Warning: The following story contains explicit descriptions of gay sex and has a sense of humor about it, so if you're under the age of 18, of a prudish temperament, or are offended by the very notion of gay sex... please do fuck off now.
"Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear" is a 45- chapter novel in which a certain bearish college football player/ frat boy recalls his many sexual adventures and encounters.
All of fratbear's stories are available at: http://fratbear.tripod.com/
"Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear" by fratbear (fratbear@excite.com)
Chapter 1: The Cub
You might find it odd that I'm a writer. If you took one look at me, you'd probably find it odd that I know how to read. But that's exactly what I am. I've found that sometimes it's the only way to keep me sane.
Yes, I'm a bear. That's a fact of biology. Yes, I'm a college student. That's the influence of my dad. And yes, I'm in a fraternity. That's my own choice. So why shouldn't I be a writer, too? My whole life has been about blowing other people... and their expectations. And believe me, that's probably not the last double entendre you're gonna hear from me.
First things first, let's get something straight here. The title "Confessions of a Teenage Bear" is a misnomer, really, for the simple fact that I am no longer a "teenage bear." As of yesterday, April 19th-- my 21st birthday-- I am a real, live adult grizzly. I dunno, I just think that there's a connection between true adulthood and the ability to drink legally. But then again, that's probably just the frat boy talking.
The journey to this point hasn't been an easy one, let me tell you. In fact it's been a long and hard one. (Double entendre number two, for those of you keeping count.)
I think I've always known I was a bit different from the other guys, even before I bulked up to 300 pounds. But I'm getting way ahead of myself. Where to begin?
As I've already said, I was born 21 years (and one day) ago on an April 19th. Not a very good day to be born, as I would find out several years later with that whole blow-up in Waco, not to mention the Oklahoma City fed building bombing... both occurring on April 19ths.
The Waco thing was particularly unfortunate, since the town of Cicero, Texas-- the place of my birth and subsequent childhood-- is a mere two hours drive from where Koresh and his followers went poof.
Of course, when I was born, none of these unfortunate events had occurred, yet. To my parents I was just a cheerful, bouncing, and a tad oversized-- 10 pounds, 7 ounces-- baby boy. And so they bestowed me with the name Sloan Anderson Cosgrove.
The first few years of my life are a blur, and I don't think much happened then.
In fact, the first memory I have is my mom suddenly disappearing. You see, she split when I was 4. I think she ran off with another man, but I don't know for sure, and to this day my dad won't talk about it.
So it was just us two, fending for ourselves in our little home on the dusty outskirts of Cicero. My dad's a big guy, too. His state championship weightlifting trophy is still collecting dust on a mantel in the living room. So when I started growing-- no, growing is an understatement-- when I started ballooning in size just as I entered kindergarten, my dad was there to let me know that there was nothing wrong with me. In fact, I think he was a little proud that I was turning out so much like him.
Well, maybe not THAT much like him.
It was in kindergarten when I first noticed that I was drawn to other guys. Not that there was much I could do about it. In fact, the teachers seemed to be afraid that a guy my size would crush the other kids or something, so more often than not I was placed in a corner with a stack of magazines, a bottle of glue, and a pair of safety scissors. "Collage time," they called it.
Needless to say, my collages weren't ordinary. Nothing I did was. For some reason, I was attracted to pictures of men without shirts. I'd cut out bathing soap ads, swimwear spreads, pictures of teenagers on spring break... anything showing the male body with as little clothing as allowed in a magazine being perused by a rugrat.
The teachers seemed to ignore me. I was just the pudgy kid in the corner, clipping away at his magazines. As long as I didn't hurt nobody.
I think it was in the fourth grade that I graduated from pudgy to chubby. At the same time, I was already a good foot taller than most of the other kids in my class. It was getting kind of hard for people to ignore me.
My dad encouraged me to join a football league for tykes, and it actually boosted my self-esteem a little. That happens when you can knock your opponents to the grass with the slightest nudge.
Outside of football, though, respect was a rare commodity. Among the few choice nicknames I was given: "Fatso," "Tubby," "Wide Load," "Sasquatch," and my personal favorite, "Lardo Calrissian." And no one was afraid to call me these things to my face. They knew I wouldn't fight back. It just wasn't my nature.
I think I survived my childhood by simply tuning out. My dad helped. I looked up to him. Here was a guy that probably looked as big and dumb as me when he was my age, and now he was a housing contractor with a pretty good business. It gave me hope.
Then came junior high school. Dante Junior High, just a half-mile from my home. Sixth grade. The first time you're forced to get naked with other kids in the locker room. It wasn't enough that I was built differently from the others-- a little stockier and thicker than everyone else-- it was when those feelings deep inside of me began to stir. The sight of all that bare male flesh around me... It was too much to handle.
I managed to suppress it as long as I could. That amounted to five weeks. But the inevitable inevitably happened before gym class one lazy Tuesday afternoon. We were getting dressed in the locker room just as the last group of kids, an eighth grade class, was getting out of the showers. This one kid-- I never even learned his name-- well, let's just say he was the first guy that really turned me on. Kind of stout, muscular, with a mop of brackish brown hair and a killer smile. I don't think he ever saw me, but I sure saw him... toweling off in the shower area.
"Hey, look guys." The voice came from the kid at the locker next to mine. "Cosgrove's got a woody."
I looked down. My hormones had indeed gotten the best of me. My little (well, everything's relative) 5-inch friend was standing at full attention. I scrambled to cover myself up with a sweatshirt.
"Whatsa matter, Cosgrove?" another punk taunted. "We gettin' you horny?"
I just shook my head and pulled on my pants. And I swear that all the guys were chuckling at me all through class. They didn't stop chuckling for months.
All right, I was sort of a late bloomer, sexually speaking. And believe it or not, I've never had a wet dream in my entire life, as if I'd even know what one was if I'd had one. It was at the age of 13 that I got my crash course in human sexuality. More specifically, male sexuality.
My dad had already made a half-hearted attempt to explain the basics to me. What the function of the penis is, how babies are made, premature ejaculation... it all sounded so clinical to me. I just didn't get it.
He had felt compelled to explain it to me during the summer before the eighth grade, when puberty had hit me like a freight train. We're talking with a vengeance here, folks. Over a period of three months, I sprouted half a foot. And my girth followed. As my dad put it, I was "filling out." Just like he had when he was my age. The fat wasn't turning into muscle. Instead, the muscle was growing underneath the fat, giving me the shape of a mountain gorilla.
By the time the school year started, I was roaming the hallways as a nearly full-grown, 5-foot-11, 230-pound lumbering fool. It didn't help that my sadistic science teacher thought it would be a good idea to learn about Neanderthals the first week back. Another nickname to toss onto the pile.
It was also about this time that I started noticing the hair. First around my dick, then under my arms. Then my legs started to thicken and become really furry. Last, and definitely the least, the light dusting of brown hair sprouting on my chest and belly in a sporadic pattern. It didn't take more than the first gym class to see that I was the fuzziest kid around.
I didn't do much exploration of my new body. Hell, I was wishing that I could somehow be magically transposed into somebody else's body. Somebody with abs. About the only time I looked at myself in the mirror was when I wanted to see how I looked if I sucked in my gut.
At the same time, I was still playing football on the school team. Actually, some idiot gym teacher had first suggested that I try out for basketball, but after tripping over my own feet and crashing to the court, I decided to stick to my proven strength: ramming myself into other guys on the football field.
My lack of adventurousness meant that I actually didn't figure out masturbation for myself. I needed a helping hand from somebody.
And that somebody was Mark Chodzko. Mark was a smart-mouthed Polack (hey, that's how HE described himself) who lived about six houses down from me. Despite the close proximity, we never really became friends for most of our childhoods.
But then Mark joined the football team in the eighth grade. He was placed in the position of tight end. Then again, "tight end" wasn't exactly the first thing that came to mind when you looked at Mark. He was a thin guy trapped in a pudgy guy's body. Only an inch or two shorter than me, but lanky and doughy at the same time, with a bit of a paunch developing in the belly.
I was observing his body one afternoon in the showers after football practice. I had spent a little extra time jogging around the track, anything to lose a little weight (or try, anyway). By the time I was soaping up, Mark was the only one left in the showers.
I'd always thought Mark was cute. I think it was in the eyes. They seemed so friendly and bright. That particular afternoon, though, it probably had more to do with the fact that he had a stiff, crimson erection pointing in the air as the hot water ran down his body.
"See something you like, Sloan?" Mark's voice broke my concentration.
I quickly averted my eyes. "Uh, no," I mumbled, but I couldn't hide the fact that my own cock was beginning to harden. I turned away, but couldn't have been more obvious to Mark what was happening.
"You are so weird, Cosgrove."
Duh. Thank you, Mark, for stating the obvious. Of course, I didn't say any of this out loud.
"Come on, let me see," he said.
I looked around. What if someone else was in the locker room? Could anyone else hear us?
"Come on, Sloan, nobody's around." Mark yelled. "Hey, is there anyone out there?"
No answer.
"See?" he said.
I looked up. He was right. We were alone. So I hesitated a moment, then slowly turned to face him. My cock stood at full attention.
"Definitely the biggest one I've seen here," Mark said.
"Really?" I asked. Even though I was self-admittedly pretty naïve about my own dick, even I knew that bigger meant better.
"Ever jerk off?"
I shrugged. I'd heard that term bandied around between the guys, but I felt too stupid to ask them what it meant. And I wasn't about to look stupid in front of Mark.
"You haven't." Mark said. It was a statement, not a question. Well, so much for not looking stupid.
I shook my head.
Mark looked me over. "You don't even know what it is, do you?"
"Should I?" I asked, trying to act cool about it.
"Look, Sloan, when you get home, just play around with it a little."
"With what?"
"Your dick, dummy," Mark said. "You know, do this." He demonstrated by wrapping his fingers around his own shaft and pumping it in his fist a couple of times.
"How will I know I'm doing it right?" I asked.
"Oh, you'll know," Mark said.
We went back to showering. But our hard-ons didn't go down during the whole time.
I got home around just before sundown. Dad wasn't home, yet. He often worked late. Sometimes he didn't get home until eight. I closed and locked my bedroom door, anyway, then put a chair against the doorknob for good measure. It was something I'd seen on a TV show once.
Just thinking of Mark in the shower, pumping his cock with his fist... It made me stiff again. I quickly pulled off my clothes and sat on my bed.
I looked at my naked body in the mirrored door of my closet. For the first time, I really looked. I'd never seen another kid my age with a body like mine. My arms were huge. I flexed my biceps, watching them pump up.
I took a deep breath, watching my barrel chest expand. That was the part that set me apart from the rest of the kids. I may have had a big round belly, but I had a thick chest to match it. My dad often joked that I'd be as thick from front to back as I was side to side. As I held my breath, with my chest all blown up, I could see that it'd already happened. The upside to this was that it didn't make me look all that fat, anymore, because my gut was no bigger than my chest.
I felt my pecs with my hands. I noticed my already swollen, crimson cock twitching. I looked back at the mirror. I was one weird looking dude.
Then a thought hit me. Mark was looking me over in the shower. You don't suppose he... actually found me attractive? I chuckled at the thought. Nah. Couldn't be. Not a lumbering fat slug like me.
I reached down and held my stiff cock in my fingertips. Ran a finger under the ridge of the head. Lightly brushed the sensitive, silky skin along the underside of the shaft. My stomach tightened from the feeling.
I massaged my cock with my fingers for a little bit, and I felt my balls pulse for a moment. A clear drop of liquid suddenly seeped out the tip of my cock. I stopped and stared at it. Was that supposed to happen?
I smeared the precum around my cockhead, shivering at the sensation. I couldn't help it, anymore. I wrapped the fingers of my right hand around my rock-hard shaft and started pumping steadily on it. You may not believe me, but the thought of doing it had never crossed my mind before Mark had suggested it. And now that I finally jerking off for the first time... well, I was hooked.
It felt so good that I didn't even notice that I was moaning. Pretty loudly, actually. My cock was so hard that it hurt. But that feeling was nothing compared to the lightness in my head and the intense pressure building in my balls.
I lay back on my bed as I continued pumping on my cock. How would I know I was doing it right? I remembered my dad trying to explain to me about ejaculation and how that ended up making a baby or something, but I never quite grasped what that was all about.
All I knew was that I was in heaven. Moaning and grunting on my bed as my fist reached a feverish pitch on my red dick. A glaze of sweat began to form on my body. I looked down at my glistening chest.
A convulsion suddenly hit my whole body, which bucked wildly as I let out a cry. I'd never felt anything like it.
And then the first jet of white, hot cum exploded out of my cock, shooting through the air and splattering my chin. My eyes widened, confused about what just happened, but before I could ponder it some more, my cock pulsed again, and a long strand of cum spurted out and splattered across my chest and belly.
Spurt after spurt of the juice shot out of my dick, creating pools of it on my body. What seemed to be 13 years of cum collecting in my balls spraying out like a volcano.
I let out an ecstatic growl as the convulsions died down, and I sank back into by mattress. I breathed deeply, my chest heaving as rivulets of cum dripped down the sides of my body onto my bedsheets. I wasn't even worried about the stains it would cause. I didn't care.
I looked down at the white, sticky mess on my torso. It still dripped out of my cum-coated, softening cock. I inhaled the pungent scent of warm cum for the first time.
Then I just let my head fall back, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. Drifting back to recall how the first orgasm of my life felt.
An hour must've past before I became aware of the sound of a pick- up truck pulling up the driveway outside. Shit. My dad was home.
I looked down at the partially dried, extremely sticky cum encrusted on my chest and belly. And the splotches on my bed. I panicked, wiping off my ample torso with the bedsheets and crumpling them into a ball to hide the evidence.
I grabbed a sweatshirt, but before putting it on, I took one more look at my naked body in the mirror. I sighed and smiled, a little proud of myself. You know, maybe there was hope for me after all.
- fratbear fratbear@excite.com http://fratbear.tripod.com/