Date: Mon, 20 Aug 2001 10:45:08 -0700 (PDT)
From: fratbear <fratbear@excite.com>
Subject: "Sloan Cosgrove, Chapter 1 of 45"

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/