Reply-To: Bear-Cop@justdoit.ndirect.co.uk Organization: http://www.justdoit.ndirect.co.uk
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.