they simply have forgotten what it means to have interactions with other gay guys that DO NOT revolve around sex.

My message is for anyone who is ready for this step.  I think someone will know when they are.  I want to talk with you.  I have no hidden motives here.  Some have gotten upset over messaging me and I just am not into the sex chat or discovering through chat or pics if someone turns me on…. for me that has had its time.  For me, it is time to cultivate something more.  Actually, something NOT encompassing sex or fetish or porn.  

Sure, this blog is as smutty as can get.  It has been smuttier.  CHANGES.

Changes that will not probably stop the smut, but it WILL evolve.  It already has.  It will continue to evolve.

My tumblr stats say I have over 12,000 followers.  I will find it hard to accept if truly that many people are seeing this blog no one will contact me from a human standpoint.  That would be sad!  I know that’s not the case.  I hunger for real human relationships with OR without sex.  But from this post, you can probably understand why the message has to be sent NSFO right up front.  Or, it will be assumed I’m doing what everyone else is doing.  

If you really knew me, you’d know that I’m NEVER doing what everyone else is doing.  In fact, when I sense groupthink, I run the opposite direction. :0) I don’t believe for a moment that us GAY MEN are only receptacles for and seekers of lust.  Nope.  When we get isolated and alone, that’s when we are vulnerable.  

In my opinion, of course free sex is fine.  I’m not against it.  How could I be.  And my blog too is mostly filled with smut.

My opinion is I’m truly at end of my “rope” with guys hanging out with me with the secret intent “are we gonna have sex?” and it ALWAYS WITHOUT END being the elephant in the room.  And it sucks more when the guy goes on and puts everything on the back burner to get laid.

we are ALL placing way too much emphasis on fucking and sucking.

I don’t care how old you are or what your ‘morality’ is, I’m not interested in how much you wank or what fetishes you are obsessed with.  

The sheer thought of endless sexual thoughts are EMBARRASSING when I consider how much more my life IS than smoking hog and riding the bum bus.  I sometimes get nauseated that - as adult males - we still act like 14yo drifting through our lives in a fog of hormones and chasing every sexy guy with our phone into locker rooms, down halls, sidewalks, restaurants, the internet, more and more porn and smut until it basically becomes useless.

I love porn so much I don’t want to kill it with overdose.

MORE, I just want to know people that are not HUNTING me like deranged killers or who cannot be around m without cock on the brain 24/7.  

I go so far to say if you are an adult gay male, you really need to wake up to life that isn’t inside your shorts.  There is a lot more.  Fine if you don’t want to wake up, but I really have no interest in you now.

In every coming of age story the young man’s only goal is to have sex to prove himself. Because that’s what is expected of a man. The “cool” guy is always the one who has no trouble getting laid.

Also if a man is showing emotion it is a sign of weakness. Showing you care means you’re whipped.

Mixing those things with the ease of finding casual sex in the internet age and being gay no longer being a death sentence had to lead to this point.

“Self Loathing” is manifesting in the Gay Male by trying to fuck the pain away.  It’s easier to get someone to arrive at your door NOW to drink your cum than to have a conversation.

When they say LOOKING FOR NOW they mean “FUCK ME OR DON’T KNOW ME”.  NOW lasts as long as the hardon brought with. Some are satisfied with that. Or think they are.  Others are hanging themselves or doing meth or are pool party players thinking the guy in their ass actually cares if they lived or died. 

By Papa Werebear and Ursus Major

Special thanks to hydrocub1997 for his inspirational idea!

“I got his wallet!  Oh my fucking GOD, I fucking can’t believe it! Took it right off the belt, chain and all!  Of course the almost half bottle of Tennessee whiskey he drank probably helped, I don’t think he is as aware as he… Oh shit!  He’s looking for it, I’m out,” Owen thought as he headed for the door, trying to look as calm as possible.

He’d just had time to slip the long, well-worn leather wallet and chain into the deep inner pockets of his black leather trench coat as he hit the door. But one of the biker’s buddies managed to see him do it, and now there were angry shouts inside the bar.  Nutz ‘n’ Boltz, the Bear biker/leather bar, was a rough and slightly seedy little place on the outskirts of a rundown residential area that bordered the industrial/warehouse district, not far from where the cargo ships unloaded.

Owen had grown up poor in this neighborhood, and as a result had developed a few bad habits; picking pockets being one of them.  But that was in the past, he’d straightened out his life, got a good job at the docks that paid well enough that he could move away to a bit nicer area; but he was still drawn to this place.

Owen wasn’t interested in the money in the wallet, though it wasn’t as if he were rolling in cash, even with his improved situation.  No, in fact all he wanted was to find out who the hot leather Daddy Bear was, but he didn’t have the nerve to approach him.

If he was truthful with himself, he would have to admit that he’d been stalking this guy for weeks now, ever since his first encounter at Nutz ‘n’ Boltz. Something about him had occupied all of his thoughts, and he couldn’t get him out of his head.  The smell of him was the first thing that had drawn his attention.  When he’d passed the biker as he was going into the dank men’s room; over that wall of scent, that reeking of piss, he could still smell him, and it sent an instant shock of pleasure to his groin followed by a raging stiffy.

It was more than the intoxicating whiff of leather, pipe, and cigar.  It was more than the slightly spicy scent of whatever beard oil the Bear had put in his long, braided, grey beard.  It was something else… it was HIS smell.

It wasn’t as if there wasn’t a festival of good smelling men in Nutz ‘n’ Boltz, and truthfully some not so good smelling ones too; but even among his musky biker buddies, HE stood out.

He wasn’t handsome.  In fact, he looked like he’d had his face rearranged a couple of times with someone’s fists if the scars across the bridge of his nose, upper cheek and forehead were any clue.  Still, there was a brutish majesty about him… after all, what real king hadn’t fought for his kingdom and come away with proof of those battles?

He was somewhat squat, and heavily muscled, but it was not ‘pretty muscle’. It was not perfectly proportioned, well balanced, gym refined, muscle.  This was muscle earned through hard laborious living.  He was covered in tattoos, some expensive, colorful, beautifully rendered artistic pieces, and some looked like they were prison grade, almost childish work.  Had his fur been as dark as it had been in his youth (as Owen guessed it had once been by the few remaining black hairs in his beard and hair), the dark fur would have almost completely obscured the work.  Even now, it was hard to see the designs through all the white hair.  Oh Gods, but that silver pelt was luxurious! It covered him from the neck down; at least that was what Owen supposed from what little was revealed on his thick arms, and chest by the black Harley tank top, and leather vest.  Every time the biker daddy would pull one of his riding buddies over, with his firm round belly pressed to his buddy’s own belly for a deep kiss, Owen longed to be the man he was kissing.

As he ran down the alleys, looking very much like a shorter, skinnier version of Morpheus in The Matrix, the sound of bikes firing up filled Owen with cold fear. He wondered why he’d been so impulsive, why he’d taken the chance.  It was insane!  He hadn’t flirted with danger like this in more than a decade, but the fear that coursed through him, fueling his adrenaline, and the thought of what those beasts might do to him if they caught him was… truthfully… exhilarating.

Owen could hear the motorcycles moving toward him, but having grown up around here, and having evaded pursuit from the victims of his thefts before, he knew all the shortcuts and hiding places.  In fact, he wasn’t far from a boarded up abandoned place he’d used several times in the past.  The place was occasionally a crack house, and had been for the last twenty years; but the cops had cleared it recently.  But it wasn’t the house he was interested in.  Years ago he’d discovered that the property had a fallout shelter, built for the house back in the mid ‘50s.  No one but he, to his knowledge, had discovered it.

As he ran, he could hear the sound of the motorcycles moving further away from him, to the Northeast if his sense of direction was working properly, and he was maybe a block away from his hideout.  A few minutes later he’d found the abandoned house he’d been searching for. The yard in back was overgrown, and in the darkness he made his way through the broken side gate partially obscured by an overgrown tree, and around the darkened husk that was once a family home.  He heard noises inside, and assumed that those the cops had chased out a few nights before were back.  Quietly, he found his way around some trash barrels, back behind some more wild volunteer trees of the kind that tend to spring up in abandon yards, to a small cinder block garage.

The half-moon coming out from behind the clouds provided enough light through a huge hole in the rusted, corrugated sheet metal roof for Owen to see.  In the corner, hidden by years of dirt and a makeshift table made from an old electrical wire spool, which Owen himself had placed over it to conceal it, was the hatch to the fallout shelter he’d found as a teen.  Quietly, he moved the spool out of the way, and after brushing away some of the dirt, found the handle to the hatch.

To his surprise, it moved without the screeching sound of rusted metal. He entered silently, closing the hatch door behind him.  Removing a lighter from his pocket, he lit it to see.  It was dead quiet down here, truly silent; and as cold as you might expect from a room at the same level as the bottom of a grave. To his right, where he’d left them in a small cupboard, were a half dozen pillar type candles, a small hurricane lantern, and a glass bottle filled with kerosene.  Taking an unused candle he lit it, and moved to the door to the shelter.  The heavy metal door was unlocked as it had been the last day he’d been here.  It did not move without some noise, but it was faint enough that he suspected no one could hear from the other side of the hatch door, it coming from this far underground.

Inside, all was as he’d left it.  The seals around both the hatch door and the metal door he’d just opened had kept the place dust and vermin free.  It was a five room shelter; three bedrooms, a kitchen, and a supply room which had long ago been emptied, presumably by its owner.  There were bathrooms, but they were basically closets attached to the bedrooms with outhouse, dirt-hole toilets in them, and a wash stand with a drain that fed into the hole into which the shit fell.

Owen figured he’d lay low while the bikers stormed about looking for him like he’d done back when he’d been running from one of the guys whose pocket he’d picked. By morning, he’d be able to go back home.  He’d mail the wallet back to its owner, with all its contents.  After all, Owen really didn’t want to keep it.  In the meantime, it was time to sit, and look over the wallet he’d taken, and find out just who the hot beast it belonged to was.

He found a few more of the lanterns he’d left, filled them with the lamp oil, and lit them.  He then sat on the stool at the small card table he’d brought down here years ago along with the cot and a few other simple furnishings.  He pulled the wallet from his pocket, and opened it.

In the cool air, he was greeted with the scents of leather, tobacco smoke, and as he put his nose to the folded out item, its owner’s musk.  The mingled scents were pure arousal for Owen, and he felt his hard cock straining against his jeans.

The first compartment, because old habits die hard, was the cash.  He took the money out, and counted out $578.00, then put it back in the wallet.  With the money there was an expired coupon for a free lube job for a motorcycle at ‘Lube, and Groove’ which brought a smile to Owen’s face.  It was a local shop that serviced all sorts of vehicles, but specialized in motorcycles.  Their radio commercials were hilarious and walked right up to the line of pornographic, yet never crossed it; and so were very popular, bringing in a lot of business as a result.  It was no surprise the wallet’s owner would patronize such a place.

He looked at the driver’s license next.  The wallet belonged to Lyle Thomas Grissom and he noted from the classification that this guy could drive everything from a motorcycle to a semi-trailer truck.  The scowl staring back at him from the DMV photo sent both a shiver of fear, and excitement down his spine.  Owen imagined that few called this Bear of a man ‘Lyle’ unless it was in some sort of legal setting.  Along with the license, there were credit cards, business cards from some places here in town, and some from out of state.  Finally, he got to the photos.  Owen found a couple with Lyle, and his buddies; one of which was taken with Devil’s Tower in the background which he assumed was taken on a Sturgis rally trip. Some of the men he recognized from the bar where he’d pilfered the wallet.

One picture in particular was most interesting to him, a picture of Lyle buck naked, and as he had imagined, the beast was covered head to toe in tattoos, and a thick silver pelt.  However, what made this picture unusual was that he was standing with his arm around the waist of a grizzly bear, who was standing on his back legs.  The grizzly, who was looking down at the beaming Lyle, had his huge left paw on Lyle’s head, which was bald except for the frame of hair around the sides and back in the typical male pattern.  The photo was odd, too, in that both the bear and Lyle were fully erect.

The photo turned Owen on in ways he didn’t understand, and then he realized it was because he could almost sense that Lyle and this bear had been sexually intimate by the way the biker smiled.  Owen took the photo from its plastic envelope with fevered, shaking hands.  He quickly got up from the chair, leaving the wallet on the table, and lay down on the cot.  He undid his belt and the front of his pants to free his erection.  In the dim flickering light he held the photo in one hand while he stroked his hard cock, imagining that both the bear and the biker in the photo were here now, in this quiet place, fucking him, spit roasting him between their furry groins.

His hand moved faster over his rigid, straining cock, moving his foreskin back and forth over the bloated tip.  His head spun with the images he conjured up, scenes of being used by both bear and man, alternately impaled on one cock or  the other, being fucked on all fours, or flat on his back, or with his legs held wide apart.  It didn’t take long for Owen to climax, and when he did, it was forceful and prolonged. He cried out in the purest of pleasure, loudly cursing as he blew his loads.  He shot longer than he’d ever done in his life, and when the orgasmic trembles subsided, he was truly spent.  The front of his black t-shirt, and curly dark beard were soaked in his own thick cum.  Before drifting off, he set the picture on the stool he’d sat in, and settled into a comfortable sleep, dreaming of being enclosed front and back with thick, furry bellies and embraced by muscled arms and paws.

  **************************************************************************************

Sometime later, Owen couldn’t tell how long, he awoke to the smell of smoke. Suddenly aware that he’d left both a candle and a lantern burning on the card table he sat bolt up, and turned in the cot to stand, fearing that there was a fire down here in the shelter. What greeted him was not a room ablaze, but a huge paw of a hand, grabbing hold of his cum crusted beard, turning his head to meet its owner’s gaze.

Owen looked into the eyes of Lyle, and almost wet himself.  The biker, sitting on the stool by the head of the cot, was puffing on a freshly lit, thick gauge cigar; grinning menacingly at Owen.

“Well, thief, it looks like I caught you with your pants down; both figuratively, and literally!”  Lyle growled in his deep bass, tightening his grip on the younger man’s beard, pulling him close to his face.  Lyle drew deeply on his cigar, and blew a cloud of thick smoke in Owen’s face.

Owen coughed a bit, and sputtered out, “I’m so sorry. I… I… didn’t…”

“Didn’t steal from me?  We both know that’s a lie,” Lyle said, drawing more smoke in and blowing it out as he had just done a moment before.

“No, I mean…,” he squeaked in his tenor, but Owen just couldn’t continue.  He knew whatever he said next would sound like a lie, even if he told the absolute truth about why he’d taken the wallet.

“Go on, tell me!  And don’t lie,” Lyle purred, “I’ll know if you do.  So let’s have it, all of it, or this little hidden chamber of yours will be your tomb, and I won’t even have to get violent about it.  I could chain you up down here, and brick the entrance over, just like in that Poe story.  You and I both know that no one but us knows about this place.  Should anyone ever find you down here, you’ll be bones by the time they do.”

Lyle looked into Owen’s eyes intently and waited.

“I don’t know why I stole your wallet, it was an impulse.  It was like a fire in my head; an insanity.  I knew as soon as I’d taken it that it was the stupidest, craziest, most desperate thing I’d ever done in my life.  I don’t need the money, it wasn’t about the money.  I had to know who you were.  This is going to make me sound like a lunatic, like a stalker, but ever since I saw you at the bar, weeks ago, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I’ve thought about you more than I’ve ever thought about anyone… ever!  I can’t get your face, your smell, your gestures, how you light your cigar, or how you walk out of my mind,  Every night before I sleep I jerk off thinking about you fucking my ass or face or you curled up with me with those big furry arms holding me.  Even now, with you in this position of power over me, no ESPECIALLY with you in this position of power over me, I’m rock hard, and ready to shoot at the slightest touch.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I’m obsessing over you, but I am.  I didn’t want your wallet for anything more than to find out your name, and where you lived, and I swear I was going to mail it back, complete with all it held.  That’s the absolute fucked up truth, so please, don’t kill me.” Owen was pleading by the end of his speech, his breath coming fast.

The biker considered him for a moment, and then growled out, “You expect me to believe that?  You expect me to believe you stole my wallet because you were too chicken shit to just ask me out?”

Owen considered for a moment, and then shrugged, “It’s the truth,” he said simply.

Lyle took a deep draw on his cigar.  He took it out of his mouth, pulled Owen’s face to his own by the beard and paused for several moments, looking into Owen’s eyes, searching his soul.  He suddenly locked lips with him, feeding him his smoke as his tongue gingerly probed the young man’s mouth, their tongues intertwining, caressing each other.  He released his hold on Owen’s beard, and gently wrapped his huge paw around the back of his head.  This was the kiss Owen had seen in the bar between this brute animal and his buddies.  This was the kiss he’d so very much longed for.  The biker broke the kiss, placed the cigar in the left side of his mouth.  Owen was breathless, no one in had ever kissed him so tenderly, so passionately, so gently.  He exhaled the smoke he’d been fed, coughing a little as he did.  Lyle tenderly brushed his pink sausage-like fingers against Owen’s smooth, soft, brown upper cheek, running the backs of those tatted digits down the young man’s thick, curly beard.  

“You’re a moth,” Lyle said flatly.

“I’m… I’m a… what”? Owen asked.

“A moth, you’re drawn to me, to my musk.  Like a moth to a flame, and until I give you… something… until I make you mine, this will not stop.  You cannot stop, and it will make you more and more obsessive.  You’ll keep spiraling and obsessing, you’ll stop caring about anything other than me.  I don’t say this out of conceit, it’s sort of…biological,” he said.

“So… what?  You’re some sort of drug I can’t do without?” Owen asked a bit incredulously.

“Not exactly, but sort of.  It’s rare, but it happens,” Lyle said with a deep sigh and a resigned smile, “I will explain later in more detail.  For now, I think I need to take care of you.”  Lyle took his cigar and put it in Owen’s mouth and smiled. “Puff, don’t inhale, at least not yet.”

Then he bent down and swallowed Owen’s long, thick, dark brown cock to the root, burying his beard in his dense pubes in one swift movement that caused Owen to gasp deeply, taking cigar smoke into his lungs, causing him to launch into a coughing fit.  Lyle pulled off his cock and took the cigar from him, and waited for the coughing to subside, drawing on the cigar until Owen quieted.

“Shall we try that again?” Lyle asked.

Owen nodded and Lyle gave him back the cigar.

After Lyle had finished, and Owen had climaxed for the third time, Lyle took the cigar and had a last drag on the nub of what was left, then ground it out on the floor.  He told Owen to dress, and the pair had a talk; a long, detailed talk about why that, until he got from Lyle what he needed, he would become more obsessed with him. What was going to happen when Owen got what he needed, what changes the young man could expect as a result of that, and how Owen would be Lyle’s Cub, and what that meant for them both.

“I want to see.  I want to see what I’ll…what YOU look like as a bear”, Owen said.

“It’s kinda cramped in here, son, and I’m a lot bigger as a bear… but here goes.” Lyle removed his clothing and began his change, bones cracking, muscle and sinew rearranging as he grew larger. His skull elongated, forming a bear muzzle.  His hands, already large, became huge bear paws, the human fingernails becoming bear claws, almost black in color.  His eyes changed from pale gray and became the deep chocolate brown flecked with gold that most bears had.  Lyle was furry as a man, but as a bear his pelt grew thicker and more luxuriant in a rich brown, covering his entire body except for the pads on his fore and hind limbs. Owen noted that only his muzzle showed any gray, marking him as an older bear.  His balls became more prominent and the tip of his bear cock slightly protruded from its now-enclosing sheath.  Lyle growled.

“Oh my fucking God, you are BEAUTIFUL!”  Owen was stunned by the huge bear leaning forward and over him, bending at the shoulders, pressed down by the low ceiling of the shelter.  “Can I… can I touch you?” Owen gulped.

Unable to speak in his full bear form, Lyle nodded.  Owen stepped forward and gently stroked the thick bear fur and then did his best to hug the big bear, burying his head in the bear’s chest, inhaling deeply of the pronounced musky scent.  He felt that draw, deep within, that need to be joined to this bear.  He reached down and stroked the tip of Lyle’s cock, causing it to lengthen and expand, drooling all over the young man’s hand. Owen raised his hand to his mouth and licked off the copious amount of precum which had already begun to run down his arm.

“Damn!” he said as the taste went to his brain like an electric shock.  Owen’s entire body tingled. Desire exploded in him like a sun ignited. “Fuck me, please!  I need you in me… now! Fuck me!”

Lyle shook his massive head slowly and pointed to his fully-extended cock and then put his paws together and slowly separated them, then patted Owen’s butt and put his paws slowly back together and shook his head again.  He began his change back to full human, and when that was complete, he put a hand on Owen’s shoulder.

“Son, I want you as much as you want me, maybe more.  But I’d rip you apart in bear form.  Time enough for bear fuckin’ later.  But as I am now…”  Lyle grinned and patted his impressively large, but still human sized cock.  “We can do this, but you’ve got to have time to think, and think carefully about what it all means.  I know you want this, you probably need this,  just remember that there’s no going back.”

Owen looked Lyle square in the eye.  “Oh, I know what I want.  I want you. I want this, I crave this… I crave you!” Lyle grinned.

Lyle’s demonstration had left Owen hornier and more eager than ever.  He reached down to Lyle’s cock and milked out more precum, eliciting a deep grunt from the biker.  Owen licked the clear, honey-thick fluid from his hand as he had before and shuddered in pleasure.  Lyle chuckled and said, “Hold your horses, son.  If this is what you want, we’ll do it, I promise.  I’ll move you into to my place, feed you up some. You’re going to need more meat on those bones of yours… although that one is pretty meaty already!”  Lye reached over and patted Owen’s swollen crotch.

Owen helped Lyle dress and they left the fallout shelter as the sun was rising. They put everything back as it had been for years so the shelter would not be discovered.  The dilapidated house was silent now and in passing it, Lyle ran his meaty hand along the peeling paint of the weathered wooden clapboard siding, giving a sigh as he pulled his hand away.

Lyle mounted his bike, and Owen sat behind.  “I’m curious,” Owen asked as he put the spare helmet on, “how did you find me?”

Lyle pointed to the derelict building, “This was my parent’s house before I went away to prison.  They lost it paying for a lawyer trying to get me off.  It killed them.  Everything they’d worked for gone and their only son, locked away for manslaughter. After the house was gone, they both worked and spent what they had, still trying to get me out.  They died poor, alone, and without me to care for them in their old age.  I won’t tell you it was self-defense or that the guy had it coming to him because that would be a self-serving lie.  I was young and had a future, but I was stupid, and stronger than I realized.  It was only manslaughter because it wasn’t premeditated and I didn’t use a weapon, and I probably would have been out sooner if I hadn’t complicated things while I was locked away.”

Lyle paused and looked over at Owen.  “I am the way I am now because a particularly Bearish guard took pity on me, gave me what I want to give you.  That helped me rise to the top inside and that gave me some space and peace so that I could work on getting things in order in my life, before they let me out.  It also gave me the longevity I’d need to actually start over and have a life when I got out.  Anyway, I didn’t know where you’d gone and I was about to get on the phone and start canceling credit cards, but since I was in the old neighborhood, I decided to drop by the old place, pay my respects to the parents who died deserving so much better from their son.  I was sitting outside, about to light up that stogie you woke up to down in the shelter, when I caught your scent; you see, the flame is equally attracted to the moth… if you get my meaning.” Lyle patted Owen’s leg.

Owen smiled, “Seems like destiny, doesn’t it?”

Lyle stuffed a new cigar in his mouth and lit it up, “It sure does”.  Lyle fired up his Hawg, and the pair rode toward Lyle’s house.

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A tall, handsome, powerfully built, round bellied black man dressed in biker leathers with a thick curly dark braided beard down to his belly adjusted his leather skull cap as he took off his helmet, and hung it from the Harley he’d just parked in front of Nutz ‘n’ Boltz.  His leather vest revealed brawny, muscular arms covered in thick curly dark fur which obscured his recent tattoos.  He didn’t wear a shirt and in his jeans and chaps, he was more than intimidating.  He counted the other scoots outside of the rough Bear bar and smiled.  He lit up a fat cigar and growled to himself in a rich baritone voice, “Looks like the gang’s all here!”

He strode into the bar; walking up behind a squat, heavily muscled, sliver bearded, bald biker Bear.  He was taller than the old Werebear who, when he stood up, only came up to his nipples. He wrapped his arms around him and growled around the cigar in his mouth, “How’s my Bear Daddy tonight?”

Lyle smiled and leaned back into Owen’s embrace.  On his ring finger was a shiny, new gold band that matched the one Owen wore.

“Just got off work, then?  How are you liking the new job?” Lyle asked.

“I fuckin’ love being a bouncer.  You’d have loved seein’ me work tonight.  I broke up a fight thirty minutes before the end of my shift; two posturing males trying to impress some bubblehead chick.  It was like mating season or something.  Anyway, the one guy was cool and left when I told him to, but the other one was one of those stuck up, entitled college shits.  I made him nearly piss his pants when I told him he’d have to leave the club, and that he could do it with a virgin hole or he could go with my fist up his wrecked ass, because that’s where I was gonna put it if he didn’t.  I didn’t think a white boy could get any whiter, but he did, then he tucked his tail between his legs and slunk out of the club.  I think I’m liking this new, bigger, beastly me!” Owen said, and bent slightly to kiss the top of his husband’s bald head.

“I know I am,” Lyle said, taking the cigar from his mate’s maw and stuffing it into his own.

“How’s the work coming on your folk’s house”? Owen asked, taking his Daddy’s beer from the bar and finishing it off.

“It’s our house,” Lyle said, patting Owen’s furry arm, “Jim and his guys are ahead of schedule, isn’t that right?” Lyle asked, rubbing the back of the biker standing next to him.

“Your house will be ready by the end of the month, brother, and you can move in. The renovations to the underground playrooms will take a bit longer.  We’ll help move you in, have a house warming party and all.  Then you and ‘Beast’ here can begin your happily ever after.”  Jim smiled and lifted his mug, “To the happy couple!”  The other bikers echoed the toast and more drinks were ordered.