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With grunts as heavy as the two of us we crashed down on the thick mats on the rec room floor. I felt a great hard thud as my back slammed down, then the wind flying out my lungs as all 260 pounds of Tom’s furry six-foot-one bear body landed flat on top of me.

When I opened my eyes Tom’s face was surrounded by light from the overhead fixture on his basement rec room ceiling, but Tom looked anything but angelic. That big handsome face of his was now twisting into a pretty awful-looking, teeth-baring grimace as his huge 17-inch arms were clamping like a great hairy vise around my neck and head. We were jammed chest to chest and gut to gut, I felt our two sweat-soaked, furry chests and guts expanding and contracting faster as our breathing got more rapid.

The sweat soaked our faces too, matting our salt-and-pepper beards. Tom had me pinned down fast; that’s the fate of most guys who ever wrestled my good old buddy Tom, who was called "The Earth Mover" by his wrestling teammates back in high school for reasons that were awfully obvious to them but less so to those hot-shit fools who got up enough nerve to challenge the guy and found out for themselves why the team called him that. I know because I was one of those fools.

It was in my junior year, better than twenty years earlier, when I finally got up enough balls to walk up to Tom one warm day in May out on the cafeteria terrace during lunch and in a low, slightly quavering voice challenge the bigger guy to a private one-on-one match. How I did that without chemicals or intense peer pressure and on my two feet I’ll never know, because at that time Tom was one of the state’s top five interscholastic heavy-weight wrestling champs. But my hormones and I were more concerned that day with the fact that Tom was also one of the state’s hottest looking young bear gods. I used to go to every match Tom was scheduled to wrestle and always got a huge boner when he stepped out on the mats. So my juice was boiling so fast and furiously that day I thought, hell, it’s worth getting the shit beat out of me.

I managed to spit it out, but my hands shook so bad I had to stick them in my pockets. Surprisingly, Tom looked up from his book, smiling like a gentle scholar and said very quietly and politely, "Hey, thanks, Logan. I’d enjoy a private match with you. I see you at all my tournaments so it’s the least I can do to say thanks to the team’s best fan. If today’s good for you, meet me after the last class in the woods out behind the old mill."

I never forgot that match. I never forgot how hard it made me every time I thought about that match. There we were, two big husky hairy-chested teenagers rolling around in the soft grass wearing nothing but a couple of old beat-up gym shorts. There I was, flat on my back, with The Earth Mover and state heavy-weight champion pounding down on me with his big hard gut ..."Oh, by the way Logan, fuck all the rules and regs. That stuff’s just for the coaches and the teams but not for your and me here, pal," he had said before we started.

Well, the two of us teen bears ended that first match caked with dirt and sweat and locked in one of the fiercest bearhugs I imagined possible, so incredibly tight and grindingly hard that the skin on our bellies chafed red from friction, and we went home wearing some of each other’s belly fur.

Later that night in my bed, and for many nights after that day, I kept wondering over and over as I stroked my rock-hard dick whether Tom’s big smirk after he beat me was more than satisfaction at his Logantory: did he feel the big boner in my gym shorts as he bearhugged me, I wondered? Well, whether or not he did I think I jacked off about ten times that night. And I couldn’t count how many times I’ve jacked off in the years that followed when I thought about our match that day.

As it turned out Tom gave me two more private matches that season, which was all he could spare during his training because he need to save up his strength for matches. Then in August Tom’s father was suddenly transferred and he moved to a town about twenty miles away. What was incredibly terrific to me, was that two days after Tom moved there was a letter from him telling me how much he enjoyed our private matches. It was really terrific, he wrote, to forget about all the rules and regs and just wrestle. He praised my balls for challenging him that day since I didn’t have much actual wrestling experience: "You’re my kind of guy with my kind of guts! You’re not scared of anything -- and you’re a real super guy to know, lots of fun to hang out with," he wrote, adding that since his dad gave him his old car he’d really enjoy coming over to hang out with me and maybe do some wrestling or whatever. And that’s what happened. We hung out together a lot in senior year, usually every weekend, became really good friends and ended up in state college together. But in all that time I never had the guts to tell him about my hard-ons when I wrestled him or thought about wrestling him, or ask whether he ever felt my boners.

Now, almost a quarter of a century later in 1988, there we were again, still two large, stocky, furry bears, fortysomethings now, rolling around in nothing but our skimpy, sweat-soaked cotton briefs on mats in a sparsely-furnished, thick-carpeted basement rec room at Tom’s new house in the Albany suburbs of upstate New York. My lungs were burning hot now as I felt our two heavy, fur-coated bellies heaving up and down, and the grinding friction of each other’s flesh. Our graying beards were as greasy with sweat as the rest of the hair all over us as sweat oozed out of every pore and oiled us nature’s way.

As usual, the battle was Tom’s. Some things never change, and The Earth Mover still reigned supreme. But I still had as much of that boiling-hot, man-against-man rassle-fight in me as I did when I first took him on back in the woods behind the old mill. As we mature male bears struggled and fought now I allowed images of that first teenage match to drift into my mind again, and then I was finished, the battle was over. No matter how I still tried to push my 230-pounds of bearflesh as hard as I could against Tom’s massive 265-pound body, blowing a fresh blast of energy to struggle out of those massive, hairy 17" arms and those huge legs of his, it was useless now. I had a fresh boner, and was done for.

After a few minutes of that I gave it up. My body just sort of shrugged and went limp under the weight of Tom’s body, grapevined on top of me. We were two enormous, sopping wet furballs soaked to the bone. Neither one of us budged, just panted and gulped air, our bodies heaving up and down against each other. My neck ached as I lifted my head up to glance down at our waists because I felt air on my skin where there shouldn’t be any air. I felt something else, too. Something powerful. Tom pushed himself up on his huge hands and grinned at me.

"Hey, Tom ...? Old buddy --- when the hell did our briefs come off?" I asked.

Tom grinned and chuckled. "Hey Logan, I can’t help it that I was always faster than you, too."

The greasy sweat produced by two men’s bodies working that hard and rubbing up against each other and smashing into each other like that has lots of good uses. That afternoon we used them and discovered a couple of other uses.

Toweling ourselves off later, Tom started to talk about Billy. Tom and I had been writing a lot to each other in the past years since we got back in touch, and he’d mentioned his 22-year-old nephew in a couple of his letters. Tom was thrilled that Billy, his favorite nephew, had asked him if he could live at his place while he went back to finish college at the state university in Albany. He was, Tom said in his last letter before I drove up to see him, due in on the same weekend that I would be there and would I mind? Well, Tom had also sent along some photos of himself with Billy, and those pictures were shots of the classic Bear Daddy and The Cub: Tom’s big thick 260 pounds of bearmeat with one of his big furry arms around a pair of bearishly broad young shoulders. Billy’s boyishly handsome face, his short, straight ash-blond hair with a clipped bang on his forehead, a dense five o’clock shadow hinting that there was lots more good fur on that husky body -- I guessed he was about 210 or so -- and those nice thick arms with light furry down on the forearms and wrists -- Hell no, I wrote back the same day, I wouldn’t mind at all, Tom.

In the kitchen Tom handed me a beer. "And, the kid’s big into wrestling. Bear wrestling."

"Well, how about that? " I said. "No wonder he’s your favorite nephew."

Tom told me that Billy had been opening up about a lot of things to his favorite uncle. Billy was hot for bears -- particularly daddies and cubs.

"He was asking a lot about you, so I sent him your picture. He called and went on that he thought you were hot. ‘Does he rassle you, Tom?’ Shit, can he ever rassle, I said. Then there’s this guy Billy’s met over in Schenectady," Tom said. "Chad’s his name. Goes to the university too, he’s in the same degree program as Billy. As Billy tells it this guy’s another real, husky cub, really hot. So hot he’s got Billy’s rockets ready to ignite on the launch pad. Billy wants to strip Chad naked and rassle him for two days. Shit, it’s a wonder the boy can walk!"

"But he’s just not sure how he’s gonna get old Chad’s threads off and their bare asses on the mats, right?" I asked. Tom grinned, nodding.

"And lo and behold here’s good ole Uncle Thomas, wrestling champ and bear daddy replete with one custom, bee-you-tee-fully large basement carpeted with three inches of thick rugs and top-of-the-line wrasslin’ mats! Now ain’t that a hell of a coincidence?" Tom and I chuckled as we swigged our beers.

About nine that night we heard the sputter and coughing of an old car engine in the driveway and a moment later a cub twice as hot as any of the images in those photos Tom sent me stood in the kitchen talking with me as easily and casually as an old friend. Billy was a mix of boyish charm, frankness, and a manliness that was understated and self-confident, complementing his handsome face and bearish body. He looked all of seventeen. According to Tom Billy’s boyhood hadn’t been easy: Billy’s alcoholic father had been a major problem for his mother, sisters, and Billy and had abandoned his family when Billy was a boy. Yet the bearish youth before me seemed to have emerged into manhood with few scars, thanks largely to Tom’s good influence. If anything, Tom said, Billy had to learn to trust himself better and earlier than most other guys his age.

The three of us took our beers into the little parlor, I sat on the overstuffed chair as Billy quickly settled cross-legged on the floor next to me. Very next to me, if you get my drift. Billy was a little bit of a flirt, but even that he managed in a more manly, grown-up way. Billy and Tom chatted about family things and then about his forthcoming semester a while. Then Billy shot this big shit-eating grin at me, and patted my leg. As tired as I was a boner formed in my jeans.

"So, Logan, Tom tells me you’re a rassler bear too. Sure looks like you could handle yourself." He took a deep swig from the brown beer bottle. Billy and I both were wearing old shirts with the sleeves cut off. Both were opened about half-way down the front to show off our respective pelts. His chest looked so great it belonged in magazines for us bears, his biceps were so nicely round and thick, and the light blond hairs coating the cub’s forearms glistened in the light. I caught Billy surreptitiously running his eyes over my chest and body the same way I’d ran my eyes over his. On the sofa Tom was having a rough time repressing the urge to laugh at our little visual games.

But Billy wasn’t one for holding things back. He leaned closer and just grabbed the thick calf of my leg, feeling it up and commenting on its thickness and muscle. "Y’ know, I bet you two big furry dudes are a couple of real hot bears when you get on Tom’s mats. Man, I’d love to watch you two rassle! That would be fuckin’ hot, man! You two big hairy bear dudes, both of you naked ... wrestling your asses off ... sweating an’ grunting. Oooh yeah! I wouldn’t mind that at all. I really get off on bears who battle it out raw..."

With a shrug I lifted my bottle to him, swigged, and then reached down and grabbed his thick round biceps and felt it. He raised his arm to make it easier. Billy wasn’t shy. I was as casual as an old cat. "Billy, if you want to watch us, you’re on, man. Doing anything tomorrow afternoon? It’s Sunday, and I’m not going anywhere." Billy didn’t answer right away, looking at Tom like a little boy just told that if he didn’t want to go to school he didn’t have to. "Yeah? You guys serious?"

Grinning at Tom, I said, "How about it, Tom old buddy? You’re not shy either. Want to show Billy Bear here how real bears rassle?" Tom nodded with a shrug, smiling easily at his nephew. "Hell yeah. You can watch Logan and me till you shoot. But to be honest, Billy, I think it’d be lots more fun if you weren’t just a spectator. "

Billy’s sea-blue eyes were wide and his smile pure flame. "You guys are super ... You’re terrific! I’d love to wrestle this old bear Logan here. Hey, maybe I could just sort of ... get in the way when you two were rasslin! I’d looove getting bearhugged by the both of you!"

I leaned forward. "Then, how about we watch you getting into some hot combat? I hear there’s a bear cub you want to take on..."

Tom’s voice was graver to Billy. "Time you challenged Chad, Billy. Get it over with, otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering because you never took a risk." I nodded in agreement and told him a capsule version of my story with Tom. Billy told us he was getting some specific vibes from Chad and as he described his friend we told Billy there was a good chance the guy felt as he did. Then he broke into a huge, confident grin and nodded. "Yeah .. yeah. Goddamit you guys are right. It’s about fucking time!"

A minute later we heard Billy on the kitchen phone. "... yeah, you heard it right, Chad -- a wrasslin party ... Here, yeah -- Tom’s place, right ... some fucking great big mats down in the rec room ... yeah, a champ back in high school ... Huh? ... Shit no, no way, man ... no formal rule-book shit ... Just a few guys messin’ around on the mats ... His buddy Logan’s here ... And me and you ... Yeah? ... Cool! ... That’s great! ... Way to go Chad! ... Hey, thanks, man! Tomorrow."

Returning, Billy was beaming like an imp. "He said it sounds like the best party anyone’s invited him to in ten years. He said I’m the best friend he’s ever had. And he told me he plans to beat the shit out of you old buzzards and then wrestle me so fucking hard I’m going to holler for mercy..."

"My kind of man," I said.

The next afternoon Chad showed up on the stroke of two. The moment Tom and I laid eyes on Chad we knew why Billy was burning up to get the guy out of his threads. For any man who has a thing for big furry bears or cubs, the guy was a fucking Greek god. Dark in complexion and about the same height as Billy, he had thick, dark brown wavy hair and had let his beard grow out, making him look mid-twentiesh although he was just a year younger than Billy. He weighed in, I figured, around 220 and was definitely built for action. Chad’s handsome square face boasted a pair of the softest green eyes you’d ever seen that said plainly this cub was a rogue, and an experienced one at that. And from the open neck of his shirt and the dark brown hair on his arms there was no difficulty visualizing the dense pelt of brown hair covering his thick chest, the nice coat of fur flowing over his gut, and the bushy mane around his balls and meat. Twenty minutes later when he stripped off his clothes downstairs I saw my vision had been absolutely perfect.

If he was Billy’s match in size and weight he was also Billy’s match in not being shy, either, and I as I shucked my clothes and slipped on my jock I quietly asked Tom why it took these two so long to get here. Tom shrugged as Chad boldly strode over to us and stood in front us, bareass naked, tugging and stretching out his red jockstrap. I heard myself gulping hard.

Chad smirked. "So you two old bear fuckers think you’re hot shit wrestlers, huh? Billy and me are gonna judge for ourselves."

"Just don’t cry too hard when your buddy Billy there beats the crap out of you," I said loudly so Billy, stuffing his balls into his jock at the other end of the rec room, heard me. He did and shot me a big grin and an upraised thumb.

Chad snorted. "Won’t happen, man. Nope. Never."

Billy was alongside Chad. Those two big beefy cubs in their jocks standing next to each other was a boner. Billy’s voice was clear and strong and full of fight.

"Yes it will. Today, man. I’m gonna make you squeal like a little girl today."

Chad was a little caught off guard.

Tom smiled. "Hey Chad, my nephew’s no candyass. He’s a scrapper."

"Yeah, we’ll see about that," Chad answered. Billy and Chad, facing off, poked their ribs and traded a couple of not-exactly-just-playful gut punches.

Billy grinned at Tom and me. "Okay, enough fucking around. We’re here to rassle, right? So you two bear dads get on those mats and get on it!"

In a minute jock-clad Tom and I rushed each other mid-mats, locked up collar and elbow grappling about as fiercely as two middle-aged bears could. And that was a hell of a lot, mind you, because we were in decent fighting shape. As usual, Tom was trying to use his weight advantage to force me down on the mat. But that day it didn’t work as usual; probably because of hot Billy Bear and Chad jumping up and down in their jocks a few feet away I found some hidden male energy and started using my own weight better. I couldn’t throw or trip Tom but I made it a contest. We grappled on our bare feet for a long time -- until he used one of those big meaty legs of his to trip me. Well, I went down fast and hard and fast and hard Tom was on me, wrapping his huge arms around my neck and my leg again, twisting me like a pretzel.

At the edge of the mats, Billy and Chad were jumping up and down, yelling their goddam heads off. I heard Billy’s voice calling me by name, "... Hey, way to go, Logan my man! ... Watch out... That’s right, man ... grab his legs, man ... Careful! ... he’s pulling some shit! ... Watch your ass, Logan...!" Chad was cheering as loud and lustily for Tom. When I glanced over at the two hot furry cubs they were getting into our battle, trading little play punches and shoving each other. Well, that had some real effect on our battle. Tom and I fought and struggled harder than our last match, which was pretty damn feisty.

I managed to get loose from Tom’s hold and got up on one knee to put a really hard side headlock on him, and for a minute I thought I had him; but when a bear the size and dimension of Tom grabs your balls, man, you feel it. I yelped, Chad cheered gleefully, Billy booed his favorite uncle and the two cubs traded more gut punches. Then I heard Chad say something in jest to Billy about backing a loser and from the corner of my eye could see they were shoving each other harder, but I had 260-some pounds of bear meat slamming me down on my back so I couldn’t pay much attention. And the way my fight was going I knew in a few minutes I’d be on the edge watching Billy and Chad. In the meantime, however, when Tom tried to belly-flop on top of me I rolled aside as fast as I could. Tom belly-flopped on the mat. Billy cheered, Chad booed, I smirked.

In a flash I jumped on Tom and we rolled around, each trying to lock a hold on the other’s neck. We were both soaking wet with greasy sweat that oiled our chests and bellies. We were pretty fierce, too, let me tell you. As we were rolling around, I decided to land a fist into Tom’s big gut; he let out a big ooof! It wasn’t a sound of the air leaving his lungs, more surprise and delight. In fact he grinned like the storied Cheshire cat. He wanted more; he sent a punch to my gut to make sure I grasped the point. I did. We started trading gut punches as we lay there on the mats with one arm around the other’s neck. We punched harder with each blow, Tom and I each testing out the limits of each other’s stamina and endurance. The guy had a big gut, about a 44 inch waist, and those strong stomach muscles of his could take plenty of blows.

And we were putting on a show for the bearcubs, who were still cheering their men, but quieter now, much quieter. We heard Billy and Chad murmuring in low, almost syncopated rhythm, "..yeah, give it to him, man ... Again ... ! Hit him again ... ! Good shot ! ... Oooh ... Harder man ... Slam him harder ... Punch that gut man ..." We sensed we were boiling their juice just as much as we were boiling ours. The pouch of my jock bulged out; so did Tom’s. I knew Tom’s cock was hard as mine.

As we kept trading those gut punches, we gradually became aware that Chad and Billy were standing over us, watching our battle with furious, blissful pleasure, their beefy bodies quivering with bliss at each blow we took, their voices low, soft murmurs. We kept punching but we were gradually wearing each other out from the impact of the blows to our hairy bear guts. The match was going to end soon. One of us had to quit.

Then I felt hands on my shoulders. And in the next moment I felt my jock sliding off my sweaty legs and up over my feet. A shadow blocked the overhead lighting as I felt a warm hand grab my greasy cock. I let go of Tom’s neck with my other hand, broke off the gut punching, rolled over on my back; groaning, Tom followed suit. Billy was smiling as he leaned over me, rubbing his hands over my slimy chest and belly, running his fingers through the matted hairs of my pelt, pinching my nipples. He whispered in my ear, "Daddy Bear, you’re fucking great, man! Hot wrestler... and fucking great gut-puncher! You a hot fucker of a bear, my man, and now I’m gonna make you feel good...." Next to me, Chad bent low over Tom’s prone body and was vigorously pumping Tom’s thick upright meat, greasy like mine from the sweat we worked up.

Both of the cubs started working and slapping our big stiff rods, at first just whacking them against our bushy, sweaty groins, then slapping our rods a degree harder each time, again and again, over and over. Whack! Thump! Our cocks, hurting now, were getting stiffer as they were being slapped harder. That got us all a little crazy, even Billy and Chad. It was awesomely hot watching these two young, godlike stocky bears bending over us with their hands whacking away at our cocks. For a few minutes Tom and I knelt up face to face and got into a cock-fight while the cubs played with our chests, pinched our nips, and slapped our asses as hard as they could. That went on for a long while ... Tom and I smacking and whacking our outstretched bearmeat, getting our asses slapped hard by those hot bearcubs. Whew! It was hot, we sweated up another storm and then fell over on our backs; Billy and Chad straddled us, Billy on me and Chad on Tom.

"Gonna make you come, Daddy Bear ..." Billy intoned slowly, softly over and over. "Gonna make my big hot furry Daddy Bear shoot aaalll his juice ... aaalll his juice ... aaaallll over ..." Whack! Billy slapped my cock harder than before, and I jolted in ecstasy. Thwop! He slapped it against my hairy groin ... Then my arms slammed down against the wrestling mat, slimy from all our heavy bear sweat, as streams of hot white bear cream splashed and sprayed up out of my cock. Tom, his thick cock and hairy balls worked over just as hard by furry Chad, gave out a loud, harsh groan as he squirted his bearjuice the same moment. Chad and Billy moaned quiet yeahs as we two older bears creamed our guts out.

Drained and exhausted but blissfully pleasured, Tom and I now leaned back against the paneled wall toweling ourselves off. It was now our turn. We leaned back to absorb as fully as possible the beautiful sight before our eyes, one of nature’s -- and underground wrestling’s -- most majestic sights: two handsome, furry bear cubs, naked except for their jocks, one light, the other darker, both readying themselves for the coming combat.

There was Billy, boyish, masculine, every inch of him many a bear’s secret desire: husky, fair-skinned and fair-haired ... that thick five-o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin ... five-ten and weighing about 215, a coat of dark fuzz splaying all over his meaty chest ... his thick arms, heavy round biceps, and the gorgeously large hairy belly and manly, powerful legs. And there was Chad, ready to have his pictures splashed all over magazine centerfolds, Tom’s man: about Billy’s height but a little heavier ... the fierce dark complexion, the dense, dark beard he’d let grow out ... his dark brown body fur, the hair on his chest and belly slightly darker than Billy’s ... that equally generous, ample, and temptingly furry gut ... some would call him godlike, even an ultimate young image of manly, bearish beauty. Two of the handsomest, most rugged-looking young bearcubs I’d ever laid my eyes on were strutting around in their jocks, facing off, then slowly, teasingly, circling each other on the mat.

Even as Tom reached over and lowered the too-bright overhead lights I could see the fire in Billy’s eyes and Chad’s. They had both ached a long time for this trial, this man-versus-man contest, and they were in no rush to start their combat. They were playing with each other. As they circled Chad and Billy threw some punches at each other, aiming for their arms, then their guts, then their heads. They were slowly circling like that for a long time, now crouching and ducking, then a punch would find its target, and they’d exchange more insults to the other’s skill and taunt each other about who was about to pulverize the other in utterly humiliating defeat. Rasslers’ foreplay. Tom and I silently smiled at each other, grasping their total lack of timidity, the absence of any uncertainties: each of these cubs knew exactly why he was there today.

As they circled, Tom and I took our turn and each started to holler cheers for our chosen champion. I bellowed for Billy: "Get that fucker, Billy! ... You can take him easy ... You got the stuff! ... You’ll do it ... Crush him like a little bug." Tom hollered for Chad: "Go get him, Chad-boy! ... Show that candyass blond kid how a real bear rassles ... Go for him, man... Make him beg for mercy, make him squeal." And we our insults were as raunchy as theirs had been when we rassled. We were putting on our show and letting the testosterone boil and all of us were having too much fun doing it. That’s what it was for, letting go, releasing pent-up power and the animal in us all. After all, four naked, stocky bears in a raunchy underground wrestling fest aren’t going to sing Bach cantatas.

Then Chad suddenly stopped dead in the center of the mat, stood straight and stuck his hands in the waistband of his red jockstrap and started to tug at it, snapping it against his waist. Billy snapped his jock and they began a contest of yanking and snapping their jocks over and over, harder each time. They yanked those jocks so hard we heard them start to rip. That, of course, was the idea. They just kept that up, grinning and snapping their straps. A minute later I reached up to catch Billy’s jock at the same moment Tom caught Chad’s. Out in the middle of the mat the two naked bearcubs flashed us with two shit-eating grins. Then they turned and rammed each other, two huge rockets of bearflesh.

It was no horseplay nor was it a grudge fight, but it was pretty plain Chad and Billy had been saving up a truckload of juice for this battle. Those cubs were out to push each other as far as they could, go gut to gut, chest to chest, muscle to muscle and test every cell in their hot furry bodies.

They started by locking together in a long, brutal, and savagely fierce bearhug; these two clamped and hugged so fiercely I thought they must have been hooked up to some invisible air supply just to keep breathing. Their handsome cub faces were turning blue as they struggled harder, groaning and gasping for air, their heavy young bearcub bodies straining as they clamped together furiously. That bearhug fight of theirs raged for what seemed like a long time, for many long, grueling minutes. Kneeling at the edge of the mats Tom and I cheered our two champs on louder and louder, hollering and yelling so loud we almost got hoarse. Neither cub eased his clamp on the other, each man squeezing the other so hard that there was a time when Tom and I were afraid we’d have to get them emergency oxygen. That is, after we pried them apart.

Finally they began to weaken and eased back on their body-clamp. Billy managed to slip a hand up against Chad’s chin and started pushing his head back. That ended the bearhug fight, and Chad’s hands went for Billy’s neck. No grass grew under Billy’s bare feet and now they were choking each other, another test to see how far each could push the other and who’d quit first. Billy did; his eyes started to blink and his color faded just before he damn near passed out. Chad let go of him and sprang back. They grinned big chunks of attitude at each other as they gulped air while Tom and I growled little hymns of praise for each cub’s gutsy fight. Billy wagged his cock at Chad, who wagged his meat back; Billy looked straight at me.

"It ain’t ... over yet," Billy gasped, winking at me.

Chad shook his meat once again at Billy, grinning at Tom, then me. "Gimme five more minutes."

A couple of minutes later they were furiously pushing their big powerful chests and their big meaty bellies against each other, shoving each other back and forth around the mats. These two were the kind of rasslers who liked it raw and natural. This battle in a suburban rec room was almost out of place, they should have been battling it out deep in a forest or on a lonely beach or a grassy field. They were two savages, and they were beautiful to watch.

Then, locking their arms and then their legs around each other, they tried to trip each other, and when that didn’t work they began to exchange volleys of kicks: first they went for each other’s legs, and then for each other’s balls. They each had a pretty good sense of balance and better-than-average timing. Each cub jumped and lurched this way and that when a foot headed for his balls. Tom and I bellowed praise for their agility and timing. Then in one bad moment Billy lost his timing and failed to lurch out of the oncoming path of Chad’s foot, which found its target. Letting out a pathetic moan and grabbing his nuts Billy crumpled over onto the mat, the pain evident in his contorted face. The rest of us ran to his aid in a flash; shaken and upset, Chad apologized about ten times but Billy just smiled at him through his pain and, after a moment or two, told Chad that it was okay, they each knew the risks of what they were doing, and what the hell, that’s how it goes when both rasslers decide to rassle without their jocks.

Tom called a break and told me to take care of Billy, he wanted to try to calm Chad down. Billy looked up and said to me, "Okay, Big Papa Bear, now you’re my coach, too," and he put his arm around my shoulder as I helped him over to an old sofa at the far end of the rec room while Chad and Tom hugged and chatted softly at the other end. Chad was visibly upset, and it looked like he’d quit the match and go. Billy was a tough cub and had no thought of giving up. He stood up after a couple of minutes, threw his arm around me and in a slow limp started walking it off.

"It may not look like it," he groaned softly, grinning and rubbing my hairy gut with one hand, "but I plan to fucking win this one. I’ll win it for you, Big Papa Bear."

As fatigued as I was from my bout with Tom I got a boner. Delighted, Billy chuckled, quickly wrapping a hand around my cock. Billy and I had a hot little thing going and we knew it.

"I gather you have a specific plan," I said dryly as his hand stroked my boner. I wiped my hand on his sweat-soaked forehead, then adored his furry chest.

"Yeah. I just won’t quit until I beat him." Still holding on to my cock, he pulled my head to his and stuck his tongue in my mouth.

A few minutes later, Chad was finally reassured by all of us that Billy and he were still best friends and that all Billy wanted now was to utterly pulverize his ass in ignominious and shameful defeat on the mat. So once more the two furry cubs started to circle each other, but now in a smaller, tighter, closer circle. Tom and I overheard Billy muttering something to Chad but couldn’t make out what he said. Chad and Billy were laughing and snarling and slapping their hands in high-five agreement. Then they collided like Mack trucks.

This time, Chad stopped Billy dead by just putting a claw on Billy’s meaty pec. Billy cried out sharply, but I saw it was a cry of delight and bliss: he then got his claw on Chad’s furry pec and yanked Chad’s thick head hair with his other hand. Billy’s shorter, straight ash-blond hair was harder for Chad to grip. His own head of hair was by no means long but was thick and wavy. So in no time the two were manfully wincing in peals of pain, exquisite pain. Adventurously they snatched handfuls of chest fur and then public hair. From their bushy groins, two rods of flesh swelled and lengthened.

They released each other suddenly. Now, the two cubs faced each other about two feet apart, big boners aimed at each other. And they chose a new weapon for the next round of their battle: their round, hairy guts. Billy started it: he just pulled himself up to his full height, threw his arms back and behind him, stuck his belly out and rammed Chad with it. Those two really were on the same wavelength, because instantly Chad got the picture and stuck out his furry gut and there was this enormously loud thwack in the room as their bellies collided. They fought like that for a long time, ramming and colliding each other gut against gut.

Tom and I chortled at the belly-fight but our cocks were stiff again. Only the day before he and I had belly-fought just like this, slamming our big guts into each other until we were about as exhausted and ecstatic as two bear rasslers could get. Face it, when it came to belly-fighting we all four of us were well armed.

As their fight raged on Billy gained on Chad; I could see the bigger, darker cub was slowly weakening. Then something weird happened. The two cubs were over at the edge of the mat where a couple of big old bed mattresses were propped against the wall for cushioning. Billy took one slow step back and then let fly a punch to Chad’s gut. That was no play punch, either, but a really hard, slamming punch, so hard it knocked the wind right out of Chad. Tom and I went silent, not sure where that tactic was going. Was Billy really pissed off at Chad for kicking him in his balls and trying to settle the score? I wasn’t sure. And frankly, the punching excited me; but I was a little scared because I didn’t want these two excellent bear cubs to step over the line and do something stupid that would end their friendship.

Well, as Chad doubled up, moaned, and clutched his ample belly, Billy took one step back. But when Chad looked up he wasn’t mad, he was beaming sort of angelically at Billy, who beamed back at him. Billy stood up straight, stiffly almost, his arms at his sides. With a loud groan Billy took Chad’s heavy right fist in the center of his gut.

So this was what they’d agreed on a while back, I muttered, a gut-punching contest. Tom and I got on our feet, cheering our cub champions and moved in closer to them at the mattress-cushioned wall where they were now deliriously slugging each other’s furry bellies. We got close to them but kept just enough distance not to crowd them. Their exchange of punches was almost rhythmical, like a slow-motion film: each one carefully aiming and then sending his blow, then a pause to recover, stand up, take the return blow; each naked cub smiling at his opponent all the while, showing no weakness, each one marking the other’s face for the first telltale sign of capitulation in this ritualized cubfight. These two cubs had plenty of spit.

The gutfight didn’t last too long. A few hard punches later Chad suddenly stumbled and lurched toward Billy, clutching him as they both crumpled to the floor, exhausted and spent. Billy was flat on top of him just like Tom fell on me when we rassled the day before. Tom and I moved in and knelt down next to them, whispering encouragement and words of high praise to them as they lay there, their only motion the heaving of their big chests as they panted. They lay there like that for a long time, quietly. Billy had his hands locked around Chad’s wrists and was spreading his defeated friend’s arms out flat on the mat. Tom and I patted and rubbed their heads, necks, arms, legs. After their breathing returned to normal a few minutes later Billy rolled off Chad onto his back. Tom kneeled over Chad, I bent over Billy, we stroked their bodies gently, kissing them, running our hands up and down the oily sweat on their thick torsos, massaging their chests and their arms, rubbing their sore muscles; rubbing and gently stroking and massaging their hard-ons.

With a big grin and a fresh burst of energy that took us by surprise Billy suddenly rolled back over on top of Chad, grabbed Chad’s wrists again and spread out his arms; Chad groaned but didn’t resist.

"Okay, let’s hear it," Billy demanded.

"Okaaay ... Billy Bear," Chad groaned back. He smiled. "Your match . . . this time, you weird-ass little fucker."

Billy spoke to Chad but looked at me. "And our agreement? Remember?"

Chad grunted. "In force."

Billy let go of Chad’s arms, slapped his face and knelt up, straddling him. Chad bent his knees and rested his legs on his feet, exposing his gorgeous bushy-haired ass and big balls, then reached up and wrapped a hand around Billy’s boner. He stroked Billy’s long, thick cock for a moment as Tom ran one hand over Chad’s big furry chest and massaged the dark cub’s thickening meat with the other. Billy knelt there, looking at me impishly and then gestured for me to move close to him. He wrapped an arm around me and our tongues searched our wet mouths for a long, long time.

"I gotta hand it to you, Billy-Bear, you’re one hell of a bear, and a hell of a rassler," I said at last. "You said you’d beat him. A man of your word."

"And a slut," he chuckled, looking down and calling my attention to the fact that Chad’s hand was working his cock.

"Fruits of Logantory," I replied. We exchanged what can only be called pure erotic smiles. We understood each other. "Can I hold something while you work?" I asked with a shrug.

"On that table yonder there’s some stuff we need."

Billy knelt over Chad, grabbed the darker cub by the ankles, lifted and spread Chad’s huge hairy legs in a big ‘V’. The beautiful, bushy dark fur around Chad’s large round balls and his thick crack invited exploring. Billy took his turn as Tom and worked over Chad’s chest and belly, then Billy knelt back and motioned to Tom, who nearly brought Chad to the point where he was about to shoot; then it was my turn. Chad’s face registered all the mighty erotic power of his fellow big bears arousing him as only other bears could in waves of blissful pleasure. Billy knelt, watching, a hand drifting now and then to his own erect cock, his chest slowly heaving as he watched us pleasure Chad, his strong rod-like young bear-cock jutting out from his thick mane of pelLogan fur pointing at us and at Chad.

After I finished working over Chad’s balls, cock, and ass, I knelt up next to Billy, who handed me and Tom small black objects. I looked at the two in my hands, and then proceeded to quietly snap one leather cockring snugly into place around the base of Billy’s meat, then snapped one on my equipment. Tom sent Chad further into ecstasy by pinching his nipples and licking his armpits before taking Chad’s fat cock in his mouth again. Billy and I clutched each other tightly and wet-kissed, and then I sort of glared at him.

"And now, it’s time for the winner to take his prize," I murmured, carefully tearing a little packet open. "This young bear god in front of you is all yours, Billy Bear. Watching you and Chad rassle was ... beautiful. Savage. You wanted this struggle and you struggled hard, both of you. You’re both winners, but you are the Logantor and now, Billy Bear, now it’s yours."

Billy just nodded, smiling, and looked a young bear god himself. As I gently pushed him into Chad’s reclining body as he leaned forward to I thought of all the depictions of ancient gods in those marble statues of Greece. The ancients had glorified the male body, but merely one aspect of it: they had cherished just the image of a stag, a slender, hairless, muscled, graceful creature, ignoring the ample gracefulness of the beautifully stocky, fur-coated bear. Maleness is not one thing but many and these two youths in front of Tom and me, also deserved to be glorified as well and to have statues and images of beautiful bearish men to worship and to serve. To me, they were equally godlike and immortal in form in their large, thick bearlike bodies with lush pelts of manly fur coating their awesomely powerful legs, their large round arms, their meaty chests and plump, full bellies.

Tom and I knelt over Billy and Chad, stroking our fully-erect cocks as the two cubs lay together. Moments before the bearcubs had struggled with all their brute power and force. Now they lay their mouths and bodies locked, embracing and kissing with that same passionate power and male force.

Billy lifted himself and knelt up again, grasping Chad’s ankles and raising his legs. Slowly I stretched the rubber condom out the over Billy’s blood-filled bearcock, which felt like a piece of metal to me, and then smeared some lube over cock. As I lubed him, Billy’s face registered sheer white-hot pleasure, his brow dripping with sweat like the rest of his bearish body, which quivered in the anticipation of penetrating Chad’s beautiful ass with his hard manhood, of physically joining with his kindred bear, his fellow struggler.

I made sure the rubber was secure and made the little bubble in the tip for his cumjuice while Tom swabbed lube with his fingers down Chad’s waiting asshole. As Billy leaned forward and his body straightened up as he drew nearer Chad’s body I took Billy’s cock in my hand to help him slide it in. But grinning, I cheated and pumped his cock a few times, with just enough rough pressure to cause him to tremble some more. Then with one hand on Billy’s backside I pushed him down on to Chad; both the cubs’ faces twisted in sheer exaltation as a moment later Billy slid down firmly into him.

As Billy began slowly fucking Chad, pushing his hard ramrod deeper into and then out of Chad’s ass, I slipped around behind him and knelt. I started to run my hands over Billy’s fleshy chest and down over his awesomely hairy gut, sopping wet with a fresh coat of oily sweat; I got harder feeling that powerful young bear’s body jerking and trembling, his muscles contracting and expanding, as he pumped his cock into Chad. Chad’s big calves rested now on Billy’s shoulders as I pinched Billy’s nipples as hard as I could. I reached down next to finger his furry groin and found the exposed base of his iron-hard shaft as his body jerked back and forth, squeezing Billy’s cock and letting go, squeezing and letting go; oil thrown on flames.

Tom and Chad were working each other’s chests, clawing each other’s pecs, pinching each other’s nipples. Then as Billy’s fucking grew more vigorous Tom began to pump Chad’s cock very hard, harder; Chad had the kind of cock that’s kind of fat and round, and it was really hard now. Still kneeling behind him my body leaned into Billy’s as he fucked, my stiff cock riding his crack as he pounded Chad harder and harder. I pushed against Billy as he pounded harder. He was groaning louder, and so was Chad. In low, dark whispers Tom and I chanted and sang praise for each cub’s toughness, manliness, acolytes in their rite of pleasure.

His fair skin glistening with sweat all over his bear’s body an a chesty, low moan rumbling in his throat, Billy suddenly pulled back and slid his bearcock out of Chad’s ass as Chad writhed from the sexual pain; I yanked the rubbed off Billy’s throbbing cock as the moan became a long, hearty growl as the sexual firestorm in his balls broke and his bearcock shook in manly fury. Billy’s body convulsed and he doubled up and fell forward over Chad, bracing himself on one hand. A beautiful, warm, white stream of cum gushed out the head of Billy’s reddened cock, and big splotches of Billy’s male cream started to cling to Chad’s belly and chest, and a splash of cum even landed in his beard. At exactly the same moment Chad, whose fat bearcock had been furiously stroked, pumped, and sucked by Tom as Billy’s ramrod pumped his ass, trembled and shook violently as his own rod shot Billy with almost endless splashes of his own bearjuice that stuck to the hairs on Billy’s chest and gut and made a small white stream along Billy’s crabladder.

Billy collapsed on Chad and the two cubs lay together, wet with sweat and cum, gasping for air. Tom and I gently massaged their bodies again. After a few minutes Billy kissed Chad and rolled off of him and they lay there on their backs side by side, their chests and bellies heaving gently as their hard breathing eased. A few moments later Billy and Chad turned on their sides facing each other and wrapped their thick, heavy arms around each other. Their tongues found their mouths, their legs entwined. Tom and I got on our feet and stood face-to-face over Billy and Chad. I braced myself with a hand on Tom’s shoulder and took his cock with my other, and he did the same with me. Watching each other and the two handsome cubs, locked together once again, we worked each other’s cocks. In a few moments, the furnace in our bear-balls exploded and we two gray-bearded bears -- who were once two teenage bears wrestling in the woods behind an old mill -- sprayed our own bearcum on our two cubs.

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