As Xander explained the gay bear taxonomy — Asian bears are Pandas, short bears are Ewoks, Anderson Cooper is “the Silver Fox” — he called himself a muscle bear and me an otter. He showed me the black and brown striped Bear Flag with its paw insignia, told me about Blowoff, Bear Week, and other ursine events where hairy geeky men just like me met to mingle and to have sex with hairy geeky men just like me! For a guy who spent his adolescence feeling like a mutant Mickey Mouse, it seemed a godsend… like an invitation to OZ… a chance to finally enter a hidden place and get accepted by the muscular guy I thought I’d never had a chance with in school.
Xander and I fucked every now and then, but between our hookups, I found myself going out and working out more, happily shedding and unbuttoning my shirt for men who wanted to see my hairy chest, and rolling around with scruffy, imperfect guys. I blasted hot gobs of goo onto the furry belly of Brendan the beercan boy — growling in unison as we grasped each other’s hairy pecs. Markus the hairy artist sucked a load out of my uncut cock then used my cum to jerk a load onto my lips. Samuel the cub sat his bicyclist’s ass on my face and thumped his cock against my chest until he shot a warm streak clear down my thigh. We all got along so well, us bears. We liked sex and the scent of our own, getting each other’s beards and paws sticky with crotch and underarm scent so we could smell each other while riding home alone on the subway.
Back when I didn’t want anyone to call me a fag, I used to say “Labels are for bottles, not people.” Back then I worried that being gay meant a lifetime of musicals, meth, and a secret desire to molest children. And as a closeted young homo, I worried about falling prey to experienced chicken hawkers, lecherous old men, and cocky boys just looking to fuck.
Now as a more confident otter, I wanted nothing more than to fall prey to experienced chicken hawkers, lecherous old men, and cocky boys just looking to fuck. I might never look like Marky Mark and the Speedo catalog but I could be sexy in way they weren’t and much gayer by far. We’re told to resist labels but goddamn if it doesn’t feel good to give into them everynow and then and luxuriate in the objectification that follows. Sure I’m lumped in with obese queens and hairless twinks who deludedly declare “I’m a bear cub!”, but I also find myself being affectionate, open, and sexually daring than ever because I can imagine how my sexual power animal operates — foraging the concrete forest for other hairy dudes hungry for a kiss and the smell of my crotch on their faces.
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John
Every time I read this guy’s stuff, I can totally relate. Also? Very good writer. Love it! Keep it coming! (And let me know if you visit Dallas. You sound hot.)
AdonisOfFire
Holy shit, this is hot!
alan brickman
Great writing..and he’s right….hitting a gym and taking care of yourself makes all the difference…..
REBELComx
Ok. first paragraph, totally didn’t help my morning wood at all. LOL. oh yeah and MMmmmmm Marky Mark. I used to get off to that damn music video all the time. still gets me hot. lol
Taylor Siluwé
An awesome read. And “iconic” couldn’t describe that Marky-Mark ad any better. I’m sure it made an entire generation know they were hopelessly gay, and if not already, they’d soon be out and extremely proud about it.