Bearotica: Hot & Hairy Fiction
Edited by R. Jackson
Volume 1 of the Bearotica series
Bear Bones Books
Published by Lethe Press at Smashwords
Collection copyright © 2010 by R. Jackson.
Stories are the property of their respective authors. All rights reserved.
Bear Bones Books
An imprint of Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Avenue, Maple Shade, NJ 08052
BearBonesBooks.com / lethepressbooks.com / lethepress@aol.com
Bear Bones Books editorial office:
POB 2278, New London, CT 06320
www.bearbonesbooks.com
Previously issued, 2002 by Alyson Publications
Cover photograph of Jack Radcliffe by Chris Komater. Used by permission.
Cover design by Niki Smith
Book design by Toby Johnson
1-59021-108-1 / 978-1-59021-108-3
Contents
Fuckcub and Bruce by Thom Wolf
The Hired Hand by Skip Brushaber
Four Times in Room 230 by Daniel M. Jaffe
Overland Jim by Trevor J. Callahan, Jr.
A Bear in August by Eric Karnowski
Jack and the Bus Bears by Bob Hay
Jefferson Head by Karl von Uhl
Really Hairy Jesus by R. E. Neu
Honey
David Bergman
As the summer began, Matt spent the mornings on the deck of his parents’ house, checking his e-mail on the laptop and drinking a couple of cups of coffee before he would pull out a book and begin to study for his bar exams. He’d stretch out with his books to review Evidence, his yellow highlighter in his hand, and hope to study. It wasn’t easy. After three years of nonstop cramming, he was bored with the law. All he wanted was to feel the ever-more-intense sun pour down on him, turning his shaggy legs a deep brown dusted with gold. He wanted to feel a river of sweat run down the runnels of his stomach from the high plains of his chest, to bake the dough between his legs until it was a hard loaf ready for eating.
But what made the studying even harder were the two guys — Steve and Joe — who had bought the house beside his parents. In their late thirties or early forties, they conveyed the confidence and power of mature men — not the boyish uncertainty of Matt’s ex-lover whom he had left that last semester of law school. He was sick of boys who didn’t know what they wanted to do with their lives or in bed, and he saw in his neighbors — as they worked in their yard or sat around laughing with their friends — men who had purpose in their lives as well as a deep capacity for pleasure. He could see them now behind the glass doors that led to their kitchen, half dressed at breakfast. Joe was dark, Italian, his squat body thick with muscle; Steve was taller and thinner — but no less hairy — and his bristling legs were balanced by his full beard. Steve had the grace of a runner, and Matt had seen him early in the morning jogging through the empty streets, his powerful legs launching his body forward. Matt tried to figure out which of them he desired more, but he couldn’t tell. They entered his dreams together and alone almost every night.
He tried to get to know them but they seemed remote. He’d smile and wave to them from the deck if they went into the backyard, and they’d call hello back to him, but that was all. Matt understood. It was a conservative neighborhood, and the last thing they needed was a reputation for ogling college kids home for the summer, although Matt wasn’t a kid any more. Once Joe had brought over a letter for Matt that had been wrongly delivered to their address. Matt had invited him inside, but Joe declined. “I’m filthy,” he had explained, “we’ve been working in the house.”
“I’ve noticed,” Matt replied. “The place was going downhill ever since Mr. Reynolds died and Mrs. Reynolds had to take care of it herself.”
“Yup, there’s a lot to do to put it back in shape, and of course, Steve and I want to make some changes.”
“I guess you would,” Matt answered, smiling, his dick lurching beneath his pants. But Joe didn’t seem to notice.
“I’d better go clean up. We’re going out tonight.” Smiling, Joe ambled off, the rounded cheeks of his ass tight against the jeans. The sight of where the pants rode down exposing a trail of hair rising from his ass cheeks had been so exquisite that Matt jacked off twice in quick secession thinking about that one image.
In the midst of reading again about hearsay exceptions, Matt decided that the project of the summer was not passing the bar, but luring one, or preferably both, of his neighbors into bed. As the days went on he began wearing tiny shorts, then a Speedo. He started to work out outside. But nothing seemed to move Steve and Joe from the polite but distant attitude they had adopted.
One weekend, Matt’s parents decided to visit their aunt in the mountains. “Good,” he told them, “that will give me more time to study contracts.”
“All this studying can’t be good for you,” his father said. “You need a bit of fun.”
“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’ll have fun once I pass the bar.”
With his parents out of the house, Matt had one more idea of how to break the ice. He asked himself: What is the one thing bears cannot resist? And the answer was simple — honey. He’d lure them with honey. He decided to go all out. At a gourmet shop, he found a whole shelf of different sorts of honey. There was honey from Maine, honey from the desert, honey from France and Australia. Some were a warm brown, others reddish. One bottle from Peruvian bees raised in a field of chrysanthemums was nearly yellow. There was Lavender honey from Spain and yellow star thistle honey made, as the bottle said, “from a vibrant Northern California wildflower.” Matt bought all of them.
On Saturday morning as Steve and Joe carried out a ladder in order to scrape the peeling paint on the eaves of the house, Matt brought out his collection of honey and began slathering it on a thin piece of toast. He watched as the honey, which clung to his knife, absorbed the morning light and glowed suspended like a small sun.
“Hey there,” Steve called out to him.
“Hi,” Matt answered, trying to hide the excitement in his voice and in his gym shorts — not that he wanted to be subtle — he just didn’t want to appear too naïve.
“Nice breakfast you got there,” Steve said holding on to the ladder, on whose rungs his long muscular legs looked particularly graceful.
“Honey on toast is my favorite.”
“Forget the toast. Joe and I sometimes eat it straight from the jar.”
“Come over and try some with me. This jar is from New Mexico, made by bees who only gathered pollen from desert plants. It has a really pungent flavor.”
“Let me just tell Joe where I’m going.” He stepped down from the ladder and into the house and was out in a minute. Reaching for the crossbar of the fence that separated the backyards, he hoisted himself in one graceful action over the fence. Matt was astonished by the ease of Steve’s movements. In a second Steve was on the deck, his hand stretched out. “Hi. I’m Steve. I don’t think we’ve really been introduced.”
“I guess not. I’m Matt.”
“I know. We got a letter that was sent to you. Joe brought it over. Wow! Look at all this honey!” And Steve began lifting jar after jar, reading the labels. His green eyes squinted slightly in the sun. Matt took them in and the slightly crooked nose between them. “You must be a honey fanatic,” Steve said.
“No, not really, I just like to taste different things.”
“I bet you do.” And for the first time, Matt got the sense that his own desires had been communicated to the hairy hunk beside him.
“Gourmet honey? Did I hear right?” Joe was standing just below the deck. Matt could see the little circle where his hair was thinning, but what attracted him more were the thick arms drizzled with fur.
“That’s right — honeys from around the world.”
“Let me get some more toast,” Matt said, “and we can have a feeding frenzy.”
“Sounds good to me,” Joe answered.
In a short while, the three were sitting around the table on Matt’s deck. Several jars had been opened. As Matt was explaining what he was doing home that summer, a large globule of honey dripped from his knife and landed in his belly button. “What a mess I’m making!” he exclaimed.
“No harm done,” replied Joe, and he stuck his finger into Matt’s belly button. “Tastes better that way.”
“Yeah,” said Steve, “I always liked sloppy seconds.” Then he put his own finger in the hole and wiggled it around to get every drop. “We like it when it fills those unexpected nooks and crannies.”
“Well, where else should I drip it?” Matt asked provocatively.
“Joe and I have been thinking for a while that we’d like to roll your whole body in honey and lick it off.”
“That sounds a bit sticky. How about if I just drip a little here?” and he pulled down his gym shorts to reveal his hard thick prick and heaped a teaspoon of honey on it.
“I think it would need to be cleaned off,” replied Joe, who knelt down, and put the dripping prick in his mouth.
Steve stood up, dipped his fingers in one of the honey pots and then began to play with Matt’s tits, which immediately became hard at the sweet assault. Then Steve bent down and began to suck the nipple, playing with it as though it were a brown berry that needed plucking with his teeth. Matt moaned at the dual action. He reach out to stroke the mass that had formed in Steve’s jeans. It was enormous, and when he finally loosened it from the denim, he gasped with delight — for it was not only long and would have been longer if didn’t veer to the right, but wonderfully thick, a torpedo gone astray. Matt reached for one of the jars and then, pulling Steve’s cock down, shoved the shaft into the jar. Steve’s yowl of pain turned into a sigh of pleasure as the young man swallowed his arching menace.
Steve sat back on the table to give Matt full access to his cock. He could see the young man was swallowing hard to make room for his dick and the sweet jelly that surrounded it.
Joe pulled the chair out from beneath Matt so that Matt crouched over as he serviced Steve. Matt’s wonderful fuzzy blond ass bubbled up. “Now I’ve got something I really want to taste,” Joe said, and he poured honey down Matt’s crack and licked it off. Matt felt the bristles of Joe’s beard moving between the hard cheeks, and then the hot tongue entering his hole. For a second he didn’t know what was sweeter — the taste of the cock in his mouth or the tongue in his ass. And then it occurred to him, there was something more than a tongue he wanted up there — he wanted that honeycomb of a cock — he wanted Joe’s stinger in him.
But Joe had gotten the idea long before Matt had, and he had come prepared. After lubricating the young man with even more honey — a big squirt from the plastic bear container straight into the hole — and dribbling more on his condom, Joe pressed his cock against Matt’s ass. It was tight all right. It had been weeks since anything had gone up it and never anything quite so thick. For Joe’s cock — which wasn’t long at all — had a head like a child’s fist. But the honey eased it in like sap in a maple. The hydraulics were just right. Matt was pistoned, his arms holding tight to the table to steady him.
Steve raised his legs, wrapped them around Matt’s shoulders and leaned back on the table. Matt lifted his legs still further back, those wonderful runner’s legs, long, elegant and forceful. Steve’s hole rose up like a winking eye. “Here,” he said and handed Matt the plastic bear bottle that Joe had used on his ass. One good squeeze and his crack was glistening. Those pursed lips of his ass opened, hungry for honey. If the anus had a tongue, Matt thought, it would have licked those moistened chops.
Matt’s cock had never been so hard, what with the pounding he was getting from behind and the incredible sight of Steve’s ass waiting before him. Joe reached in front, and with his sticky hands carefully unrolled a rubber over Matt’s cock. “Give it to me,” Steve growled, and with Joe pushing behind Matt entered Steve with a quick thrust. It was delicious in there. Warm, juicy, a hive of nerve-endings. Matt felt his whole body buzzing. He wasn’t going to last too long, not after having waited so many weeks to meet them. He let out a great “Arrgh!” of ecstasy, pumping his own creamy honey into the man in front of him, who, without touching himself, shot his own load against Matt’s chest. It wasn’t long until Joe let loose his own hot stream, and then they fell into a sticky lump on the deck floor, virtually stuck to one another with sweat, cum, and honey.
There they would have lain all day, except the flies and the mosquitoes got wind of it.
“We’d better go in and get cleaned off,” Matt said.
“Well we’d better go in, at least. But bring the honey,” Steve replied. “There are a few things I haven’t tasted yet, and I’ve got a big appetite.” Matt knew that this wasn’t a case of Steve’s eyes being bigger than his stomach, or even of another part of his anatomy.
Luckily, honey is easy to get out of sheets, although it’s hard to explain to mothers how it gets there, especially when the honey glues hairs of all different colors and textures.
That summer, honey flew from the shelves of the supermarkets nearby. Local grocers looked through the pages of the food magazines to see if they had missed some new cooking trend. But they couldn’t find any. It was just some marketing aberration, they decided, or maybe, as one clerk joked, bears had moved into the neighborhood.
David Bergman is the author or editor of more than a dozen books, including Gaiety Transfigured. He is a three-time Lambda Prize finalist for editing the Men on Men series. His most recent book of poetry is Heroic Measures. With Joan Larkin, he edits the book series Living Out: Gay & Lesbian Autobiography for The University of Wisconsin Press.
Fuckcub and Bruce
Thom Wolf
I woke up on Sunday morning with a bad head and a sore asshole. I couldn’t even open my eyes at first. I reached across the bed hunting for the guy I had brought home from the club. My fingers slithered across an empty space. He was gone. Bastard! He must have crept out while I was unconscious.
Then the telephone started to ring.
Shit!
I forced my eyes open. It took a moment for my vision to focus on the bedside clock. It was eleven-thirty. The phone continued ringing. My headache was getting worse. I grabbed the receiver just so the noise would stop.
“Yeah,” I grumbled.
“Good morning, Fuckcub. Another Sunday morning hangover?”
It was Bruce. I immediately perked up at the sound of his big gravelly voice.
“It’s nothing I’m not used to.” I grabbed the packet of cigarettes from beside the phone, stuck one between my dry lips and lit it with the lighter Bruce had given me last birthday along with a thick leather cockstrap. I inhaled and then coughed.
“I saw this movie the other night,” Bruce said. “It was a Spanish film, subtitled. A woman shoved a handkerchief up her lover’s ass.”
I already had an early morning hard-on. The sound of Bruce’s voice caused it to throb. “Why did she do that?”
“It turned the guy on. She tugged it out when he blew his wad. How about it?”
I laughed. “Bruce, I can think of better things to stick up my ass than a handkerchief.”
“I was hoping you would say that. I’ve got a big hard boner throbbing in my lap right now and nowhere to stick it.”
“Where’s Dean?”
“He’s not here. He won’t be back until tomorrow night.”
Bruce only ever called me when Dean was out of town. “So you want me to just drop everything and come running over?”
“Uh-huh.”
I sucked in more smoke. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
I hung up and swung my legs out of bed. I felt a sudden rush to my head when I tried to stand up. I steadied myself against the pine wardrobe and waited for the dizzy spell to pass, sucking on the cigarette for support. After a moment my head cleared. I flung back the curtains and opened the window on a gray drizzly day. The bedroom stank of smoke, sweat, and stale spunk. There was a used condom on the floor beside the bed; it had fallen just short of the wastebasket. Apart from my aching asshole, it was the only remaining evidence that I had not been alone last night.
I picked up the used sheath and balled it up in tissue. I wandered down to the kitchen, naked, guided by the hard lance of my cock. I threw the spunk-heavy rubber into the trash and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. My thirst was almost unquenchable; I downed the bottle of water in one.
My cock jerked, the wet head smacking against my belly. I slid my hand over the long shaft, curling my palm over the cut head. I was a complete mug when it came to Bruce. He used my ass like a public convenience when there was nothing else around. But I was crazy about the bastard. I would drop anything for the chance of a few hours alone with him; tongue-bathing his balls, riding high on his big cock. He knew I would, too.
I went up to the bathroom and winced at the sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror. I felt like shit and I looked even worse. The consequence of a hard night of sex, drugs, and booze was all too evident in my face. I’m only twenty-eight, but in the cruel light of day, I looked a good ten years older. My stubble was starting to look scruffy too. What was it now? Four days’ growth? My deep blue eyes were ringed with even deeper black circles.
Fuck!
There was nothing I could do about the black rings — sleep was the only cure for those — but the rest of my appearance I could deal with. I got into the shower and turned the jets up to full power. I washed my hair first; although it was cut short, it still stank with the sweat and smoke of the club the night before. I squeezed a glob of shampoo into my bushy pubes and lathered up my stomach and chest hair too.
After five minutes in the shower I had cleansed my body from head to toe, taking extra care with my cock and balls and especially around my sore asshole. The hair around my hole was matted with lube. After rinsing out my nipple and navel rings, I started to feel half-human.
After stepping out of the shower and drying myself off I decided not to bother shaving. I had a heavy growth but what the fuck — Bruce liked that kind of thing. I gave my teeth a good scrub to get the taste of booze and cum off my breath.
Bruce and I had been fucking around on and off for about three years. We were introduced at a party by a mutual friend. We got it on together that very first night along with Bruce’s long-term lover, Dean. The two of them had been an item for about six years. After that first threesome, Bruce and I stayed in touch. It wasn’t long before we started fucking around. Dean knew all about us though I hadn’t screwed around with him again after that first time.
Bruce and Dean had the very model of a “daddy/boy” relationship. Bruce is 42 and two inches over six feet tall with a big, brawny frame and a dominating personality. Dean is ten years younger with a stocky, buff body and a pretty, boyish face. He’s a handsome little fucker and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of him. He’s got the perkiest little ass I’ve ever seen. All tight and hairy. It’s the tastiest ass I’ve ever eaten out.
But it was always Bruce that got me horny, with his big, tattooed shoulders and mountainous pecs. Bruce has a body of pure muscle with a tight pelt of dark blond hair that goes from his neck all the way down to his toes. I love cuddling up against his big body. He’s got a heavy eight-inch cock and a virility that I have never seen equaled even in much younger men. When he gets that big cock going he doesn’t stop; even after two or three orgasms he can still keep that fat baby hard and ready for more.
My ass is capable of taking a good pounding, and I have had cocks even bigger than Bruce’s in there, but none quite so satisfying. With that fat monster in my ass and my face pressed against his hairy chest I’m in seventh-fucking-heaven.
My own cock is a more modest six-and-a-half inches but I have a very nice set of low-hanging balls. Once I was dried off, I hooked a black leather strap around the base of my cock and under my balls. I fastened it tight. My whole package jutted forward from my body. My piss-lips were dripping. My excitement for Bruce had already banished my hangover.
Bruce was a simple guy with simple tastes. He liked cock, he liked ass, and he liked to put his cock in my ass. There was no need to dress up in leather or fetish gear for a fuck session with Bruce. I stepped into a faded old jock and hitched it up over my dripping basket. The washed out cotton stretched over the hard curve of my cock, my pubes curled over the waistband. After that, all I had to do was pull on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. I was ready.
Bruce always had poppers but I grabbed a bottle from my bedside cabinet before leaving. I also had a present for him, a big fat Cuban cigar that I’d been saving especially for my favorite daddy.
My guts were already churning with excitement. It had been about six weeks since the last time I had seen him. Not that I had been lacking in the sex department in all that time. Bruce was only one of several guys who serviced my hole on a regular basis and there was always plenty of casual trade around when I wanted it. On the whole, I preferred to fuck around with guys that I knew well. Casual sex could be pretty damn hot but it is even more exciting giving up your butt to a guy who knows exactly how to work it and just what it takes to get you off.
Bruce was leader of my little gang of daddies. Though I loved each of my masculine men in quite different and unique ways, Bruce was by far my favorite. It wasn’t just sex either, though he was the best. He was the only man that I was interested in further. I wanted to get past the sex and have a deeper, more meaningful relationship with him. Little chance of that with Dean around. Despite my many talents, I just couldn’t compete with that handsome little fucker.
The drive from my three-bedroom house in the suburbs to the hillside cottage that Bruce shared with Dean was a short one. In good traffic, it was less than twenty minutes. As I steered my car down the long road to their drive, my excitable heart started to beat even faster.
I was so fucking horny. You would think that I hadn’t had my rocks off in months, let alone less than six hours ago.
It was absolutely pissing down when I parked up behind Bruce’s huge Range Rover. My breath quickened as I pelted through the rain and climbed the steps to the wooden porch. The front door was open. Kylie Minogue’s sublime Light Years album was blasting inside. I had bought it for Bruce as a present on my last vacation to England.
It was a decent size cottage. I shook myself off in the hallway and walked through the open door into the living room. Bruce was stretched out on the couch, flipping through the pages of some European skin-mag. A pair of tight blue trunks caressed his trim hips. His steely blue eyes glanced up from the magazine as I entered.
My cock leapt at the sight of him. Bruce is one good-looking bastard — handsome in a roughish lived-in fashion. His body is big and lean with long, sweeping curves of bulky muscle. His skin, beneath its pelt of dark blond hair, is baked brown by working outside so much. His blond crewcut is heavily peppered with gray and the deep lines of maturity that are etched around the corners of his eyes and mouth only enhance his masculine beauty. He used to have a thick mustache but recently ditched that in favor of permanent, very sexy stubble.
I sat down on the arm of the couch and kissed his bare feet, slavering my tongue over his long toes.
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said.
I wriggled my tongue between the toes, tasting his salty sweat. “I couldn’t wait. It’s been too long.”
“Do you want a beer?”
“No,” I said. “There’s only one kind of refreshment that I need.”
“Then I won’t deny you any longer.”
Bruce stuck his thumbs down the front of his shorts and hitched them down. His long, veiny cock slapped back against his belly. I dragged his shorts down his thick hairy limbs and tossed them aside. Then I kissed a slow trail up from his toes, over his ankles, calves, knees, toward his groin. I rose lazily over his taut thighs, the thick blond hair rasping beneath my tongue, moving from the outside in. After weeks of waiting for this exact moment, I was delaying it even further. I traced the line of his inner thigh until I finally reached the bulging sac that hung down low between his legs.
Bruce has a thick seam that runs from the tip of his cock all the way down the shaft, over his balls and into the dark cleft of his ass. I ran the tip of my tongue over the seam of his balls, feeling his heavy nuts hanging down on either side of my tongue. I slavered all over the loose fleshy purse, licking and nipping him gently. I sucked a big ball into my mouth, rolling it over my tongue, swirling round it. I spat it out and sucked in the other one. I had long ago realized that there was no way I could fit both of his big plums inside my mouth at once. I had to satisfy myself with one juicy nut at a time.
A loose hair tickled the back of my throat.
I followed the seam of skin higher, skirting along the underside of his heavy cock. The organ throbbed against my tongue. Bruce groaned softly as I reached the more sensitive skin near the top. The shaft leapt.
“Go on,” he said in his deep, gravelly tone. “Suck me off.”
I pressed my lips against the large, skinless head. A long stream of precum was already drooling from the tip. I stuck my tongue into the tiny piss-slit and devoured the salty juice.
Bruce’s cock is long and pale, and the bare head is a deep shade of pink, the same cast as the skin of his balls. I swirled my tongue around the blunt tip, coating him in a sticky mix of my saliva and his own juice. The pink head glistened like a crown jewel.
“Come on, Fuckcub.” He always called me that. “You know what I like.”
I did know what he liked. Bruce liked me to deep-throat his cock. He claimed that not many men were ever able to take him all the way down to the root. Apparently even Dean had trouble accommodating his lover. For me it wasn’t a problem. I can swallow any man, whatever size, all the way down to his nuts.
I opened my mouth over the fleshy pink crown, took a deep breath, and then swallowed the entire shaft of Bruce’s cock. His blunt head slid right to the back of my throat. His hairy nut-sac pressed against my chin and I stuffed my nose into his bushy pubic nest. The thick blond curls were damp with sweat. I inhaled his savory scent, sucking air past the monstrous obstruction in my throat.
Bruce let out a deep, chesty groan to show how happy he was with my achievement. His big shovel-hands were on the back of my head and he shoved my face deeper into his groin.
“Go on, Fuckcub, choke on that big fat fucker!” He humped upward, forcing his cock deeper into my throat.
My jaw ached. I dug my fingers into the hard flesh of his thighs but he would not loosen his hold on the back of my head. I knew now that he wouldn’t let me go until he had what he wanted. It was the one thing that I was capable of giving that no other guy could.
I worked the muscles in my throat, tightening the already constricted passage around his thick tool. He grunted, groaned, jerked his hips. I swallowed, milking his cock with my tender throat. He thickened. I knew he couldn’t last against the tightness and friction of my gullet.
His cock jerked violently against the delicate walls.
“Oh yeah, here it comes, Fuckcub. Here it comes!”
He locked his hands fast around the back of my head and pushed my face down even deeper. I felt the warm jet pulse against the lining of my throat as he filled me with spurt after spurt of potent spunk. I swallowed instinctively, his warmth flooding my stomach. My jaw ached as it stretched further around his increasingly thick cock.
When he was done he slumped back into the couch and slowly released his grip on the back of my head. I eased up carefully, withdrawing his cock from the deep recesses of my throat. His cock still drooled spunk across my tongue as he pulled away. He was still hard. I knew he would be. That wonderful piece of meat would be good for another orgasm or two before softening like other men.
“Are you horny, Fuckcub?” He sat back, his wet dick leaning against his hairy belly, matting his fur, a satisfied grin on his broad lips.
“I’m always horny for you,” I said, swallowing painfully. “I want your cock.”
Bruce laughed. “Don’t you get enough?”
“Not like this,” I said, wrapping my fist around the soaking rod. I squeezed a big drop of cum up from his tube and gobbled it up.
I stood up and dragged my tight white T-shirt over my head. This is where I knew I had the edge on Dean. My main rival for Bruce might have had a prettier face than me but I had by far the better body. Dean is stocky with thick compact muscle and huge hard tits. I’m much longer and leaner, my torso is cut with smooth, graceful lines of muscle. A thick mat of hair runs down over my chest and stomach. I ran a slow hand up over my flat belly and brushed my palm lightly against my nipple piercing.
Bruce smiled. “Take it all off.”
He watched me strip down to the old jockstrap. I threw my jeans over the back of a chair. Bruce’s cool eyes looked me slowly up and down.