Gay Erotic Stories

DALLAS isn't just my home, it's my name as well. Once a month though, I make it to the west coast and whenever I'm there I go to this great bar that caters to bears like me. If my wife and kids had any idea what goes on there once a month I'd be booted out on my ass for good. Hell, if my boss had any idea I'd be unemployed as well as booted out on my ass. I keep my secret suitcase hidden in the garage and grab it only as I'm climbing into the car. Inside that bag are the clothes I wear when I go out for a "night with the boys", my leather vest, my tattered tank top, my flannel shirt with the sleeves crudely ripped off and only one button at the belly to hold it all together. For this particular trip I'm curious about how it might be different. Usually I'm there on Monday or Tuesday night but this month I'll be staying over on a Wednesday. I wonder if the Wednesday crowd is pretty much the same as the other nights I'm more accustomed to? Either way, I can hardly wait! BAXTER is my name as well as my employer. I work for a heavy equipment company that sends me to the west coast about once a month for some additional training. I spend anywhere from a few days to a week there and then they let me stay for a couple more just to unwind a bit. If they had any idea how I "unwind" it would probably be the last trip I get to take. Here at home I'd be run out of town if any of my poker buddies suspected how I spend my two days off, getting my rocks off with some other big hairy bear like myself. Somehow in California there's never a short- age of guys like me who dig other guys like me. I've been doing this heavy construction work for about nine years now, ever since I dropped out of high school at 16. I convinced the hiring guy that I was nineteen, and could easily have passed for 21 even then. I was pretty big and well built back then, but now I'm (all modesty aside) a fucking tank! I stand 6'5" and tip the scales at 253. My chest and shoulders look like I spend a couple of hours a day at the gym, but it's just because of my work that I've developed this way. Since I run the big earth- mover machine I get some extra flexibility, like I can get by with not having to wear those stupid little orange vests that the other guys wear. Normally, up in the drivers seat of my big machine I strip off my shirt and hike my shorts up really high to get as much of my body exposed to the sun as possible. The effect is pretty hot looking! Besides baking my skin to a leathery brown, the constant exposure to the Arizona sun bleaches out my hair quite a bit. And I'm not just talking about the hair on my head. A thick body blanket of brown/blond fur coats my entire body, head to toe, front and back. The good thing about it bleaching out in the summer is that you can get a better look at my two really hot-looking tattoos, one on each upper arm. On my short flight from Arizona to the coast I wonder what my hard-drinking, foul talking co- workers would say if they knew how much I looked forward to these trips so I can get my hot ass-hole and my hungry mouth filled with cock. I check my wallet for the confirmation number at the motel just down the street from the bar, thinking to myself that it'll be strange staying there on a Wednesday this time. Usually I'm there on a Thursday or Friday night (that's when the bear's really seem to turn out!). Also tucked into my wallet are the two gold rings that slip into the pierced holes of my nipples. For obvious reasons I can't wear those on a daily basis. DALLAS- My hotel room is always pre-paid when I get there, and I always check out and have them refund me the money to go stay in the cheap place down by the bar. It's not because I want to save money necessarily, but it's just a hell of a lot more convenient when I meet up with some hot bear that I want to spend the night with. The first thing I do whenever I arrive in town is call my last two appointments and reschedule them for earlier. That leaves my last afternoon and next morning free before returning to Dallas. That's exactly how it happened this last trip. I'd finished up completely and stood in the motel wondering what to wear this time. Standing naked in front of the mirrored closet doors I debated if I should go for the lumberjack look or the bad-assed biker. I pulled out the leather pants from my secret suitcase and sniffed the aroma of them. God I love how they smell, the combination of the natural material plus years of sweat and other men's come on them. Squeezing my big beefy legs into them is always a chore, but the effect is worth it. I look at myself in the mirror and start to get a hard-on, causing my huge cock to snake down the left leg of the leather pants, thereby causing me to get even more excited. When it reaches full erection my meat measures out just over 12 inches, and it's as big around the base as a beer bottle. More than a few guys have tried (and failed) to take it down their throat or up their ass. Having just come from the shower my thick black chest mat is still glistening with moisture. I've met only a couple of guys who can come close to me in terms of hairiness. The full fluffy coat that blankets my body gives the illusion of adding another couple of inches of width to my already broad shoulders and back. When it's wet it mats down close to my skin, but once I dry it with a towel the result is incredible! Once, when I was in my twenties, I let my wife talk me into shaving my entire body. It ended up growing back in thicker than ever in almost no time. What it did show though was that I've got a damned good build beneath all this fur. My hairiness never seemed to bother her all through high school when we were fucking our brains out. I was seventeen when we got married the day after high school graduation. Four months later our baby was born. Considering I never went to college I've done pretty well for myself in the insurance business. The fact that there's a health club right across from the office makes it relatively easy for me to keep in shape. A guy my size (6'5" and 266 pounds) has to watch himself when he's approaching his mid 40's. I slipped on the leather vest and the bikers cap that matches the whole outfit and then pulled on my overcoat (also in the bag from the garage) to walk the short block or so to the bar. I can't risk not wearing the overcoat even for that short distance since the leather pants have no back to them. There is a front panel to pack my big dick into, but this pair of leather pants fully exposes my hairy ass. BAXTER- The nice thing about this dump motel is that you don't have to walk through any lobby on your way out. I just slipped out the door to my unit and strutted the block or so to the bar wearing a pair of extremely short tan-colored shorts with the cuffs rolled up far enough to show half of my beefy hairy butt and a bulging basket that left little to the imagination. I tied a red bandana around my neck and cocked the straw hat on my thick curly hair, checked out the result in the mirror and liked what I saw. "Yessiree cowboy, you sure look good tonight!" I told my reflection, running a hand across my hairy chest and tugging lightly on each of the nipple rings that I'd inserted into the tiny holes. It was pretty early in the evening but my experience has been that the action at this place is best early on. It was still pretty light when I walked in, and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the dimness inside. Within minutes of my arrival I spotted my target for the evening. Jesus, if this is what the Wednesday crowd is like I'm gonna' start coming mid-week more often. He stood at the bar with black leather on. At least I thought it was all black leather. He wore a bikers cap that concealed whether he was bald or fully haired or a butch marine-type cut. One thing was unmistakable though. The hair on his neck continued right down his back. As I followed down his broad muscular back to his mid-section I gasped (out loud?) at what I suddenly realized was a completely bare butt. The leather pants must've had removable panels in the back. The best part of it was that his nicely shaped ass was so fucking hairy that it appeared to blend in with the color of the black leather. I knew this guy would be picked up soon so I decided to make my move quickly. He sat only about twenty feet from me, but it seemed like it took forever for me to reach him. With each step I saw more and more of his thick black body coat appear, and I felt more and more fear that someone would suddenly dart out in front of me to get there first. It ended up that someone got to me first. I felt a pair of hands on my butt, squeezing them and I whirled around to face the offending grabber. "Hey cowboy, can I buy you a drink?" asked this really good looking black guy with a velvety smooth chest and muscles that wouldn't quit. "No, maybe later" I said, but he wouldn't give up. "Oh c'mon let me see what kind of pistol you're packing in your holster" he said, rubbing his hand across my crotch and I told him if he didn't take his hands off me I'd rip his fucking black nuts off! That was enough to discourage him, but when I turned to continue my quest for the hairy biker-guy he was gone. "God damn!" I said, turning to vent my anger on the black guy who'd also slipped off to avoid my threat of manual castration. DALLAS- I'd been at the bar for only a few minutes, wondering if I was too early or too late for the hot action on a Wednesday. I ordered a beer that seemed to go right through me and so I slipped off to the john, thinking that maybe I'd meet someone there. No luck, it was completely empty though there were plenty of advertisements written onto the walls everywhere I looked above the urinals. I went back out into the bar area and let my eyes adjust again to the darkness. A visual once- around the place seemed to result in nothing great but then my eye caught something that was quite interesting. Sitting off to the side was this guy with a red bandana around his neck, and a cowboy hat on his head. I couldn't see his face from this angle, but his body was hot! It was hard to tell because he was sitting down, but this guy looked damned near as big as me, and practically as hairy as well except for the fact that the dense coating on his back and his thick muscular legs was lighter in color than mine. From the looks of it though, it was as thick in texture as mine. I wondered how in the hell it was that this hunky stud was sitting alone. Perhaps his lover was meeting him there or had gone to the john or something. No, I'd just come from the john and it was empty. I decided to make a move in his direction. As I got closer and closer to him I began to realize that I knew this cowboy from somewhere. I waited until I was right behind him and called out his name "Hey Bax, is that you?" He whirled around and the shocked look of recognition on his face was priceless. "Holy shi..., ....I mean Jesus fucking Christ.....what the hell are you....?" he said, starting half a dozen sentences and finishing none of them. "Can I buy you a drink cowboy?" I asked, and he pulled out a chair for me to join him. "Close your mouth man, you're drawing flies!" I said, and he stuttered and stammered uncomfortably at finding me in a place like this. Of course, he was also in a place "like this" which left no doubt in either of our minds what we'd come for. "Want to dance?" I asked him, and he stood up to accept my invitation. BAXTER- Once I got over the initial shock of seeing him there I realized that I wanted him more than ever. This had obviously not been his first time at the bar either so there was no use trying to pretend that I'd accidentally wandered into a gay bar with no shirt on and a pair of shorts that was advertising my assets. "Yeah, I'd love to dance, but there's no music playing" I told him. "Does that matter?" he asked, and I stood to accept his invitation. I wrapped my arms around his back, pressing his hairy chest next to my own and I felt his lips crush against mine. I dug my tongue into his mouth and tasted the beer he'd been drinking when I first saw him at the bar. I put my hand on the back of his neck to pull him deeper into my mouth and felt the hairs on the back of his neck. "Here, take this off!" I said, tugging at the leather vest to get his upper body bare as mine was. I ran my hands across his hairy back and marveled at how fucking thick the coat of black curls was. Dancing there in the bar with no music playing I felt his hands cupped against my buns and realized that his hard cock was pressing against my equally erect one. He stuck his ttongue into my ear and told m things that he wanted to do with me, things I was more than willing to perform though not in a crowded bar with other men watching us. He managed to get the buttons of my shorts undone so that he could slip both hands into the back of them and he stopped tonguing my ear just long enough to say that I should finger his hairy ass-crack while we danced. Eventually, with a growing circle of men watching the two of us grope and fondle and kiss one another it became obvious that we weren't going to stop at this point. The manager came over and said "Look, it's obvious that you two guys really dig one another but I'm worried about some undercover cop coming in and catching the two of you fucking on the floor. Before that happens and I lose my license I'm gonna' have to ask you to cool off a little". "My motel's just down the street" he said, and I said "No shit, so's mine". Wouldn't you know that we were in the same place, only two rooms separated his from mine. "Let's go Bax, I wanna' do things to you that even these guys here would be embarrassed to see". DALLAS- Once inside my room we lost no time at all in getting down to business. We argued all the way from the bar to the motel about who was going to get fucked first and compromised with a plan to do '69' for starters. Our sizes were the same, though the bed in this crummy dump didn't seem to want to accommodate two men of our proportions. It didn't matter, we could move to the floor if we needed to. As we sucked one another completely (yeah, he's one of the few men I've met who can!) we each finger-fucked one another, and we weren't all that gentle either. Baxter came first, but I was only half a second behind him, flooding his guts while I gulped furiously to swallow all of his huge load. Then I flipped him around on the bed as if he were a feather and started kissing him again, tasting the combination of my own spunk in his mouth and his in mine. BAXTER- "Oh shit man, you've gotta' fuck me! I want you to rip me in half with this big horse-cock!" It was no lie. I figured he had to be well over a foot long because I was 11.5 inches and he was bigger than me. I know men his age sometimes have trouble getting it up right away but not him. He seemed ready to go immediately, and I couldn't wait another second. Over the years I've been fucked by some pretty big men, but when Dallas Reed started to pump his fuck-pole into me I realized that no one else could ever (or would ever in the future) be able to compare to him. It reminded me of my very first butt-fuck back when I was. I'd better not say because it was with my junior high football coach and I was well under the age of consent. Not now though! Shit, I was a grown man and I knew exactly what I was asking for when I begged him to fuck me hard and rough. He pulled on my tit rings, damned near ripping them right out of the erect nipples, and I ran my hands all over his excessive hairiness, almost unable to believe that he had so much more than me even. One of the benefits of his older age was that he was able to go on and on and on without reaching his climax. I must've blown 5 loads of spunk all over his hairy chest and belly while he fucked me, but when he did finally unleash his load it seemed like a gallon of boiling lava shooting up my ass-hole. DALLAS- Young guys like Baxter are one in a million. I've always enjoyed being fucked, but very few men have enough to make me feel like I'm being stretched. A night with him convinced me that we had to coordinate our visits from now on. Oh sure, it was nice to have some variety, but now that I know he's into this scene there's no reason to make it with any other guy in the universe. He's not quite as hairy as me, but those tattoos are a real turn-on, and he loves to be fucked. For a guy his size that's rare. Most really big men expect to be the fucker, not the fuck-ee. Of course I also really love to be fucked, so I guess it's sort of like we were made for one another. As we lay there on that crummy motel room bed with our hairy bodies crusted with cum and matted together after a night of non-stop sex, I asked him to promise that he'd never tell my wife about us. "Okay" he said back "but only if you promise not to tell my mother!" We laughed and laughed about that, because that woman is one and the same. Yeah, there's no big mystery about why Baxter Reed is as hairy and well hung as he is. Hell, he got it all from me -- his old man. Evidently he got the same sexual appetite as well. Our only regret is that we didn't level with one another years earlier. We discovered that there were times we'd missed one another at that bar by only an hour or so in the past, though usually it was a full day. No point in bitching though, we decided to make up for lost time by extending our stays for one more day before having to return to our pretend lives at home. "Hey pop, why don't you bring Cody along next trip?" Baxter suggested, and I told him I'd think about it. Baxter's youngest brother had just turned 18 and was busy fucking every available cunt in Dallas. Still, if he had any idea what he was missing out on he'd probably join us for good. Next trip, maybe!