Date: Fri, 13 Jan 2012 07:13:39 -1000
From: Oregon Bear <oregonbear9@gmail.com>
Subject: A Dark and Stormy Night

This story contains descriptions of adult male gay sex.  If you are
offended by this content or it illegal for you to view this site, please
leave.

			  A Dark and Stormy Night

	We met at the little cafe at the center of the village, just after
dawn on that dark winter's day.  We'd talked a lot on the phone and
collaborated together on the grant proposal and the survey we had wanted to
do on the sand spit between the ocean and the bay.

	Tim and I had met each other about ten years ago at a conference,
yet our respect for each other's expertise in the field had been
established several years before that, as we had read each other's research
papers, and then began commenting on our respective papers and research.

	Still, this was the first time we were actually going to work
together in the field, surveying the bird life, gathering the data we
needed to carry out the grant proposal that had finally been funded last
month.  We had a number of hypotheses and needed to get the field research
done in order to do the statistics, the analysis, and the writing of the
three papers that would come out of the grant and all of our work.

	I found Tim in the back booth, coffee mug in hand, and a day pack,
rain coat, and a worn pair of binoculars sitting on the scarred, wooden
table.  The waitress caught my eye and I just nodded.  Coffee at this time
of the morning was just a given, especially as the latest squall of
sideways rain and wind rattled the door of the cafe.  The latest gust of
wind off the ocean tried to break the door off of its hinges, so I leaned
into it with my shoulder, shoving the door shut against the storm moving
fast off the coast, pushing hard against the mountains.

	January.  That said it all.  The height of the winter storm season.
We didn't get snow this low and being next to the beach, well, except for a
couple of days when the Arctic blast moved south of Seattle and swirled
around a front just west of the beach, the few times when the beach turned
white with snow and the pass to Portland turned into a sheet of ice.

	This one, though, was warm enough that all that moisture just fell
as rain, raising the river levels a couple of feet in a few hours, and
driving even the hardiest fishermen off the ocean and into a snug harbor,
where there was cold beer and good conversation in all of the local bars.

	Tim and I, though, were the exception.  Everyone else would be
hunkering down in their houses, or hanging out at the cafes most of the
day, sipping coffee and telling stories, or finding an excuse to mosey on
home and spend the afternoon making love and getting drunk on the lower
half of a bottle of hooch.

	We were the mad scientists, though, and this weather was actually
part of the research we needed to do, to study wildlife and how all the
birds handled sideways rain and the occasional gust of 70 mph winds.

	We'd come to like each other a lot over the last couple of years.
We had the same scientific mind, and often exchanged long e mails
critiquing each other's research and journal articles, and sending each
other our recent favorites we'd found from other experts in our field.  Tim
had a sharp mind, and a wry sense of humor, and he'd begun sharing his dry
assessment of our less astute and egg-headed colleagues.

	Tim kept his personal life pretty well under wraps, though, and he
had just recently told me that he was single, and wasn't tied down to any
family obligations.  I'm a pretty private guy myself, and my last lover
moved out last summer, leaving me a bit lonely, yet relieved at being done
with a dead love life with someone who'd been cheating on me.  At least
he'd had the decency to leave me with a few bottles of single malt as a
good bye.

	We'd rented a cabin for the two weeks, just out of town.  It had a
wood stove, and a big living room overlooking the bay, a perfect place for
us to spread out our paperwork and collaborate on the research project.  We
had two weeks here, just the two of us.  Plenty of time to tramp around the
sand spit, the ocean beach, and the mud flats along the bay, making our
observations, and doing the leg work we needed.

	The evenings and the days when the wind howled the loudest would
find us working together next to the woodstove, our laptops and notebooks,
and the dozen reference books I'd boxed up, strewn around the big planked
table in the center of the room.  Some of the folks at the university felt
sorry for me, having to spend two weeks in the dead of winter, trudging
through the storms and sand, spending my time in a dead little fishing
town.

	Me, I thought it was heaven.  The work was a pleasure, and I loved
the feel of the ocean spray against my face, the wind and salt spray
whipping through my beard, and working with a guy who had a gifted brain
and a great sense of humor about our work, and about life.  Besides, we
both liked the same brand of Scotch, and we'd been e-mailing our thoughts
about how much Scotch it would take to make it through the project.
Research materials, we called it.

	After we'd drained the first mug of coffee, the waitress returned
with a fresh pot, and we ordered breakfast.  No sense rushing off to the
sand spit, without a full belly and not enough coffee.  Besides, the storm
was getting a bit stronger, and any bird in his right mind would be
hunkered down in the brush until the winds eased off a bit.

	We caught up on the details of our prep work, and planned out our
two weeks.  It was like a vacation for both of us.  No meetings, no
conference calls, not even any e mails.  We'd made sure that our staffs
thought that we were going to be in the boonies and didn't have internet
service at the cabin.  That wasn't true, but we weren't going to enlighten
them.  We both needed a break in the routine of our lives, and the ability
to really get away and do some real work for a change.

	After the waitress took away our now empty plates, the storm calmed
a bit, and you could actually see more than a hundred yards down the beach.
It was time to take our first hike down the spit, and start our research.

	Tim grinned at the thought, his smile splitting his newly bearded
face.  He'd worn a moustache during the last few years, but now, he hadn't
shaved for a couple of days and the stubble across his chin and across his
jaw and cheeks was a nice salt and pepper of thickening stubble.

	"Thought I'd give it a try," he said, when I mentioned his start of
a beard.  "I like how your beard looks, and well, we have two weeks.
Didn't think you'd mind being around me, all stubble faced and scraggly."

	"Not at all, Tim," I replied.  "I like beards.  I've had mine since
my college days.  They come in handy during winter storms, too.  Keeps my
face a bit warmer," I chuckled.

	Tim laughed, too, his laugh resonating deep in his thick chest and
his belly.

	I couldn't help but taking a good look at him, this morning, as he
drained the last gulp of java out of his mug.  Below the salt and pepper
whiskers that were starting to thicken across his jaw and chin, and down to
his Adam's apple, there was a nice thicket of chest hair poking out of the
top of his thermal undershirt and his plaid flannel shirt.  My lust
wondered a bit about how thick his fur was across his broad chest, and if
there was a nice thick trail of fur leading down to his crotch.

	My cock swelled a bit at the thought, my mind now wondering if his
cock was cut or not, and if Tim's chest hair was more gray than black, and
how sensitive his nipples were to a bit of tonguing and tugging.

	We'd never really talked much about our sexual preferences.  Tim
was pretty quiet about his past lovers, and I wasn't really sure if he was
straight or gay.  About a year ago, I'd mentioned to Tim that I was gay,
and he didn't seem to get excited about that, like a lot of people I know.

	Not that I was looking.  My last lover had left me with a pretty
open wound in my heart, and I was feeling that I was just now starting to
feel I could move on a bit, and maybe even think about dating.  Not that
there was a long line waiting to ask me out.  Still, if someone wanted to
pick me up sometime, I'd probably say yes, just to be able to feel I was
alive again.  My cock always seemed to not be able to refuse a good blow
job, or an evening greased up and sliding into a wet hole between a nice
set of hard butt cheeks.

	We drained the coffee from our bladders in the bathroom, paid the
waitress at the register, and headed off down to the parking lot at the
base of the spit.  Our rigs were loaded with our gear for the trip, as well
as the food we'd bought for two weeks at the cabin.  Except for the
breakfasts at the cafe, eating out was pretty hit and miss around here.
Besides, Tim said he likes to cook and dinner would be his specialty for
the time we were here.  That fit in well with our desire to experiment with
Scotch.

	The day passed quickly, as we hiked down to the end of the spit,
four miles in soft, wet sand.  We ate our lunch of granola bars and jerky
overlooking the mouth of the bay, and then headed back on the bay side,
finding the deer trails through the marsh grass, brush, and scrubby beach
pines, until we hit the parking lot about half an hour before dusk.

	The rain had turned to showers, but we were a sodden mess by the
time we reached our pickups, what with the rain, tramping through the wet
brush and trees, and working up a good sweat.  We'd taken turns leading on
our hike, and I'd found myself admiring Tim's tight butt through his rain
pants, thinking about all that hair and sweat in his crotch, my cock
swelling a bit with my fantasies of getting to know Tim a whole lot better.

	I didn't have these thoughts a few months ago, when we'd stayed at
the cabin for a long weekend, hammering out the final draft of our grant
application, and doing a bit of field work, as part of the application.
Tim had shown off his culinary skills and we'd had a good talk about our
lives, as we had worked on a bottle of Scotch and sat in the hot tub out on
the deck.  Tim played his guitar a bit and sang some mournful and lonely
country songs.  They were the songs I'd wanted to hear and sing, too, so we
had had a good time together.

	As the light dimmed, and the western sky turned red, warning of yet
another front ready to roll through during the night, we stowed our day
packs and binoculars and notebooks, and caravanned to the cabin, with
promises of a good stiff drink, a dip in the hot tub, and dry clothes.

	In a few minutes, we had unloaded all of our gear, and the supplies
for our two weeks in our cabin.  It was time to unwind and warm up.

	I started a fire in the woodstove, as Tim mixed our drinks.  As I
shut the cast iron door after the fire got going, I looked over to Tim,
busy stripping off his shirt and undershirt, exposing his deeply furred
chest and belly.  Pinkish nipples poked through thick tufts of fur swirling
around his areoles and the thicker pelt in the center of his chest.  The
smell of his day's sweat wafted through the cabin, his armpits musky and
dank, the damp hair glinting in the fading light of the day.

	He slid his belt open and dropped his pants and shorts, tossing
them across the couch, his cock dancing a bit in the midst of a thick patch
of fur, his large balls dangling underneath his uncut meat.

	"Time's a wasting, my friend," Tim chuckled.  "I've been thinking
about the hot tub all day."

	It didn't take me long to join in Tim's choice of dress for the hot
tub, and in two minutes, we were neck deep and bare assed in the hot tub,
our tumblers of Scotch and soda lined up on the deck, close at hand.

	It was pitch black outside, the only lights being the occasional
flash of the lighthouse beacon about eight miles up the coast, its white
beam barely lighting up a few of the low clouds that were moving in.  A dim
light shined out of the living room, giving me enough light to see the
glint of the drops of water in Tim's stubbly face, after he had sunk under
water for a bit, when he first got in.  I'd been able to catch his bare ass
cheeks and his large, furry ball sack in the light, before he slid into the
tub, ahead of me.  My cock, despite the long day, swelled a bit at the
sight of all that furry muscle and hairy balls, needing to be cupped and
played with a bit, in my hot, horny hands.

	Soon, we were soaking up the heat of the water, and the heat of the
first few sips of Scotch that hit our empty bellies.  Our tired leg and
back muscles relaxed a bit in the heat and the massage of the water jets,
chasing away the chill of the long day's hike.

	"Two weeks of this. Hope we can take it," Tim chuckled.  "No
meetings, no phones, no obligations, except hiking the spit and taking
notes."

	"Sounds good to me," I said.  "This is the life."

	We sat there in the silence, letting the heat penetrate every
muscle and feeling the Scotch unwind whatever tensions of our work life
back in the city had remained.

	"I'm looking forward to getting to know you a lot better in the
next two weeks," Tim said, his voice quiet against the roar of the surf
crashing into the base of the cliff.  "We work together well, but, well,
I'd like to be real friends."

	I nodded, his words catching me off guard.  I wasn't expecting him
to go so deep, and to tell me what he's wanting.  Men don't do that, I
thought.  At least not in this profession.  We are supposed to keep it on a
professional, scientific level.  Real friendship in academia and research
is pretty rare.  At least for me.  I really hadn't found anyone in our work
who I could call a real friend.

	We talked then, a lot, about what friends are, and how hard it is
to have real friendships.  And, how lonely we'd both been, over the years,
as we worked our way up in the academic hierarchies, maneuvering through
the politics and intrigues, and rivalries that seem to be inherent in our
world.

	Perhaps the Scotch helped, and when we'd finished the second round,
Tim began to tell me about his love life, his marriage to his high school
sweetheart, their divorce, and his struggle to start dating, in his mid
thirties.

	He asked me about what it was like to be gay, and work as a gay man
in a university where people claimed to be liberal and open minded, yet
were quick to condemn and ostracize a person for their sexuality, for their
vulnerability.  We'd both seen fellow professionals open up, to be frank
about their vulnerabilities, their experiences in life, their wisdom, only
to see the vultures circle and rip out their hearts.

	Real men didn't talk about their weaknesses, their doubts, their
real desires.  At least, that was the lesson that kept getting taught,
again and again, in our institutions of inquisitiveness, of higher
learning.

	He wondered about how a gay man makes love, how they love another
man.  In the near darkness of the evening, and being bare assed naked
sitting on the edge of the hot tub, steam rising off of our backs and furry
chests, and furry faces, we talked about love, and sex, and being a lover.
And, what we really wanted in love.

	It wasn't all about the touching, the orgasms.  It was deeper,
wanting our real self to be honored, to be celebrated.  To be trusted, and
supported, as each of us could take the time to really see who we are, and
who we wanted to become in our lives.  And, to not be afraid to take that
journey, or go it alone along that path.

	I told him of the sadness and drama of breaking off a dead
relationship, and how that had made me a bitter, and too private of a guy,
hiding myself from some opportunities, well most opportunities for finding
love in my life, and really finding out who I am inside.

	Tim spoke, too, of loves lost, and loves that turned into sharp
spears thrust into his chest, when he was most vulnerable, and most in need
of just being loved for who he was.

	Warm now, we toweled off and went back inside, the woodstove doing
its job to heat up the cabin.  Our conversation had lowered the barriers
quite a bit between us.  We'd talk about anything now, our friendship and
our trust for each other gone to a new, deeper level.  I slipped on a pair
of sweat pants, dropping my towel and catching Tim take a long glance at my
cock.  He slipped on a pair of sweats, too, and, like me, didn't reach for
a shirt -- enough clothing for us now.

	Tim's muscular chest and well developed arms kept my eyes
entertained, the fur around his nipples and the long happy trail down his
belly keeping me interested in getting to know him a lot better on this
trip.

	Tim started cooking dinner, his strong biceps and thick, muscular
chest moving around the kitchen with a comfortable ease.  Soon, the smell
of broiled salmon, and home fries and onions filled the cabin, as I tossed
up a salad and opened a bottle of Pinot Gris.

	Our hot tub confessions had moved our friendship down the road, and
our conversation lightened up a bit, with stories of lust and sex, and
embarrassing moments with lovers.  We laughed about dates gone awry and
embarrassing moments in the heat of passion.

	The wind picked up strength after dinner, rattling the windows and
whistling down the stove pipe.  I added a few more chunks of wood, keeping
the living room nice and toasty.  The lights flickered a bit, then went
out, and I lit a kerosene lamp on the coffee table, giving the room a nice
golden light, which picked up the soft black and gray curls that splayed
across Tim's bare chest.

	I asked Tim if he'd ever made love with another man.  What the
heck.  It's where this conversation is headed, anyway.  And, it seemed like
he wanted to talk about that.

	"Well, one time, in college, after a lot of drinking one night.
There was a guy in my dorm, and he took me to his room.  We fooled around a
bit, but I was too drunk to really get it up," he said, blushing a bit and
looking out the window into the ink black night.

	"Did you like it?" I asked.

	There was a pause.  The wind was blowing the rain against the
window overlooking the ocean, and the wood stove cracked and popped a bit.
Probably time to throw another piece of wood on the fire.

	"Yeah, I did," Tim said.  "I'd always wanted to do something like
that, to try it out."

	We talked about Tim growing up in a church where gay sex and even
sex outside of marriage was looked at as mortal, eternal damnation sin.
Yet, several of the elders of the church cheated on their wives and one
minister was obviously bisexual.  Young women who became pregnant before
marriage were unceremoniously kicked out of the church, even though the
story of the Immaculate Conception and Mary being an unwed mother was a big
part of the annual Christmas pageant at Sunday School.

	All that contradiction and hypocrisy drove Tim out of his family's
church, despite the family and peer pressure to go to teen night and all
the other church functions, the center of social life in a small town for
most teenagers.

	Tim told me of his dating in high school, losing his virginity in
the back seat of his dad's car after the homecoming game.  Other kids
thought he was a big stud, and he ended up putting more than a few notches
in his belt before he finished high school and went off to college.

	Still, he liked guys, too, and sometimes got a hard on in the
locker room, or watching a porno with the guys at college, fantasizing a
bit about the studs in the movies, and wondering what it would be like to
be bedded by the porno studs, or a famous actor.

	All that brought a lot of shame and guilt into his life, making him
doubt who he was, and how big of a sinner he really was.

	After his marriage failed, Tim tried to get back into the dating
scene, but his heart really wasn't into it.  After ten years of marital
strife, and his wife's repeated affairs, the last one with another
professor in his department, Tim's heart wasn't quite into going back to
his role as the campus stud, or a guy who was going to play the field.

	"How do you deal with all the guilt and shame bullshit that's out
there?" he asked.  "I mean, is it just as screwed up for a gay guy as it is
for a straight guy, with all the dating games and crap out there?"

	I nodded, agreeing with him that other people put a lot of pressure
on a guy to be the macho stud, yet be the monogamous, hard working provider
for the family.

	"I don't have all the answers, either, Tim," I said.  "But, I'm old
enough now to not really give a hoot about what other people think I should
be doing in bed, or who I'm doing it with."

	"Besides, it's really not anyone's business who I sleep with, or
what gets me off, when I'm with someone."

	Tim nodded, agreeing with my to the point view of politicians and
gossipers and people who spend a lot of time passing judgement on someone
else's sex life.

	"We're scientists, Tim, and sex is as much about biology as
anything in our lives.  It's a basic part of who we are.  Our hormones, and
our basic drive to find intimacy and be sexual with someone is just basic
biology.  We really are living to have sex with each other.  It's about as
primal as you can get," I added.

	"So, any money I spend on my sex life is really professional
development?" Tim joked.  "I need to tell that to my accountant."

	We both laughed, enjoying each other's company, and our ability to
bring any discussion back to our work.

	"So, maybe I can ask you to be part of my experiment," Tim asked,
his voice dropping to just barely a whisper.

	"And, what would that be, Mr. Professor?" I asked, noticing Tim
fidgeting with the string on his sweat pants.

	"I'd like you, uh, I'd like you to make love to me, so I can figure
all this sex stuff out.  I want to know who I really am, and what I'm
attracted to," Tim said.  "And, I trust you, Mike.  I know you'll help me
out with all this."

	I nodded, tears clouding my eyes, my heart reaching out to this
half naked guy who's just ripped open his chest and handed me his beating
heart.  I'd never had someone put all their emotions in my hands before,
and ask me to be a real lover to them.  My lust had been running at a good
pitch tonight, but Tim's request was deeper, more soulful.

	I wiped away the tear that had spilled out of my eye, catching in
my beard.  I choked a bit, my throat tight with the feelings Tim had
stirred up in me, feelings of trust, and openness, and compassion.

	"Yes.  Yes, I would.  And, that's going to be something new for me,
too, Tim," I said, as another tear, a tear of gratitude, and humility, and
trust, ran down my cheek.

	"This storm sounds like it's going to go all night and half way
into tomorrow.  That pretty much cancels out our field work, so we better
plan on working this experiment the rest of the evening and all day
tomorrow," I chuckled.

	Tim joined in, taking in a deep breath, filling his hard chest with
air and letting it out, laughing and chuckling with me.

	"We're scientists, right?" he said.  "So, we better make sure we
explore all the variables."

	I took Tim in my arms, pulling him off the couch in front of the
wood stove, feeling the strength in his bare shoulders, my hands feeling
the tightness underneath the light fur that covered his shoulders, his
musky nervous sweat in his armpits filling my nose with his odor.

	My own armpits were wet, too, with lust, and with excitement, and
nerves.

	"What if I screw this up", I thought.  "What if this turns out to
be a really bad one night stand, and we still have to work with each other
here for two more weeks.  What if...?"

	Tim's lips pushing into my moustache, and on my own lips
interrupted my thought, his hand running down my bare chest, stroking the
curly hair, and finding a nipple to caress.  He closed in on me, his groin
pushed tight against the cotton fleece of my sweat pants, his hardening
cock warm and stiff against my own cock.

	His other hand moved tight against my neck, running down my back,
pulling me even tighter against him, until our chest hair pressed tight,
until I could feel the dampness of his pecs, and the steady breath of his
lungs, and the beat of his heart.

	The room fell silent, except for the occasional wind gust and
patter of rain against the window.

	"Thanks," Tim breathed into my ear, his stubbly beard and thick
moustache intertwined with my beard, his nervous, lustful sweat strong in
my nose.

	We kissed then, and again.  Tim's tongue explored my moustache, my
lips, and danced with my own tongue.  I felt him grow harder, longer,
against my own groin, feeling his hardness and my blood fire bring my own
cock into life, my balls pulling up under my manhood, a bit of precum
oozing out of my cock head, dampening my sweat pants.

	Tim's hand found the knot in my waistband, string and slowly tugged
the knot open, until my pants slipped down across my butt, and hung on the
end of my cock, now nearly erect, throbbing with my hot blood.

	"Feel me, Tim," I whispered, my breath warm against his stubbly
jaw.

	His hand reached down, gripping the shaft of my manhood, his warmth
adding more fire to the lust that was building up in my balls, and the hot
sweat now dripping down my ribs from my armpits.

	My pants fell to the floor, the cool air of the cabin against the
skin of my butt cheeks and my furry balls.  I kicked the pants off my feet,
until I stood against my lover, naked, ready for what he was going to do
with me.

	Tim kissed me again, our moustaches meshing together, my nose
filled with the spicy musk of his sweat drenched armpits and the dampness
of his chest.  I reached down, feeling his hard cock and heavy balls
beneath the fabric of his pants, and the damp spot on his pants soaked by
what would be my first taste of his seed.

	I slid down his naked chest and belly, and the soft cotton of his
sweat pants, until my mouth found the outline of his hard cock pushing
against the crotch of his pants.  Hungrily, I took him into me, then, cloth
and cock, his salty precum on my tongue, the heat of his loins against my
nose and beard.

	Slowly, I stroked him with my lips, my tongue, wetting him with my
saliva, until most of his shaft was drenched with my lubrication.  My hands
grabbed onto his waistband, sliding his pants down his hard, muscled butt
and around his hard manhood and his balls, nestled deep within the thick,
musky fur of his groin, until he, too, was bare assed naked, and hard in my
mouth.

	I suckled him, then, slowly at first, taking my time playing the
corona of his cock, the slippery foreskin, and then the hard veined shaft
of his cock, until my lips and beard caught on the long, curly hairs of his
ball sack.

	Tim groaned, moaning my name, as I danced with him, playing my long
version of my love song on his cock, cupping his balls with one hand, as
the fingers on my other hand played the other part of my symphony on his
hardening, aching nipples.

	I pushed against the inside of one of his thighs, moving his legs
farther apart, so I could cup and finger his balls, tugging them a bit,
feeling his gonads rising higher, as he began rising to his climax, the
first one of this stormy evening.  His hard, hairy butt pushed harder
against me, adding another rhythm to our dance, until he finally yelled,
and the first long spurt of his seed filled my mouth, and dripped down my
beard onto my now sweating chest.

	We collapsed to the floor, in front of the woodstove, its heat
adding to the fire that we had started a few minutes ago, me wordlessly
fingering his now spent cock, and whispering his name.

	The storm outside would rage for several days, yet would never
equal the heights and surges inside our winter cabin retreat.

			--Oregon Bear, 1/12/12

oregonbear9@gmail.com