Date: Sun, 12 Apr 1998 12:50:33 +0100
From: Da Copper <Bear-Cop@justdoit.ndirect.co.uk>
Reply-To: Bear-Cop@justdoit.ndirect.co.uk
Organization: http://www.justdoit.ndirect.co.uk
Subject: Roughneck lust: M/M 

Roughneck Lust

It was time to hit the road; it had been a long time since I'd
taken a nice long putt, just me and my scoot. At the very least,
I had to get away from my job. Now, wrenchin' on Hawgs may sound
great -- and it is, a lot of the time -- but in LA, Hawgs have
gotten to be a fad with some of the rich snots. In fact, I heard
there's some fancy-ass store selling a tricked out Softail for
$25,000! Dealing with the real folk who ride is great, but I need
a break from the Yuppie jerks now and again.

So, I packed up and took off bright and early Friday morning,
having stayed late the night before to finish off the last scoot
I was assigned. I made it out of LA before the traffic and
cruised through the mountains, wound through the Grapevine and
dropped down into the San Joaquin valley. I-5 is a fast way
north, but it's borin' as all hell. So, when 99 branched off from
5, I followed it north; I still hadn't quite decided where I was
going, and that route left me plenty of choices.

I hit the Bakersfield area about the time my gut started makin'
its demands for something to eat known, so I pulled my usual
routine of pulling off the freeway and riding at least ten
minutes before starting to look. Most of the places right on a
highway are convenient, and expensive. This time though, my plan
backfired. The area was built up fairly heavily right near the
freeway, but it thinned out fast. Almost before I realized it, I
was out in the middle of farmland on a local road.

I was thinking seriously about turning my butt around and
scootin' back to the highway when I noticed an oil well up ahead,
right near the road. (For those of y'all that don't know,
Bakersfield has some pretty big oil fields.) Never havin' seen a
well pump up close before, I decided to take a closer look before
I turned around.

As I pulled closer, I could see a beat-up old pickup near the
rig, and somebody working on the machinery. At the sound of my
engine, the dude stood up and waved. I pulled off the road and
parked next to his truck, noticing the Harley wings on the back
window.

"Hey, there! What's got ya way the hell out here?"

"Lookin' for a place to eat. Just about decided to turn around
when I saw the pump, and decided to take a closer look. I wrench
Hawgs down in LA, and machinery's an interest of mine."

"C'mon over and I'll give ya the fifty-cent tour."

The main thought running through my mind was whether I'd be able
to pay any attention to the oil pump or not -- this man was HOT.
Around my own height at 6', big thick black beard, black hair in
a braid to the middle of his back, and wearin' only grungy black
boots and a pair of greasy, oil-stained overalls that showed off
his muscular upper body, as well as the thick, fine black hair
that covered his back, shoulders, arms and chest. I decided that
his build matched his name when he mentioned his name was Mason
-- he was built like the proverbial brick wall.

"Careful... the whole thing's covered with crude."

"Shit, I don't care... I've spilled plenty of Harley oil on these
duds."

He grinned. "I can see that! I meant to be careful you don't slip
and fall. The boss would have my ass if you got hurt, since
you're not an employee."

His "fifty-cent tour" was, amazingly, enough to get my mind off
the tour guide. I hadn't realized there was so much to oil well
pumps. The whole thing came to a humorous end when I leaned on a
part of the machinery and was rewarded with a splatter of crude
oil all over the crotch of my pants.  After the initial shock, I
started laughing along with my host.

He stopped laughing and said, "Positively _everyone_ who doesn't
work on one of these things does that! 'Course, it wasn't nearly
as funny with you as it is when some prissy dude in a 3-piece
suit gets his pretty clothes dirty."

"Damn, I bet that's enough to make your gut ache from tryin' to
keep from laughin'!"

"You know it, bro! Here, lemme find a rag and get some of that
off ya...."

"Fuck it, man. It's not hurtin' anything where it is." With that,
I rubbed the oil into my already-greasy jeans, and then wiped my
hand on my shirt.

Mason's eyes got wide for a bit, and he seemed a little flustered
after I wiped my hand on my shirt front. "Something wrong?"

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Naw. Just too used to being
around citizen types that freak at the least little bit of
grease."

I grinned back. "Kind of hard to wrench on Hawgs if you get crazy
about a little grease or oil."

"True enough. Hey, I was thinkin'; I know a little restaurant you
might like -- good grub, and they don't mind grungy types. Care
ta join me for lunch?"

"Sounds like just what my stomach wants to hear! Lead the way."

As he turned for his truck, I could have sworn I saw a big, nasty
bulge in the crotch of his overalls... but I figured it had to be
me seeing what I wanted to see.

* * * * *

We pulled up in front of a slightly run-down looking restaurant.
Despite the looks of the place, it was surrounded by pickup
trucks and 18-wheel rigs -- and there were even a couple of other
Harleys in the lot. The place was just far enough off the beaten
path that I figured there had to be a reason for the crowd. There
were several. The food was as good as Mason had said, and
inexpensive. But the clincher was that the staff seemed just as
happy to see a sweat-drenched trucker or a couple of greasy
bikers as they were a station wagon full of Mom, Dad and a swarm
of kids that somehow found the place.

"Best part of the place is the attitude" said Mason around a
mouthful.  "Don't turn up their nose at a working man 'cause he
don't look like he just got out of the tub."

"You can bet I'm gonna remember this place -- and tell all my
friends about it!"

>From there, our conversation drifted to other matters, and
finally to my travel plans.

"I've got a great idea for ya. You can crash at my place tonight,
and spend some of this afternoon figuring out where ya wanna go."

"What about your job, and why only `some' of the afternoon on my
route?"

"I was already planning on takin' the rest of the day off, and as
for why you're only gonna spend part of the afternoon on yer
route, that's 'cause I need some help drinking all that beer I've
got in the 'fridge at home!" Mason looked at me with a smug grin
on his face.

"Fuck, how can I argue logic like that?" I said, grinning back.

* * * * *

Mason's house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and pretty
isolated. He opened up one door and left his truck in the
driveway, havin' me park my scoot next to his -- one of the
greasiest rat Panheads I've ever seen.

I dug my maps out of my saddlebag and followed him into his
house. It really didn't take long to decide I wanted to get out
of the sweltering valley as soon as possible, and into the
mountains, perhaps with Las Vegas or such as a destination. I
folded up the maps, and Mason and I got down to shooting the shit
and some serious beer guzzlin', accompanied by some truly fine
handmade Honduran cigars (maduro, of course) Mason kept in a
humidor with a Harley bar and shield on the lid.

After a while, Mason got a sheepish look on his face and said,
"Y'know, I got the impression you LIKE being greasy, rather than
just not minding it.  To be honest, I really like it -- that's
why I kinda got flustered when ya rubbed that crude into yer
duds. Not many people understand."

"Shit _yeah!_ One of the best payoffs is the shock value on
citizen types!" I said as I drained my beer can and set it on the
table in front of me. I was getting a little tired of dancin'
around the fact I wanted this man in a big way, but I wasn't sure
how to get around to that subject.

"Hang on; I'll be back with a fresh can once I take a piss."

_Now or never,_ I thought. "Don't bother, bro. I truly prefer my
beer recycled and warm."

He looked shocked, but stepped right in front of me. "What do ya
mean by that?"

I quickly popped his fly open and pulled out his fat, uncut cock
and big hairy lowhangers. "Let it fly, Mason. I like piss as much
as I like grease."

He moved forward, and I spread my knees wide so his legs pressed
up against my thighs. His fat cock was only inches from my face,
and gettin' harder by the second. The tip of his cock peeked out
of his long 'skin and I realized his massive dick was getting up
to full-hard. I was wondering how the hell he was gonna piss when
he gave a deep, satisfied grunt and a hard stream of hot, rank
yellow piss caught me right between the eyes.

"Fuckin' A! Take that smelly manpiss... looks like we're gonna
get along better than I thought!"

I let him hose me down for a while -- noticing how he made sure
my entire beard was dripping wet -- then nabbed the broad,
foreskin-covered head of his cock between my lips and started
sucking down his hot beer piss. My tongue worked its way into his
foreskin, and found the motherlode of ripe headcheese I had
expected ever since I saw that foreskin. His cock, still pissing,
was working its way down my throat, and as I got closer to his
crotch, I noticed three distinct odors from his crotch -- oil,
old piss and dried cum.

"Yeah, brother! Drink your fuckin' buddy's piss....damn, this
feels so much better than just pissing my pants...."

His bladder finally ran dry, and he slowly drew his cock out of
my throat, and knelt in front of me. Without a word, I let go and
started soaking him down, quickly centering on his wide-open
gulping mouth.

"Drink it from the tap!" I said as I pulled his head down onto my
dick. I had the feeling he was intentionally _not_ keeping up
with me, so my piss would run out the sides of his mouth, down
through his already wet beard, and drip onto his chest....not
that I minded.

When I finished, I pulled his head up off my dick and looked deep
into his hungry eyes. "Let's get greasy, brother!"

Mason led me back out to the garage, and into the half of the
garage I hadn't seen yet. The concrete floor was black and shiny
with who knows how many years of accumulated oil, grease and
assorted crud, with several drains in strategic locations. The
walls were painted flat black, and one held a rack filled with
assorted sex toys. Off to one side were five cases of Harley oil
in quart bottles.

"Just thought of something," he said. "Let's do this truly
right."

He led me back into the part of the garage where the bikes were,
and grabbed a dirty old enamel pan. He drained about a quart of
dirty oil out of each of our scoots, then topped them both back
up with fresh oil. He swirled the pan to mix the oil together,
and we went back into the playroom.

Mason sat me down on a stool, took off my hat and started
unbraiding my hair. When he finished, he came 'round front, laid
one of the sweetest kisses I've ever gotten on me, and said,
"Enjoy!"

He dipped a hair brush into the pan of dirty oil and started very
slowly brushing through my hair, soaking it thoroughly with the
carbon-black mixture. He carefully applied as much as he could,
without putting on so much it would run or drip. Starting at the
scalp and working to the ends of my hair, he took his time to
completely finish. He then drew my hair back, and re-braided it
into a heavy, glistening black braid.

He then came back around front, and knelt between my legs. I felt
the oil-soaked brush start the same process on my long beard, and
even my long, thick moustache, which he brushed off to the sides
to keep the oil out of my mouth. Again, he took his time and
almost ceremonially saturated my long beard with the mixed oil
from our scoots.

We switched places, and I did the same for him, carefully and
thoroughly saturating his hair and beard with the used oil. While
I worked, he closed his eyes and he broke out in a smile that was
nothing short of ecstatic, and I could see the big fuckin' bulge
his hot dick was making in his overalls.

When I finished, he lay down on the floor and had me start
drizzling oil from the pan all over him -- particularly in his
crotch, pits and chest hair. When I'd used about half the stuff,
we switched places again.



Mason drizzled the rest of the oil over me, most of it winding up
on my already grungy jeans -- greasing them out to where they
were shiny all over -- and in my chest fur.

When he'd finished, Mason threw the pan to one side, and with a
lecherous grin on his face, dropped on top of me like he'd been
tryin' to drink a bar dry. He shoved his tongue into my mouth and
we started power-kissing; alternately tongue-fucking each other's
mouth as hard and deep as we could. I grabbed Mason by the beard
and pumped his face up and down on my tongue. He pulled away
after a bit, spat a mouthful into my beard and slammed his tongue
back into my mouth.

As we kissed, we got more and more physical. We started out
caressing and rubbing the oil into each other's clothing, and
slowly picked up the tempo to where we were rolling each other
back and forth across the floor, trying to get on the top (or
bottom) depending on what we wanted to accomplish at the moment.

I finally got Mason on the bottom, and managed to trap his elbows
under my knees. Straddling his chest, I popped open my fly
buttons, hauled out my pecker and let fly a hot stream of piss
right into his face.

"Oh YEAH, fucker! Hose me down!"

I made sure I covered every bit of his face, filled his mouth and
started pissin' on his chest before I ran dry. I leaned forward
and hawked a big one into his moustache; Mason responded by
spraying his mouthful of piss back into my face, and we were off
and rasslin' again.

It wasn't long before we'd traded places, except I had the butt
of Mason's greasy jeans in my face as he pissed down my body. As
soon as he finished, he raised up, shoved his dick into my mouth
and went down on me himself. Even 69ing like crazy, we were still
rollin' around on the floor, and the extra piss mixed up with the
grease on the floor to make some serious slop -- which was all
over both of us.

Even with the heat we were generating, we eventually started to
get chilly, so Mason suggested we move our fun into his bedroom.
As it turned out, the mattress of Mason's bed was sealed in heavy
plastic, and over that was a sheet that looked like it hadn't
been washed in years, a piece of observing on my part that he
confirmed with a grin on his face. We climbed in and started
getting nice and friendly; I like cuddling with a hot man almost
as much as getting greasy with one.

"Bro, can I ask you a favor?" Mason's whisper in my ear was low
and horny-sounding.

"Name it, man."

"My butthole's damn hungry for a hot fuck... been a long time
since I ran across a stud that turns me on as much as you do. Can
you oblige?"

"With pleasure!"

I rolled him onto his belly, and pulled his coveralls down around
his knees. I pulled up on his hips, so his face was still on the
bed, but he was up on his knees and his rump was available. I
spread those hairy cheeks and dove in tongue first -- and he was
ready! My tongue went right up his sweaty, funky hole on the
first jab, letting me savor the taste and smell of hot bear butt
right off. Lots of sweat, oil and piss, of course -- just the way
I like it! To prove it, I ate his tasty butt until he was jus'
about to cum.

I backed off to let him cool off a little, and used that time to
rummage up a bottle of fresh H-D Oil. Figuring there's no point
in being a sleazy pig if you don't take advantage of it, I used
the whole fuckin' quart, drenching my chest fur from the neck
down, my pubes, dick and balls, as well as sliming Mason from the
back of his neck to his knees, with special attention on his
buttcrack, of course. Even at that, I had a couple handsfulls
left to rub into his chestfur.

His ass was as happy to see my dick as it had been to meet my
tongue, and my fat fucktool glided right up his tight fuckchute
to the hilt, with a greasy "squish" when my slimy pubes hit his
oil soaked assfur. That squishing sound was rapidly drowned out
by the wet slapping sound my dripping balls made against his
greasy nuts as I plowed in -- fast, deep and hard. Mason grunted
for my first couple of hard bangs, took it like a man and got
through it to where he started bucking his butt back at me to get
it even harder.

"FUCK that's good, buddy! I need to catch it as hard as you can
throw it... I ain't no cunt or wimpy little pussyboy... fuck me
like a MAN, stud!"

The man's words, the smell of the piss and sweat and cum and oil
and butt, the sensation of his ass wrapped around my cock and of
my hands rubbing through his greasy chestfur all burned into my
brain and took over. My dick ran the show, and my dick wanted to
fuck that grungy butt as hard as my body could ram it.

Time gets real weird when yer fuckin'. I don't know how long I
was fucking him, but it seemed like hours.... backing off when
one of us got close, then picking up speed again, over and
over.... until finally I just HAD to cum and set off his load by
splattering his back with a monster wad of my own.

I'd slipped my dick up between his legs and pulled him close
ready to go to sleep when he started to laugh.

"What the fuck are you laughin at?"

"Not you.... I just realized -- you know MY name... but I don't
know yours!"

"Shit. You're right! Somehow we never did get around to that. I'm
Kodiak, as in Bear, but just call me Kodi."

"Well, Kodiak, I'm Mason, as if you didn't already know. But I'm
curious -- `Kodiak' isn't a common name... how did you pick it
up?"

"I didn't -- it's my given name."

"Your parents *named* you Kodiak?"

"Yep. Mom is 1/8 American Indian, and when she mentioned that
she'd had visions of bears while giving birth to me, my dad --
who was also a biker and big on naming his sons after furry
predators -- decided on Kodiak."

"That's wild!"

"Tell that to my brothers Wolf and Cougar! At least my name
shortens down to something a little less exotic."

"All right then, Kodi it is.

"Now then, would you do me a favor?"

"Ya don't even have to ask."

"Get behind me and slide your rod up my butt so I can get to
sleep. Umm... oh, yeah, perfect! By the way... I LOVE to be
fucked awake!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Kodi!"

* * * * *

The sensation that actually woke me up was Mason's fat meat
sliding OUT of my ass. I quickly found myself with my knees
against my chest, moaning and grunting as his tongue dug into my
open hole. Mason either didn't have my love for butteating or he
was too hot to take his time (I found out later on it was the
latter.) He eased that fat prong back into my sloppy hole, and
looked at me with a thin smile that was pure lust.

"How do you wanna catch it, bro?"

"Like a man, Mason! Let's see if you're as good at pitchin' as
you are at catching!"

"I don't think you'll be disappointed" Mason said, as he started
plowing in.

Jesus shit, whatta fuck! I soon had positive proof of what I'd
put Mason through the night before, and I was damn glad I'd done
it, 'cause otherwise I might not have gotten the wild plugging I
did that morning. Being that we were face to face, rather than
bein' mounted from behind, we had the chance to swap spit, both
tongue-to-tongue and by spittin' at each other.  Not only that,
but the stink from our 'pits filled the space between us and made
us even hornier. After I while, I couldn't take it any longer and
dove face first into Mason's left 'pit. He shoved my left arm up
and did me the same favor, nearly bringing the two of us off
right then and there.

We couldn't hang on much longer after the pit-slurping started --
what with two furry faces and wet tongues buried in stinking,
hairy 'pits, a fat uncut rammer up my chute and my free hand
alternately jerking my pud and playing with Mason's balls. Nobody
livin' could take that for long.

Mason grabbed my shoulders and shoved in as far as he could get,
and my ass nearly sucked his nuts in with his dick. I felt his
hot juice filling my butt, and I let go all over my belly and the
underside of Mason's beard.

Mason pulled out, rolled me onto my belly and slid his still-hard
cock back up my hole, and started being a cuddly fucker -- until
I noticed the warm sensation in my butt and realized the sneaky
fucker was pissing in my ass!

"Shit, Mason... if ya wanted to piss in my butt, y'all didn't
have to sneak up on me..."

"Naw, but it's more fun this way." I could tell the bastard was
grinning.

He finished up, and pulled out. I got up and started pulling up
my pants.

"Ain't ya gonna dump all that?"

"Fuck yes I'm gonna dump it..." I turned around and let him watch
the wet stain spread across my ass as his cum and piss flooded
out of my butthole and soaked into my jeans. "Y'all didn't think
I was gonna waste it, did you?"

Mason grinned. "Yer right, I shoulda known better." And with
that, he yanked my pants down again, and slurped, licked, chewed
and tongue-fucked my hairy hole until I was begging him to let me
cum... which I did, all over his beard.

* * * * *

I never took the rest of my trip that weekend; I spent it with
Mason being a pig and loving every minute of it. Finally, though,
I had to head for LA and my job.

"Remember, Kodi -- ANY fucking time you want to come up here and
play, yer welcome. Jus' let me know so I can lay in more brew,
oil and stogies!"

"You better believe it!"

* * * * *

When I got back to LA, the guys I work with knew something was
up. Besides the fact that I was about ten times as funky as when
I left, nothing could piss me off, not even one of the junior
wrenches helping himself to some of my tools, which was unheard
of; before, I'd have knocked his head off without half thinking
about it.

All the other wrenches wanted to know who "she" was -- you'd
think they'd have figured out I have other tastes from the fact
that the only pix from biker rags I've got in my area show men on
their bikes -- NO women -- and the fact that the tat on my upper
right arm is of a bear in leathers, showing a big, nasty uncut
dripping hardon, complete with big furry lowhanging balls.
'Course, they probl'y explained the pix by saying I'm more into
scoots than pussy, and the tat by saying it's how I see
myself..... Fuck 'em all, I didn't tell 'em jack shit.

About a week later though, the glow had worn off and I was true
to my name, growling and cuffin' heads at the slightest offense.
The crew at the shop was mightily pleased when I decided it was
time for another visit with Mason.

This time, I decided to introduce him to one of my particularly
favorite means of getting slimy. I took along a can of molybdenum
sulfide grease -- thick, black, nasty shit, slicker'n hell and a
bitch to get off -- though I knew we wouldn't want to.

The look on Mason's face when I took a big pawfull of that grease
and rubbed it all over his chestfur in the middle of a hot tongue
sucking session was priceless; he just stood there with his big
fat whang hanging out of his jeans, raring and bobbing and
leaking dickjuice like crazy -- and when I took another big gob
and started working it into his pubes and balls, his eyes rolled
back, he grunted like he did when I fucked his butt real hard,
and splattered the front of my jeans with one of his never-ending
loads of thick, jelly-like jizz. I made a firm decision to never
be without a can of moly grease when I was playing with Mason.

After a while, things fell into a predictable cycle: I'd come
back from a trip mellower'n hell, get nasty as the glow wore off,
then take off on another trip before I got out of hand.

It's easy to see now, of course, since hindsight's always 20-20,
but I was avoiding the fact I had fallen beard over butt in love
with Mason, and didn't know how to deal with it, or tell him
about it. Mason understood me, and I him, something I'd never
experienced before. The hot, greasy sex was a perfect example of
just how well we fit together, mentally as well as physically.

Finally, I realized I had to say SOMETHING. I was visiting Mason,
and we were kicked back at his place, enjoying a couple of his
fine stogies before we set out to terrorize the local biker bars.

I was just about to scrape up the last of my nerve and say
something when Mason cleared his throat.

"Kodi, um... I just found out the other day that one of the
finest Harley shops in the area's lookin for a new wrench... I
thought you might be interested... you bitch so much about the
shop where ya work now....." His voice trailed off.

I felt like I'd been run over by a fucking semi. "Mason, are you
trying to tell me you're as in love with me as I am with you?"

He looked poleaxed for a minute then grinned at me. "Yeah, Kodi,
that I am. Will ya move in here and be my man?"

"Only if you'll be mine, Mason."

His answer was lost as I crushed him to me in a bear hug and slid
my tongue into his waiting mouth. It didn't matter, though; we
both knew what it was.