Perfect Plush Pal
One-off. The first time I tried this, it spiraled into what eventually became "Sitting Out of Gym Class." That was so indecisive, the setting, storyline, ending, characters, and name changed in the hour and a half I spent writing it. Hell, I didn't even make it four paragraphs in before changing "Mr. Bear" to "Beary" to "Bearie" to "Jimmy" back to "Bearie." I've the commitment of a drunken frat boy.
This turned out to be walking the fine line between hot, bizarre, preachy, and funny. Let's find out how this goes.
___________
Eric shifted under the cover of his blanket. Heavy, blue, made of something. He didn't know what exactly, but it was warm, and that's what he cared about.
Bearie shifted with him. Soft, brown, made of something. He didn't know what exactly, but it was comfy, and that's what he cared about.
His parents were concerned; ten-year-old kits don't bring a teddy bear around with them wherever they go. And the school psychologist said that it was indicative of some sort of independence issue, and would be problematic to his adult psyche. But the school behavior analyst said that it was a healthy if unusual attachment to a comfort object that extended past the average age, and that's why it's not a definition but an average. They didn't really pay attention to the school sociologist or the school therapist, but they offered equally contradictory and equally useless advice.
So the plushie became a staple accessory of Eric's. They woke up in each others' arms. Bearie rested outside the tub during the morning shower. Two chairs, side by side at breakfast-- his parents drew the line at pouring a second bowl. Bearie waved goodbye at 9 and said hello at 3. The plushie offered his expert opinion in math, history, and English, and every night the furry friends nodded off with a final nuzzle. One time, Eric put Bearie in his backpack, where the brown ball of fuzz guarded his pencilcase. It didn't go over well with the jock kids, and his parents convinced him to leave the bear at home after getting a splint fitted.
His parents thought they were just trying to strike a balance between what was good for Eric and what made Eric happy. Eric thought they were just trying to get rid of Bearie because he liked the plushie more than he did them.
Eric hugged the bear tighter. After all, Bearie didn't make him eat all his vegetables, comb his hair, do his homework, do chores, or brush his teeth. Bearie was always there for him, no matter what.
Such a commitment caused his parents to eventually resign themselves to the situation. Their little red fuzzball liked a littler brown fuzzball. Aside from that, he was an average little fox. Everyone had their comfort object they kept with them. Hers was a cross necklace; his was a Swiss army knife. If it was indicative of some sort of independence issue, then it was one that they all had, and all their adult psyches were problematic. Their son's just happened to be bigger than average, and that's why it's not a definition but an average.
Eric wasn't at the meetings his parents went to; he didn't even know they occurred. He didn't know what a psyche was, or an average, or a cross necklace. Eric's concerns were closer at hand.
Like, for example, the monster itch on his crotch.
He tried to ignore it and focus on sleeping. He had been trying to ignore it for most of the day; you don't scratch that in public, his parents said. And he didn't want to scratch it in front of Bearie, because that would be impolite and rude, and be horribly embarrassing to his parents at their dinner party, if he remembered the stern talking-to right.
"Bearie," he said in a hushed whisper, "you wouldn't tell anyone if I scratched myself, right? Good friends can be rude sometimes, right? And that's okay, right?"
No response came, neither verbal nor emotional; the plush doll's glass-bead eyes just stared back through the darkness.
Eric nodded. "Thanks, buddy!" He took one paw out from behind the bear's back and reached down to his Pokemon pajama pants. He gently raked his claws back and forth, trying to satisfy the itch.
He growled softly in frustration. The itch remained persistent. He slipped his paw under the waistband, scratching his sheath directly, trying to chase the itch away.
After a second, the itch was gone. But it was replaced by this different feeling. It wasn't... It wasn't itchy, really. It was like a kind of tingle. A good tingle. A weird tingle.
He scooted up in his bed a little, resting his head on the headboard so that he could look down. He tried to shift the covers out of the way, but couldn't get them to stay up. He slid Bearie under the blanket's edge, using him as a post, and told him to hold up the blanket for a minute. He slipped the waistband of his pjs down so that he could see what was happening.
He looked down at his small, fuzzy sheath. It seemed normal, although you couldn't really see how red it was with the lights off. It was more of a dulled, dark, greyish-orange covering his bits. When he took his paw off to pull down the waistband, he noticed that the funny feeling went away. He looked in deep thought for a moment before trying an experiment. He reached his hand back and began skritching again. Almost instantly, the feeling came back. He stopped. The tingling did as well. By the power of raw logic only ten years of life experience can provide, he determined that scratching his privates felt good.
He wanted to keep at it, but Bearie was right there. He couldn't just scratch himself because he wanted to; Bearie was right there next to him. But Bearie had seen him naked before; they dressed together, took baths together, and went through the naked-as-a-jaybird phase together. And Bearie was already naked; he didn't have any clothes covering up his soft, brown fuzz. But he felt like he should ask.
"We're close, right? If I kept skritching myself, you wouldn't mind, right?"
No response.
"Alright, buddy." The kit began pawing at his sheath, scratching softly at the mound of fur. He giggled a little as the tingle came back. "This feels really good, Bearie." He used his free paw to spin the plushie around so that he looked at the kit's kit.
After some more scratches, he saw the pink tip of his pee-pee slide out of his sheath. "That's weird," he said. "Does it always do that, Bearie?"
He took a claw and scratched at the surface of the tip. He cringed; that wasn't tingly! That was hurty! Why was that different? It should feel good, not bad...
"Why did that hurt, Bearie?"
"Maybe I did it wrong..."
"Maybe if you skritch it, then it'll feel good."
He took the bear's paw and slid it closer to his tip, allowing the covers to fall around him. He hesitated for a second.
"You gotta promise to be really careful under there, okay?"
He slowly brought the paw so that it just touched his tip, afraid that there would be another sharp shot of pain. But no jolt came; instead, he felt the soft fuzzy fur that covered Bearie resting against his most sensitive area. He tried moving the paw a little, and felt the furry texture sliding over his pee-pee.
It was really tingly now! He giggled again; this felt better than when he was just scratching. "You're really good at this, Bearie."
They kept at it for a while, Eric assisting Bearie, Bearie rubbing Eric. Eric lifted the covers back up with his other hand. He saw more of his pee-pee.
Wait, more? All he saw was just the tip of it when he used the bathroom, and that just peeked out of the end of his sheath. But there was a good couple inches attached to that tip that Eric never knew about. It was pink, like his tip, but in the dark light more of a dulled red. If it had happened before, he surely would've noticed; after all, it was sticking straight up, and he liked to think he knew what was happening.
"Bearie... how did you do that?" Eric turned the bear towards him, and the bear gave a blank look. "Well, however you did it, don't stop it now!"
Eric slid the bear's paw up and down the sides, feeling the brown fabric running along the sides of his newly discovered wee-wee. It felt even better than before! Eric wasn't giggling anymore; it was more of a weird growling-breathing thing. He wasn't even sure how he was doing it, but it felt right.
He didn't really know why anything worked the way it did in this situation, but he knew how to blend his curiosity and his observation. He slid Bearie over and sat him so that he was right in front of Eric's pee-pee and faced the fox.
"Maybe... maybe if you try both paws at once, Bearie, then it'll feel twice as good."
He reached a paw up and nodded the plushie's head for him, then held onto the plushie from behind. He slid the bear forward so that his paws held onto Eric's foxhood. As the bear moved up, his bottom brushed against the fox's balls, giving Eric another tingle. The fox shuddered a little; he would have to explore that part later.
The bear finally pressed against the kit. He felt that familiar tingle as Bearie's fur gently pushed against his pee-pee. Eric exhaled sharply when the plush first touched, and he inhaled the same when Bearie made his first journey upwards.
The feeling over all of him was indescribable. Each tuft of fur traced a brush stroke up and down the kit's boyish length, painting a fantastic sensation on all sides.
He kept doing his breathy-growls, but a bit louder. "Bearie..." he said in between gasps. "You're... you're really good... it..."
He felt this weird pressure building up inside of him. Among the mixture of pleasure and bewilderment, a sense of panic arose from within the young fox. What was happening now? He felt like his pee-pee was going to explode or something, and Bearie's strokes made the pressure get stronger.
"Bearie, what are you doing? What's... what's that..."
Despite his concern, Eric didn't stop Bearie; he began moving the plush faster and faster, the strokes coming quicker and quicker, his silent muzzle bouncing against the tip again and again.
Suddenly, the pressure inside him built to a point where Eric couldn't take it. He felt his entire body tense up and a wave of happy crash over him, covering him in a hot, tingly feeling. He winced his eyes shut at the experience, and felt his pee-pee twitch, almost like he was peeing in little spurts. He growled in a mix of surprise and pleasure, losing all control.
The twitches eventually subsided; the tension washed away. All that was left was a warm pleasant feeling covering every inch of his body. He opened his eyes and looked down at Bearie.
"Bearie... that was incred..." The fox panted. "That was incredible..."
He looked closely at the bear and saw something covering him from head to toe. Eric remembered that he thought he was peeing, and got concerned. Did he accidentally pee on his best friend?
He slid the bear up to his chest, making a small trail of the stuff running up his shirt. He sniffed at the bear. It sure didn't smell like pee. It was more of a musty smell, like a closet you haven't opened in a long time. He kinda liked it; the smell stirred something deep inside him. Something in his mind told him to lick Bearie's soaked fur, and the fox instinctively did it.
Yuck! It was really thick, and it tasted really bitter. He wanted to spit it out, but couldn't; it covered all of his tongue. He tried to find a part of Bearie to lick so he could get some of it off, but everywhere was the same bitter-musty mixture.
After a couple of attempts at getting rid of it, though, Eric got kinda used to it. Sure, it was weird and sticky, and it tasted kinda bitter, but there was something about it that made it unexplainably tasty. He licked at the bear's belly and chin, getting some more of the taste. He hesitated before going after the bear's pee-pee area, but since Bearie had touched Eric's, it was okay for Eric to touch Bearie's. He licked in between the bear's legs, getting as much of the sticky stuff as he could, which was now starting to taste a little sweet, like a candy that you start to like after a while.
Eric lapped his lips clean before he looked into the plushie's glass-bead eyes. He giggled softly.
"That was really fun, Bearie. We make a really good team."
He hugged the now-sticky bear close to his chest and breathed the pleasant smell in deeply. Exhausted, he closed his eyes.
"Goodnight, Bearie."
___________
Eric shifted under the cover of his blanket. Massive, navy, made of a blend of cotton and polyester. He didn't know what percentage, but it was insulating, and that's what he desired.
Greg used to shift with him. Fuzzy, chocolate, made of a blend of sex and love. He didn't know what percentage, but he was comforting, and that's what he desired.
Greg said it wasn't working out, that they were just too different. Bullshit, they were too different. Eric was too different from that dalmatian that he saw Greg with last week down at the Starbucks. Ten months together, and he drops you for some spotty-assed whore just like that. Eric made a note to never date another Labrador. Or a dalmatian, for that matter.
He curled up under his bed and cried a little. Twenty years old, and he's crying naked in bed. That might be why Greg left him, he thought.
He wiped his eyes and climbed back out of bed. He couldn't sleep. He needed something to take his mind off of the pain.
The tall red ball of fuzz paced back and forth. He opened up the window shade and looked out at the campus. 2 AM, and there's still people wandering around. He tried to watch a movie, but all he had was crappy comedies and pornos. He thought about jerking off, but all the tapes were ones that he and Greg used to get in the mood with, and the last thing he wanted right now was to think about that cheating Labrador bastard of a fur.
He slid a box from under his bed and started flipping through the contents. Stay in the past, he thought, and you'll stay off the present. The contents were stuff from home, mostly. Grades, honors, pictures...
Bearie.
He hadn't looked through the box; he just took stuff from his room, packed it up, and shipped it to his dorm. But looking at the plushie brought back memories of his childhood. Chief among those was the first time Eric had ever cum.
He remembered it fairly clearly; it wasn't something you'd easily forget, fucking your stuffed toy and licking up your cum. He remembered that when he came back from a friend's house the next day, Bearie was freshly washed and cleaned, and that the day after that, his parents began setting stricter and stricter rules about the plushie. Eventually, he stopped taking the plushie with him wherever he went, thinking it was a stupid thing that ten-year-olds do, and that now that he was eleven, he was beyond it.
He sighed. Ten years had gone by, and he hadn't really talked with Bearie in nine. But right now, he wanted someone to comfort him, and that someone was Bearie.
"I haven't seen you in ages, buddy."
His glass-bead eyes stared back as usual.
Eric paused and sighed. What the hell was he doing? He had taken Intro to Psych 117; he lost a close sexual partner, so he's reaching out to anything possible for comfort. It was only natrual for him to reach out to his first sexual quote-unquote partner.
Bearie stared deep into Eric's eyes. Somewhere in Eric's mind, he knew that nothing good would come of this, that it would only make him more unstable. But somewhere else in Eric's mind, a primal impulse was throbbing, an impulse to protect his mates whenever possible. Evolution trumped the idea, and Eric smiled slightly.
"Bearie..."
He lifted the bear up to eye level.
"...you wouldn't tell anyone if I scratched myself, right?"