There is one date, six years ago, I shall never forget. On that cool summer evening, two monumental events occurred that forever changed the course of my life. One: My sister-in-law gave birth to my adorable niece. Two: I got utterly destroyed at a bear orgy in Provincetown.
While both were significant landmarks, one continues to impact my life on a near-daily basis. Of course, I’m talking about how I found myself naked in a bear den with a dozen other hairy beasts.
The day started just as any other does in P-Town. My then-boyfriend was visiting me for the weekend. With our matching cut-off jorts and tank tops, we walked to the beach. Then we got a little too tipsy at Tea and headed back to sleep on the blow-up mattress at my guncle’s place. We woke a few hours later feeling like death but knew that time was of the essence. All the clubs and bars close at 1 am in Provincetown, so we had to get a move-on if we were going to dance our hearts out at Atlantic House.
Luckily, despite getting to A-House at 11 pm, we had no problem getting in. (Perks of living there for the summer, I became a “local” and didn’t have to wait in line.)
We drank. We danced. We made out. Then we made out with others. At 1 am, we made our way to Spiritus Pizza. This is what one does in P-Town. The bars and clubs close, and the gays flock for a late-night slice. For many, this is where the night ends. However, that cool summer evening, it was where ours began.
In addition to having some pizza, guys go to Spiritus in the hopes of finding an afterparty. See, in Provincetown, there are rich men with rich houses. These rich men find hot boys to stay with them. Then the hot boys (group 1) scout for other hot boys (group 2) to invite to the rich house, where the hot boys (group 2) proceed to fuck hot boys (group 1), and then hot boys (groups 1 and 2) proceed to fuck the rich men.
This phenomenon is commonly known as the Gay Circle of Life—and it all always starts at Spiritus.
That night my boyfriend, Connor, and I had one goal: Get invited to an after-hours. While the mission sounded simple enough, you have to understand attractive men in Provincetown are a dime a dozen. Attractive gay men, in general, are a dime a dozen. There were dozens upon dozens of men with better bodies, straighter teeth, fresher haircuts, and cooler fashion. So, if Connor and I were going to find an afters, we had to rely on our personality and charm.
Shit…
We started off flirting as a unit, going up to hot boys, but not any hot boys. We wanted the hot boys who had the afters, not the hot boys who were looking for the hours. Luckily, that Spot the Difference game wasn’t too hard. The hot boys who have a frenetic energy, bopping from one group to the next, are clearly looking, whereas the hot boys who are more insular, being more choosy with whom they speak, are hosting.
We put our alleged “charm” to the test. We were smart enough not to immediately ask if guys knew of an afters. We schmoozed and then proceeded to ask, but still, no such luck.
I told Connor we should split up. We could cover more ground that way. Again, my personality wasn’t enough to get me invited. But when I struck out, Connor—that son of a bitch—hit it right out of the park.
He came up to me, his arms intertwined with two large men. Not large in height but in stature. These men had such muscular quads and hamstrings they had to walk like penguins with their feet turned out. I truly believe they could not touch the top of their heads. Their biceps were simply too large.
Connor worked out every day, and at an inch shy of six feet, he was not a petite man. But in between these two hunks, he looked like a child. Their size, combined with the amount of body hair on them, made them Daddies, despite being roughly my age.
“Hey, I don't know if you remember these guys—” Connor said. I did not. Since there is no world where I could ever forget these two animals, that meant I had never met them. “But we met them back in Boston.”
I smiled. “Yeah, of course, so good to see you guys again!” I replied.
I gave each of them a hug. I had to stop myself from squeezing their back muscles. They were just so built, so solid. It wasn’t so much that I was attracted to them—even though I was—I was more impressed. Like, how, bitch? I’ve seen my fair share of muscular men. I have fucked my fair share of muscular men, but this was a new level. They were gay super Saiyan gods who absolutely had to buy custom jean shorts because there was no way their thicc thighs could ever fit into a pair of Levis.
“Yeah, you too,” one said. “So a friend of ours is having a few guys over,” he continued, now in a hushed tone. “You two are welcome to come through in like thirty minutes. Just you two,” he said. We nodded, got the address, and the boys vanished—off to recruit others.
I hate to admit how much happy I was to get invited to an ~eXclUsiVe~ house party, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered. In a sea of sweaty, thirsty, shirtless men, they picked us.
We had an hour to spare. (We were absolutely not going to be the first showing up at the afters.) I wanted another slice to soak up the booze but decided that I rather be slightly drunk than bloated, given what the night had in store.
Sixty minutes later, we entered a breathing Nasty Pig ad in a rich man’s New England summer home. There were beards on beards, butts on butts, and meat on meat. Lots of baseball caps, soccer socks, and sneakers. Every man there was extra furry. I have to believe the steroids or T injections were adding some extra hair on their chest because these men each wore their own luscious rug. Shoulder hair, back hair, booty hair. You couldn’t fit a spot on them that you didn’t want to brush.
There wasn’t a twink in sight. It was all just big, hairy men. Yes, some were more cut than others, but all had mass. I was about a decade younger than the average man there, excluding some of the 50+ outliers.
At this point in my life, I had been out as bi for less than two years. Sure, I had racked up my body count through Grindr—gay sex wasn’t foreign to me—but I had never been to something so manly. So aggressive and hairy. Pungent and hairy. Virile and hairy. Muscular and HAIRY.
It was a lot of man for a baby bi like me to handle, but I’m not one to shy away from a challenge. Besides, I wanted all that man. I craved all that man. But I also could not but feel slightly unnerved by their sheer size, smell, and, yes—hair.
I couldn’t help but question why Connor and I had been invited, but then I remembered something. In the words of Sister Mary Clarence: I am not, nor have I ever been, a hairless twink. I am an OTTER! Sure, I didn’t have the beef of these men. But my Ashkanzi roots do come with one thing—excluding IBS, seasonal eczema, and predisposition for Tay Sachs—HAIR. I am a furry fucker. So too, was Connor. That was how we made the cut.
We arrived at the perfect time because the boys were already in their jocks but hadn’t yet started fucking. They were waiting for a fire starter, and if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s burning buildings down to the ground.
I’m not sure what I said, but within a few minutes of arriving, I was locking lips with a beefy varmint with my hands on his huge ass. There is something about how older bears kiss. Mouths open wide. Spit everywhere. So much tongue. It’s aggressive and messy—primal. Actual bears may, in fact, kiss this way while mating in the wilderness. He put his hand around my throat and moved from kissing to licking my face. This was the first time someone had ever pressed their slimy tongue to my cheek, and it did something to me beyond causing a massive erection.
I moved my hands from his hairy ass to his hairy hole. It was already wet. Either he was pre-lubed or pre-fucked. Perfect. He was ready to go. He moaned as I stuck a finger in his behind. I spun him around and pushed his back down on the couch, propping his ass up. I looked around before getting on my knees. I had indeed started the fire; the home was now ablaze. Connor was mere feet from me, sucking some hunk’s dick. Boys everywhere were kissing and sucking, but I was the first to start eating ass.
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