This story contains graphic descriptions of gay adult male to male sex. If this topic offends you or it is illegal for you to read this, please leave this site.
Underneath the Mistletoe
We had all gathered at my house for our bowling team's Christmas potluck. Girlfriends and wives had come, too, and there was a huge array of special dishes, salads, and desserts, along with the prime rib that Mike had prepared. The party was noisy, filled with jokes and the casual camaraderie of a group of guys who simply enjoyed themselves and getting together once a week to bowl and shoot the breeze.
I had spent the day before decorating the house for the party, putting up the tree, stringing lights all over the house, and even hanging a bundle of mistletoe, with care, from the ceiling in the living room. It was always a tradition in my family, and the standing joke at Christmas was that at least one lucky person would find love under the mistletoe each year.
Mike was the chef in the crowd, and had come over to my house early in the morning, to put the huge roast in the oven. He had stayed a bit for some coffee, and then kept stopping by during the day to check on the roast, and have another cup of coffee, though I suspected he wanted something more, as he lingered each time he came, just wanting to talk.
He was a big hunk of a man, thick chested, with broad shoulders and tree-trunk thighs. Armed with a quick wit and an enormous supply of jokes and funny stories, his mouth was usually split wide open with his laughter, nicely framed by his moustache and neatly trimmed goatee. I'd always enjoyed his company, his stories, and being able to admire his strong, muscled body underneath his bowling shirt and jeans, especially when he was throwing a ball down the lane, flexing his solid rump in his pants.
Today, Mike was dressed for his role as the chef for the event, his white chef's coat bearing his name, and his baggy checkered chef's pants around his waist, hiding what I knew to be his tight, muscular butt, and the bulge of his manhood. I'd had many a wet dream Tuesday nights after bowling, of slowly stripping him of his clothes and taking him into my mouth.
After the desserts were demolished, Bill, our team captain, suggested we all head down to the neighborhood tavern for karaoke, and nearly everyone jumped at the idea. People quickly gathered up their dishes and headed for the door, but Mike lingered, making the excuse he needed to carve up the rest of the prime rib and would join the gang later. The noisy crowd filed into the street and were soon off to their new adventure.
I helped Mike with the chore of carving the rest of the roast and putting the meat away. We talked about the events of the party, what fun people had had, and the delight in having such a fun group of guys to get together every week.
"I'm just not up for a noisy bar tonight, I guess," Mike said, as he expertly carved up the meat. "You go on ahead, Ron. I'll be done here in a few minutes, anyway."
"Oh, I'm not much up for karaoke and a noisy bar myself. Why don't I fix us a drink and we can relax by the fire," I replied. "Besides, you've been acting kind of lonely all day anyway, and I suspect you've got something on your chest you need to talk about."
Mike nodded.
"Yeah, I'll take you up on that drink," he said, and turned to resume his carving.
"You've worked up quite a sweat cooking all day, Mike. Why don't you strip off your chef's coat and put your feet up. You deserve a rest. That prime rib was fabulous, you know. Everyone loved it," I said.
I fixed up the drinks and headed for the living room, throwing another log on the fire and cleared the remains of the party plates and glassware from the coffee table.
Mike plunked down on the couch, sweat streaming from his face, and took the drink out of my hand.
"Ah, that tastes good," Mike said, as he eased back, and put his feet up on the coffee table.
"What about that chef's coat? You're sweating up a storm and you need to cool off, Mike," I said.
Well, I, uh, ... I don't have a T shirt on underneath it," Mike replied.
"Take it off, anyway. It's just us guys here anyway, and I think I'll strip off my shirt, too," I answered. "I'm pretty sweaty myself, and I usually don't wear a shirt around the house anyway. Make yourself comfortable."
I watched Mike unbutton the collar and big buttons of his sweat stained coat, the rustlings of the thick linen the only sound in the room, except for the snapping of the fire and the soft Christmas carols playing on the sound system.
In a minute, we were both bare-chested, sitting on the couch, the fire lighting the room, with a faint aroma of wood smoke, and the last of the prime rib smell from the kitchen. Mike's chest was thickly covered with curls of thick blond hair, encircling his fat, broad nipples, and narrowing down to a thick trail of curls over his muscular belly to the cinched string-tied waist band of his chef's pants. Bits of curls peeked out from his armpits, his muscular shoulders well-defined and a bit shiny with sweat in the firelight.
"So, my good friend, what's been bugging you?" I asked, leaning back against the arm of the couch, so I face Mike, and also get a better view of his very attractive chest and shoulders. It was a good Christmas week now, having a half naked hairy hunk on my couch by the fire. I would dream happy dreams tonight, at least.
Mike began to talk, telling me of his past several failed relationships with women, and how hard this Christmas time was, his first Christmas alone, but feeling almost relieved that he didn't have to cope with the demands of a nagging girlfriend over the holidays.
"I'm feeling strangely at peace with myself, Ron," Mike said, taking another sip of his drink, and flashing me a glimpse of his thick, damp forest under his armpit. "I don't miss the drama that I always seemed to get when I was dating."
"What about sex. Don't you miss that?" I asked.
"Oh, yes and no. And, that's surprising to me. I'm a real horny guy, but I don't find myself lusting after women. I want sex, but not sex like I used to crave," Mike replied, his face blushing a bit at the candor of his words.
"Well, what kind of sex is it that you want, now?" I asked, my cock stirring a bit at the direction of this conversation, my own armpits dampening at the thought of what Mike was thinking.
"Ron, that's the strange thing about all of this. I really am thinking I want to try something new for me, and... well, some of my thoughts are about men," Mike said, softly, looking away from me and now gazing into the fire.
"Well, Mike, you know I'm gay, and here we are, on a cold winter's night, neither of us eager to run off to the bars, and neither one of us having a lover to go home to," I said. "What do you want?"
Mike looked up to the ceiling, a tear beginning to run down his cheek into the curly hairs of his trim goatee.
"Oh, I just can't say it. I can't find the words, Ron," Mike quietly said.
"Then, show me, Mike. Show me what you want," I replied, as I stood up and moved closer to him. I took his hands in mine, and pulled him slowly off the couch, until we were standing face to face, our bare chests inches apart.
I gazed into his eyes, yet another tear slowly sliding down his face.
"Show me, Mike," I whispered, as I put my hand on his naked, hot shoulder, my skin warm against the hardness of his muscles.
He moved closer to me, until the hairs of our chests mingled, the heat of his thick, hard chest muscles warming up my own fur, as we fell into a bear hug, his bearded face buried into my shoulder, as he began to sob quietly.
I took him into my arms, pulling him tightly into me, one hand holding his head next to me, as I felt his chest heave with his sobs, the tears wetting my shoulder. Mike shuffled closer to me, pushing his hips against me, until I could feel the thickness of his cock and his balls against my own now half hard cock. He didn't move away, but pushed close against me. I felt his cock grow a bit, twitch, knowing that he was feeling my own cock harden.
Mike's sobs subsided, and I could smell his manly, spicy aroma from his pits, now hot with his new emotions, his curiosity, his new closeness to another man, and the prospects of what would happen next. I took his head in my hands, and softly kissed him on his furry lips, running my tongue across his moustache, rubbing my beard and moustache across his goatee and lips, and across his stubbled jaw line.
Mike kissed me back, and I felt his hands run along my naked spine, and down to my butt, until his hands had grasped my butt cheeks through my jeans.
"I've always wanted to do that," Mike whispered. "I've always wanted to feel the hardness of a man's butt."
"Well, don't stop there, Mike." I replied. "Why don't you strip off my jeans, and get a good feel of my bare ass? Put your hands on some bare skin and get a real feel."
Mike fumbled a bit with my belt, but soon had me unzipped. I took his hand on a bit of a detour, pushing his hands inside of my pants, so he could get a good feel of my now hard cock and heavy balls, still imprisoned in my shorts. Mike was panting now with excitement, as he slowly explored my body, and stripped me of my jeans, crouching at one point to pull the entangled pants off of my bare feet, until we were standing again, pressed against each other, naked except for my shorts and his chef's pants.
Slowly, I rubbed my hands across his back and down to his butt cheeks, exploring their globes of muscle underneath the cloth of his pants, feeling his strength, his heat. I pushed him back a bit, and took his hands in mine, until his fingers were hooked into the waistband of my shorts.
"Strip me, Mike," I whispered, as I pushed his hands down, starting to slide my shorts over my hard cock and full, eager balls. Mike looked down at my cock, emerging from the cloth, and crouched, pulling my shorts completely off, and freeing them from my feet, as he returned his gaze to my now fully naked manhood, my cockhead dripping with pre-cum, my shaft aiming for the ceiling, and throbbing in time with my heart beat.
I took Mike's hand again, and placed it on my shaft.
"Feel me, Mike," I whispered. "I'm all yours."
Mike's strong, warm fingers explored my crotch, slowly dancing through the curls of hair nestled around the root of my cock, cupping my balls, and feeling their weight in his hand, running his fingers up and down the soft skin of my hard shaft, rubbing my now wet cockhead with his thumb, as he pushed my foreskin down my shaft, fully opening my cockhead to his touch.
I ran one hand across Mike's belly and over his hard sword now pulsing under the thin cloth of his pants, feeling his hardness, his thick shaft, and the bulbous end of his cock. I grasped one string of his pants string, and slowly tugged, until the knot gave way.
The waistband of Mike's pants slowly loosened, exposing more curls of hair, and his narrow, muscular hips, and, soon, his thick, hard meat and hefty balls to my hungry eyes and watering mouth. In an instant, Mike, too, was naked, standing before me, his hard shaft lit by the light of the fire, his curls of thick hair splayed across his hard chest glinting in the light. I took in this sight of this naked, hairy muscular stud, standing next to me near the fire, on this cold, winter night. Mike's eyes wandered down my own hairy chest and belly, until he focused on my own needy, hard cock.
"You're beautiful, Ron," Mike whispered. "I want to make you happy, and I want to ... taste you." He blushed a bit, a mixture of embarrassment and lust, as I moved closer to him, gripping his manhood in my fist, and I began to slowly jack his hard cock, feeling his lust, his hardness. Mike's eyes closed, as I continued to move my hand slowly up and down his shaft, his chest now damp, shiny with new sweat, the sweat of lust, need, and desire.
I took my other hand to grab Mike's meaty hands, guiding him to my own urgent need, giving him possession of my own hot cock and full balls, teaching him to fully explore and have me, exposed, naked to his every whim.
Mike moved ever closer, kissing me again with his bearded, furry lips and rubbing his whiskery chin across my face, our whiskers entangling, catching on each other's fur, as we tasted each other's need.
Slowly, I pulled Mike to the floor, until he lay flat on the rug in front of the fire, his legs splayed open, framing his hard, pulsing cock, which rose high above the thick rug of his curly hair surrounding his cock and balls, trailing up his hard, rippled belly into the curly matt of hair covering his hard chest. I straddled his head, my own hard cock now dancing above his furry, bearded face, my own balls dangling down above his eyes, as my lips explored his furry chest, and his tender nipples, which stiffened to a point as I sucked and licked each of them, rubbing my beard against his chest hair, and across their hard points, until Mike moaned with desire, each time I tasted his tender, hot nipples.
I moved down Mike's belly, hard and undulating with his increased need for release, until my lips licked the shaft of his hard cock, and took each of his balls into my mouth, feeling the hairs of his ball sack with my tongue, as I pulled and rolled each ball, tasting his manly flesh, soaking his thatch of hair as I drooled over my treasure, my lover's manhood. With each swipe of my tongue, Mike's cock pulsed against my bearded cheek, soaking my whiskers with his pre-cum, his tool now drenched with his juice.
Mike's balls rose hard against his cock now, as I could feel his need rise to the point of his explosion, his chest now sweaty and heaving against my belly, Mike's fingers now cupping my balls, his own wet, hot tongue tasting my own shaft, as Mike began to slowly pump my aching cock with his lips, mouth, and bearded lips, until my shaft was fully buried inside of his soaking wet mouth, his goatee pressed hard with every push against the thick hair of my cockroot.
Quickly, I swallowed all of Mike's manhood, fully taking his now throbbing cock against my tongue, feeling his seeping piss slit leaking his juice, tasting his strong, yeasty manly juices, his hors d'oeuvre of his soon to be exploding seed. I joined Mike in his rhythm of pumping and tasting my cock, soon matching him stroke for stroke, as we climbed higher towards our explosions.
My hands grasped Mike's butt cheeks, his muscles contracting and pushing upward, trying to thrust his cock harder, faster into my mouth. Mike's heat rose from his muscles and his groin, his sweat now strong, spicy, as he pushed faster and faster, hoping for release.
I cupped Mike's balls, now tight against his cockroot, and ran a finger down his ball sack, and along his center line, until I found the rosebud of his hole, and slowly rimmed his hole with one finger, lightly, slowly, adding to Mike's moanings, his thrashings, as he struggled to find his release.
With a loud moan, Mike began to explode, his cock now thrusting spasmodically through my hairy lips, as he shot a large burst of his seed deep inside of me, the gobs of cum pushing out his shaft against my lips, as I felt first one, then another, and then a long series of blasts, as Mike sprayed his seed, releasing his balls, his chest filled with a held gasp of air, as he emptied his balls.
As Mike reached the last of his explosions, I, too, began to explode. Mike's attentions to my cock had raised my lust to a new summit, as my balls released my own torrents of cum, filling my cock, and Mike's attentive mouth with my own shots of juice, white lightning crashing through my skull, until I could cum no more, and lay exhausted on top of my lover.
My head lay on Mike's strong, open thigh, his cum oozing out of my mouth, soaking his thick hair and his balls with his seed. I felt Mike's hot mouth still surrounding my own spent cock, as Mike tenderly sucked the last of my cum from my exhausted cock, until his mouth overflowed with my jism, and dripped onto his face, soaking his whiskers with my jism.
I turned around, moving to embrace my lover, and we found ourselves lying by the fire, feeling the warmth of the flames against our sweaty, naked skin, listening to our heartbeats return to normal, no longer hearing the gasps of our breath, the fire in our loins now temporarily stilled, as bits of cum still dripped from our moustaches and down our hairy chins.
Mike looked up to the ceiling, up to where the large bundle of mistletoe hung, tied to a hook with a large red ribbon.
"That mistletoe is powerful stuff, Ron," Mike whispered. "I never thought the legend was true."
"Oh, it is indeed a true story, Mike. And, there's more to learn from that tale. Merry Christmas, Mike."
Copyright 2008. Oregon Bear