How do you think a young man such as yourself should choose a bear? By weight, height, or how much hair he has on his chest? What about pierced nipples or tats? Does that influence your decision when you’re on the bear hunt? And let’s not forget about cock sizes, uncut or cut? Can the mass of a wanker steer your liking in a certain direction or another?
Honestly, sometimes you don’t get to choose the bear because he chooses you. You could be sitting at a city bar and get picked up with such ease. He could be your waiter, or the guy delivering a DPS (Direct Parcel Service) package at your house or apartment. These bears may just show an interest in you, decide to feed on your ass, among other body parts that steep with your sweet sweat after an intense workout.
I am the type of cub who believes that you always can get what you want. Never settle. Even if the bear is hunting you. Set your standards high and never look back. If a bear doesn’t have enough beard, dump his ass. If he can’t use his dick in the bedroom (or in his Avalanche) then get rid of him. Make sure it’s the bear of your dreams. A top-notch animal with a steady hunger. Like I said, never settle.
But what if a bear doesn’t go away? How do you ditch him after he continuously trespasses onto your camp and territory? One, stop putting food out for him, which means cover up your biceps, tools, and those chiseled abs with some loose clothing. Two, stop paying attention to him. Three, replace the bear with a new bear. I recommend someone sweet and soft with blond hair, a reddish beard, and nipples the size of the Twin Cities.
Tell me your views on this topic. Is a bear hunting you?
Let me know.
—Toby Cartwright
* * * *
Toby stops writing, drinks a shot of whiskey, and thinks of Blue Danning. Frankly, he can still feel the professor’s plump dick inside his ass from the other night, all nine inches of it. And he can still smell Blue’s mix of semen, urine, and sweat. Calling the teacher is not out of the question, but Toby would rather be contacted instead of doing the calling. Isn’t it time he was hunted instead of doing the bear hunting himself? Can’t he make the rules at this sexual crossroads in his life?
Tomorrow he just may mail the white boxer-briefs to Blue, returning the fabric to their rightful owner. Maybe Toby will keep them, though. They look good on his writing desk, only inches away from his Logitech mouse. They even smell better. The material has actually helped motivate him to create this evening’s blog. So maybe it’s a bad idea to send the boxer-briefs back to his one-night stand. Who knows?
With the blog complete and already online for his valued readers, he decides to take another shot of whiskey. Before he knows it, he’s drunk and ready for bed. Sleep is so annoying, though, and takes up too much of his day. Can’t he stay up and create another blog for his readers?
Sure. Why not?
Fuck it, he thinks. Write hard.