Date: Sun, 10 Feb 2008 11:32:45 -0500 (EST)
From: fratbear <fratbear@excite.com>
Subject: Sloan Cosgrove, Chapter 29 of 45

"Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear" is a 45-
chapter novel in which a certain bearish college football player/
frat boy recalls his many sexual adventures and encounters.

All of fratbear's stories are available at:
http://www.geocities.com/fratcub/

******

"Sloan Cosgrove, Confessions of a Teenage Bear"
by fratbear (fratbear@excite.com)


Chapter 29: Making the Team

When I returned to Southern Texas University that September to begin my
sophomore year, I found that I was suddenly the big man on campus. I had my
own room on the second floor of the Delt House. Norm O'Malley had
graduated, so I was the biggest guy in the house. I was taking more classes
out of pure interest rather than out of a need to fill a pre-requisite. But
best of all, Coach Johnson finally elevated me to the position of starting
tackle on the offensive line.

I'd worked hard during my freshman year to condition my body for football,
and now it was paying off. In our game opener of the season, we crushed our
opponents in their own stadium. A few days later, I received a letter in
the mail from Tim Butcher, congratulating me on my athletic success. After
those few days of sheer pleasure at the Ursa Major, we'd agreed to stay in
touch. I knew that Tim's team wasn't doing too well, and that he would
probably have to consider the possibility of retirement in the near future.

I, in turn, faithfully taped his games (what few of them were televised in
our little college town) and wrote him letters to tell him what I thought,
and to keep him appraised of any sexual adventures I might have had. I
actually had been quite celibate since my week with Tim that July, and now
I was getting a bit antsy to get laid again.

It didn't take too long before I had something to write about to Tim. It
was our third game of the season, an away game against the Holliman
Cougars. Holliman was an agricultural college and was well-known for their
abundant stock of beef-fed farmboys. As you can imagine, their football
squad was pretty impressive for a lower division team.

The game did not go well at all for us. Actually, we got pounded, and
hard. At the end of the first quarter, the Cougars had scored every time
they had possession of the ball, and the score was 35 to 6. That's right,
we even missed an extra point kick.

What made it truly hellish for me, though, was this particular Cougars
defensive tackle, whom I spent most of the game nose-to-nose against. The
rest of the time was spent smashing into him over and over again at the
line of scrimmage. Believe it or not, he was stronger than me, and I was
inevitably the one left sprawled on the grass after each play.

He was a massive, mean-looking fucker, from what little I could see of him
through his helmet. He was also prone to spouting choice taunts such as,
"The Tank's gonna flatten you, boy" or "You're gonna get rolled over by the
Tank." I figured his name was Tank. The back of his jersey read "Comstock."
Tank Comstock. Catchy name, I thought. Too bad it belonged to such an
asshole.

As I could've predicted, we got thoroughly trounced. Rather than bus home
right away, we decided to stick around and go bar-hopping around Holliman
that night. Around eleven, I managed to get separated from the rest of my
team. No big deal, though. I knew that we were meeting up at the team bus
at two in the morning, and that most of the guys would probably be late,
anyway.

I wandered into this bar off the town's main strip. It was a real redneck
dive, with not enough lighting and too much cigarette smoke hanging in the
air. It made it hard to scope out the large, hairy bikers that populated
the dark corners of the room.

I took a place on a stool at the bar and ordered a beer, knowing that in
this sort of bar in this sort of town, they wouldn't even question my
age. As I sat there nursing my brew, a mountainous figure cozied up to the
bar next to me and bellowed out to the bartender in a familiar-sounding
voice, "Yo, Biffy-boy, the usual."

I look at him. Instead, I just sat and tried to think of where I'd heard
that voice before. It hit me at just about the same time I heard that same
voice yell out, "Hey, Cosgrove, right?"

I turned and looked at Tank Comstock. His neatly-trimmed goatee framed a
victorious ear-to-ear grin, the first time I'd actually seen him smile even
though we'd spent most of the afternoon staring each other in the
face. Guess he had good reason to be happy.

"Go ahead and gloat," I grumbled, taking a gulp of my beer.

"Hey, just because your team sucks," Tank replied cheerfully, "it's not my
fault." He clamped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. I was feeling too
glum to shake it off. The bartender planted a glass of beer in front of
him, which he promptly guzzled. He slammed the empty glass down on the
counter. He turned to me again. "Look, man, if it's any consolation, I
thought you played pretty good."

"Thanks," I mumbled, even though I didn't mean it.

Tank's hand was still on my shoulder, which I found kind of odd. Maybe it
was just his way of being chummy.

"So is this how a Bear celebrates a defeat?" he teased. "Nursing some brews
down at the local dive?"

"Pretty much sums it up," I sighed, finally becoming a little amused by his
joking. I glanced over at him again, and noticed that he was looking me
over more than most guys did. It was actually sort of unnerving.

"Well, don't let it get you down," Tank responded, patting my shoulder. The
bartender set another beer down in front of him, but this time he just took
a few sips before setting it down. "Isn't it funny? You came here to drown
you sorrows, and I came here to celebrate, and we end up running into each
other again."

"Yeah." He was being overly friendly all of a sudden. I was beginning to
suspect he was up to something more than just simple chit-chat.

For about a minute, neither of us spoke. We just drank our beers and
quietly observed the other bar patrons. For the entire time, Tank's strong
hand stayed on my shoulder, as if it were simply a comfortable place to
rest it.

Then he moved his hand down onto my back, and I felt his fingers massaging
an area between my shoulder blades. I doubted that anyone else noticed what
he was doing, the bar being so dark, crowded, and smoky, but now I was
pretty sure that he was making a move on me. His fingers pressed against my
spine, relieving some of the tension there. Truth be told, it'd been
tension that'd built up as a result of seeing Tank again.

"That feels good," I murmured.

Tank leaned over until our faces were almost touching. "What'd you say?"

"I said that feels good," I repeated.

I could've sworn I actually HEARD him grin again. I could feel his breath
on my ear. "I got my truck parked out back," he whispered. "Wanna come?"

I turned my head, and our lips were mere millimeters from each
other. "Let's go." That was our cue to down the rest of our beers and head
out.

Tank had his battered pick-up parked not in the parking lot, but on the
grass behind the bar. The front seat of his truck was roomy, and judging
from the amount of wear and tear on it, I could tell that it'd seen its
share of action.

"Nobody ever comes out here," Tank explained as we climbed in. "We can do
just about anything here." He slammed the door shut, leaving us in a
spooky, isolated silence.

"Well," I replied, "what do YOU want to do in here?"

"Hey, man," he said as he unbuckled his belt. "I just wanna get fucked."

Tank was just full of surprises. Never in a million years would I have
guessed that this behemoth was a bottom. I decided not to tell him that I
was pretty versatile myself. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you," I replied
as we got out of our clothes.

I don't know what they fed Tank to get him to grow the way he was- probably
some corn and beef concentrate- but he had to be at least thirty pounds
heavier than me. He looked like he could crush me, if he weren't
positioning himself on his hands and knees so I could fuck him in the ass.

"Yesssss," he cried out as I knelt behind him and slid my dick into his
body.

This was just what I needed. Fucking the guy who'd been tormenting me on
the field during a crushing game was about the best therapy I could've
asked for. There wasn't much affection between Tank and me. We were
basically two jocks getting our rocks off, and we were doing a pretty good
job of it.

"Uh... yeah... fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!" Tank was as loud while getting
ass-fucked as he was on the field. As he continued crying out in ecstasy, I
rammed his ass harder and harder. It seemed like the harder I fucked him,
the more he was enjoying it. "Yeah, fuck me harder!" he yelled. "Pound me!"

The whole truck was rocking back and forth so violently that I thought the
tires might blow out. I would've rolled down the windows to get some air,
but I was actually concerned that the bar patrons might hear Tank's
screams. As a result, the cab was soon like a sweltering steam room, the
windows completely fogged over.

With the words spilling out of Tank's mouth, I decided to get in on the
act. "Yeah, buddy," I grunted as I plowed my cock into his ass, "the Tank
likes getting fucked by a Bear, doesn't he? The Tank likes having a big
Bear-dick in his ass."

Tank continued to howl. "Fill my ass. Come on. Gimme your cum."

We started to grunt in unison as I slammed my pole into him as hard as I
could. We were both drenched in sweat, and the slickened seat squeaked
beneath us as we fucked.

"Oh, fuck," I moaned as I neared my climax. "Fuck... Fuuuuck!" Encouraged
by Tank's incessant cries, I screamed as loudly as I could the moment my
cock throbbed inside his ass, blasting my hot cum into him. My body
trembled as I came, and for a moment I couldn't remember where I was.

"That's it," Tank groaned as I continued pumping more sperm into
him. "That's what I want."

When I was finished, I just fell back, utterly exhausted, my dick slipping
out of Tank's ass. Tank, in turn, rolled over onto his back, his body
splayed out across the seat. His dick was only average size, maybe five or
six inches, but it was fully hard, its head dripping with precum. I needed
a moment to re-energize myself, so I just watched as he wrapped his fingers
around his shaft and started pumping on it furiously.

Tank's sweat-soaked body glistened as it writhed on the slick seat. He
moaned loudly, beating off right in front of me. He clearly took great
pride in how good he was at pleasuring himself.

As he gritted his teeth, and his eyes seemed to roll back in his head, I
could tell he was just about ready to blow his load. I immediately leaned
over, engulfing his hot dick with my mouth, applying as much suction on it
as I could.

And then I plunged two fingers right into his cum-slicked asshole. That
pretty much did it for him. "Aaaaahhh!" he cried out, rivaling the volume
of my own orgasmic yell.

His cock suddenly grew stiff as a log in my mouth, and I was soon gulping
down his spunk as it pulsed out of his cock and down my throat. His body
twisted heaved beneath me, and he became too choked to even cry out,
anymore.

When he finally finished convulsing, I slid up, laying my big, sweaty body
on top of his, and we exchanged a gentle, cum-laced kiss that seemed to go
on for hours.

Come to think of it, it might actually have been hours, because by the time
I got back to the team bus to head home, I realized that I'd already
delayed our departure by an hour. My teammates were glaring at me, none of
them suspecting what I'd been doing during the past few hours.

And even though I knew we'd probably lose the game when the Holliman
Cougars came to play us again later in the season, there was nothing I was
looking forward to more.


- fratbear
fratbear@excite.com
http://www.geocities.com/fratcub/