Albie was having a mid-life crisis. At least that's what it felt like, although he wasn't sure such things were applicable to people like him. He thought of himself as an ordinary man. Almost 60 years old, divorced, two grownup kids, steady job going nowhere in the office of a big local factory. There were people like him all over the world.
He didn't consider himself good looking. To be brutally honest with himself, he was fat and balding, but increasingly hairy all over his body. People professed to be turned off by a hair back: well Albie had one of those. Hairy chest, hairy back, hairy thighs, balls like a wooly mammoth, hair in his crack, on his arms, his knuckles. No woman in this modern age would be attracted to him, he was certain of that. He had even tried dating websites, but the few bites he had had petered out after a couple of messages.
He had to find someone; he was lonely and life was passing him by. He spent more and more time surfing the net, and his online travels took him to places he didn't want to go. He discovered that fat hairy men were called bears in the gay world. And they were popular, at least with a certain section of the browsing population. At first glance it was all smooth skin and muscles and slim young specimens, but then he found that many of those had a thing about bears.
And that was him: Albie was a bear. He found himself visiting bear dating sites, which were wall-to-wall pictures of men like himself. He found himself looking at these bodies and comparing them with himself. It began to occur to him that he had been offering himself to the wrong market. Here he had found people who might want him.
The trouble was, these people were gay and he wasn't.
Or wasn't he? He had to admit that ever since his teens he had had little fantasies involving men. There had never been a particular real man he had fancied, but he could be transported to fictional world in which he had sex with men. He thought about being sucked off by one. He even thought about being the one doing the sucking. What would that be like? Receiving it, great, he had enjoyed a bit of that in his time, although his wife had stopped it as soon as the sound of the wedding bells had faded. But oral sex was all the rage now, apparently.
One evening Albie sat at his computer and typed "naked hairy men", and found still pictures of hairy studs. That wasn't interesting to him at all.
Then he tried naked hairy men fucking, but a deluge of hits showed him that he needed to add the word "gay". That brought a ton of interesting sites. He had to admit, he was swimming in a different pool now. He went to bed and masturbated at the thought of naked hairy men with other naked men. Up to that point he had actually doubted that anal sex really happened. It was all in the imagination. But now he saw actual close-up films of erect penises entering anuses. Male anuses. Men being fucked. He fantasised about that, about fucking a man. He had had a few women, although never anally, but penetration was good.
It took a few nights before he realised that he was also interested in being on the receiving end. If all these men enjoyed being fucked and didn't seem traumatized by it, maybe he would like it too. Maybe he had had enough of being the instigator. maybe he should try receiving. Oh my god, Albie thought. People will be able to read my thoughts. I won't be able to look anyone in the eye without them knowing I want to get a cock up my arse.
This fear lasted a few days, but the desire didn't go away. Every night he couldn't wait to get on his laptop and look at men having anal sex with each other. And there were fat, hairy nobodies like him, with slim young men clamouring to have sex with them. And the fat hairy men were also receiving: they were receiving anal sex. He was so excited he could hardly sleep for fear of missing something. there were daddies being fucked by grandpas, grandpas being buggered by young men, ordinary middle-aged men like him waiting with their mouths open while some virile type wanked onto their face and into their mouth. There were normal, unexceptional men submitting to the depraved desires of other normal, unexceptional men.
It was, in short, coming to seem like a perfectly normal thing to do. Maybe he should do what he was hearing all around the place: become who he truly was and stop being this resolutely heterosexual stereotype.
Albie took his clothes off and took some pictures on his phone. He couldn't get a hardon for the camera, but his cock looked perfectly okay hanging there. And his belly looked okay because he had now seen so many other men exposing themselves like this.
Nervously, he signed up to a bear hookup site (hookup being the less romantic, more honest term for this kind of dating). He read a few profiles to see what people put, and he liked the more subtle ones, so he got writing. "Ordinary middle-aged man new to this, wants to have sex with another man. Age and looks irrelevant. I may be versatile but I won't know until we try." Really he wanted to make sure he got fucked, but he didn't want to be so brazen. That looked bad in print.
He posted his profile and had a look at who was around in his area.
To his surprise, it wasn't just other hairy men who responded; there were young men, slim and pristine-looking, with thin cocks like pale frankfurters and narrow hips like girls. And these young adonises didn't want to deflower female virgins: they wanted to be invaded by big hairy men like him.
Albie decided to think about it a bit more, because it was so far away from what he had imagined and planned. But one of these lads pursued him. Oliver was his name and he left Albie in no doubt as to what he wanted. Oliver sent him pictures of himself on his back with his legs raised and the smooth split peach of his arse presented. He sent pictures of himself in women's clothing, looking utterly unconvincing but sweet and sad in a red dress that finished in mid thigh. His lonely melancholy tugged at Albie's heartstrings. He seemed like an intelligent person and a decent character; he just had this terrible need that had to be fulfilled.
Albie invited Oliver to visit him for a drink and the lad arrived in normal clothes, jeans and t-shirt, but clutching a plastic shopping bag. He immediately excused himself and went to the bathroom, emerging ten minutes later apparently naked beneath a dress, with lipstick neatly applied and less successful smudges of darkness around his eyes.
Oliver draped himself around Albie and his hands roamed the bigger man's skin under his shirt as he drooled at the hair and the fat.
"What do you want?" Albie asked, because he genuinely wanted to know.
"I want your big hairy body all over me," Oliver replied. "I want you to dominate me." This much Albie understood. He pulled the lad's dress off and placed him on his back. He lay between Oliver's legs and tried to think as if he were going to fuck a woman. Oliver raised his legs to expose his anus. Albie smeared lube into the crack and on the end of his cock. He placed his knob at the entrance to Oliver's house of sin and pressed against it. The lad's eyes widened with expectation and perhaps some trepidation. Then with a movement like a blockage suddenly clearing, Albie was inside him, his penis buried in the lad's shit chute.
Oliver moaned softly and it was the sound of gratefulness. He had received what he wanted, at least the first instalment. He had this big, blubbery, hairy man on top of him and a hard cock in his arse. Albie pushed in and out, but he wasn't feeling the desperate urge to cum which he thought he should be feeling. He watched Oliver's face and saw the feelings he wanted to have. He saw the ecstasy of being fucked.
Albie fucked Oliver briskly and roughly, but he wasn't going to cum in there. Eventually he pulled out and wanked onto Oliver's chest, drawing on all his years of masturbating to bring himself off and squirt what the lad wanted onto his chest. Albie watched the wonder in Oliver's eyes as the jackpot was delivered.
The evening came to a premature and disappointing end, Albie having found out something about himself and Oliver was thinking he had failed in some way. But the truth was that Albie was miscast - he was playing the wrong role. He could see by Oliver's reactions that he, Albie, should have been on the receiving end. There was no subtle way of putting it: he wanted to be fucked. Now he would have to rework his profile on the hookup site so he wouldn't attract the sort of men who were like him; he had a queue of masculine, fat, hairy types with one thing on their mind.
He rephrased it: "No longer confused, no longer nervous - now I know what I want. I want a bulky, virile man with one thing on his mind: penetration."
One thing he was learning at this late stage in his development was that there was, as they say, someone out there for everyone. That was usually used in the context of romantic relationships, but he was seeing that it could be applied to sex too. You might think that you were the only person in the world who wanted a certain thing, and as much as you wanted it, you wouldn't find someone who wanted to be the other half of the arrangement. But he now realised that was not true. Oliver had this thing about being treated like a woman and Albie had played the man for him. So if he played the woman's role, there was going to be some masculine guy out there who wanted to take advantage of the situation. He couldn't see himself dressing up, because the more he looked at the CDs getting fucked, the more he knew he would be almost hilariously unconvincing. But he also saw big, hairy, masculine-looking men like himself getting shagged. You just had to advertise, and perhaps be a bit flexible in your expectations.
Albie had a thing but big, mature, hairy men, bigger than himself, but there was nothing wrong with younger, nothing wrong with smooth skin, nothing wrong with younger. Maybe some slim, pale, smooth Chinese guy would like to fuck him. Should he specify that? He decided to keep it non-specific and see what happened. And what happened was that a tall, skinny Pakistani with pale skin and no hair but a raging, hooked hardon approached him. This guy was desperate to fuck a white man, had been fantasising about it for years and actually felt a bit guilty about expressing his urge. Albie found himself trembling with excitement when he thought about it. Anwar was his name and he seemed decent enough, because that came into the equation for Albie; he didn't want to be abused, just used. He didn't want a romantic relationship, he wanted to be fucked and satisfied while retaining his self-respect.
