8 comments/ 14133 views/ 39 favorites Becoming the Bear By: papawerebear By PapaWereBear and UrsusMajr (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.) Copyright, 2008. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced by any means, electronic or otherwise, without express permission of the authors. 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. Becoming the Bear "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. Becoming the Bear "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."