Bearology 101

By R.W. Clinger

Adorable, blond, and bearish Matthew Blake claims he studies “Bearology,” the communication between sexy, hot, and hairy men. His lover, Officer Nick Rook, is a pretty easy-going bear who adores Matthew. They have an open relationship, which prompts Matthew to seek out a few bears for further study.

He brings home Andy DeBane, who owns and operates a bar called The Bear Den. Matthew and Andy seem to hit it off with much zeal and create some bearology of their own. Add in Nick, and the sparks fly. Two lovers, Parker and James, also have their sights (and claws) set on Matthew.

To promote his studies, Matthew hosts a party for all the bears he and Nick have met. Through drinking, talking, flirting, and sexual companionship, they will discover romance and more among the sexiest of men.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Nov 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611529838

R.W. Clinger

R.W. Clinger is a resident of Pittsburgh. He has a degree in English from Point Park University of Pittsburgh. His writing entails gay human studies, and includes the novels Just a Boy, Skin Tour, Skin Artist, Soft on the Eyes, Pool Boy, and The Last Pile of Leaves. He has published many stories with Starbooks Press as well as The Weekender, a novella with Dreamspinner Press. His gay mystery, Cutie Pie Must Die, is published with Bold Stroke Books. For three years he has held the position of managing editor for the literary magazine, The Writer’s Post Journal. For more information, please visit rwclinger.com.

Book preview

Bash

Chapter 1: Breaking Laws: Rook

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

July 8, 20—

Kiss me, Rook, I say to the bear behind me, moving my splay of tight neck to his gorgeous face—cocoa butter brown eyes and hair, nicely manicured goatee, pinkish lips, rosy-red cheeks, and right eyebrow pierced. He is twenty-eight-years-old, 220 pounds, has a body built like a Colt model, and currently is boyfriendless. Again, I command him to taste my body with his outstretched tongue, press my cored neck into his face, and feel elated by his rapid tongue-licks; blown away with complete pleasure.

Nick Rook comes off of me for air, takes a breather, pats my bottom with his free hand, and glides his face against my neck, hard at work.

After he does a mouth-massage on my skin, the bear lightly spanks my denim-covered bottom for his ultimate pleasure. One spank turns into a dozen for the next few seconds until the city cop—Officer Nick Rook at my service—slides up to my earlobe and takes a nibble. Again and again this process continues—his outstretched tongue laps my ear and neck and he gently spanks my behind with constant fun.

More, I mumble in front of him, next to his sofa. Spank me more, Officer Rook. Please.

* * * *

Matthew Harding. My history is lame, but maybe important for those around me to comprehend who I really am among them. I have a twin brother named Rick who looks just like me-blond curls, deep and dark blue eyes, five-eleven frame, blond hairy chest, medium-size build, twenty-six-years-old, blond sideburns, no beard or mustache. I teach biology at Lossner College in downtown Pittsburgh; my Facebook page says single and I like to poke people. My parents live in Key West; my brother owns a coffee shop in downtown Sacramento with his wife, Melissa. My full name is Matthew Blake Harding and I received an English degree from Temple in Philadelphia. I've been without a boyfriend for the last six months. My last boyfriend was Tommy Dash, who was quite the piece of work, and not in the good way. I’m obsessed with bears, love them, love to make love to them, just like Rook.

What happens on this June night is heart-pounding. My friend, Dixon Marsfield, asks me to go to The Purple Bar & Grille on Western Street, which is a bear bar with the hottest bear bartenders. Dreamy Rook pulls Dix over for speeding, shame on both of them. The officer of the law finds me attractive, he keeps looking at my chest, the sprigs of blond hair at the base of my throat, and my hairy arms. Rook asks me my name so I tell him. He winks at me, I wink back. Rook decides not to give Dix a speeding ticking, instead, Rook wants my number, which I give him. The cop tells me his shift ends at midnight and wants to know if I’ll take his call. I ask him, What for? He says he wants me to come over to his apartment so he can have some fun with me. I agree-here I am.

* * * *

Before this session of heated man-on-man sex between us, Rook’s uniform shirt is unbuttoned and exposes a chest covered in thick hair. One of his nipples is exposed, which is steel-hard and pointed like a jagged rock. He offers me a beer and we talk for the next twenty minutes. The cop tells me to take my shirt off and show him what I have I do. He tells me to unbutton my jeans and take them off, which I do. He studies my thick thighs, white boxer-briefs, the treasure trail beneath my comma-shaped navel, and says, Nice package, Harding. You’re just what I like. He lathers my face and my chest with his tongue, finds my cotton-covered dick and starts to rub it up and down with his right palm and fingers. His hand slips into the cotton and finds exactly what he’s looking for. We forget about the beer, the conversation, and decide to be young and silly and the perfect combination.

* * * *

It's romantic sex between us. Together we blend with ease, body against body, and kiss with zeal. Our time with each other is unlimited pleasure and offers much excitement. It's not dirty or XXX stuff. Instead, we lock together, glide with zest, and become untamed, as if we are meant to be together.

I moan over his sofa, Jesus, Rook, you’re pretty good at this.

Release it, guy, he says, obviously into our shared gig. The cop strikes my butt with his left palm, stinging my skin. More spanks ensue, which I find a total turn-on.

Stroke after stroke is applied to my dick and I can’t hold my load in. A jolt of pure happiness surfaces on every inch of my body. Bubbles of euphoria spark a climax and sap blasts out of my private part and sprays the back of the sofa.

Following my burst, he stands up, demands that I spin around and fall to my knees. He hovers over me with his nine-inch uncut rod and hairy balls next to my face. The chiseled bear yanks his erect cock up and down in hyper motion and causes sweat to build on his furred torso. The man’s hips thrust to and fro in a whipping movement that is vibrant and unyielding. While his right hand is busy on his shaft, his left hand wipes lathered sweat away from his chest. Gasps of excitement escape his mouth and he confesses, Shooting, pal. Within seconds he jacks white spew out of his