"Sloan Cosgrove 2, Confessions of a Middle-Aged Bear" is the sequel to "Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear," a novel originally published online in 2001 and currently available at:
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/sloan-cosgrove/
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"Sloan Cosgrove 2, Confessions of a Middle-Aged Bear"
by fratbear (thefratbear@yahoo.com)
Chapter 33: Rocktobear
October 2005
"So are you a fan?" The burly, bald daddy with a short, bristly gray beard leaned over and asked me that question as the young folk-rock singer finished playing one of his songs on the dimly-lit stage.
I think it must have been obvious that I was a fan of Woody Briscoe, the chubby, bearded, 19-year-old singer-songwriter from West Virginia whose music I'd discovered a few months earlier on an online message board where music fans could recommend up-and-coming musicians.
I was first drawn to his original rock songs, many of written when he was still in high school, his style drawn from not only alt-country but also traditional Americana and bluegrass. He also had a soulful, growly voice with an Appalachian accent that sounded like it belonged to a West Virginia coal miner twice his age.
Woody had grown a small cult following after recording some of his songs in his bedroom with just a guitar and some home recording equipment and putting them on his MySpace page when he was still a high school senior.
Then I saw photos of him, and I was immediately drawn to his aesthetic. He looked like a classic folk singer, with big glasses and a thick head of reddish-brown hair and a scruffy, not-quite-bushy beard that he probably grew to hide his chubby, babyish face. He also seemed to always wear slightly baggy shirts and jeans to disguise the curves of his chubby body. The outfits were almost always vaguely country-western in style.
After finally graduating from high school in West Virginia, he'd released his first album on iTunes earlier in the year and had embarked on his first real tour of the United States. This was his first-ever performance in Los Angeles, and he was playing the Cahuenga Café, a bar in the heart of Hollywood with a tiny stage that could host intimate concerts for a crowd of less than 200 people. Since it was also a café, there were tables in front of the stage with seats for about 40 audience members. I preferred to stand in the back, leaning against a wooden post as I admired Woody, both his music and his adorable body.
It was October, seemingly the busiest time for live concerts in Los Angeles, so much so that October was starting to become known as "Rocktober." This was already the third of nine concerts I had planned for the month, and seeing a performance by one of my favorite new musicians in such an intimate setting was a nice change of pace from my usual concerts in big, loud, crowded venues. I'd even dressed a little bit more formally than I normally did for concerts, wearing the same button-down shirt and slacks that I'd worn to work at HartBPM that day.
Woody was already a half an hour into his set, standing alone in front of a microphone with nothing but his guitar, dressed in a white shirt, black vest, and blue jeans. I'd noticed the burly, bald daddy standing on the other side of the wooden post from me, watching the show intently and snapping several photos with a digital camera. He was dressed in a green golf shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He looked like a typical late middle-aged suburban dad, with thick, hairy forearms, a barrel chest, and a beergut.
As Woody finished his song, and I and the rest of the audience clapped, the daddy leaned over and asked me the question with the obvious answer, "So are you a fan?"
"Oh yeah," I replied as Woody tuned his guitar on stage in preparation for his next song. "Been listening to him on his MySpace page since last year. You a fan, too?"
He smiled wryly. "I better be. I'm his dad. Also his manager, tour manager, driver..." He held out his hand. "Buddy Briscoe." I realized that he spoke with the same Appalachian accent as his son.
"Oh wow." I shook his hand eagerly. "Sloan. Very happy to meet you. Your son's incredibly talented. You should be proud."
"Thanks, I am," he replied. "Yeah, I'm a very lucky dad."
I looked him over, thinking that Woody was a very lucky son. His dad was hot, and from his burly body, I guessed that he was probably former military. He also had soulful, puppy-like eyes that made him look youthful and naturally friendly even though he was probably pushing 50. He watched the rest of his son's concert with a big grin on his face as he continued to shoot photos, presumably for Woody's MySpace page.
But I also noticed that Buddy would look over at me frequently. At first, I thought he just wanted to make sure that I was still enjoying the show. But then I started to feel like he was looking at me... just to look at me.
Finally, near the end of Woody's set, I looked back over at Buddy and smiled. He smiled and nodded back, and that's when I suspected that, however unlikely it seemed, he was flirting with me. Just to be certain, I glanced down at the bulge in his cargo shorts, and I made sure he saw that I was glancing down. When I looked back up, he raised an eyebrow and nodded again.
And it was when Woody finished his song that Buddy casually spoke to me again. "So hey, after he's done, how'd you like to come backstage and meet my son? I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear how much you like his music."
"That'd be awesome," I replied, wondering whether he was setting me up with Woody, which was a fantasy of mine, or with himself, which would be an unexpected treat. In either case, I was starting to get both excited and horny by the prospect.
Woody finally finished his set at about 10:30, and as the small crowd applauded, he put his hand up to his brow, looking around, then pointed right to us at the back of the café.
"Hey, y'all," he said, "I just wanted to thank my dad. He's always been there for me, even when no one was listening to my songs."
Buddy gave a little wave to his son as the audience clapped for him, then as the attention turned back to Woody, Buddy looked over at me and grinned. "He likes to mingle with the fans for a little bit. Why don't we go wait for him in the dressing room?"
As Buddy led me to a door by the side of the stage, I watched Woody as he shook hands and chatted with fans. Just as we headed through the door, he looked up and flashed a smile at me.
Buddy opened the door to the dressing room at the Cahuenga Café. As I walked in, I saw that it was practically a janitor's closet that had been converted into a room for performers to just hang out in while they waited to go onstage. A canvas duffel bag sat on a chair in the corner, basically the extent of Woody Briscoe's luggage on this tour.
As I was looking around the small room, still wondering what was in store for me, Buddy closed the door behind us. As soon as I turned to look at him, he reached up, placed a strong hand on the back of my neck, pulled my face to his, and kissed me hard on the mouth.
I'd been anticipating this since I'd realized he was flirting with me during the show, so I wasn't even surprised. I just kissed him back, wrapping my arms around him and pulling this middle-aged dad up against me tight so that we were grinding our still fully clothed bodies against one another.
Buddy ran his fingers through my hair, moaning as we made out. I slipped my hands under his shirt and ran my hands up and down his broad back, then I slid them under the waistband of his cargo shorts so that I could feel and squeeze his smooth, meaty ass.
Things were getting hot and heavy, and I was suddenly struck with a feeling of trepidation. I pulled back and looked into Buddy's friendly eyes, which now also looked a little desperate and hungry.
"What about your son?" I whispered.
A devilish smile appeared on his face. "We should get ready for him."
He began to unbutton my shirt, and that's when I realized that I wasn't about to have sex with either Buddy or Woody... I was about to have sex with both of them at the same time. It was the first time I'd crossed paths with another father and son who had sex with each other. I wondered whether it had started the same way that it had with me and my own Dad. It also amused me to think that it was feeding the stereotype of the incestuous Appalachian hillbilly family.
I pulled off Buddy's golf shirt to reveal a brawny chest and a paunch covered with bristly gray hair. As I suspected, he had a Marine Corps tattoo on his left bicep. I ran my fingers over the tattoo as Buddy finished unbuttoning my shirt and slid it off my torso.
Buddy shook his head as he ran his fingers over my fuzzy chest. "Damn, Woody's gonna love you." He leaned forward and licked my nipples and chest. By this point my cock was rock hard and straining against my pants.
As he continued kissing and licking my chest, Buddy undid my pants and pushed them down to free my throbbing erection.
"Nice," he murmured, admiring the size of my cock as he got down on his knees and engulfed it with his hot mouth. I couldn't help groaning as he sucked it eagerly. I wondered how often he sucked his own son's cock.
I kicked off my shoes and got out of my pants entirely so that I was standing there in the dressing room clad only in my socks as this burly middle-aged dad lovingly stimulated my shaft with his mouth and tongue.
It was at this moment that the dressing room swung open, and Woody Briscoe poked his head in. A big grin appeared on his face at the sight of his dad giving a fervent blowjob to a massive young bear. "You guys decent?" he said kiddingly in his Appalachian drawl.
Buddy pulled my cock out of his mouth and stood up. "Get in here, son."
Woody entered the dressing room, still clutching his guitar in his hand, and quickly closed and locked the door behind him. "You got started without me."
As he set down his guitar and walked up to me, I suddenly felt a bit self-conscious, standing naked there with my dripping cock sticking out as this genuine musical prodigy was standing there fully dressed after having just finished an incredible performance.
I felt a little less self-conscious once I realized that Buddy had taken off his shorts so that he could be just as naked as me. I looked over at his stocky body and beautiful erect penis, seven inches long and crimson red.
I looked back over at Woody's face, a mixture of friendliness and hungry desire. "I'm Woody," he said, confidently shaking my hand.
"Sloan. I'm a big fan."
"Well, thanks, Sloan. I do enjoy meeting my fans."
I reached over and started undressing him, starting with that vest and shirt. "So how long has this been going on?" I asked, looking over at Buddy.
"I dunno," Woody drawled as I slipped off his shirt to reveal his hefty chest and pudgy belly dusted with brown fuzz. "I think it was just after my Mom died about five years ago, so I was fourteen or fifteen. Dad and I were hanging out, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, Dad was sucking my dick." He looked over at his dad, and they smiled at one another. I was reminded of how my last night at college had ended with my own Dad and me sucking each other off. "I don't know if it had anything to do with it, but I started writing my first songs just a few days after that."
Buddy reached over and placed a loving hand on his son's bearded face. "The music he was making was so beautiful that we kind of thought that one thing was related to the other, so we just kept going. Also, because it just felt so fucking good."
Woody reached down and rubbed Buddy's stiff erection with his hand as they kissed.
"That's cool," I said as got down on my knees and pulled Woody's jeans down his thick, stocky legs. He had a thick six-inch cock that was so stiff that it pointed up at a 45-degree angle. I massaged it with my fingers, coaxing out clear beads of precum from its tip. "Me and my Dad... we've done that stuff together, too."
Woody and Buddy stopped kissing and looked down at me, both astonished by my admission. There they were, father and son, their husky, naked bodies standing side by side. I grabbed both of their stiff cocks in each hand and started pumping them in my fists.
"Fuuuuck," they both groaned as I jerked them off until clear fluid was dripping from both of their cocks onto the floor.
Woody tapped my shoulder. "Get up," he said, showing that, surprisingly, he was the dominant one. "I want to fuck that ass of yours."
"It'd be my honor," I replied as I stood, trying to prepare myself for the idea that I was about to get fucked by one of my musical heroes, someone who was basically still a kid himself.
Despite being shorter and fatter than me, Woody was surprisingly strong. He grabbed my arm and spun me around so that I was practically serving up my ass to him. I looked up at Buddy, who was smiling and jerking on his cock as he watched his son lube up his shaft.
I placed my hands on my knees as Woody bent me over, pressed his cock head against my asshole, and shoved his cock into me, sending a wave of pleasure surging through my body. I cried out from sheer joy as Woody thrust his hips, pounding his shaft into my ass over and over. I felt his big belly bouncing against my back as his body heaved.
Meanwhile, his father was masturbating furiously as he watched, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. I reached out and grabbed Buddy's cock, pulling him towards me. At first I thought I'd resume sucking him off, but then I had another thought. As Woody continued fucking my ass, I stood up and looked Buddy in the eye.
"Can I fuck you?" I asked.
Buddy grinned. "Sure," he replied, "my boy fucks me all the time." He rubbed lube on my cock, which was bouncing as Woody fucked me, and then positioned himself in front of me. He reached back, gripped my cock, and guided it to his waiting ass. He let out a loud groan as I slid it into his warm ass and started fucking it.
"Yeah," Woody grunted, still plowing my ass. "Fuck my Dad. Fuck his ass."
There I was, sandwiched between a husky father and son, fucking one and getting fucked by the other. Our big, sweaty bodies were humping against one another, the air filled with our grunts and groans of sexual delight.
"Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum," Woody growled as he began to pound his cock into me with more vigor. "I'm gonna shoot my load."
"Do it," I groaned. "I want your cum in me, Woody."
Woody let out a yell, and I felt his big, sweaty body shaking behind me as his shaft pulsed in my ass, and his hot cum poured into my body.
"Yeah, boy," Buddy grunted as my cock continued to penetrate him. "Shoot your cum into him."
"Oh shit," I whimpered, "I can feel you filling me up. It's gonna make me-"
I couldn't even finish my sentence. The sensation of Woody's cum coating my insides triggered my own orgasm. My ass muscles clamped around Woody's cock as my rod throbbed in his father's ass, blasting my sperm into his guts.
"Yesss," Buddy hissed as he felt my jizz spurting into his body. "That's so fucking hot."
Sweat pouring down his body, Woody pulled his cock out of my asshole and let out a deep breath. "Dad, it's your turn."
As if he'd been anticipating this all night, Buddy pulled himself off my cock, my cum dripping out of his ass, and got behind me.
"Yeah, Buddy," I moaned. "Put your cock in me."
Buddy pushed his stiff rod deep into my ass, which was still slick with his own son's cum, grabbed my hips, and began pounding away.
"Yeah, Dad," Woody growled as he watched his father fuck me. "Fuck that ass."
Buddy must have been on the verge of cumming for a while, because almost immediately he started to grunt like a bear, growing louder as he thrust into me with more and more force.
With a loud cry, his body stiffened behind me, and he shoved his cock all the way in. His cum erupted into my bowels, mixing with his son's. I sighed as I felt another fresh warm load of sperm filling my ass.
When he'd finished ejaculating in me, Buddy pulled his cock out of my ass and stood next to his son. I stood and turned to face them. We all smiled, looking at each other's naked, sweat-soaked bodies, our cocks still dripping with cum.
"Well, what now?" Woody asked, shaking his head in disbelief at what had just happened.
I smirked. "Would it be a bad time to make a song request?"
Woody grinned and picked up his guitar. "Sure. Anything you want to hear."
And that's how I ended up being treated to an acoustic mini-concert by a buck naked Woody Briscoe.