Date: Sat, 20 Dec 2008 17:19:29 -0800
From: Oregon Bear <oregonbear9@gmail.com>
Subject: Under the Mistletoe

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