Bearology 101

Chapter 1: Breaking Laws: Rook Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania July 8, 20— “Kiss me, Rook,” I say to the bear behind me, moving my splay of tight neck to his gorgeous face—cocoa butter brown eyes and hair, nicely manicured goatee, pinkish lips, rosy-red cheeks, and right eyebrow pierced. He is twenty-eight-years-old, 220 pounds, has a body built like a Colt model, and currently is boyfriendless. Again, I command him to taste my body with his outstretched tongue, press my cored neck into his face, and feel elated by his rapid tongue-licks; blown away with complete pleasure. Nick Rook comes off of me for air, takes a breather, pats my bottom with his free hand, and glides his face against my neck, hard at work. After he does a mouth-massage on my skin, the bear lightly spanks my denim-covered bottom for his ultimate pleasure. One spank turns into a dozen for the next few seconds until the city cop—Officer Nick Rook at my service—slides up to my earlobe and takes a nibble. Again and again this process continues—his outstretched tongue laps my ear and neck and he gently spanks my behind with constant fun. “More,” I mumble in front of him, next to his sofa. “Spank me more, Officer Rook. Please.” * * * * Matthew Harding. My history is lame, but maybe important for those around me to comprehend who I really am among them. I have a twin brother named Rick who looks just like me-blond curls, deep and dark blue eyes, five-eleven frame, blond hairy chest, medium-size build, twenty-six-years-old, blond sideburns, no beard or mustache. I teach biology at Lossner College in downtown Pittsburgh; my f*******: page says single and I like to poke people. My parents live in Key West; my brother owns a coffee shop in downtown Sacramento with his wife, Melissa. My full name is Matthew Blake Harding and I received an English degree from Temple in Philadelphia. I've been without a boyfriend for the last six months. My last boyfriend was Tommy Dash, who was quite the piece of work, and not in the good way. I’m obsessed with bears, love them, love to make love to them, just like Rook. What happens on this June night is heart-pounding. My friend, Dixon Marsfield, asks me to go to The Purple Bar & Grille on Western Street, which is a bear bar with the hottest bear bartenders. Dreamy Rook pulls Dix over for speeding, shame on both of them. The officer of the law finds me attractive, he keeps looking at my chest, the sprigs of blond hair at the base of my throat, and my hairy arms. Rook asks me my name so I tell him. He winks at me, I wink back. Rook decides not to give Dix a speeding ticking, instead, Rook wants my number, which I give him. The cop tells me his shift ends at midnight and wants to know if I’ll take his call. I ask him, “What for?” He says he wants me to come over to his apartment so he can have some fun with me. I agree-here I am. * * * * Before this session of heated man-on-man s*x between us, Rook’s uniform shirt is unbuttoned and exposes a chest covered in thick hair. One of his n*****s is exposed, which is steel-hard and pointed like a jagged rock. He offers me a beer and we talk for the next twenty minutes. The cop tells me to take my shirt off and show him what I have I do. He tells me to unbutton my jeans and take them off, which I do. He studies my thick thighs, white boxer-briefs, the treasure trail beneath my comma-shaped navel, and says, “Nice package, Harding. You’re just what I like.” He lathers my face and my chest with his tongue, finds my cotton-covered d**k and starts to rub it up and down with his right palm and fingers. His hand slips into the cotton and finds exactly what he’s looking for. We forget about the beer, the conversation, and decide to be young and silly and the perfect combination. * * * * It's romantic s*x between us. Together we blend with ease, body against body, and kiss with zeal. Our time with each other is unlimited pleasure and offers much excitement. It's not dirty or XXX stuff. Instead, we lock together, glide with zest, and become untamed, as if we are meant to be together. I moan over his sofa, “Jesus, Rook, you’re pretty good at this.” “Release it, guy,” he says, obviously into our shared gig. The cop strikes my butt with his left palm, stinging my skin. More spanks ensue, which I find a total turn-on. Stroke after stroke is applied to my d**k and I can’t hold my load in. A jolt of pure happiness surfaces on every inch of my body. Bubbles of euphoria spark a climax and sap blasts out of my private part and sprays the back of the sofa. Following my burst, he stands up, demands that I spin around and fall to my knees. He hovers over me with his nine-inch uncut rod and hairy balls next to my face. The chiseled bear yanks his erect c**k up and down in hyper motion and causes sweat to build on his furred torso. The man’s hips thrust to and fro in a whipping movement that is vibrant and unyielding. While his right hand is busy on his shaft, his left hand wipes lathered sweat away from his chest. Gasps of excitement escape his mouth and he confesses, “Shooting, pal.” Within seconds he jacks white spew out of his d**k, firing it on the side of my face, tagging my right cheek and neck. A masculine sound escapes the city cop and he bends over, outstretches his tongue to my skin, and licks up every drop of his spent seed. * * * * We shower together in his bathroom—hairy chest to hairy chest, bodies lathered in soapy suds, still-stiff c***s touching, and what happens in our twosome is mind-blowing and relentless. Our kissing is intense and unstoppable. We cling together under the shower’s warm and soothing spray. Kiss after kiss is carried out. We wash each other down with Lever 2000, rinse off together, and eventually exit the shower. We dry off, head to his bedroom and his California king-size bed. He tucks me into his massive arms and pulls me close against his bear-chest. We enjoy each other’s company until dawn. * * * * We date for a week, two weeks, almost three weeks solid, and the cop asks, “What do you think about being my boyfriend, Harding?” I have just finished bumping my body against his and shake my head. My reply is simple and to the point, “I’m not boyfriend material.” “Why not?” he asks, staring down at me over the plane of his muscular chest. “You want me to lie to you or tell you the truth?” “The truth would be nice. Go for it.” I take in the aroma of his c**k and sweaty balls. For just a brief second I extend my tongue and apply it to one of his testicles and then the other. When I finish feeding on him, I say, “I like d**k too much to be faithful.” “Who said you have to be faithful to me. I just want you to be my boyfriend.” “What’s a boyfriend to you?” I inquire, regarding my own question. “Someone who I like to spend time with.” “What else?” “A guy I can show off to my friends.” “What if I decide to suck another guy’s c**k when you’re not around?” “Will you suck my c**k when I’m around?” I nod, brushing the tip of my nose against his balls and flaccid c**k. “Of course I will.” “Then you can be my boyfriend,” he answers, smiling from ear to ear. * * * * Rook has one of my dresser drawers in my apartment that is filled with his belongings—a pair of running shorts, two pair of socks, three pair of briefs, an ashtray filled with change, condoms, lube, and a wristwatch. Between his shifts he seduces me and pins me to my bedroom wall, presses my naked chest to the kitchen floor and does me from behind in numerous places of the apartment. Following our intimate romps, we climb into the shower and become s****l again, heated and passion-driven. Our time together is limitless and durable. The police officer turns out to be a fine boyfriend, perhaps everything I have always expected in a blue collar bear. The man adores me—the way I laugh or cuddle with him, how I like to nap on his chest in the middle of the afternoon when I’m not teaching at the local college, crying while watching a sappy movie together—and challenges me in our fresh relationship when I need to be challenged. Thus far it is working out, and I hope it continues to work since I seem to like him more than my previous boyfriends. * * * * I watch him on the local news in the middle of July—some lunatic decides to rob a community bank on foot. Rook happens to be on patrol and chases after the guy. Rook is shot at but not hit, he takes the criminal down with his bare hands. “You’re a hero,” I tell him over dinner at his apartment. Hamburgers on the grill, sliced potatoes lathered in butter, chives and sour cream, grilled corn on the cob, and bottles of cold Rolling Rock. “I might be your hero, but no one else’s,” he says. “You’re humble.” “Humble enough to admit that I like to shove my c**k up your ass.” “That’s pretty humble, Officer Rook.” Somehow I become trapped in his arms, my clothes are pulled off my body, and he takes advantage of me in a naughty act, exactly how I want him to behave. * * * * “I want you to meet my family,” he surprises me one afternoon between two of my biology classes. He unexpectedly shows up at my office in nothing more than a pair of tight running shorts and a muscle tee. He sits on the corner of my desk, reaches for my left palm, applies it to his Nike-covered private parts, and admits, “My sister and mother want to meet you.” “Why? I’m certainly not special.” “Special to me.” “What if I don’t want to be in your little pony show?” “It’s more like a stallion show when it comes to you.” “That’s flattering. Thank you.” He rubs my palm against his Lycra-covered c**k and balls. He starts to grow hard, which I don’t mind at all. “What do you say, this upcoming weekend?” I feel the outline of his growing shaft with my fingertips. “I’ll think about it.” “Are you going to jerk me off right here?” I shake my head. “I can’t. My class starts in ten minutes.” “I will come in five,” he promises. I share a laugh and reply, “Stop talking and pull your pants down so I can have my way with you." * * * * Mutually, we decide to leave at the end of the week, following my class of photosynthesis at the college. Rook insists on picking me up and driving us to his family’s farm. The plan is simple—we stay with his sister and mother for twenty-four hours, visit, take a tour of the farm, help out with some light duty chores, have a family dinner with much conversation and laughter, and head back to the city. “I have a confession to make,” I say, under his naked weight, ready to process a missionary s****l position with him for the next hour. “What kind of confession?” “I’ve never been out of the city.” “Not even to Philadelphia?” I shake my head. “Not even to Philly.” “Good. You’re a virgin traveler. I’ll make sure to take care of you.” “I think you already do,” I admit, and feel his lips connect with mine in a sultry, d**k-rising kiss that just about knocks the wind out of me, in a good way. * * * * “You can back out of the trip if you want,” the beautiful bear says to me after a heavy duty s*x-fest in his shower. We dry off outside his shower, face to face. Rook adds, “I don’t ever want to make you do something you don’t want to do.” “I haven’t changed my mind. I’m going.” Again, I study his model-like body. Again, I want him to press his weight into my bottom and secure our two manly bodies together. Again, I want to seek s****l pleasure with the man, to be meshed to him in a s****l frenzy. Again, I want to— “I’m glad you want to go,” he says, and dots a kiss to the tip of my nose, obviously happy to be titled as my boyfriend. * * * * July 21. Rook is twenty minutes late regarding my pick-up time. I wait in my apartment and look out of the living room window. Passersby walk to and from lunch, taxis zoom down the avenue, two bare-chested dudes. Eventually I call his cell phone and ask, “Where are you?” “I’m tied up—” The last of his explanation is cut off by static. “Rook, are you there? Who has you tied up?” I hear the bear laugh on his end. He says, “I’m tied up in traffic. Be there in a few minutes. There’s an accident on Rockmond Bridge.” “Do you want me to tie you up?” “f**k yeah, dude. Bring it on.” “I’ll make a mental note of that,” I admit and stash that fact away in my memory bank. “See you in a few minutes.” “Right on, pal.” * * * * We leave the city and make the drive two hours northeast on Route 28 to Erie. Rook is behind the wheel of his Nissan Frontier. I sit in the passenger seat and drink a Diet Pepsi. The day is stinking hot: ninety-two degrees and sticky. He has the air conditioner roaring but it doesn’t really help. Corn-covered hills roll by with red barns, sky-reaching silos, and cow-filled pastures. White fences and storybook churches decorate the hay fields. “It’s the middle of nowhere,” I say. “Corn-fed all the way.” “I didn’t know you were a country boy.” “Don’t you mean a country bear?” he asks. We laugh in unison, continuing our trip.