One weekend in the middle of a hot August, a friend invited me to his house in Maryland for a backyard cookout. Since I arrived early, I put myself to work by helping to either set out hors d’oeuvre or eat them. Guests started to arrive, one of whom was Dexter from Philadelphia with a friend in tow. Dexter’s friend was a nice-looking, brown-haired bear, slim and a little on the short side, whom he called Bobby Bear. I tried not to gaze into Bobby Bear’s pretty eyes.
As we waited for the burgers and stuff to be called, I mingled with the others or wandered in and out of the house for another beer or to offer to help more. At one point I was killing time by checking out our host’s CD collection when Bobby Bear came over and stood next to me, also looking at the CDs. I smiled and gave his shoulder a friendly scratch and as he looked at me, I mumbled something deep like, “nice.” Bears are supposed to be friendly, so I was being friendly.
A little later when we happened to be in the house together again (was I being followed?), Bobby Bear caught me in his arms and gave me a hug and a quick kiss. I was flattered and not a little breathless, but I figured it was just an even-friendlier bear-hello in return.
Shortly after this, Dexter came up to me and said he thought Bobby Bear seemed to like me. I smiled and said that I thought he was nice, too. Apparently Bobby Bear had asked him about me, but it didn’t occur to me to ask Dexter in return if they were dating. I assumed they were, and that Bobby Bear wouldn’t act as if they weren’t.
Nevertheless, throughout lunch I glanced down the table at Bobby Bear but never caught him looking back. I gave up and figured he was indeed just being flirty and nothing more. From down the table I overheard Bobby Bear say he was, in fact, moving shortly to St. Louis to live with his actual lover-partner-person.
Ah.
After eating, everyone hung out in the back yard. I got up once to go into the house for something from kitchen, and saw Bobby Bear walking toward the kitchen, too. Or so it seemed, because just as we passed the bathroom door in the hall, he paused and looked at me as he turned to enter. I paused too, and without anything more clever to say, jokingly asked if he needed help in there.
To my surprise, Bobby Bear said he did and continued into the bathroom, looking back at me. Thinking I was only following through on a not-too-funny joke, I ducked into the bathroom with him and he shut the door. But then I grinned and now feeling slightly awkward, turned to leave, explaining that I was just kidding about helping.
Bobby Bear, however, wasn’t kidding. He grabbed me and pulled me back for another kiss, telling me I wasn’t going to get away without him seeing my dick.
Oh.
He reached over and unzipped my pants and pulled out my becoming-alert cock. He bent down and proceeded to suck my dick hard as I stood there, running my hands over his back and feeling vaguely illicit. Bobby Bear stood up and we kissed again. I tugged his pants open and leaned down to get his cock in my mouth, wanting the feel of his cockhead on my tongue, quickly getting him hard and slick. Everything was delicious.
Finally I had enough and stood up, put one hand around his shoulders and began to jerk myself off with the other. Bobby Bear put an arm around me, too, and in maybe a minute we both leaned forward, our bodies shaking as we dropped our orchids into the toilet.
We wiped the remaining cum off our dicks with toilet paper and flushed, and Bobby Bear pulled me in for a kiss. As we turned to leave, he peeked around the edge of the door and we tip-toed out of the bathroom into the empty hallway.
We traded phone numbers before leaving the house later that afternoon.
However, it wasn’t until days later I found out our host somehow knew all along and did not appreciate men (us, anyway) fooling around in his bathroom. But at the time, neither our host nor Dexter said a word, or ever asked me about what happened. I felt bad they were unhappy but also felt they were content to blame me alone for the crime, that I “stole” Bobby Bear. Dexter was cute, true; but Bobby Bear made his own decisions.
In the meantime, Bobby Bear called me (swoon!) to set up a date to meet at the DC Eagle that Saturday night, around midnight up on the second floor. I was looking forward to seeing him and I got nervous when he didn’t show up exactly at 12 (nerd, remember).
But I saw him arrive before he saw me and I ducked behind the crowd, then patted his arm as he walked by. I was not expecting the sudden relief that flooded over me when I saw him and he caught me up in a hug, like when Diane Keaton finds Warren Beatty at the end of Reds.
At that moment all I wanted to do was drag his body home and get it naked, but he wanted to stay and talk with some other friends first. As Bobby Bear wandered off into the dark, I saw Dexter a little way away, standing alone. Screwing up my courage, I went over to find how pissed off he might really be at me, as by now I had learned of my guilt.
Dexter smiled very sweetly at me and talked only for a minute but didn’t say anything about it. I still felt bad he might have thought I deliberately diverted Bobby Bear’s attention—right, my masculine wiles. But I least I asked. Burying anger is not the same as not being angry; and anyway, I wasn’t about to press the question if he had nothing to say to me.
Bobby Bear and I finally left the Eagle and I drove us back to my house. For once I didn’t even think of sitting on the couch to get a little more acquainted with a man I brought home. I wanted Bobby Bear’s naked body next to mine right away and felt he wanted the same. In fact, as soon as we were in the door, Bobby Bear grabbed me in a big hug and kiss. Oh, fuck.
I led us into my bedroom and we started to pull off each other’s clothes. Bobby Bear turned out to be a wonderful, sensitive kisser and knew how to use his lips, and also to not just stuff his tongue down my throat.
We laid down on the bed and slipped into each other’s arms in a way that was natural, our bodies and legs fitting together perfectly. His body was wonderful in my arms, warm and strong and manly, his breath on my cheek and his hands gently moving on me. It was like how I thought of the Men Loving Men book, about the strength I felt being with men.
We were together like that for a long while, just holding, kissing, and chewing on each other’s beards. And we didn’t do much of anything more exciting than jerking off and falling asleep together. But it was nicest just being next to him. Everything was delicious.
I gave Bobby Bear a ride home the next morning. I saw him by chance many years later and he was still pretty cute, maybe a little heavier, and still living in St. Louis.
Epilogue: Months later I was in Chicago on business and met up with a guy I met online. Over dinner we swapped man stories, and I began my story of how I once “stole” some guy at a cookout. I was just getting to the bathroom part when suddenly my new friend froze, his eyes huge, and he all but shouted, “YOU’RE THE ONE?!”
Wait. He knew?
It turned out, and I had no idea, Dexter had moved to Chicago for a job, by coincidence, at the same place as my online friend, and apparently quite shared around his story of me and Bobby Bear. I added that all along Dexter seemed more angry or bitter or whatever than he cared to share, at least with me.
But I was famous.