Papa Bear and Golden Locks

[londonboy]

So, before you go all ‘religious’ on me and say you can save my soul just because you don’t think my career is holy enough, please know that I love being a hustler.  Not only do I love it, I’m good at it, too.  I’ve got a California surfer look that drives the men crazy– even down to the long blonde curls and tight body.  I’m known as Golden Boy on the circuit and I’ve reached a point where I don’t really need to hustle on the street – since I have a steady stream of repeat customers – but I still like to go out some nights and feel the thrill of snagging some hot customer.  If it’s a guy’s first time, I feel like it is Christmas.  I love breaking in a newbie.  Taking a dude that’s nervous and swears he only wants to cuddle and then opening them wide – both figuratively and literally - is such a thrill.  I love a guy that begins by saying certain things are off limits and then later on is begging me to pound him again – even willing to double the pay for a second round. My reputation is as long as my member – not to mention as thick.

 

So, it’s Friday night and I’m cruising on the corner just down from a hardcore gym in a rough area of town. I have a thing for muscle men, so I sometimes come here knowing I can snag a wondering bodybuilder that wants to try new things.   I’m sometimes amazed at how the bigger a fella is the quicker his legs will go up in the air.  Now, don’t judge me on that fact – just know that I’ve been taken home by big guys before that ended up being more feminine in the bedroom than your sweet old grandmother. Don’t worry, I’ve never slept with her, it’s just an expression.  Besides, I only do men.

 

Tonight I look especially hot, cut offs and a light blue tank top that makes my eyes pop in the light. I know my golden tan is ravishing and my lean, gymnast body makes me even more appealing.  I turn down a few regulars who drive by and honk, telling them that they need to make an appointment just like everyone else.  I’m a businessman, after all.  And besides, if you haven’t called by Wednesday, don’t expect me to be going out with you on Friday.  A guy’s got to live by some rules.  I really love good manners.

 

It’s the swagger I notice first.  I immediately think this dude has put the grrrr in swagger.  I can tell he’s big – more than double the size of me.  He’s clearly been to the gym because his t-shirt is soaked.  I can see matted hair underneath the white material – even from a pretty far distance. I can’t see much more of him, because of the light.  He’s got on dark sweats, so I don’t get to have an advanced look at my favorite part of a guy’s body – thick muscular thighs.  It’s not until he reaches a certain part in the sidewalk where a streetlight is shining down brightly.  When he steps into what feels like a spotlight I stop breathing and I’m pretty sure my heart skipped a beat.

 

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if you put Sam Eliot’s older face on Lou Ferrigno’s giant younger body, then wonder no more.  That’s what would give you an idea of just what made me freeze.  I pride myself on being able to say a guy is handsome and I’ve even been turned on by the looks of guys in the past, but nothing could have prepared me for the avalanche of feelings that caved in at that point.  The dude was stacked so densely you got the feeling he could accidently bump into a light pole and knock it down – ripping up the concrete beneath it.  The bushy handlebar mustache that I associated with 70’s porn, the leather guy from the Village People, and what made a supreme muscle daddy was right there – draped across the upper lip of the man of my dreams. His arms seemed to be testing the strength of his shirtsleeves and I was pretty sure the shirt would lose if the dude flexed.  If you called a protruding chest a pec shelf, then this guy was the entire library.  The front end of some cars didn’t stick out that far.  Silver streaks in his closely cut hair, his mustache, the stubble across his chin, and surely the fur I knew that cascaded across his chest only made him more handsome – more desirable.  I also hoped there were gray hairs in the trail that led further below, too.  This dude had my balls churning out juice the way a Ford plant cranked out cars.   

 

Instantly, I knew I had to have the guy.  He had stopped to tie his shoelace, - a movement that highlighted his muscles in a way that was mesmerizing - so that gave me a chance to make a plan.  I walked to the edge of the light, just beyond where all of my features would be clear.  I wanted to have a few surprises.  I waited for him to stand up – suddenly realizing that he towered over my normal height body.

 

“Hey, Papa Bear, you got the time?”

 

I saw him smile without even turning to look at me.  He glanced down at his monstrous watch and then looked my way.

 

“Yeah, it’s eleven fifteen. That’s a little late for a boy like you to be out, isn’t it?”

 

His words stung a little, but then I realized his smile said that he was just equaling the banter I had begun.  It also registered that his voice was a lower than a low baritone and it seemed to rumble through the air like thunder.  I noted that my ball sac tightened at the sound.  I stepped into the light.

 

“Wowza, you’re a stunner, little man.  One might even call you a pretty boy.”

 

“One might even call you a muscle daddy.”

 

“I do my best.  Gotta keep the young guys chomping at the bit.”

 

“It looks like you succeed.”

 

We stared at each other for a few seconds.  I could tell he was sizing me up – calculating all the things I had been able to figure out about him while I was hidden in the darkness.  I noticed right away that he was even more roughly handsome than I had thought.  The perfect amount of wise man wrinkles and slivers of silver that seemed to sparkle in the light in every place that hair grew.   And he was massive.  Not the kind of chiseled big boy one finds at gay discos on Saturday night, but the outdoors kind of big that was saved for Paul Bunyan or for strongmen competitors. His bent arm that was holding on to the strap of the huge bag dangling from his shoulder highlighted a biceps that romance writers would have described as ‘monstrous,’ ‘enormous,’ or ‘mountainous.’  I just called it unbelievably big, hard-looking, and manly.  I could tell he knew I was looking at his arm.  He did nothing to highlight it anymore, since he knew he didn’t need to.  He was the next to speak.

 

“You look like you surf?”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“The tan, the natural highlights in your hair, the kind of body that’s produced by water resistance.”

 

“I’d have to say you nailed it.  You look like you lift.”

 

“Well, I did just come from a gym.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s more than that.  You waddle . . . well, it’s more of a swagger, but it’s the kind of movement that’s usually reserved for guys who move around incredible amounts of weight. You know, a hell of a lot more than water resistance.  How much you bench?”

 

“A small car.”

 

I briefly lost control and sucked in air.  Thinking of that body pushing up a car was too much for me.  My reaction made him smile again.   This time, pearly whites – as straight as they come – were highlighted by the light overhead.  I instantly liked making him smile and made a mental note to do it more often.  I tilted my head to regain composure and get him to confess a more accurate answer.

 

“I did chest tonight and broke my personal record.  I pushed up six hundred and forty pounds.”

 

“Oh my fucking goodness!”

 

There was no way for me to hide my amazement or how much this information turned me on.  I knew the world record was higher than that, but I had certainly never met a guy that could lift so much weight.  My reaction, again, pleased him.  I’m sure he was used to people gawking at him, but I got the distinct feeling he was happy I was so pleased.

 

“That’s just a little less than four of you, isn’t it Golden Locks.”

 

I immediately got the reference going back to when I had called him Papa Bear.  I had also already figured out the amount of weight he benched was more than three times my body.  He was pressing more than three of me – put together – into the air.  It was difficult for me to even imagine.  I decided to switch gears and get my mind off of his size and abilities.  I thought it might be fun to continue with our little allusion to a children’s story.

 

“Got any porridge at home, Papa Bear?”

 

“I’ve got a lot of things at home.  Some you can eat, some you can drink, and some you can play with.”

 

“You like to play, big man?”

 

Again with the smile, which was going to do me in very soon.  He finally tensed his bent arm and the biceps swelled bigger and harder.  He could see that my gaze immediately went to the muscle.

 

“I do like to play, but I can be a little . . . rough.”

 

“When you’re as big and strong as you are how can it not be rough.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“And tell me, Papa Bear, do you have any chairs I would find just right?”

 

“Not really, but my legs are bigger than a chair, so you might find my lap just right.”

 

I think the look on my face must have given my passion for thighs away.  The big man clearly registered how his comment had sent my head reeling. He decided to take advantage of the situation – right there and then.  He reached down with his free hand and shoved his sweats to his knees – revealing some Calvin Klein tight briefs that were losing the battle of trying to stay tight around his enormous legs, but what else was there made me light headed. I had heard thighs described as redwood trees and kegs of beer.  Never had I dreamed I would meet someone where those descriptions seemed weak and feeble. I could have cum on the spot – his giant wheels were enough to fuel my whack-off sessions for the rest of my life. I somehow, however, prevented my body from giving into its desire.  I was very thankful that he finally pulled his sweats back up, but once something that majestic is seen you certainly can’t unsee it.  

 

“Something tells me Golden Locks would love to be caught between my massive legs and it would be fine for me to squeeze away.”

 

“Fuck yes.”

 

“It seems we have lost the confident banter, kid.  I’ve reduced you to someone who just uses swear words.”

 

“I just need a second to recover.  That sight was unbelievable.  I have a thing for thick thighs.”

 

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

 

Papa Bear took a couple of steps toward me.  I had to crank my chin upward to look him in the face. The dude had to be six feet eight or more.  His shoulders seemed wider than the dark sky.  I held my ground, even though every fiber of my body wanted to move back.  He noticed I wasn’t intimidated.

 

“You haven’t asked Papa Bear about his bed, Golden Locks.”

 

“Tell me about your bed, sir.”

 

He stepped even closer. I could smell his sweat, mixed in with a manly musk that he must exude at all times.  I had to tilt my head further back.

 

“It’s big – like me – and very comfortable.  I think you’d find it just right, kid.”

 

“I think so, too.” 

[228lbs]

Very good story

[hans]

Wow - would love to read more! Great beginning