Breaking Bear

Scottie Blaine

Published: 2011

ISBN: 978-1-936950-07-2

Published by Summerhouse Publishing. Copyright, Scottie Blaine. ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal
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Celia Kyle

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the
author‟s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual
events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental

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For Annalisa. I sincerely appreciate every bit of equine wisdom you have imparted to me over the

years. You are my muse and oracle.

Chapter One

Johnny Redbear stepped out of his truck onto the muddy driveway with one thought

on his mind: getting the job. He‟d heard the stable owner was a harsh mistress who liked
to work her stable hands to death. Hard work, he could handle. As long as there was a
paycheck in the end. In this case, there was one, a housing allowance and free board for
his horse. Heck of a deal. He tucked his long, black braid inside the back collar of his
Carhartt jacket as movement from the entrance to the stable office caught his attention.

“Hello.” It paid to be polite to other employees.

“You John Redbear?” A graying woman with a slight limp eyed him as he

approached, lighting up a smoke.

“Yes, ma‟am. You must be Joan Singleton. I recognize your voice.” He held out his

hand.

“Tell you what, John, I don‟t have time to interview, this being show season and all,

so if you want the job, it‟s yours. If you want to start right away, I‟ll toss in an extra fifty
into your pay.”

“I‟m raring to go, ma‟am. You said something about fences needing to be built or

repaired and new siding on the arena?” Johnny wanted to know what needed done first.

“Yep. I want the place spiffed up for competitions. I‟m hosting nationals this year.

Televised and all. It‟ll mean serious income for the old homestead, here. That‟s about
three months away. Can you do the job?” She eyed him as if she were skeptical.

Redbear nodded.

Joan continued, talking through the cigarette smoke. “I have an account in town at the

hardware store. Anything you need, they‟ll deliver, or you can go pick up. I‟ll give „em a
call and tell the boss you‟re working for JS Stables now. I really need the fence repaired,
around the gelding pasture. Those boys think they‟re stallions and have been kicking the
shit out of the fence, between them and the mares. Especially that dipshit Arabian I
picked up for a song. Should‟ve left him where I found him.”

“Boys will be boys.”

“Proud cut little shits. You have a horse, right?” Joan took another puff.

“I do. A friend will trailer her over for me tonight if that‟s all right. She‟s not a stall

baby, and enjoys a bit of weather on her back. Makes her feisty. Good for chasing cows.”

“I have sixty head of beef. Go ahead and let her chase them. You can put your tack in

the locker next to stall twenty-seven, and that yellow and white fifth wheel alongside the
arena is all yours. Water and power are hooked up. She‟s clean and ready to go. I‟ve got

a man doing some work with a few green-broke ponies right now, including my new
Arabian, so it might be kind of noisy midday.”

Bear chuckled. “I figure I‟ll mostly be working midday, ma‟am. Sunup to sunset is my

habit. Rain or shine.”

“Good. Oh, and I run a drug free outfit. I can‟t fault a man having a cold one after a

long day of hard work, but nothing illegal. And I frown upon overnight guests
sauntering out of the fifth wheel in various states of undress when I‟ve got kids in the
ring for lessons.”

“No worries, ma‟am. I am not much of a drinker and have no female companionship

of which to speak. I‟m just here to work, make a little money and ride the trails on your
back forty.”

She nodded. “Good, I‟ll pay you to groom them. I‟ll pack you up a picnic and send

you and Sig out there before I open the trails for business.”

“Sig?”

“He takes care of my green-brokes. Joe Sigfusson. He‟s Icelandic or Swedish or

something like that. First generation. Says he didn‟t speak English until he was nine. As
blond as a summer‟s day, and as tall and strong as a tree trunk. Very skilled horseman.
Learned most of it in the UK and Spain. He‟s the best trainer I‟ve seen. Well worth the
money. So, John, you ready to work?”

“I am, Joan, I am.”

* * *

Just a bit later, Johnny Redbear stowed his gear in the fifth wheel and took a

walkabout. Thing was bigger than his first apartment and twice as fancy. “I don‟t need
anything this nice.” Redbear strode toward the field. “This is first class. I‟m going to like
it here.”

The pasture was high and dry. Good drainage. No tansy or other poisonous plants

around. He always checked. He‟d seen horses colic and impale themselves on uncapped
fence stakes. He had an eye for safety.

John held out his smartphone like it was a divining rod, tapping away at the onscreen

keyboard, making notes about supplies and categorizing the work ahead of him. The
stable was structurally sound, but was way overdue for repairs and maintenance. The
gelding fence was a mess. He pulled out a few loose hotwire stakes and tossed them into
a pile.

“Damn horses.” He clicked his tongue, disgusted with their behavior. “Cribbing on

the wood fences and knocking over the wire ones.”

* * *

Sig had an itch and he figured the new guy at the stable was going to scratch it for

him. He‟d seen dozens of stable hands and maintenance guys come and go over the
summers he‟d worked at JS, but this guy caught his eye in ways none of the others ever
had. I’m going to rock his world—even if he is straight. Which I’m pretty certain he isn’t.

He watched the stable hand walk the gelding fence line. Dude had a confident walk,

and an ass that screamed “take me.” Which Sig had every intention of doing sooner
rather than later.

He licked his chops like a hound approaching a roast beef left alone to rest before

carving. This was going to be a very productive summer indeed.

“Pains in the ass, every one of them.” Sig zeroed in on the new guy. “I really prefer

stallions to idiot proud-cut geldings.”

The man turned. “Hey…are you Sig? I‟m John Redbear.” He held out his hand.

“That‟s why I‟ve pretty much stayed with mares.”

Sig shook John‟s hand. “Mares, huh?” He held fast to John for a moment. The man

had a strong grip. He liked it. He liked what that strong hand might do with something
else to grip. “When you‟re finished walking the line, pop on over to the arena. I‟m
lunging an Arabian. Gorgeous horse.”

“I‟ll be there presently. Nice to meet you, Sig.”

*

He watched Sig walk away from the corner of his eye. Something different about that

trainer. Bluest eyes I’ve ever seen on a man.

John caught himself looking at Sig‟s muscular thighs in his tight, faded blue jeans as

the tall Viking livestock man headed across the field. Damn. He’s got good definition. I bet
he rides Indian style. Bareback and loose reins like a bat out of hell. Dangerous and exciting.

John dialed a number on his cell. “Hey, I got the job. Can you trailer Misty over here

for me? Thanks, June. I owe you.” He laughed. “Yeah…I owe you that too.”

Johnny snapped some photos of repairs to be done and headed toward the stable. The

frustrated whinny of a young Arabian on the end of a lunge rope greeted him.

A shirtless Sig stood dead center of the arena, a long lunge whip in his left hand. He

snapped it and the gray horse bucked in protest, then began its courses. Sig‟s strong
body moved with the horse until the beast made perfect circles around him. He held the
whip out, displaying a very serious “who‟s in charge” aura.

“That is a beautiful horse.” Johnny called to his new… something.

That guy shouldn’t work without a shirt. He’s way too perfect. I wonder how many of those

school girls taking riding lessons think about him at night.

Sig chuckled. “He is that. If I can train him, he won‟t be gelded. Joan is not pleased

with this little beauty‟s behaviors.”

“What‟s he doing?”

“He likes to mount the geldings.”

John laughed. “He‟s gay?”

“He is an opportunistic lover. He will drop for mares or geldings. He even drops

when you give him grain. This is one horny horse.”

“What‟s his name?” John asked, smiling over the horse‟s behavior.

“Al Dubhe. I just call him Bear. He‟s named after a constellation. And as much as I

hate to do it, I‟ve got to curtail his bad behavior. Can‟t have him dropping in the middle
of the show ring. Upsets the girls and the judges.” He snapped the whip. “Come on, boy.
You can do it. Let‟s give you a good sweat.”

“I‟ll be sure to keep him away from my mare.”

“Around here you might have to watch your back, you never know what might drop

in right behind you.” Sig winked.

“Good safety tip there, buddy. I‟m going to go to the tool shed and take stock of what

Joan has available. I‟m running into town later for a beer. Want to join me?”

“Sounds good. I‟ll be finished here in a couple of hours. Can you give me a lift to my

place to clean up before we head into town?” Sig kept the horse‟s rhythm while talking.

“Sure. Where do you live?”

“On the way. I ran here this morning, but after I do this bad boy, I am not going to

want to jog home.”

“You can fill me in on the lay of the land later, huh? I have a feeling Joan is a complex

woman.”

“She is that. Just work hard and you‟ll be fine.”

“Oh, hey…John?” Sig yelled as he turned away. “What‟s with Redbear? You First

Nation?”

“Half. Raised on tribal land until I was fourteen, then I won a scholarship to an all-

boy prep school. Spent the next four years getting peed on in the shower because I was
more interested in horses than football. Can‟t tell you what‟s worse…eating too much of
my grandmother‟s fry bread and bloating out like a horse with gas, or having my
roommates tea bag me to wake me up.”

“Been there. Four brothers.” John could tell Sig tried not to laugh. “Boys will be

boys.”

“College wasn‟t much better, but that‟s a tale for later.”

“See ya.” Sig cracked his whip at Bear.

* * *

The drive to Sig‟s place took ten minutes. He lived in an A-frame nestled up against

forestry service land. The bottom floor looked like a tack shop. Saddles, ropes, harnesses,
martingales—all kinds of equipment for English and Western pleasure riders. The loft,
however, was a snug little living quarters with a kitchenette, full bath and living room,
complete with a hide-a-bed.

Sig stripped out of his work clothes and walked naked into the bathroom. He hopped

in the shower, leaving the door open. Johnny caught a glance of Sig‟s tight frame in the
reflection of the sliding glass door as he opened it to step out onto the balcony. The view
overlooked the valley, including what he figured was part of the sixty-acre tract of JS
Stables. But the view wasn‟t spectacular enough to keep him from watching Sig shower
behind the clear plastic curtain. He pulled the glass door out a little to get the full
reflection.

“Nice view, huh?” Sig‟s voice rose over the shower.

“I‟ll say.” John mumbled. The shower shut off and Sig emerged. John took a step back

to get a better look at the man‟s reflection. “You shower quickly.”

Sig stepped out onto the balcony, partially covered by a towel. He raised it and dried

his hair. “Just needed to rinse off. Let me get dressed.” He draped the towel over the
hand railing and walked back inside. John turned his head and caught himself staring at
Sig‟s fine, muscular rear-end.

“Where do you workout? I didn‟t see a gym in town.”

Sig turned.

Johnny swallowed, hard. This guy was hung. Crap, I shouldn’t care. I’m not gay.

“What makes you think I workout?”

John averted his gaze. “You‟re pretty muscular. I just figured.”

“It‟s all horses, all the time, man. I have thighs like iron and it‟s from riding and

working equine barbells seven days a week. Nothing like doing stretching exercises with
a Percheron.”

“Big horse. Heavy horse.”

Sig poured himself a palm full of baby powder and patted it on his balls and dick. “I

hate chafing.” he said.

“I hear that.” Johnny swallowed again, almost feeling the weight of Sig‟s testicles in

his own hand. His dick twitched. This ain’t right. I’ve never been attracted to a man before.
Least not in a way that makes me want to beat off where I stand.

Sig finished dressing and they headed back out to John‟s truck. The early evening sky

hadn‟t yet begun to dim.

“Be a good afternoon for a trail ride.” John enjoyed late afternoon rides.

“If Bear behaves maybe I‟ll take him out tomorrow.” Sig paused, rolling down the

passenger window to relax his elbow against the sill. “So, John Redbear, tell me about
yourself.” Sig said. “You‟re going to want to head toward town, but take the Cypher
Road turnoff.”

John‟s cell phone buzzed. “Excuse me.” He answered the call before turning over the

engine. “Hey, June. Thanks. I‟m going into town. Will you toss a few flakes to her too?
There‟s orchard grass in the trailer.” He set his phone down on the bench seat and
started his truck.

“June your lady friend?”

He shook his head. “Frank June. He‟s trailering my mare over. I wanted to travel light

and didn‟t know if I was going to get the job or not, so I made arrangements for the
horse. Known the old goat for years.”

“So, no lady friend?”

“None. I‟ve been single for a long time. You?” He started the truck and pulled onto

the roadway.

Sig chuckled. “I have the occasional fling, but no one special. Turn left up ahead.

Rowdy‟s is just up the road.”

“With a name like Rowdy‟s I suppose there‟s sawdust on the floor and an old

mechanical bull sitting in the corner.”

“Not exactly. It is a cowboy bar, but not a typical one. They have a micro brewery in

the back. Fantastic IPA.”

“I see it.” John turned into the parking lot of the concrete building. “This used to be a

filling station?” He pulled in along an old concrete island.

“A long time ago, yes. It still is, in a way. Building sat empty for a while, then a

couple from California bought it, did a little remodel on the inside, advertised in the all
the right places and it‟s been a going concern ever since. Tuesday early evening like this
will be pretty tame. By Friday night this parking lot will be full of trucks from three
states and the back lot will look like a K-Mart campground.”

“The owners let customers park their RV‟s overnight?” John couldn‟t believe what

he‟d heard. Most people wouldn‟t allow such a thing.

“As long as they‟re playing cards, drinking beer or are otherwise using the services of

this establishment, yes. This place is a destination, not just a bar.”

John laughed. “Well, it‟s nice to know I‟m going to work in a community where the

barkeep can just send the drunks out to their RV instead of calling a cab.”

Rowdy‟s had a nice hardwood bar with a mirrored wall, a dance floor, several private

booths and good old-fashioned “western-style” tables and chairs. The bartender nodded
his head at Sig as he and John sat down at a table, off the varnished dance floor.

“Full menu this time of day,” Sig said. “I‟ll go grab us a couple of beers.”

John opened the menu. “Thanks.”

He figured if he‟d had a mouthful of IPA, it would have been spat all over the

laminated menu, as soon as he‟d read the names of the offerings. A burger with fries was
a “meat and two veg,” the vegetables being the fries and catsup. Onion rings were “fried
twirly-whirlies.” A milkshake bore the highly suggestive name of “Suck it.”

Sig returned with the drinks.

“Unusual names here. I think the “beat your meat” with gravy sounds good. A

tenderized cube steak with homemade gravy and spuds.”

Sig shrugged. “Californians, you know? Always looking for a gimmick.”

“The menu reads like a middle school boys‟ bathroom wall. A dessert called “kiss the

puckered cherry?” I mean, really—”

“I‟ve kissed a cherry a time or two. Oh, and the dessert is a homemade cherry cake

with almond whipped cream, and of course, a maraschino. It‟s pretty good.”

John nodded. “I‟ll pass.”

“On kissing a cherry or the dessert?”

“Sig, my friend, I have never had a virgin. So I guess I cannot say I‟ve kissed a

cherry.” John couldn‟t fight his smile.

“John, my friend, I‟m quite skilled at both kissing and plucking cherries.”

John raised his stein. “I salute you and your skills.”

He and Sig sat in silence, reveling in the delightful IPA before their server came over

to take their order.

“Hi, Sig,” a burly woman with bright red hair and a swirl tattoo on her throat said.

“What‟ll you have?”

“Hello, Mattie. My friend John here wants to watch me eat a puckered cherry.”

“Oh, yeah?” The woman glanced over to John, a twinkle in her eye. “Congrats to

you.”

“Umm, thanks, I think…but I‟ll have the cube steak.” John‟s sip of IPA wetted his

throat.

“Make it two, sweetheart.”

The server giggled and wrote down their order.

“How long you been working for JS?” John asked as the server took their order to the

kitchen.

“A long time. She‟s one heck of a lady.”

“Married?” John asked.

Sig burst out with a laugh that rattled the rafters. “No…she‟s not the marrying kind.

I‟m not sure she‟s ever had a man. A few women, perhaps…”

John smirked. “Oh, yeah?”

Sig nodded and flagged the bartender to bring two more beers. “Yep.”

The door burst open and a couple of dusty-looking ranch hands walked in. They went

straight to the bar.

“There appears to be no shortage of workers around this place. I wonder why Joan

advertised out of town?” He swallowed with a loud gulp as the rough and tumble men
embraced before sitting. “That‟s something you don‟t see every day.”

Sig patted him on the back. “Easy there guy…take a breath. You all right? And Joan

wanted to infuse some new blood into the community. Get some new ways of thinking
going on.”

“Yeah, all right. Um, hey…Sig, I‟m just gonna come out and ask…is this a gay bar?

The menu…the cowboys smooching…”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Sig unruffled. “But trust me, the dive down the road is full of

cobwebs and toothless drunks. This place is far superior.”

“Are you…gay?”

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

“I‟ve never really known a gay man…I‟ve mostly hung out with horses.”

“We put our pants on like any other man. But sometimes take them off a bit more

flamboyantly.”

John scooted his chair away. “You‟re not going to come on to me, are you?”

“Not unless you want me to.”

John wasn‟t sure what to say. Am I curious? Yes. Am I gay? No.

Their server dropped two steaming plates of rich looking brown gravy covered cube

steaks before them. “Enjoy, gents.”

“Look, Sig…I‟m not…I‟m straight.” John cut his meat with his fork, waiting to see

how his new friend would react.

“That‟s cool. Let me know when you change your mind. You know where to find

me.” Sig smiled at John. “I‟ll be breaking Bear.”

John took a bite of the steak. His eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh, my god, this is

good.”

“Yep. They do know how to beat their meat here at Rowdy‟s.”

Chapter Two

Johnny Redbear had a burr up his butt and butterflies in his belly. Frustrated and

more than just a bit uneasy around Sig, he‟d missed a nail and caught his thumb under
his hammer. When he was done doing the dance of pain, he‟d gone and tripped into a
pile of old barbed wire he‟d pulled.

He extracted himself and headed to his trailer to assess the damage and change his

torn shirt. He felt little tickles of blood drip down his back.

Sig was working Bear. He‟d been working Bear all morning. John wasn‟t sure who

looked better covered in sweat. The Arabian or the man. God damn. I’m not gay. I am not
attracted to that oversized blond. Get a grip.

With a display of overt aggression, Johnny pulled open the door to the fifth wheel,

knocked himself off the step and onto the hard-packed soil surrounding the arena.

“Whoa, Bear.” Sig slowed the horse. It trotted down, then stopped, still tethered on

the lunge line. “You all right there, my friend? Doors getting the best of you these days?”

“I‟m fine.” John sat up, cradling his head. “I‟ve taken worse falls.”

Sig left Bear to mill about the arena. He hopped the fence and helped John to his feet.

“You wrangle with some barbed wire too, didn‟t you?”

“I did.”

“Your back is bleeding, John. Let‟s get you inside. I‟ll wipe down those cuts. You

updated for tetanus?”

“I don‟t need a freaking tetanus shot. All I need is a freaking shot of rye.” John ached.

“Pour two. Go on in and get that shirt off. I‟m going to walk off Bear and put him out

to graze. Be there in a few.” Sig hopped back over the fence and grabbed Bear‟s halter.
He attached the lead rope and began walking.

Once inside, John gingerly stripped off his flannel shirt and strained before the mirror

to see the series of gashes down his back. Looks like I’ve been flogged. Damn. He pulled out
his first aid kit, then washed his hands. Dirt and blood went down the drain. He
bandaged his smashed thumb and found his bottle of rye. Old Overholt. Aged, sweet
and smooth. Screw the shot glasses. He pulled out two coffee cups.

“Knock, knock.” Sig stepped into the trailer. “My god, John, have you taken to self-

flagellation these days? A little Opus Dei of you, don‟t you think?”

“I took on a pile of old barbed wire and lost. First aid kit is on the counter. Would you

mind?” John handed Sig a mug. “Take a drink first. It will steady your hand.”

Sig took a sip of the rye. “Oh, man. That‟s good. Bear worked my ass off today. But

we‟re making progress. He‟s being better behaved around the mares, and hasn‟t tried to
mount anything lately.”

“How about you?” He winced as Sig used an alcohol prep towelette to clean the

gashes on his back.

“What? Have I tried to mount anything lately?”

“Yeah.” John twisted at the waist to face Sig. “Have you?”

Sig turned John back around. “No. I‟m saving myself.”

John laughed. “Oh, yeah? Mr. Right or Mr. Twink?”

Sig opened a second wipe. “No. I‟m into bears.” He ran his right hand under John‟s

arm and grabbed a handful of John‟s chest hair. “Red bears.” He palmed his way down
John‟s belly, intertwining his fingers.

John exhaled. “I‟m only going to say this once, Sig.”

“What‟s that?” Sig kissed the back of John‟s neck, tongue peeking out.

“I‟m not gay. But I‟ll be damned if you aren‟t the most handsome man I have ever

seen in my life and the very sight of you makes my cock twitch. It‟s just wrong. But
that‟s the truth.” John shoved the words from his chest.

“You don‟t have to be gay to enjoy another man. Think of yourself as bi-curious.” Sig

moved around to face John. “Let‟s take a shower and finish our drinks. Then maybe
we‟ll see how things go.”

“We‟re going to kiss, aren‟t we?” John found his hand on Sig‟s arm.

Sig brought his mouth close to Johnny‟s. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

One touch of their mouths and the tender moment between them sparked and

ignited.

Sig crushed his mouth to John‟s, inserting his probing tongue, pulling him in by the

back of the head. He took Johnny‟s hand and forced it to his cock, making him feel the
length of his erection through his Levis.

Johnny stroked his palm against Sig‟s thigh, pressing against the bulge, wanting to do

so much more than just feel it through faded blue denim.

“Let‟s go take that shower.” Sig pulled away. He stood and locked the fifth wheel

door, clothes off a moment later.

John sat where he was, admiring the nude, blond god before him. “You are beautiful,

Sig.” He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his friend‟s wiry wheaten pubic

hair. He let Sig‟s cock slide across his face, chin and lips. “I don‟t know how to do this.
Suck a man‟s dick, you know? But I want to. I want to suck you.” He didn‟t recognize
his voice. Needy.

Sig pulled John to his feet. “And so you shall, my hairy friend. Let‟s go get cleaned

up.”

John stripped on his way to the bathroom. He wasn‟t going to be shy. He wanted this.

He had a few condoms stashed in a drawer next to the bed. He hoped to get use of them
both.

The triangular shower had plenty of room. The deluxe sixteen-foot trailer had

amenities most motel rooms didn‟t.

“Let me wash off your back, Johnny.” Sig pushed him into the hot spray.

Sig soaped up his hands and gently washed John‟s back. “The bleeding has stopped.

Looks like a couple of kittens used you as a scratching post. It‟ll be sore, but I think
you‟re going to live.” He ran his right hand down John‟s butt crack. “Spread „em.” He
soaped his thighs and balls. John grabbed hold of his erection and gave it a few solid
strokes.

“So, Johnny…you want to know how to give head, hmm? Please allow me to instruct

you in the fine art of fellatio. Turn around,” Sig commanded.

John turned, only to find himself drawn into another deep kiss. He reached for Sig‟s

dick, and stroked it with a soapy hand while Sig returned the favor.

Sig dropped to his knees in the tub and rinsed John‟s cock. “It might be hard, but do

try to pay attention. There will be a test later.”

“I‟m good under pressure.” John ached for Sig to take his cock down his throat.

“We‟ll see.” Sig licked his lips, then put his hot mouth around John‟s engorged head.

He stroked the shaft against his tongue and took John deeper and deeper down his
throat.

John closed his eyes and got into the groove, gently rocking his hips in time to Sig‟s

slick back and forth motions against his cock. He put a hand to Sig‟s head and grabbed a
handful of hair. “Oh, Jesus…Sig…”

Sig pulled back and used his strong right hand to bring John to climax, the water

washing away his passion as he knelt at Sig‟s feet.

“Go ahead, John. It‟ll get you hard again. Take me into your mouth. I‟ve wanted you

to do this to me since I first laid eyes on you.” Sig ran his fingers through his hair.

He felt his semi-flaccid penis twitch as he wrapped his lips around Sig‟s dick. It was

hard, smooth and tasted clean. A soft musky odor enveloped him as he stroked and
sucked. He tasted the salty pre-cum almost immediately. The droplet of semen from
Sig‟s head made his own cock rise to the occasion.

“You have a condom, John?” Sig sounded strained.

“Yes.” He lolled his tongue up Sig‟s shaft.

“I‟m going to put you on the bed and kiss your cherry, Johnny. Then I‟m going to ram

my dick into you until I come deep inside you.”

John looked up. “I have two condoms.”

Sig smiled.

* * *

Is it like making love to a woman? John wondered as he and Sig rolled onto his bed,

still wet. As Sig climbed atop him and locked his mouth over his, he figured there was
really no difference. It was all about the touch, the kiss, the anticipation. Only the body
parts were a little different.

“Do anything you want to me, Johnny. Don‟t be afraid. You can‟t do anything wrong,

because this is all right.” Sig encouraged.

John squeezed Sig‟s ass. “I want you inside me. I want you to tame me. Ride me. If

I‟m going to do this thing, I want to do it right.”

Sig rolled him onto his belly and slapped his butt to get him to lift it from the

mattress. “Condom?”

“In the nightstand.” John‟s heart pounded in his chest. He was really doing this.

Sig reached for the nightstand drawer and removed both condoms. He set them on

the pillow next to John‟s head. He ran his tongue down John‟s ass crack, then kissed his
tight cherry anus. He opened John‟s cheeks with his fingers and inserted his tongue.

John quivered, and reached down to stroke his dick as Sig performed analingus,

touching nerves that had never felt anything from another.

Sig pulled his soft tongue away and inserted a finger.

John lurched forward.

“Hey, relax. It‟s all right.” He inserted a second finger.

“Oh, my god…” John moaned, pulling his dick quicker, tugging harder.

“Here comes the stallion, Johnny.” Sig poked his thick head at John‟s asshole, and

with one solid thrust, pushed his way in, inch by agonizing inch.

John bit the pillow as Sig strained to fit his length and girth inside him. It hurt. He

envisioned being split in two pieces. A second forceful thrust and Sig was buried to the
hilt. He gripped John‟s cheeks and began his ride.

The pain quickly passed into pleasure. Johnny liked the way Sig felt inside him. Tight.

Hot. Awesome.

Sig groaned and held a hard thrust at a standstill, holding the position like a show

horse in the ring. His entire body tensed as he climaxed inside Johnny.

Moments passed. John panted and tried to catch his breath while the breathless Sig

pulled away and discarded the used condom. He slid his strong right hand under John
to corral his engorged penis. “You ready to return the favor?”

John sighed. “I am.”

Sig rolled onto his back and lifted his knees to his chest. “I want you on top while you

do me. I want to see your face as you come.”

Johnny mounted his new friend. Their hard dicks bumped and twitched before John

maneuvered himself to take Sig. He slipped on the condom and closed his eyes. I can do
this. Just like sticking it in a woman…he thrust. His thick head against the tight sphincter
was not just like doing a woman. He thrust again, instinctively seeking his way inside.
Deep inside.

He opened his eyes and stared Sig in the face as he made love to him. He lowered his

head and kissed Sig, found himself sucking tongue like he‟d just sucked dick. His balls
grew tight and he thought his shaft would implode from the pressure of Sig‟s hot canal.
“I‟m going to come in your tight ass,” he choked as he climaxed.

“Oh, yeah…let me watch you come, Johnny.” Shoulders tight, eyes rolled back, jaw

clenched.

“Yeah…do it. Fill me up, man.” Sig was panting.

John collapsed atop Sig. He could barely catch his breath.

“You all right there, cowboy?”

“Nothing like it. There is nothing like this, is there?” Johnny pulled away and rolled

onto his back. “I haven‟t had an orgasm hit me from toes to crown in a while.”

“It can be this good every time, man. Every time.” Sig stroked Johnny‟s thigh.

Johnny put his hands on his chest and tried to slow his breathing. “I‟ve been broken.”

Sig laughed. “I told you I was breaking Bear. I guess I should have told you which

one of you I really meant.”

“Like that Arabian stallion, you‟re leaving me ridden hard and well worked. I might

never walk again.”

“Only one way to get over the bust, my friend.”

John turned toward Sig. “How‟s that?”

“Practice. Practice and training.”

“Lessons?” John smirked.

Sig leaned upward to kiss John. “Lots and lots of lessons.”

“Well, practice does make perfect,” John replied, lowering his head to Sig‟s groin.

About the Author:

Scottie Blaine lives at the end of the west coast, specifically, on an island in the San

Juans in the Pacific Northwest. She writes overlooking a bay that hosts whale migrations
every year. Her back yard is a “deer garden.” She island hops for inspiration and chases
her husband around their cottage when said inspiration gets the best of her. The kids are
grown and are reasonably embarrassed by their mother‟s penchant for writing gay
romances using the neighbor‟s stable as one of the backdrops. There are concerns about
how the neighbor will react, too. Scottie attended Bastyr University and is the author of
scholarly papers on the use of road kill in stews and how mandrake can be fun for the
whole family.

Please Visit Scottie at:

http://scottieblaine.com