Fisting the Ginger Bear

 Northern Michigan—September, 2020

I did not play again in August.  I waited my two weeks in isolation to see how I felt.  I also kept tabs on the other men from our motel romp—to see how they were feeling.  We were all fine.  My next meet was more in line with how I originally thought I would return to playing. 

A fisting bud wrote, wondering if I was ready to jump back into sex.  I told him what I had done—and how I had waited and watched for symptoms.  He was fine with that.  He had been in hibernation all spring and summer—and was more than ready.  What had kept him sane for such a long stretch was that he had moved a friend/playmate into another bedroom to shelter with him.  He was a man I knew—but hadn’t seen in years.  He was a great fisting top—and one who cared little about getting his dick involved with it all.  I knew that while this ginger bear enjoyed being fucked, he was really all about my hands and toys.  This would mean we would also have more space between us with him in his sling—not quite so on top of each other and constantly breathing the same air. 

I was willing to take the chance…so I set off.

 

It’s an easy drive.  I find his 100 year old farmhouse easily.  They both come out on the wraparound porch to greet me.  The Ginger Bear is just that—very hairy and all of it fiery red—with very pale skin.  His friend has appeared in these posts and was dubbed Leather Top. He looks like the very image of one:  bald, once muscular and artfully tatted.  Both men are within 5 years of my age.

We chat in the living room.  Ginger Bear and I sip water, Leather Top has a beer.  It’s been over two years since he and I shared a hole—so Leather Top catches me up on where he’s been.  Soon enough, we troop up the stairs and strip down.  Ginger Bear keeps on a flannel shirt.  I keep on my jock and boots.  Leather Top is also in a jock and a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off.

Ginger Bear hops in the sling, tucked into the corner of his bedroom.  I look to LT to see who wants to go first.

“You know what we have to do,” he reminds me.  And I do remember.  LT pulls out a quarter.  He tosses it.  “Call it.”

“Heads.”

And it is.  So I kneel and begin tonguing Ginger Bear’s ass.  He moans and opens his hole for me.  Having my tongue go deep into whatever butt I’m rimming gets me harder than just about any other activity.  I stroke myself a little as I get him good and wet.

Leather Top goes off to give us some space. I stand up and slip my dick into the wet hole.  GB takes me easily.  Moaning constantly and twisting his own nipples.  I fuck him.  Harder and harder. 

Soon enough I switch to my left hand.  The intensity of the moans from GB increase.  Leather Top comes back and stands behind Ginger Bear’s head and takes over twisting, pinching and pulling on GB’s nips.  My left hand is in place.  His ass ring snaps down on my wrist.  I turn it.  Ever so slightly—but his response is terrific.

I reverse hands and do the right.  I turn it slowly.  Just a gentle rotation.  Ginger Bear opens the poppers and begins speaking in tongues.

I go back to my left.  My cock is added—pushing along my palm until it finds my fingers deep in his ass.  I stroke myself ever so slightly inside him.  He groans again and takes another hit.

I go back to the right hand.  I try to add my cock with it, too.  But it doesn’t work.  I slip in an extra three fingers instead. 

I break.  Letting Leather Top take over.  I go wash my hands of the amazing amount of lube on them.  When I come back, I take over working Ginger Bear’s nipples.  The Crisco/J-lube mix on LT’s hands is slightly pink.  He finishes up with one hand and the four fingers of the other just as I did.

While he goes to wash, I clean up Ginger Bear.  His ass is not bleeding—at least not now.  The hemorrhoid LT must have hit, has recovered.

I look for my speculum in my bag—but it seems I didn’t pack it.  I make do with my hands instead—doing wide lateral stretches with all eight fingers. 

I decide to alternate hands.

Left in.

The right replaces it in an easy gliding exchange.

On and on.

Back and forth.

One last lateral stretch and I let Leather Top back into GB.

He starts—and suddenly Ginger Bear has had enough.

We all wash up—and sit down at table.  Ginger Bear heads to the stove where a pot of soup has been simmering…