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Wrestling Bears

  • Wednesday, May 13 2009 @ 07:23 PM CDT
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I love bears. I have since I first started sleeping with men. Gay men debate what it means to be a “bear”. For me, it mainly has to do with a highly masculine attitude, more than with hair. I admit that, on the whole, what turns me on the most is a very hairy, muscular man , preferably with facial hair. A heavy mustache and a three day growth of beard really gets my balls boiling. But if the ideal looking man is not very masculine, I am not interested. On the other hand, I have been with very hot hairless “bears”, men who just oozed a strong masculine confidence. Blue collar workers are an added bonus, as far as I am concerned. Muscles earned by hard work are different then gym built muscles; and I have found that a gay guy who works hard with his hands often has had to fight hard, sealing that masculine aura in strong. Cock size is not important to me, but maturity is - I have no use for a man under thirty. To me, a bear is “a REAL FUCKING MAN“! If a man ain’t a bear, I might let him service me if there’s no real man around. But I try to spend all my time with fucking BEARS! Even my straight men friends can be called bears.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no bottom. When asked, I define myself as a big hairy bear top. Although I really love to fuck a hairy ass or a furry face, my favorite encounters are when I meet a man, and we maneuver for position, or, even better, wrestle or fight for who’s top. I have had a few relationships with bears where every time we got together, we started this from scratch. Not knowing in advance who is going to do what to who is a big turn on to me. If I end up with a fat cock pounding my ass, I don’t mind it a bit, as long as we struggled real hard to find out who‘s really “top bear” that night. Chances are the last time we got together, my big dick ripped the same stud a new asshole.

Rugged sex has been a turn on to me for a long time. Not BDSM: just two or more muscular, masculine men straining against each other to bring the best out of each other‘s hot, sweaty bodies. Punch me in my muscular pecs to get my nipples stiff - not hard punches, but enough to let me know I‘m being handled by a tough man. And you better be able to put up with my punches. If you’re is going to be with me more than one night, you better learn to really chew my tits, and you better be able to take my rough treatment of yours. I’m not into spanking, but I dig a few hard swats on our asses while we warm up. And like I said, wrestling is one of my favorite ways to start sex with a bear.

This all has to do with how I discovered I was gay, in my mid twenties. Until that night twenty years ago, I considered myself straight. Yeah, sure, as a kid I participated in lots of “circle jerks”. But by high school I was dating a lot of girls, and at the end of my freshman year I finally met a girl who would give me a hand job. Soon, we were fucking regularly, and I even talked her into giving me head about once a month, while I ate her pussy. I had been the first guy in my class to sprout body hair in junior high school. By time I was in high school I was pretty hairy. When I got to college at 17, very few of the men I would see in the locker room had as much hair as me. The fact that I was checking out other guy’s bodies should have given me a clue, but all I knew was that I had a very active sex life with a lot of women.

Frankly, I was in college only to avoid the draft for the Vietnam War. I was a good student, but I wasn’t interested in any particular academic area. My family was totally blue collar. I was the first one to go to college, but I actually preferred to be around “our kind of folks.“ I found the spoiled rich bitch kids at school pretentious and condescending phonies. I was more interested in fucking pussy, smoking reefer and drinking huge amounts of beer in a cheap working class bar I discovered a few blocks from campus. Participating in an occasional barroom brawl there added real spice to my life. During my sophomore year, the war ended, so I dropped out of school. I moved in with one of my girlfriends. I had trouble finding a job at first, but she worked in a big department store, and found out they had an opening in the furniture warehouse for a stockman. I took the job and discovered that I liked it. I enjoyed the hard physical labor. Although I had been in pretty good shape to begin with, lifting all that furniture soon began to build me a really hot physique. Women loved my new, bigger muscles, and to be honest, I loved my new body too. I loved the easy masculine camaraderie that existed in this all male environment, where even the clerical workers were men. I made some good friends.

My best friends were the two biggest men in the warehouse. One was my partner, and nominal boss, Mike, a swarthy Turkish-American who was twelve years older than me. He was at least 6’6”, a big, muscular man who walked with an easy, masculine swagger which I tried to imitate. He had black hair and eyes, a thick mustache, and always needed a shave by three PM. I grew a mustache, but it was never as thick as Mike’s, and he would make friendly jokes about it. We spent most of the day alone together. Summer came: We began to work without shirts in the broiling hot warehouse, which was not air-conditioned. I discovered that Mike was the hairiest fucking man I had ever seen, with heavy black hair all over his body - his back and shoulders, too. Since the men’s room had one of those old fashioned trough pissers, I had seen Mike’s cock plenty of times, occasionally half hard. He was the best hung man I had ever seen, and he liked to fish his massive balls out when he pissed. Not quite 20 years old, I was immature enough to idol worship Mike, and I began to do the same thing whenever I pissed.

My other new buddy was Mike’s best friend, Sam. They were both divorced and shared an apartment. He was about a year older than Mike. He was about 6’4”, a red head with a trim mustache and gray eyes. He was even more muscular than Mike, and had been a decorated Marine during the Korean War. He wore his bright red hair very short, military style. Sam had a quiet masculine authority that I hoped to develop as I matured. Sam always wore his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, so I could see that he had a darker red pelt not quite as heavy as my brown one. I was the “shrimp of the gang“, at 6'1“, and they always playfully called me “The Kid” and “Rookie“. That summer, Sam began to wear muscle shirts that revealed a “USMC - Semper Fi” tattoo on his left arm. I thought it looked real cool. Both men had a son and a daughter each. The three of us ate lunch together every day. They were nice, and the most masculine men I had ever met, and the fact that they had accepted me made me feel good. I now had two idols to imitate. I wanted to be a REAL fucking MAN, just like Mike and Sam.

I needed a friendly he-man type stud to imitate and to accept me as a real man. I was the youngest of six brothers. All five of my asshole brothers were just like my dad and his brothers - hairless, very tall, muscular, burly and stupid. I was much shorter, lithe instead of bulky, and smarter than them all. All of them had been stars on the football team in high school, before they each dropped out to go to work at the factory with Dad and my uncles, and eventually got drafted. It was the same factory my granddad and his father had worked at. They were all too stupid to learn to use a fucking condom: eventually each knocked up a girl and was forced by the men in her family to “do the right thing“. When I skipped a grade in elementary school, my brothers, my dad and my uncles all made fun of me. The fact that I was a straight A student; the fact that I was the shortest man in the family; the fact that I wasn’t bulky enough to make the fucking football team; the fact that I got a full academic scholarship to an out of town college; the fact that I was avoiding the draft - these were all ammunition used to “prove” that I wasn’t a REAL man.

The only really hairy guy in the family, I was better than my brothers at drinking and seducing women, which saved me from being called a “girl” or a “faggot“. In high school I became a very good fighter, able to hold my own even with my brothers. I relished the times one of them would start a fight with me and I could beat the shit out of him. None of them could understand that a man could be real strong without being a hulking ape, and that speed and brains were more important in a fight. They hated me for escaping from the fucking factory; they called me “soft“. I hated them because they were cruel and lazy.

My becoming really close with these two men started one rainy Friday when things were unusually quiet. By late in the afternoon, we had finished all our work. Mike and I were sitting in front of an open window, smoking cigarettes and bullshitting when Sam joined us. He pulled out a fat joint and lit it up, passing it to me. By time we left work, we were high and having a great time. They invited me to join them for a beer at the corner bar. By the time I staggered home in the wee hours of the morning, I felt really close to these two men, because I had drank both of the big men under the fucking table! They were so drunk, I had to look in Mike’s wallet to find ID so I could give the cab driver their address, and to get money to pay the driver in advance to make sure they got in the door of their apartment.

After that, I had a standing invitation to go drinking with them a couple of nights a week in this tough bar they liked. Since the woman I was living with worked evenings, I was happy to have something to do other than watch the idiot box. I loved to hang out with my two role models for what I had come to think of as “real men”, and I do love to drink beer. Unfortunately, I love sex more. About once or twice a month I would pick up women at the bar to take to my girlfriend’s apartment for sex, setting the alarm clock for 1/2 hour before she got off duty. This went on for over two years. I gave detailed accounts of the sex to Mike and Sam the next day at lunch, and they started calling me “The Cock-man” and “Little Stud“. Eventually, following the little head between my legs got me into trouble. A beautiful woman began to hang out at “our” bar, and I invited her back to the apartment to fuck, since my girlfriend wouldn’t be home for at least three hours. I had the stereo blasting while I pounded into her pussy, and I didn’t hear my girlfriend come home early, having fallen and twisted her ankle badly. In less than an hour, I was on the sidewalk with all my possessions around me.

I found a cab and went to the Y. The next day at lunch, my two buddies asked me about my latest sexual conquest. I confessed to the disaster, and they fell off their chairs laughing. “It had to fucking happen some day, Cock-man,” cackled Mike.”

“Serves you right for fucking around on your woman,” crowed Sam.

I had heard warehouse gossip that both their divorces were the result of their being caught in the sack. I got angry. “From what I hear, you assholes both got the heave-ho by your wives for being with the wrong person in bed. So get off my fucking case!”

They got quiet and looked at each other, than nodded. “You want the whole story, Kid?” asked Mike.

“Hell, yes.”

“OK. It’s Friday. You’ll come over to our place for dinner, and we will tell you the whole story.”

“It’s a fucking date!” I had only been to their place a few times for poker games, and never actually saw any of it but the living room and the can.

That night, I stopped in a convenience store to buy four six-packs to go with dinner and our talk. They left me sitting in the living room as they prepared dinner. We sat down and ate, drinking the beer I had bought. We cleaned up, then went back to the table, smoked some dope and drank boiler makers. After about two hours of this, I insisted they finally tell me the stories of their divorces.

Mike said “It’s the same story. Our wives found the two of us fucking each other in the basement.”

I stared at my two heroes. “You guys are fucking faggots???”

Sam grabbed my shirt and pulled me so that his face was up against mine. “Never call us faggots again, ass wipe” he barked in good Marine style. “We only fuck with real men, not fucking pansy faggot queers. Men like us- strong, capable and masculine.”

“How did you two get started doing this shit?”

Sam started: “I got held down and gang raped my first month in the Marines as ‘punishment’ for reporting a fellow recruit for a minor infraction. The rough treatment was more of a turn on than the best whore I ever fucked. I had tough sex with other Marines, and some other service men, on a regular basis after that. That kind of manly sex is more common that you would think in the service, but the limp-wristed civilian faggot always turned me off. When I got out, I tried to forget about it, and married my high school girlfriend to prove to myself I was all man, knocking her up on our honeymoon. I was loyal to my wife, although I missed the rough, rugged sex Marines can share. I met Mike at the warehouse and we became buddies. Our wives liked each other and became friends, so we four spent a lot of time together. One night, we were alone in Mike’s basement, repairing a broken chair. Our wives had taken the kids to a movie as a treat. We were more than a little drunk, and I found myself telling Mike about my Marine experiences with rugged men.”

Mike continued: “I told Sam about some shit that happened when I was in the Army. The men in my outfit had a long standing tradition of holding nights of fight matches. The loser of each match got fucked in the ass or mouth by the winner in front of the whole outfit. I was one of the best fighters in the unit, and got 'drafted' for matches regularly by the “sarge“. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost, but either way the load I shot was more intense than any I had ever shot with a woman. I also couldn’t stand civilian fairies. Like Sam, I discovered that there were plenty of masculine service men who enjoyed hard pounding sex with another tough stud. I had married my wife before I was drafted. If I hadn’t, I might have explored my attraction to rugged men when I got out. After I got home, I forgot about it until that night in the basement.”

“My story turned Sam on a lot, and he suggest we fight to see who got fucked right then. We made a big space in the basement, and stripped. We both had rock solid woodies, and we shoved Vaseline in each other’s asses, like we did in the Army. We fought for a long time, and Sam finally knocked me down. He pounced on me, rolled me over, and fucked the shit out of me. We both loved it. After Sam shot his load up my ass, I got him in a wrestling hold and slipped my cock in his ass. He howled in anger, but shot another load as I came in his ass. We heard a gasp, and looked up. Our wives had just come home from the movies, heard the noise and had come down to see what was going on. There was no explaining away my cock in Sam’s ass, or the long string of cum trailing from his cock across the floor. By time we had gotten dressed and upstairs, our wives had taken the kids and left. They all moved to Sam’s wife’s house, which she had inherited from her grandmother. They both filed for divorce the next week, but spared our kids the true story. We didn’t contest the divorce. Our wives and kids all live together now, and we can only see our kids once a month.”

I stared at them with my mouth open in shock, standing up. “You perverts! That’s fucking sick!”

“Don’t judge it till you’ve experienced it, Kid.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that, Mike?”

“You have a choice. Fight one of us for sex, or we will hold you down and rape your mouth and ass.”

“You are out of your fucking, faggot minds!” Sam sucker-punched me in the head, and I fell to the floor.

“I warned you, punk! Call us faggots again and I’ll break your fucking neck!”

Mike sneered, “What’s the matter, Kid? Afraid you’re not man enough to take one of us old farts on? You a faggot chicken, BOY?” I was too drunk to realize I was being manipulated into doing what they wanted, but to have these two fairy perverts call ME a “faggot chicken” made my blood boil. I tried to think. I didn’t want to be raped by these two fruits. If I fought one of then, I had a chance to win, get my rocks off and get the hell out of there.

I wasn’t afraid to fight. I came from a rough blue collar neighborhood where we used our fists a lot and fought to wipe the ground with the mother-fucker if at all possible. In my teen years I had put a couple of guys in the hospital with my fists (including two of my older brothers), and had spent a few nights in jail after some of those barroom brawls. I had never had a reason to mention any of this to these guys. I also never thought to mention the fact that in high school I had been on the wrestling team, or that I had spent a semester on the boxing team in college. Sam had been trained to kill with his bare hands in the Marines, so I decided my chance were better with Mike, even though he was the bigger guy. I was a lot younger than these guys, so I was probably faster.

“OK, you mother-fuckers. I’ll beat the crap out of Mike, fuck his hairy ass and get as far away from you two freaks as I can!” We went into a small room with was no furniture. The floor was covered with a giant wrestling mat, with benches built along three walls with space to hang clothes above them. We stripped. I gulped, imagining Mike’s massive cock ripping me a new asshole, but I was too angry to back down. Sam announced that since I didn’t know the routine, he would grease both our asses. He took a big jar of Vaseline from the shelf, sat on a bench, and had Mike stand in front of him. Mike grabbed his ankles; Sam began to stuff the grease in his ass. I sat naked on a bench, eyes closed, psyching myself up for the fight.

Sam called to me. Mike was greased, and his big cock was hard and drooling pre-cum. I was happy to see that unlike me, Mike’s prick was only slightly bigger when hard. (I‘m one of those guys whose cock grows a lot from soft to hard.). Hard, he only had about two or three inches on me, and my 9 1/2” erection would be almost as fat as Mike’s. I took a deep breath and walked over to Sam, grabbing my ankles like Mike had done. He slowly inserted one heavily greased finger in my tight ass, like a doctor during a physical. He moved it around, I was surprised that it felt sort of nice. He pulled it out, and inserted two greased fingers. At first that hurt, but after a short time of his moving it around, I discovered I liked it. I knew some guys who liked their girlfriends to shove a finger in their ass when they were getting a blow job; now I understood why. He worked more grease in, and managed to get in a third big finger. It only took a few seconds for the pain of that new invasion to turn to pleasure. I was surprised to realize that I was getting hard. Sam worked in more grease, and then slapped my ass hard. “You’re ready, punk. Go out there and do your best! Remember, the only rule is no shots to your opponent’s balls. Do that, and you lose to both of us.”

Mike and I stood across the room from each other, slowly beating our hard cocks. He gave a low whistle when he saw my hard dick. As we got near each other, Mike punched me in my pecs a few times. I was surprised to find that my nipples were getting hard, so I did the same to him. I fell into a wrestlers stance, and Mike grinned, doing the same. We maneuvered for position. I decided to strike fast to surprise Mike, and I lunged for him. Our bodies slapped against each other, and the fight was on. It wasn’t a wresting match - we punched each other in the guts and the face. At one point, I kicked Mike in the ass, more for psychological reasons than strategic ones. Soon, I felt blood in my mouth, and Mike’s right eye was getting swollen shut from my punches. Mike kicked me in the guts, showing me it was really a no hold barred fight. I let loose like I used to on the streets back home. I began to deliver a series of hard body blows to Mike’s guts. After a few minutes of that, he fell to his knees. I kicked him in the guts twice and he fell down. I jumped on him, and began to use his face as a punching bag. “Uncle! You fucking win, Kid!” We had fought for a half hour, and I was totally turned on.

Mike smiled up at me. “You’re one fucking good fighter, Kid! That was real hot. Now, ready to fuck my ass?”

“Fucking A! I’ve never been hornier in my fucking life!”

“How do you want it, Kid?”


“Me on my belly, doggy style, or me on my back with my legs over my head? Personally, I prefer to look at the man I‘m fucking.”

“Sounds good to me! Spread ’em, Mike!”

He grabbed his legs and spread his ass wide. We were both covered in sweat. “Hey, Kid. Don’t treat my ass like a fucking pussy. I expect it rough and hard!”

I grabbed my cock and aimed it at his hairy asshole. I rammed in balls deep on my first stroke. He grimaced from the pain, and I felt like the king of the world. I had never had my dick in such a hot, tight hole. I started off slow, to prolong the pleasure, but Mike was yelling at me “Harder! Faster! Fuck my balls off, Kid!” Soon I was pounding into that tight ass harder and faster than I had ever fucked a pussy. “Kid, I’m going to shoot my load, you hot fucking bastard! You’re making me cum without touching my cock! Aw, FUCK!!!!!” Suddenly, cum shot like a geyser up between our bodies, splattering my face and our hairy bodies..

If I thought his ass was tight before, the spasms in his guts as he shot his load were a miracle. I kept ramming my cock into him as he spasmed. “Fuck, Mike. Your ass is so hot! I can’t hold it back. Get ready to take real man’s load in your fucking ass, you horny mother fucker! Shit!!! ARRGH!!” I shot the biggest load of my life in my buddy’s guts. I was so hot and shooting so much, I thought I was cumming blood after a while. I fell on him and we lay there, trying to catch our breaths.

“So, Kid, how was it?”

“I take back everything I said, Sam. I never had a hotter time in my life.”

“Good. Take a nice hot shower, then come in the living room, have a drink and rest.”

“Sounds good, but why?”

“Because I challenge you to a fight in two hours time.”

“Fucking A, man! Your hairy ass is MINE, Sam!”

Two hours later, I was back in that room, Mike doing the ass greasing. Sam was the “shrimp of the gang“ as far as pricks went. Hard, his uncut cock was only about 7”, and sort of skinny. We fought hard for over twenty minutes. My left eye swelled shut; blood flowed from Sam’s nose. I was tired, and lost. It didn’t matter to me. I was hard and horny, and ready to take my punishment. Since it as the first time I was taking a dick up my ass, Sam suggested that he lay on his back and ease my ass onto his hard on.

“No, I want my first time to be as tough as you guys got it your first times. If you could take it then, I can take it now!. How do you want it, Sam.”

“Doggy style, punk boy!” I got on all fours and he eased his cock into my ass. He fucked me slowly for a dozen strokes, and I found myself really getting into it.

“Hey, asshole, what do you think that is, a fucking pussy? Fuck me like a real man, you son of a bitch!” He rammed into me hard and fast, and my balls began to heat up like they were filled with lava. “Oh, yeah, Sam. Fuck me like you really mean it, man! Ugh! HARDER, MOTHER FUCKER! Ugh!”

Mike walked over with his big hard on, grabbed my head and forced his cock into my mouth. I took the head and about 2 inches in my mouth. I liked the taste, and tried to do the things on his cock I liked women to do to me with their mouths. He obviously enjoyed it, because in five or six minutes, I had a mouth full of cum. Without thinking, I swallowed, loving the taste.

“Kid, you have the tightest fucking ass I’ve ever fucked. Get ready to take a load of my seed in your ass, Kid.” The hot flood in my guts felt great. When Sam pulled out, I shoved him down, ramming my cock into his mouth. He gave me the best blow job I had ever had, taking me all down his throat, and in a few minutes I shot another load.

I ended up sleeping the spare room that night. The next morning, I watched my two giant buddies grease each other’s asses and then fight for over 20 minutes. Sam lost, and I almost nutted watching Mike pound his giant prod into Sam’s hairy ass. They shot their loads at the same time. I challenged Sam, and three hours later, I was fucking his ass, having actually knocked the Marine out! (I have to admit, it was a lucky punch.) Mike told me their rule was to climb on and fuck the unconscious man, so I did. Sam came to with my cock pounding in his guts, and pushed his way to his knees so Mike could fuck his face.

Mike challenged me, and I lost. He also wanted to go easy on me, but my masculine pride insisted he give it to me as hard as he got it. When his fat giant speared into me, I was sure I was going to split in two. He pounded away, and I gritted my teeth not to scream in pain, convinced that he was causing me internal damage. But suddenly, his cock prodding my prostrate turned the pain into a hot glow, and I began to push back to get more of his cock further in my ass. For the first time in my life, I came with out a hand or mouth or pussy on my cock, just the delicious pressure of a big cock rubbing my ass nut raw.

The guys told me that I was the wildest fighter they had been with in many years, and that had excited them to fight harder than usual. None of their usual partners would go so all out, treating it like a real street fight, no hold barred. Our faces were totally fucked up as a result. Monday morning, we had to lie and say that we were in a bar room brawl to explain our black eyes and split lips.

I wasn’t an instant convert. The guys invited me to move the spare bedroom from the Y. I did, with the understanding that I was still screwing women. This lasted a few more months. I remember the last night I had a woman in the apartment. As I was trying to fuck her, Sam and Mike were fighting in the next room. All I wanted was an excuse to get out of bed and go watch them, or better yet, fight, too. The only reason I was able to cum with her was the sounds Sam made while Mike rammed his big dong into his hole.

I found myself looking at men as possible sex partners more often than women. About once a week, we three fought and fucked. To prevent further damage to our faces, we bought some boxer’s sparing masks and very lightweight gloves. Then came the night I didn’t feel like fighting, just fucking. At my urging, we climbed into their king sized bed and explored each other’s bodies for an entire night. That was the night I learned to swallow all of Mike’s giant dong. The next morning I started to admit that I was "bi".

After I moved in, I discovered that most of the guys I had met at those poker games were into the same sort of rugged sex games we were into. A few at a time, they would come to the apartment and we would spend the night having fights, watching the resulting hot sex. They were all happy with the introduction of the protective equipment, since they had always been tagged as "trouble makers" or "drunken brawlers" by outsiders because of their frequent black eyes and swollen faces.

One guy, Steve, really turned me on, although I never got the chance to fight him. Although he was very muscular, masculine and hairy, he was smaller than me and a novice fighter. I kept thinking about him, hoping I'd have a chance to challenge the smaller guy to a fucking fight, which was against the informal rules of the club - you were supposed to only challenge a guy your size or bigger, or one everyone recognized as a superior fighter, or at least your equal. When I realized how much I wanted to have sex with him, I finally accepted that I was gay. For the first time since I had moved in with Sam and Mike, I organized a poker game, limiting the guest list to my roommates, 2 guys I knew were lovers, and Steve. At my request, both couples were unusually affectionate to each other during the game.

Steve and I would stare at each other every timeone of the couples started kissing. During the course of the evening, I was pleased to discover that Steve was turned on by me, too, so I invited him to spend the night. We ended up spending the weekend fucking and sucking each other without ever having fought, but our sex was so vigorous that we both ended up with lots of bruises by Sunday night.

That was twenty years ago. I went back to college, and today I am the Vice President of operations for the whole chain. Mike and Sam are retired, still living and fighting and fucking together. Their friendly little 'fight club' continues to grow - over 300 members in 20 branches in 12 cities. When I bought my house, I picked one with a large attic which I converted to a big fighting gym, complete with a regulation boxing ring.

I keep in shape, and keep fighting with bears, looking for the one stud I can settle down with. I thought that I have come close a few years ago with a red bear 15 years younger than me who I met at the gym. He asked me if I had ever wrestled, and I told him about my sex life. It turned him on immensely, although he was straight. Later that night, I lost to him. He told me he had never been as turned on by a woman as he was when he forced his 8 hard inches into my ass, and that until that night he had always felt he had to hold back when fucking so he wouldn't hurt the woman. Really letting go and fucking as hard as he could was a revelation to him. The next time we fought I won. He loved the rough fucking I gave him as much as he had loved fucking him. The next few times we fought, he lost. Finally I realized that he wasn’t trying very hard to win, having decided he liked a cock pounding his ass. Although we continued to fuck, I was disappointed that he wasn‘t the real challenge that I crave.

So, I keep hunting.

Wanna wrestle, bear?


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