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_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car

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It's not strange for a guy to walk into the bar after a good day and order everybody a round. I do it enough myself. You get some cheers, they get buzzed, everyone has a good time.

It reaches a point, eventually, where you can tell it's just a little more than friendly appreciation. This bull's not dumb, you know. The sturdy young bear I was drinking with that night had gone well past it awhile ago. He wasn't the foreman of our little construction project, but he wasn't one of the guy's sweating under their hardhats, like me. He handled the numbers or something, I don't know, doesn't really matter to me what someone does so long as they're willing and able to come down on the ground and help every once in awhile, and he sure as hell proved that earlier. Some fella called in sick, and this bear had come down to throw in his weight to keep us on track. He didn't do too bad of a job, either. Sure as hell wasn't a problem that he wasn't strong enough - his stout arms and legs mighta even made a better picture than mine, but even the hard, dead things like muscle and bone learn a little from experience, so he was just a bit more winded than the rest of us at the end of the day.

I respect him for that. I respect him even more that he saw fit to stop by our bar at the end of the day with the intention of getting us all drinks, only to find everyone else had gone straight home to bed. It was just me and him, and I guess he was set on buying those drinks. He got me my first and didn't stop. He shoulda known I was gonna drain his wallet when he saw my gut, which, when you're as big as me, you need that gut for people to know you don't have the body just to look good. No, the gut says "I built these arms and legs into the sturdy, stout trunks they are so I could lift things and get shit done, not rub down in oil and pose."

I guess the bear knew and appreciated that. I knew that because that's what he said. "You're the strongest-looking guy in the crew," he said, slightly less sloshed than I was by then, but not so drunk that I didn't know exactly where he was going. "I mean, you're just huge. I'm a big guy, I know, a little bigger than some of the guys doing the hard work, even..." I took a moment to disregard what he was saying to size him up. He was right. I hadn't thought about it much during the day, but the numbers guy really was just as built and more so than a few of the guy who made their living off their bodies. I'd find out later he was an O-Lineman at LSU. Who coulda guessed something like that?

He continued on and on, talking in that kind of way where I know he just keeps talking cause he's trying to heap enough words up on a pile to bury something he might said or hinted at earlier. I wouldn't call him shy, I wouldn't call him nervous. He wasn't stumbling over his words. It was just a little too obvious he wanted me to like him. Younger fellas are like that sometimes. He didn't sound desperate. I think the hard work of the day had just convinced him to connect with the labor better, you know? Maybe he remembered what it was like for him back at college, everyone running windsprints and taking showers together and slapping each other's asses and stuff. I thought about it for a moment. That really wasn't too long ago for the guy, was it? 2-3 years at most? Damn, I could be almost twice his age...

He was almost doing himself a disservice, hogging my attention like that. There were a few more nice looking ladies at the bar that night than usual - typically the sudden glut of construction workers coming in after the final whistle chases them all out - but with just the two of us keeping to ourselves, the young ladies must have felt not quite so threatened. I admired them from afar, though, only imagining the ways I'd land one of them into my bed that night. I was getting a bit annoyed at the guy, I gotta be honest. Hoped he'd shut up long enought to strike up a conversation with one of the girls. But I figured a chick was good for a night while getting in nice with one of the higher-ups could do me a hell of a lot of good for awhile to come.

I stuck around and let him talk until I genuinely began to like him. I'd say he reminded me of myself at his age, but I wasn't quite so softspoken, quite so sincere. I couldn't feign the genuine interest he seemed to show in me. He asked me how I managed to build up my bulk, and I told him it was just by doing the work I was paid to do. He asked if I'd ever thought of getting my horns tipped with gold, and I said that was money that could buy a hell of a lot of beer. He laughed at that one, and hell, that made me smile. The joke was dumb, yeah, but you couldn't fake a laugh like that. The way his whole body shook with it. His figure was all the more intimidating when taken out of the context of a dozen other guys about his size (though I did dampen the effect a little myself), and I indulged in my guilty pleasure of judging how easily I could take him in a fight. I do it with all my friends, I admit. The bear, I figured... he'd do some damage. I gave him credit for his youth. Experience only goes so far in a fight, sometimes it's just that youthful aggression that tips things in your favor. Really, it was his shoulders that worried me. He could throw some power behind a punch, I could tell. Really wind up and release, hit me right in the nose and if he caught a break I might be thrown off-balance.

I like to think my little hobby isn't about being conceited, thinking I'm the best and all. I think it's more my way showing my respect to a fella. If I can at least imagine them throwing the punch, I don't give a damn if they'd get me down or not. At least they'd throw the punch. That's all I worry about.

We got our tab late that night, and he ventured to walk me home. I was ready to go, too. The last of the pretty little honeys had left long ago. It wasn't a long walk, but he enjoyed the conversation, and I was admittedly a little gone. I mean, I still remember what happened, I didn't black out or anything. But it takes a bit of coordination to move so much bulk around when you're drunk, and it helped to have a shoulder to steady myself on. He had his arm wrapped around my back - as far as it would go, at least - I figured maybe because he was in too drunk of a haze himself to notice it, but he was squeezing and rubbing me pretty much the entire walk home. His hand even slipped up my shirt to get right up against my fur. "It's nice to talk to an older guy," he mused. "I haven't had a night out like that since college. Immature assholes, all of 'em... You're grounded and confident, mature... I like that..."

I invited him into my humble little home, told him to grab one or two brews to take with him, since he'd picked up my tab and all. He refused the beer, but quickly welcomed the invitation inside, and soon we were sitting in the living room. He didn't offer an excuse for why he was staying. I'd only invited him in to grab a few beers, which he refused. I didn't question his motives, though. I kind of figured what they were, had figured what they were long ago, but hell if I was going to nip it in the bud.

I'll tell you what. I'd never fucked a man before. I was never too short on pussy, and dick remained to me only an interest almost like an emergency plan. "I could suck a dick if I had to," I thought. Never really worked out what scenario would require me to suck a dick. Yet suddenly, it seemed incredibly urgent to me that I get a little bit of ass. Hell if I know what it was. I'd have to get that drunk again to tell you exactly what I was thinking, and all I can tell you now was that all of a sudden that hunky little bear, a smile all plastered on his face, was the best opportunity I'd ever have to try out the whole Fucking a Guy thing. All the better he's so young and energetic, to the point that I figured, even if I was picking this up on the fly, I could teach him a hell of a lot.

"Hey, buddy," I started. He didn't object to my calling him Buddy. "Did ya know you had your paw up my shirt the whole way home?"

He nodded. I'll always respect him for the fact that he didn't play it off like it was some kinda accident. Sure as hell made things a lot easier for the both of us. It meant it was only a few more minutes til he had all but his briefs off, which bulged obscenely and were sticky with pre already. I apparently hadn't noticed the times he'd been hard while we chatted at the bar. I'd wondered why a guy would blush while we talked about football. Turns out he was hiding a woody half the time.

It wasn't too much longer until I'd joined him, taking off my tight, sweaty clothes with a satisfied hum. I was already pretty happy with my experiment. A man looks damn good naked, you know, and I figured he agreed with the way he beat me to the punch of pulling my undies off. He had 'em at my ankles and his nose as the base of my dick before I had the chance to ask him.

"Oh God," he moaned, rubbing his cheeks and nose against my dick, like a thirsty man that buries his head in a pool of water before taking a drink. "You don't know how much I needed this." He huffed in my scent. Only real men have good scents, you know. He was intoxicated by it. "It's been years, man, it's been years." I cut his musing short by shoving my fat cock into him. I didn't get naked just to hear about how bad he's had it. I got naked to get my dick sucked, and he caught onto that program quickly enough. I stretched his jaw a little, and he gagged with a lack of practice when I shoved it in a little too far. He moaned on it, too. Chicks never do that. You're lucky to get their face anywhere below your stomach, let alone have 'em moaning on your cock. That was a sensation I could have gone gay for alone.

I helped him off with his briefs too while he was on my dick, and a member quite my equal flopped out, already hard, already leaking from lead-weight balls in a tight fuzzy sack. That was surprise number two, just how much I loved the sight of those heavy nuts swinging so gently back and forth as he bobbed on my dick. I bent my head just to watch it, I even slapped his hand away when he started stroking himself. I just loved them swing, especially as he started to dryhump the nothingness in front of him, the poor guy too overfilled with sexual energy for even his healthy body to hold, he couldn't even release enough of it with his eager slurps and sucks.

He might've sucked the veins right out of my dick. It really must have been years. It's like Poor Richard said, hunger is the best pickle, and this guy had long been hungry for something I hadn't even known the taste of. That's a kind of release you really can't compete with. I thought I was anxious the first time I laid on top of a girl. This guy put me to shame, and all the while he had this almost placid look on his face. It made him seem a hell of a lot less like he was desperate, a hell of a lot more like he was just thankful.

He didn't complain when I pulled him off my cock... he must have figured there were better things to come. He was right. Without moving from my spot on the couch, I turned him over and bent him over the coffee table. Made sure he was clean, started to tease his hole with my tongue. I must have really liked the way he writhed when I did that, because I kept it up for awhile, waiting for him to break down and beg me to move on, but never doing so. I had to love it. He was enjoying it just as much as I was, just as caught up in the moment, and the bugger shattered a few of my more menacing preconceptions of homosexuality. I gotta be honest, I expected him to act more like a girl. But the guy acted like more of a man while sucking a dick and having his ass licked than some of the guys at the site did while actually doing their job. He seemed more the embodiment in masculinity, the way he almost played with me, almost taunting me as he wiggled his ass in my grip. The little things he said... "Yeahhh, that's a nice tongue on you, I can tell already you know how to work it..." "Oh fuck, I can tell I'm in for a treat tonight..." "C'mon ya big bull, I knew you wanted this just as much as I did..." It was a playful little back and forth, him goading me into burrowing my tongue into his asshole and me trying to give him more than he could stand... it was not unlike the way I teased my friends at the bar.

I kept my own pace, though, and it quickened as I tasted him, the sweaty taste that somehow turns sweet on your tongue. When I pulled my tongue out from between those firm cheeks, he asked if that was it. "Almost made me cum with just that thing behind your teeth, some might call it a tongue but felt like a hell of a lot more than that!" But I was getting my floor dirty with a leaky cock, and I'd exhausted all my interest in rimming for the night. With a quick spitlube, I put my hands on his broad, powerful shoulders- and pushed. He huffed. His back arched a little. he hissed through his teeth. He took it, though, by God did he take it. I couldn't have been more inconsiderate, not even a warning on my part, and did the bear complain? Not a word. Nothing that he couldn't fight back. His body twitched a little, and he groaned certainly. But he didn't demonstrate the least interest in telling me to slow down.

Could you ask for a more perfect demonstration of manliness? Make any guy pour cement and lift rocks all day, eventually he'll be able to do it with only minimal complaint. Shove a dick in his ass? You're either man enough for it the first time or you never will be.

And damn was he ever tight. Years and years, he'd said. We both felt that, certainly. Pushing all my meat in was a long grind, shoving every inch into a hole that seemed a hell of a lot less excited about it than the rest of him, considering the way it squeezed and clenched, almost like it was trying to push me out. "Oh yeah," he moaned, "All of it, give me all of it," as if I wouldn't have anyway. I'm not the kinda guy to take things halfway. He hissed and groaned until I was resting on his ass, my bare balls swaying against his fuzzy ones.

I fucked him hard. I rode him like you ride something angry. Petite little girls I sincerely worry about breaking 'em, but a mound of meat and muscle like this bear? If a day of hard work didn't break him, I had nothing to worry about and give him long and powerful strides, beating into his tight little hole with every ounce of energy my drunk body could manage. I couldn't even say I fucked him like a bitch - I fucked him like a man, like a bar fight where you come away with mutual respect for each other. That's how I fucked him. I knew he could take it, he knew I could give it. It works perfectly.

How long did I ride him for? If we weren't drunk, it would have gotten awkward. Same position, same motion, I pounded him until I forgot when I'd started. I simply listened to how he moaned, waited for him to say something quick and senseless, like "That's a bulldick, that's a real fucking bulldick." A time he could move around a little, or lift his ass up a little higher, knowing himself how exactly to get me to hit his most tender spots, not needing me to guide him by the hand to a powerful orgasm. I almost had to remind myself he knew a lot more about this than I did, even if he did insist I was natural, that "You fuck like you've been lifting tails for years and now you need a challenge." He sure took the dick like it was a challenge, or maybe lost a bet or something. I'm big, it needs to be said again. Long and thick. I'm a little too humble to give specifics, I'll just say that the bear surprised me.

I don't know how much later it was when I heard a "grk," followed quickly by an impassioned "Keep that." And I did. I kept the exact powerful stride, the exact angle deep into his ass. "Oh God, keep that up," he asked, almost like an order. "Oh fuuuuuck," he was gasping now, like he'd just finished his windsprints back at LSU. I figured he might ask me to go faster next, so I beat him to punch. He held on that edge indefinitely, his hands gripping the sides of my coffeetable, resisting the urge to reach down and simply finish himself off. It was like a race where they kept moving the tape back as you approached it, each time letting you get a little closer.

Finally, we broke it. He burst all over my floor, thick jets of cum that pooled on the floor, all the while he shouted with victorious glee. His gigantic balls emptied themselves for the longest time, longer than I'd ever burst for, that's for sure, each time it seemed like the jets were waning, another thrust would bring them back up to size. It was almost like he'd been practicing it.

By the time he was almost done, I was popping myself. He might not have even noticed in his euphoria if it hadn't shook my whole body. It caught me a little off guard, if only for a second, allowing me to recompose myself as I loosed by first spray inside him. I grabbed his ass and squeezed and I shot and shot and shot inside him, more and more, as if I had to one up his performance, as if I had to fill every inch of that large body. It felt like torrents escaping my dick, like a river rushing out of it, up to the last few squirts, before I bent over and rested on his back, letting myself go soft inside him. It was awhile until we caught our breath, and I finally slipped out of it, leaning back onto the couch and inviting him to take the spot next to me.

He fetched us a couple more beers. I was feeling a little more sober now, and while he said he "hated to wash the taste out of his mouth," he was parched.

"You think you can show me one of these days what the feels like?" I asked, wiping myself off with a towel. He came back with the beers. My seed was leaking out of him. He didn't seem to care. The mess was just a part of it, for him, maybe a badge of honor.

"Only if I don't have to pour a dozen beers into you first. I know my ass can take it, and I know my dick can give it, but hell am I ever worried about my wallet."