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September 1988

Tracy and Roy stepped out the front door of the airport terminal. The younger male carried both suitcases.

“Welcome to Boston, Big Bear," said the coyote, “and happy birthday."

“You know my birthdays are always happy whenever I have you around," said Roy. “I would have been fine just staying home in Chicago, you know."

Tracy led his mate over to a line of taxi cabs. “I know. But 75 is special." The younger male opened the door and waited for Roy to settle himself inside the taxi.

“I'm feeling special with you holding the door for me," said Roy as Tracy loaded their suitcases into the vehicle. “That's my job."

Tracy slid into the rear seat and leaned over to give his bear a kiss on the cheek. “Today it's my job," he said.

+

Tracy sat, cross-legged, on the hotel bed and watched as Roy removed his shirts from his suitcase to hang them in the closet.

The bear held a clothes hanger at arms length and shook it. “Maybe I should hang these in the bathroom and turn on the hot water," he said. “The steam might help get the wrinkles out."

Tracy's tail wagged. “Now that sounds like something the Thread Bear would say."

“I might be retired, but you can't do something your whole life and not think that way," said the bear. He made his decision and simply hung the shirt in the closet. “What about you? Aren't you going to hang up your clothes?"

Tracy coughed into his paw. “I think I'll just empty out my suitcase a little later on." The coyote glanced over at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. “We probably ought to get going."

“So, what do we do now?" Roy asked. “The Paul Revere House? The Old North Church?"

“We'll save those for tomorrow," said Tracy. “I've got something better planned." The coyote reached into his hip pocket and produced two tickets. “Baseball," he said with a smile.

Roy squinted but, at this distance and without his glasses on, couldn't make out what was printed on them. “Tell me those aren't for the Red Sox," he said.

Tracy lowered his voice in an imitation of his bear. “You better believe it!" he laughed. Roy made a face and the younger male went on to explain, “I remember you saying once that you'd root for the Sox the day they installed lights in Wrigley Field…"

Roy interrupted, “That was never supposed to happen!"

Tracy continued, “…and you know they switched those lights on ten days ago."

“Yes, so technically this isn't 'the day' they installed the lights."

“You're splitting hairs," said Tracy. “You promised, and a good bear…"

“A good bear always keeps his promises," finished Roy. “Out of curiosity, who are they playing?"

Tracy checked the front of the tickets. “The New York Yankees."

An evil grin spread across the big bear's face. “In that case, I'm a Sox fan today!"

“Yay!" said Tracy with enthusiasm. “I'll buy you a couple of hot dogs when we get to Fenway."

+

As the two friends walked out of the gates, Roy put his arm around his coyote and leaned over to kiss the top of Tracy's head. “Thanks for the ball game, Babe."

Tracy smiled up at his mate, “I'm glad you enjoyed it. I know how much you love baseball."

Roy chuckled, “I love it even more when Billy Martin's team gets beat. That weasel!"

“He actually is a marten, you know," said Tracy. “I think you've had a thing against weasels ever since what's-his-name tried stealing your towel back in high school."

“Warren Altomore," said Roy. “I bet Billy Martin is his long-lost cousin. It was fun watching the Yankees get thumped 9-to-4. I thought Martin was going to pop a blood vessel."

“Pop goes the weasel?" giggled Tracy. Roy groaned and clapped a paw over his eyes. Tracy went on, “So, are you a Red Sox fan now?"

“I wouldn't go that far," said Roy. “Stupid American League designated hitter rule. And besides that, the hot dogs are better at Wrigley. But I had a lot of fun," Roy reiterated. “This was a great way to spend my birthday."

“It's not over yet," said Tracy as he waved to flag down a taxi.

+

Tracy looked across the table at his bear. Roy wasn't looking back. His attention was fixed upon the band performing on the small stage. The saxophone player was soulfully pouring his heart into his solo. Even in the dim lights of the jazz club, Tracy could make out a tear glistening in the corner of his partner's eye, brought there by the beauty of the music. As the song came to an end and the house lights went up, the audience applauded.

“Thank you so much," said the front man. “We're going to take a short break. We'll see you right back here in twenty minutes."

The bear continued clapping until the band had all left the stage. “Wow, they were phenomenal!" Roy exclaimed as he swiveled back to face his coyote. “And the food here is great, too." The big ursine chuckled and patted his stomach. “I was afraid there wouldn't be anything to eat in Boston except lobster and clam chowder."

“I know how much you hate fishy stuff," said Tracy. “I certainly wouldn't make you eat any on your birthday." The younger male gulped down the last of his beer and reached over to squeeze Roy's paw. “Are you ready to go back to the hotel? I have one more birthday surprise for you."

+

Back in their hotel room, Roy had peeled off all of his clothes down to his boxers. “So, what's the surprise, Babe?"

Tracy, wearing nothing but his tighty-whiteys, reached deep into his suitcase and fished out a red garment. “Here you go, Big Bear. Put this on."

“What's this? A Revolutionary War costume?"

Tracy's tail wagged as he rummaged further into his suitcase, pulling out a long-tailed brown jacket. “I thought it might be fun to stage a little revolution of our own, since we're in Boston."

“Me? A redcoat?" protested Roy. “You know I'm a patriot. American through-and-through."

“That's the only one they had in your size," said Tracy, tossing a white shirt to his mate and pulling out another for himself.

With a shake of his head, Roy donned the shirt and slipped his arms into the red coat. By then, Tracy was reaching back into his suitcase and tossed a white object the bear's way.

“Uh, Tracy, I don't think regular soldiers wore wigs," said Roy.

“Would you wear it for me anyway?" asked Tracy.

“Not on your life," replied the bear. “Whose birthday are we celebrating here?"

Tracy blew a raspberry at the big male and pulled out a toy flintlock. He aimed it at Roy, who held up his paws. “Whoa, whoa!" said the bear. He tugged at his boxers. “Aren't you forgetting something? Shouldn't I be wearing knickers or something like that?"

Tracy gestured with the toy gun. “They'd just be coming off anyway. Now, 'alt! Oooo goes theah?"

Roy cracked up laughing. “I thought it was me who was supposed to use an English accent!"

Tracy cocked his head to the side. “What? Didn't I do that right?" he asked, puzzled.

“You've spent the entire day around Bostonians," laughed the bear. “You weren't even close."

“Come on, Roy!" pleaded the coyote. “Just try to stay in character."

“Oh, sorry," said the bear. He raised his paws again. “For King and Country!" he vowed. “One if by land, two if by sea!"

Tracy winced but chose to ignore his partner's blunder. “About face, you English swine! March! To the stockade wi' ye!"

Roy turned and dutifully marched the three paces it took him to reach the bed. He patted the top of the mattress and asked, “This stockade here?"

“Aye! An' be quick about it!"

Roy burst out laughing again. “Now you sound like a pirate!"

“Shet yer trap an' get in there," commanded the coyote, this time in a poor Scottish brogue.

Roy bit his lip to keep from laughing and climbed onto the bed.

“Hands up!" said Tracy. He pulled a short strand of thin twine from the pocket of his jacket and fastened a loose loop joining Roy's left wrist to the bedpost. As he rounded the bed to secure another loop to his captive's other wrist, the first came loose and fell off. “Talk, swine!" demanded the patriot. “What are King William's plans?"

“I think you mean King George," said Roy. Tracy cocked his head and gave the bear a warning look. “Oh," said Roy, “what I meant to say was, I shall never betray my King!"

“As ye wish. We have ways to make scum like you talk!" Tracy climbed onto the bed between Roy's legs and removed the bear's shorts. The coyote reached into the pockets of his jacket again, producing a small, familiar bottle from one and a string of spheres about an inch in diameter, linked together with a cord running through their centers.

“Umm, what are those?" asked Roy. “I don't think those are standard military issue."

Tracy didn't answer the question. He coated the beads with a film of oil from the bottle. “Legs up." he ordered.

The bear pulled his knees up to his chest and held them with his paws which had both slipped free of their bonds. Tracy pressed the first of the beads to Roy's pucker and gave it a push.

“Oh!" gasped Roy. “That's… Oh!" the second sphere popped into the bear's rear entrance. By the time the eighth and final bead was in place, Roy's penis was fully erect and the bear was panting hard.

Tracy was still on his knees. He leaned forward between Roy's legs to look his prisoner in the eye. “Are you ready to talk now?" The canine gave a gentle tug on the end of the cord that the beads were attached to.

“Never, colonist pig!" insisted the bear. Tracy pulled harder and the first of the beads popped out of Roy's anus. “Oh!" gasped the bear. A trickle of precum dripped from the tip of the big male's penis.

The revolutionary hero tugged again on the string of beads, but teasingly, not quite hard enough to pull out the second. Tracy leaned forward to take his lover's bearhood between his lips and pulled again.

Tug, tug, tug. Pop! “Oh, my Dog!" moaned Roy as his sphincter surrendered and released the second bead.

“Mm-hmm" hummed Tracy as he continued sucking on Roy's shaft and tugging at the cord.

Tug, tug. Pop! The third bead was out. “Huhh, huhh! Oh, fuck!" Roy placed his paws on the back of Tracy's head.

Tug, tug, tug. “Oh, Tracy! I'm, uhhhnnnnn!" Pop! Roy's body stiffened as his orgasm shot through his body.

Pop-pop-pop-pop! The coyote drank greedily as hot bear honey spouted from Roy's member.

When the sensations of his climax subsided, Roy slumped back onto the bed. “The British are cumming!" he giggled.

“Your warning is a little late," said Tracy, wiping his mouth with the back of his paw. “That didn't take very long," he observed. “It looks like you are the real Minuteman here."

“Dog! Those beads are amazing! I never would have dreamed…" sighed Roy. Tracy stretched out across his lover's chest. Roy stroked tenderly between the canine's ears. “Do you think they had those back in 1776?"

“I'm sure of it," said Tracy. The younger male giggled, “What do you think they cleaned their cannons with?"

“I don't know," said Roy, “but mine was primed and loaded."

“You're not kidding," said Tracy. He ran his tongue around his lips. “Now that was a shot heard around the world!"

“Babe?"

“Yeah, Big Bear?"

“Thanks for making this birthday so special for me: the trip, the ball game, the jazz club, all of it. I love you so much."

“I love you too," Tracy assured his mate. “Ready to turn out the light?"

“Are you planning to sleep in that jacket?" Roy asked.

“Mm-hmm," yawned Tracy. “I'm too comfy snuggling with my old bear."

Roy leaned forward enough to kiss the top of his lover's head, then reached over to shut off the bedside lamp.