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Poppycock’s Field Guide to Monster Sex

#1: Bigfoot

Believe it or not, but I made love to the one and only Bigfoot.

It was in the early autumn, in the year 1969: just two years after those gentlemen first captured footage of the stud all the way out in California.

Now, if you were to ask a twenty-something such as myself if I believed in the sasquatch of all things, honey, I’d call you loony for sure. Why, I’d never in a million years dream of writing a memoir such as this. Being a monster-fucker, if you’ll pardon my French, is hardly the sort of thing a person goes to college for. But all of that changed one night, all the way out in Michigan. I was staying with a dear friend of mine in Saugatuck at the time. He lived in a charming little bungalow, just up the hill from downtown. Why, it didn’t even take more than ten minutes to get to Lake Michigan by foot, and let me tell you, there’s nothing more romantic than snuggling up to a fellow up on those sandy dunes on those cold, September nights, with the freshwater waves lapping up on the shore. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had a “client” who’d make regular trips down to Saugatuck on the weekends. He was more the cool type than a bubbly fairy, but goodness did he know how to make someone his personal toy. But you see, the gentleman happened to live all the way up in Traverse City. It takes the better part of three hours to make the trip, but the man happened to live on a charming piece of property, right next to a cherry orchard. And with the amount that this man paid, that drive was worth it.

Unfortunately, the man had a missus, as I would learn down the line. That meant that there would be absolutely no lingering in bed for the night, once the deed was done. As such, I’d made such a midnight drive from Traverse City to Saugatuck many a time. And with a trade such as mine, honey, you better believe that I would never be spooked by driving at night. But as I made my way through Manistee Forest, something gave me the chills. It didn’t help that I liked to drive along the lakeshore, as opposed to cutting a path clear through the mitten. That sort of thing tended to add thirty minutes to the drive. But as a professional cruiser, those sorts of things never gave me too much trouble. All until that fateful night.

It was just south of Frankfort: not in Germany, mind you. I’d only just begun my moonlit odyssey, and someone had thrown a rock at my car! It was a cute little thing: the car, not the vandal. I drove this cute little cherry red ‘52 Ford Thunderbird convertible. And someone was throwing rocks! Why, I just about jumped out of the moving vehicle right then and there. I thought I saw a shape dart about in the bushes, but the guy wasn’t about to leap in front of my headlights. I was ready to give a young, bored hick ne’er-do-well a piece of my mind. But I at least had a mind to park along the side of the road and kill the engine first. You’re never going to get a word in edgewise if you’re making an argument from the front seat of a convertible with the engine on. So I stepped out onto the road. I remember wearing nothing but a plain white undershirt and these cute black suspenders that were completely unnecessary, because my jeans were tight enough to hold themselves up. I also had this tacky little beat-up trench coat. It was a chilly night! But to my surprise, no one came out to confess their misdeeds, nor did anyone make a ruckus trying to disappear further into the woods. I wasn’t about to give chase: I’ve had one too many bad experiences with poison ivy. So I shrugged, flipped the bird at no one in particular, and climbed back into the front seat. That’s when I heard a strange, uncanny hollering.

It wasn’t any human hollering, mind you. It was a bit like a cross between a dog’s bark and a mourning dove’s coo, but agitated. There was an ape-like quality to the vocalization, which shouldn’t come across as a surprise to anyone who read the chapter title. Now I studied biology back in my college days, so while I was scared out of my boots, I found myself stunned by curiosity. A real enigma was laid at my feet. There certainly weren’t any gorillas living in Michigan! Now, I’d heard about Bigfoot, even back in 1969, but it wasn’t the sort of topic that my peers took seriously in an academic setting, so a big hairy sasquatch wasn’t exactly at the front of my mind. But while I stood there on the moonlit road, scratching my chin, I was taken by surprise when a couple more feral voices came out to join the chorus! As far as I could tell, a pack of, well, something was lying in wait at the roadside, waiting for a meal to roll by in an automobile. And since I was enough of a dunce to get tricked into leaving my vehicle, dinner was served! I might as well have served myself up on a platter! Tastefully, with a lemon wedge and a sprig of parsley. I’m worth five stars.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

Now, if there’s one thing about me that’s true, it’s that I am such a klutz! I bolted quicker than a flash of lightning, but my two left feet got caught in each other’s crosshairs, and I hit the ground like I was ducking for cover. You can even see the dent in my poor Thunderbird to this day where my head hit it! The asphalt was coarse and rough, and made quick work of tearing a hole in my jeans. My hands were also scraped up a bit in the kerfuffle. And while I was able to avoid getting the wind knocked out of my lungs, my poor head started to become slightly delirious, to the point where I wondered if I’d given myself a concussion. Why, I even tasted a little bit of iron at the back of my throat, even though I was never brought to spit up any blood.

But while I sat there on the side of the empty road, practically seeing enough stars to get a Greek myth made in the process, an overwhelming odor hit my nose like a truck! Now, I won’t ever complain if a fellow forgets to shower before an intimate rendezvous. A man with a bit of sweat dripping off of him will always smell more pleasant than a garden full of flowers in my book. But there was an extra layer to this noisome odor that gave me pause. I wasn’t about to retch on the street, but I wasn’t about to dive in facefirst: there was a little bit of manly musk on the middle notes, the thought didn’t not cross my mind. But this aroma presented more of a challenge. I could sniff out a well-used locker room, and I could sniff out a bit of wet soil. And there was a little layer of decay, but not so horrid as to stand in the forefront of my palette.

But as I lay there on my hands and knees, rubbing my head, the scent switched: notes of pheromones began to waft my direction. It almost smelled like one of those uncut European gentlemen. In hindsight, I had my whole rear-end proudly on display, advertising and an entire bed-and-breakfast to any road tripper in the vicinity. But I was so concerned about my head, that worrying about my posture wasn’t a priority. There was still howling in the distance, but the being that hollered closest to me became silent as soon as I hit my head. That’s when I heard footsteps! On bare, hard concrete! Something massive was waltzing around on the other side of my T-bird. I felt my heart leap up into my throat! My hair stood on end! I was nearly sweating enough to overpower the aroma on the other side of my lovely automobile. I’m not too ashamed to admit it, but I was frozen in place! The shock of the situation, coupled with the shock of my pain, practically made me a wild predator’s best friend. I’ll tell you, I’d have made a pack of lions’ day, if they’d stumbled across me like that! The monster moved around the car, but made care not to stumble out in front of the headlights. At that point, I’d flipped over to my heiney and started crawling back as quietly as possible, but you’re never going to win a race like that if your opponent’s walking.

That’s when he came into view!

Now, as I mentioned, the lights weren’t exactly shining on this creature at that moment. But from what I could see, it was a figure in the shape of a man: two legs and two arms. But he was covered in fur! If I couldn’t tell from the creature’s smell, the sight of that unruly, unkempt hide would have clued me into the fact that this monster hadn’t seen a shower since the fifties! It was difficult to tell then, but his fur had a woody color to it, halfway between brown and black, but it had more tangles and knots than all the heads of hair over in Woodstock. His head had the same sort of sagittal crest that you’d find on a male gorilla, but this creature’s crest was more rounded, and didn’t have an indent. He marched about completely on his legs, without resting any weight on his knuckles; also unlike a gorilla. His face also lacked fur from cheek to cheek, all the way up to the brow. His nostrils and lips had the same breadth and width as a gorilla’s, though his mouth was a little thinner than most ape’s. He seemed to be seven-and-a-half feet tall, or two-and-a-half meters, for my readers abroad.

The monster didn’t have a tail on his backside. But just because his rear-end didn’t have a tail, didn’t mean that his front side was lacking in that department.

Now, dear readers, I know I’m known for being a bit of a size queen. So it’s with a heavy heart that I must admit that Bigfoot wasn’t exactly packing. That bright pink little rod, capturing enough moonlight for me to make out the color, was probably only three or four inches long, and no wider than my pinky! The shape was very similar to a human’s, though his shaft tapered a little bit until it got to the head, which was more bulbous than dome-shaped. Now, I only know this by merit of having studied biology, but it did seem to be the sort of stiffy that had possessed a baculum: a penile bone, for those who skipped class. But that didn’t help to make his member seem any thicker. Make no mistake, Bigfoot was hard! But he wasn’t about to star in any adult film, working with equipment like that.

But the gentleman’s balls? Well, honey! That’s a different story! Two furry grapefruits hung low enough that I was afraid they’d knock against his knees. And the closer that Bigfoot came, the more I could smell them. The scent of sweat and soil and slight rot flew right out the window, for those musky orbs reeked with a heavenly, manly smell, and there was no competition to be had. I was practically shivering in fear, and even holding my arms up to cover my face. But as soon as those balls hit my palette, I couldn’t help but lick my lips. I even moaned a little as I fell to my back. And I think I saw Bigfoot’s cock twitch as soon as he heard me.

But still! I was frightened for my life! I tried in vain to pull myself up to my knees and spring for the door of my convertible. But the sasquatch was faster. Within seconds, he’d lifted me up with a single shaggy arm and shoved me under his right armpit. The monster was strong! I could tell that he exhausted zero effort in the process of pulling me up. He could even carry the T-bird on his back if he wanted! His armpit was rank, and though I was spared from having my face shoved into it, the proximity of a mere foot was far from a big-enough buffer.

Bigfoot then started to march right into those woods. There I was, kicking and screaming, my legs dangling a good four or five feet off of the ground. I wasn’t thinking straight! Even after seeing the fellow’s erection, I thought I was as good as supper! Why, I was both dinner and a show! I tried scratching, and even hazarded biting a little, but there was no penetrating that long-haired, hairy hide of his. I doubt I even left a scratch!

The further we got from the T-bird, the less I could see. And though I still had full faculty over my sense of smell, my sense of sight was soon taken off of the menu. But I could still hear alright, over the beast’s bestial grunting and heavy marching, and I could hear the other sasquatches hollering in the distance. But that’s when it hit me: the rest of the forest had gone completely silent. There were no frogs, no birds, no insects. Nothing! Not even the breeze seemed to blow, at least loud enough to hear. I felt leaves and branches swipe at my face and legs, and I felt the warmth of the massive furry creature who’d taken my hostage, but there was no other sound in the entire woods! I had no idea where we were headed! Only that we were descending into some sort of valley.

Minutes of marching passed. I screamed my lungs out, and flailed as hard as I could, but nothing could halt Bigfoot’s progress! I felt my injured hands and knees sting with each branch I struck at, and I found myself smelling the monster’s heavy musk hard enough that I started getting dizzy. Though that might have been from the potential concussion. Even the stars overhead were robbed from my view, with how thick the forest’s canopy had gotten before the leaves started to fall. The air was chilly, but the sasquatch’s body worked far better than any furnace on the market. I wasn’t even shivering anymore! The hollering grew closer. The march descended deeper. And before too long, I heard the sound of rushing water. Some sort of large river must have been nearby!

And that’s when we went into the shallow cave. Now normally, at such a late hour, I’d never have been able to notice any details from inside of a dark cave at night. But believe it or not, Bigfoot knew the secrets of fire! A roaring fireplace was lit, close enough to the mouth of the cave for the smoke to properly evacuate, and because of that, I was able to make out every little nook and cranny on the sasquatch’s body. I’d noticed a few scars on his chest and face, seemingly from the sharp claws on another sasquatch’s hands. And indeed, the monster had hands: no paws of any sort. He even had opposable thumbs! The hairs on his shaggy hide seemed to be just under a foot long, and they seemed to keep pretty uniform. Even his taut, muscular ass seemed to have a full head of hair. Only the corners of Bigfoot’s face, as well as his ballsac itself, seemed to have shorter hair.

The cave itself wasn’t anything special to write home about. I’m no geologist, but I know that the walls and floor were made of rocks: brown, wet rocks. The cave was the size of a standard American living room, furnished with what seemed like trampled bush grass and hair, molded together to form a nest. And if you thought Bigfoot smelled bad in the open night air, I can guarantee that his stench was three times as potent in the confines of that tiny cave. I practically gagged as the creature threw me into the nesting! Tears even started flowing from my eyes! And I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been known to hit the reefer, but I’ve never had a marihuana cigarette that made me half as dizzy as the mere scent of Bigfoot’s living room! Why, even my consciousness began to fade. Dear readers, don’t worry: I later got my head checked for a concussion.

But I managed to spin around again, cover my face like it helped me at all the first time I tried, and backed myself into the nest. Bigfoot merely towered over me, standing in front of the fireplace so that I could get a good look. Now, the cave wasn’t exactly seven feet high, so the monster had to hunch over. But even then, I felt like a tiny little mouse, soon to be devoured by a great big bear!

That’s when Bigfoot’s friends showed up on the scene, hooting and hollering like a pack of half-avian, half-canine creatures. But to my surprise, my kidnapper seemed to turn and block the entrance, none of them daring to come inside. Bigfoot let out a blood-curdling scream, far louder than any of the other sasquatches were making. The couple; shorter, long-haired monsters, came into the light with hackles raised. They even started beating their chests. But my Bigfoot wasn’t about to have any of it. He sent that tree trunk of an arm face first into the closest sasquatch, who backed away immediately. The other monster stood his ground, and even started throwing rocks, but when my Bigfoot came to swing once more, the smaller sasquatch learned better and turned lack-of-tail, just like his friend. The hollering continued, but neither monster would enter the cave with their much larger friend. It’s like they knew their place, but they couldn’t help but watch.

In hindsight, it seemed as though the pack of sasquatches were first planning on eating me! As I mentioned, of course. But the one who kidnapped me had other plans in mind as soon as he saw me on my hands and knees. And even though his friends weren’t too keen on the change in plans, they weren’t about to stop my Bigfoot from enacting them.

Now, despite his bulk, the creature was rather nimble. In the span of a single second, the sasquatch was hunched over me on his knees. He picked me up like a little doll and turned me over so that my rear-end was present and at attention. He inched his face closer and gave a few sniffs. And he must have liked what he smelled, because I heard a few deep, throaty grunts follow suit. I wasn’t about to bend over and strip for the fellow, but I’d already exhausted myself while getting carried over. I was panting, and I was certainly scared, but at that point, I knew what Bigfoot wanted, and I knew my chances of survival were much higher if I didn’t act like such a tease. And truth be told, the scent was starting to grow on me. I’d be lying if I said that my own little cock was still entirely soft.

Bigfoot didn’t seem to know how clothes worked, though. He scratched at the seam of the jeans, searching for any hole, but he didn’t scratch hard enough to rip anything. He grunted a few times more, then started to grip both cheeks of my ass, as though spreading them apart would cause the seam to tear. At first, I fumbled clumsily with my zipper. I actually managed to slip my suspenders off. But Bigfoot was quicker. A loud rip rang out through the cave, echoing on the stone walls. A single tear fell from my sullen face. Those jeans were so pretty! But I couldn’t lament for long, because for a split-second, I felt cold air lap at my bare ass. Naturally, Bigfoot wasn’t one to want to wait. So a second later, I felt him jam a hairy finger right into there. I arched my back and let him milk my hole without any hesitation. Thank goodness I’d already been fisted that evening by the gentleman in Traverse City!

But Bigfoot was smart! Even if he wasn’t sporting a footlong rod, he wasn’t about to slip into a dry hole. He was going to eat me, all right! I felt his hot breath wash over my taint and balls, and then I felt his bring a wide, broad tongue right up to my eager pucker. Now to be honest, that’s the sort of treatment that turns me into putty in a fellow’s hands. I love a massive cock up my hole, but a nice, loving tongue is going to turn me into a leaking, whining, squirming mess! Every impulse to flee fled my mind as Bigfoot started to rim me. At first, his long, wet lapping seemed to be focused on getting my hole wet and sloppy. He didn’t really stick it in there. But after half a minute of rimming, Bigfoot seemed to change his tune. He jammed his tongue into me hard. Why, with the way it folded onto itself, it seemed to be wider and longer than his pointer finger! I even started to hump into his face, which seemed to turn the creature on even more. He devoured me like Thanksgiving dinner! I was close to shooting my load before he even brought his cock to my hole. The scent of monster saliva was just as fragrant as the creature’s sweat and pheromones, and let me tell you, I was far from immune to its persuasion. I throbbed harder than I’d ever throbbed with a human partner. The other two sasquatches started jacking themselves off at the entrance of the cave. Out of the corner of my eye, I almost swore that I saw one descend to his knees.

Now, I didn’t know if Bigfoot spoke English, but it couldn’t hurt to try! After a few minutes of that heavenly tongue therapy, I pushed my ragged vocal cords to their limits and screamed as loud as I could. “Fuck me, please!”

And, honey! Bigfoot heard me loud and clear.

The monster shoved my face into the nesting: not hard enough to leave a bruise. I wasn’t about to let a gentleman slam my face full-force into hard stone, monster or otherwise, but he certainly pressed my face into the nesting hard enough to limit the flow of oxygen. For those intense, precious seconds, the only thing my lungs were treated to was raw sasquatch, and I was far too frisky to complain.

Then, the mating began.

The towering, shaggy sasquatch knew how to line his cock up with a hole, and he sunk the entire rod inside of me in his first thrust. I let out an eager, needy moan: don’t tell Bigfoot, but I was exaggerating. Just a little. He seemed like the sort of fellow to enjoy a noisy partner. But what he lacked in girth, boy! Did Bigfoot make up in speed! I tried to do the calculations in my head. The sasquatch was able to thirst in and out of me at a rate of four thrusts a second. He wasn’t long enough to hit my sweet spot perfectly, but there are certainly a bundle of nerves in the little pockets along the way, and that sweet speed set each and every one of them on fire. He was also a pokey fellow, what with the baculum, but I like it rough! And that sort of treatment drove me wild! Within no time, I started to let out a few actual, authentic moans of pleasure. That sort of rapidity just can’t be beat. Especially when one finds themselves well-lubricated.

And let me tell you: Bigfoot’s a broken faucet. At first, I thought the wetness surrounding my hot was monster spit, but I quickly changed my tune when the scent of hot, musky precum wafted over to my nose. He could have filled a couple of milk bottles! My pants started to become soaked through, even down past the knees, and Bigfoot just kept on fucking. I’ve read about some animals trying to reach an orgasm as quickly as possible; survival of the swiftest, and all that. But the sasquatch took his time. Not with speed, mind you; he still fucked my ass like he was weilding a jackhammer. But Bigfoot was taking his time. I’m a leaky guy myself, truth be told, and I’d already felt my own little prick drip a little here and there, but it seemed to me as though Bigfoot wasn’t going to drain those furry bowling balls into me until I finished hands-free. My hole clenched and throbbed. My cock twitched in pleasure. My nose found itself pleasantly awash in a tsunami of monster eroticism. And I wasn’t going to last long.

It’s tricky to keep track of the time, when one finds themselves momentarily in heaven. But if I could recollect past my lust-addled hindsight, I’d say that Bigfoot was working my rear-end for the span of ten or so minutes. And he kept up that breakneck pace the entire time. A symphony of animal grunting filled my ears, but it didn’t come from my lover alone! In my lustful haze, I turned my gaze to find that the other two sasquatches were engaging in a bit of buttfuckery themselves. I couldn’t blame them! I’d need a cock in me pronto, if those bestial pheromones and feral grunting were a part of my sensory experience.

Perhaps I have a bit of a voyeaur streak in me, dear readers, because seeing those two other monsters fuck was just the push I needed to catapult me over the edge.

I started to cum. I shot five or six white, sticky loads into the mixture of fur and foliage that these monsters slept in; and I had little doubt that they were going to continue sleeping in that bed, regardless of if it smelled of human semen or not. But even though I was sure that the monster inside of me could smell my load, he didn’t seem to indicate it. He kept fucking, as hard and as fast as he could, and he milked each and every ounce of semen out of me in the process. That uncanny hooting filled my eardrums, and the plapping of furry thighs against bare skin made up the percussion section. Bigfoot made for quite the excellent, attentive lover, but he wasn’t going to stop before he drained himself completely into me. Even the other two fuzzy monsters seemed to join in the chorus; they weren’t going to last long either.

My vision went black, and even though I’d found myself one orgasm short, my member wouldn’t stop throbbing. The grunting filled my psyche. The fog of animal musk dominated my nose. And everything rose in a wondrous crescendo, until-

Suddenly, I noticed the scent of wet dog.

And a strange, lupine howl shattered the mood entirely. A wolf seemed to be calling from outside.

But wolves didn’t live in Michigan…

Dear readers, I don’t mean to be a tease, and I don’t mean to leave you with a cliffhanger, but in my first foray into monster fucking, the unimagineable happened; two monsters sought to make me their fling in the same evening!

But that’s a story for another day. I wouldn’t worry, though. If you enjoyed hearing about sasquatch-fucking, dogmen should be right up your alley!

Until next time!

Poppycock.