A Fresh StartChapter 59 Colonel Featherstone
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Still One Of The Boys - Part 1 free porn video
7.30 a.m.
Shania Twain's voice in "That don't impress me much" pulled Michael off whatever he was dreaming.
It sounded like a great idea when he set one of his favorite songs ever as his alarm ringtone, at first, but now he wasn't that sure.
No one really likes to interrupt their dream, especially with a max-volumed song. That's barbaric and no song in the world will heal that sensation, especially the most loved ones.
Cause you're going to end up hating it.
This time was no different, though he couldn't remember what he dreamt (if he actually dreamt of anything).
But Michael could perfectly remember what he did the night prior and he didn't like that.
Feet got off the bed, very reluctantly, and he just walked to the kitchen, where he would have found his source of caffeine.
--------------
He and his buds have always been historic friends with the whole club crew, so they're kinda used to that fashion of having fun: yet, somehow, they weren't ready when a girl who was partying with her friends, and was clearly wild because of how much she drank, targeted Michael for some teasing. She clearly was in the "I don't know what I'm doing, I'm Beyoncé" phase of drunk.
The teasing went further when she forced him to a wild and desperate makeout tasting of alcohol, while her hand brought his one right on her tits: poor man hoped for rescue, but his friends were clearly too busy dancing, to come to his aid.
She clearly wasn't okay, she clearly was issued, Michael could tell.
The girl passed out immediately after, assisted by her girls.
Michael gave them an upset stare but decided to say nothing: the young woman was looking very troubled, so lashing out at her wasn't looking like the best of the ideas.
Clark and Foster, his colleagues and also closest buds, approached the man: "Is it alright?"
He rubbed his beard, not much enthusiastic about what happened: that woman had a red flag floating over her head, the very second she walked towards him. Call it a superpower, thanks to his experience he could recognize issued people when he actually sees them and she absolutely was, but he couldn't get how their friends would let these issued people get drunk and not keep an eye on what they might do, especially in a club, including an LGBT club.
Michael was a gay man.
So did his friends.
A loud, proud, hairy gay man: one of those men who defy gravity and speed, when the right song comes out.
There must have been a scientific correlation all the time, between gay average bears scorning anything related to sport and movement, except when it comes to dancing to '80s and '90s pop hits, Michael and his buds were deadly serious about that.
It's not only a fun activity but also an important public service: in the latest years confusing straight, beefy bears for gay ones, has become quite common.
Stupid, sexy, straight bears.
And it's become quite common having straight dudes playing as the impostor in an Among Us run, except for a fact: lying to girls about their own sexuality with the sole purpose of fucking, is pretty sad.
By the way, his group's dance-offs have always been effective to unmask those fake gays.
"Excuse me... May I talk to you guys?"
A girl interrupted the noisy silence of the bearded man's waterfall thoughts: she was a friend of the "troubled", and the way her eyes were looking at him, she was also the "Let's not go looking for troubles" friend.
"May I help you?" asked Michael with a neutral tone.
"I just wanted to apologize for my friend. I love her, she's great, but she's not fine. I won't get into details, but she's not fine."
A sad smile showed up on his bearded mouth, as this girl did her best to save her friend's reputation in the eyes of a stranger: "If you're interested, we work in an association. My friend Clark here may help."
Clark introduced himself to the girl: "Nice to meet you. I have a list of therapists and counselors, even for free, in order to provide for mental healthcare for those who, the black community included, struggle to carry on with their paycheck."
Michael stood up: he was glad for the chance to be helpful to someone, but this was Clark's competence now and his ass was no more useful, so he waved his hand to Foster: "I guess I'm gonna leave."
"I'd leave with you," his friend sounded a little hesitant as the volume of his voice got lower, "but I think there's more to dig, and they may need legal advice, too."
He nodded affirmatively and left, waving at the rest of his bitches.
As he approached the exit, Michael noticed his "assaulter" standing next to the door, surrounded by her friends: luckily she was feeling better, so he walked past, without saying anything.
The door of the club was closed behind his back, the air of the night flew from his lungs to his mind, cleaning his inner side.
His hand called for a taxi, waiting for a cab to stop: something inside was urging him to a deep-down conversation with himself, but Michael wasn't ready.
A polite "Thank you sir" to the driver, before walking back home, his steps were digested by the silence of the night.
The door closed behind Michael's back and the big pink elephant in the room was floating all around and needed to be addressed. He picked a bottle of liqueur from the fridge and poured some into a glass, the truth was reflected in the dark liquid moving inside.
The hand just guided the glass on his lips, the mouth disclosed, and the alcohol just slid down his throat: bitter like the facts he was about to get.
He enjoyed that drunk kiss.
He enjoyed being "assaulted" and what made him really upset, was the fact she wasn't really herself.
He himself, an out and proud gay man, was blaming a drunk woman for being drunk and not sober.
So much for a gay rights activist.
Unacceptable, but...
But that's what it was, that's what he was craving and Michael didn't like finding out he was no superior to the pigs hanging out in the club, acting like they're gay: he was just like them, just waiting for a "prey".
His soul was naked, just like that glass: a refill was needed.
It wasn't the first time he had these primal and instant urges, but this wasn't like the other times, this was more aggressive.
But he couldn't succumb to the urges, he couldn't succumb to the instincts towards a woman's body.
He, himself, an out and proud gay man.
Michael closed his eyes, trying to remove and purify his inner filth. It wasn't working: the mind was picturing him and that woman, finally sober, in a naked, sexually hungry hug.
Gross.
The throat was aching, the brain as well: he needed more alcohol.
What was going on inside him, was that unusual attraction, really a tragedy?
He never was that gay man who hates women.
"I constantly fall in love with women," that's what Michael always used to say, "but sex is a different thing."
Sexual attraction for the opposite gender wasn't for him, it's never been for him, yet something was getting messed up.
Things do not just get messed up, though.
All his life, he advocated for his voice to be heard, for the voice of other people like him to be heard.
Being gay, for Michael, was more than just liking men: being gay was a mission, and he was so glad when he found other gay men with the same mission.
They created their community and their community became an association, with hundreds of affiliates.
Then, the association became their full-time jobs.
It was impossible for him to even think about the chance of being any different than that: it would have meant turning his back to not only his sexual orientation but to his whole life, as well.
But that was tempting him, so badly...
His cock needed to be jerked, he had to nut to that insane desire, just that time, just once.
"Fuck," Michael let his hand run over the crotch, his cock popped up: rigid, hard, hungry.
Just this time.
Just once...
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The coffee was ready, an intense and delicious smell invaded the whole apartment.
Michael couldn't remember how drunk he got the previous night, but it definitely worked!
He was the same Michael, the same ol' gay bear: no more pointless strings attached to unknown women.
It was a good outcome, but he still didn't like how he could even have some sensations in the first place.
Did he really have to end up like an alcoholic?
Oh, so many thoughts, and it wasn't even 8 in the morning!
The smell of caffeine from the cup reclaimed the attention: Michael sipped his coffee in silence, looking at the suburbs out of his window coming to life.
And he felt like coming back to life, too.
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"Seriously?"
Talking on the phone and walking at the same time: why does that always look easy on others, but never on him?
At least he was feeling good: it'd been two months since that weird event, and luckily for him, Michael felt soooooooo much gayer than ever.
He still had fun nights at the club and great sex with some hot, hairy guys.
Unfortunately, it was like he couldn't find his soulmate, the hairy love of his life, the husbear he's always been looking for, but it's always nice to try!
And speaking of trying...
"I'm not going to buy a Christmas sweater! How come 'why'? We're in June! Wait, half... Half what?"
His coffee was getting cold, too bad!
"In all honesty, this is the first time I've heard of Half Christmas and I'd rather forget about this thing. I can survive only one Christmas in a year, not two... No, I don't hate festivities, I'm just glad we live in Australia so we don't have to suck off European and American traditions: we make the tree in our shorts and that's fine... No, I've been alive for forty years and I never cared about how cool would be Christmas in winter... Look, I'm minutes away from the office, can we talk about this in person? Thanks, later."
Michael closed the call and just began to swear at the phone: twenty damn minutes of pointless talking about something he could not care any less, who's the idiot who gave him his own number? Surprise, surprise: himself.
Sounded such a great idea, but he didn't consider Noah and his being so attached to fricken festivities... All of them fricken festivities!
And his coffee was cold!
He wished he could be less committed to a healthy workplace for his staff, but he still couldn't help.
But his coffee was cold!
Yikes...
------------
He stormed into the editorial office, trying to finish what's left of his coffee as he sat at his desk.
But...
"Morning, do you have a sec?"
"Almost done with my article!"
"I had problems with my computer, can I postpone the consignment?"
Michael stayed in his seat, looking at his colleagues, taking his last sip: "Oh, what a day!"
When Clark, Foster, and himself founded their association back in the years, he was really glad to help with the public relations, the online magazine.
It's not just a way to reward the men and the women who join them, Micheal meant to create a platform for information, not only for LGBT people but for every minority, ethnic and religious, representing the whole association's vision and mission.
An easy and predictable move, but it worked. Their web magazine was really appreciated and their "audience" grew along with the number of members.
Years passed by, their community grew, Michael wanted (and needed!) collaborators, in order to give an always better and improved magazine. That was the time when he met Morgan, the first woman to work with and for him: their paths crossed when she decided to leave her previous job in another magazine, a well-paid one, and work for them.
"In all honesty, Morgan," Michael was really concerned, "you gave me a lot of reasons to hire you, but I honestly have not that much, in terms of money and fame. Are you really willing to work with us?"
"Money cannot buy my pride and integrity. Being a feminist, just like being an LGBT activist is not always that easy, I'm sure you can tell. Then, imagine being a lesbian feminist and struggling with your new boss, who is a massive trans-exclusionary cunt and wants to turn all of her colleagues into massive trans-exclusionary cunts as well."
She was right: feminism needs to be inclusive and intersectional. Excluding trans women from that important community, is absolutely not what needs to be done.
He was glad to see they were on the same page. Morgan became part of the team, and she also managed to bring inside some of her ex co-workers.
Michael couldn't be more grateful, so he offered her to be his vice-director.
One second later, they were emptying an entire box of tissues, for the joyful tears. But if you ask Michael, he still can't tell you who cried first!
But that was history...
"Let's try not to stress him out already, okay?"
Morgan handled the situation with her commitment, as always: "Send your drafts to Michael's or my e-mail address, then we can help you out. It's way better, don't you think?"
He gave her one of his "thank you" looks and got back to his work.
----------------
"Hey boss, can we have a minute?"
Noah kept looking at his own feet, embarrassed.
"Thought we discussed it," Michael smiled at his interlocutor, "I'm no boss, to anyone. Michael is way better, don't you think?"
"Yeah, you're right... So, I just wanted to apologize for earlier, keeping you on the phone that long. And I hope this won't affect my job here."
"What makes you think I could fire anyone, over such a meaningless episode?"
The young guy blushed: "I don't know where it came from, but I recognize I can come off as extra, sometimes."
"Sometimes, huh?" Michael smiled, to chill the situation.
"Yeah, it's more, than sometimes. What can I say, I'm a guy loving Christmas and celebrating it twice a year..."
"Michael, could you come here?"
Foster appeared at the door of the office, he had the look of a person who could not wait.
"Look Noah, Foster wants to see me, I'm sure it's something important. Just relax, 'cause you're very good at your job, your colleagues like you. This is such a positive workplace, I'd want you to not be worried about getting fired over these meaningless things. And," he nodded with a smile, "you may have your Half Christmas party, after all. But don't count on me wearing a sweater!"
He could tell, his interlocutor was happy and relieved!
"A bit of attention, please!"
Everyone stopped, waiting for Michael to speak: "I'm going to discuss with Foster and Clark, this would occupy me for the entire day. You know the drill, Morgan is in charge. I'll let you know if there's something involving us."
That said, he left the room.
Only a flight of stairs would separate Michael's office from the law firm, but they were taking their time.
"It's big news," Foster mumbled to his friend.
"Really?"
"You have no idea!"
There was something in his eyes, an unseen light: what could he really expect?
--------------
"Alright, I brought here the press director of our group, so you could meet each other!"
Foster gave a supportive look at Michael, as he stared at their guest: a woman, around the same age as them, was sitting next to Clark.
The first thing of her catching Michael's eye was the facial expression of who's tired of fighting, but will not stop doing that; he was sincerely impressed and couldn't wait to know more about her story. Long, curly, light brown hair was coming out of her knit cap and resting over her sweater and her scarf; the legs were fiercely (but graciously) crossed in her jeans.
She must have noticed his over-analyzing sight, so she simply stood up to approach him with a firm smile: "I'm Rita, nice to meet you."
"Michael," the bear smiled back at her and shook hands, "nice to meet you, too".
There was something pleasant in her, very pleasant. Maybe too pleasant, what the hell was going on?
He felt like their handshake could last longer than usual, so he just invited their guest to get back to her seat, as he approached the chair in front of hers, trying to not look too upset with himself: "So, what has brought you here? What is your story?"
The three men could catch a glimpse in Rita's confident eyes, as she took her phone from a pocket of her handbag: "I'm here for a reason, and this is that reason."
No more words were needed, as the woman showed Michael a picture from her phone: the photo portrayed Rita out of a steak house, along with a girl and a young child sitting on the girl's legs, with a silly smile on his face.
"Whatta dude," Michael felt softened by that pic, "I bet he can eat a hamburger with french fries and still have some space for a chocolate milkshake!"
The woman smiled at his words, but a little sadness shaded her eyes.
"We took this picture about five months ago: that's me with my neighbor Lucy and her son, Marco. And this brings us to the reason why I'm here... I want to adopt him, I want to get his custody."
Rita tried to not show too much fire, but it was impossible not to notice her being fierce, her being confident, her being... Sexy?
She could be sexy, she definitely looked sexy, Michael could tell.
But then he felt extremely stupid for even thinking that: was he experiencing what a regular straight man is used to consider as a proper consideration?
"That definitely looks like an interesting challenge," he caressed his beard with a complacent smile, "and if I am here, it's because Foster accepted the challenge and will be your lawyer."
"You can bet I did!"
Foster was overly excited, and he absolutely had every right. Clark went to hug him for support.
"Go get them, then!" Michael cheered for him, before turning back to Rita: "So, I guess this decision didn't get out of nowhere. There must be a context, a story behind it. And if you're ready to tell me everything then I'm ready to listen."
The woman looked hesitant, Clark and Foster nodded to reassure her.
She took a deep breath: "When I met Marco and his mother, it was impossible to not fall in love with that angel. He bumped on me as I was going back home after my work shift at the mill, and he couldn't stop talking! Believe me, I was exhausted but I would have listened to him the whole day! She looked like someone who got hurt and stabbed too many times in her life, it wasn't easy to click at first and I could relate. But the day she invited me for some coffee, I realized she was accepting me as a friend, it was amazing... As we got closer, I've learned of her difficult past with Theo, her child's father, I've learned of their tormented relationship. I don't wanna unpack too much, cause Lucy would not appreciate the fact I'm talking about her life, but... He left her when she got pregnant and he never wanted to support her, or their child. She actually never heard of him, anymore, but then..."
Rita interrupted herself to take another deep breath: it felt like the hardest part was coming.
The three of them gave her a compassionate gaze, Michael smiled at her: "It's okay, take your time."
Another deep breath: "Sorry, I just hate thinking about what happened... So, that man came back around her life, just a couple of months ago. She wasn't much enthusiast of him, at all. But he kept saying how he was changed and ready to be a father, a partner. Lucy believed him. I don't blame her, to be honest... Every single one of us would have done the same: when you live in a grey reality, it's hard to say no to a colorful lie."
Michael couldn't take his eyes off her, her inner strength was such a magnet.
Clark showed some concern for the woman: "Hey, if you're not comfortable you don't have to go on. Foster and I know what happened and we can tell the rest to Michael."
She was looking at her feet, but a sharp motion of her hand was enough to interrupt the man: Rita turned to him, with an outlined smile.
"Last week, more or less, Lucy brought her son to her parents, cause she and Theo were having like a date, trying to fix an emotional and factual mess. They never went to any date... He stopped the car next to this bank, he said he would have used the ATM..."
The bearded man had a quick connection: "Wait! So, when the news reported of a bank robbery..."
"It was them... It was Theo. He planned everything, Lucy was just a part of it. Luckily he never managed to leave, the police arrested him. But she was arrested, too. They considered her an accomplice to the crime."
Rita was visibly upset, she really cared for that woman. Michael was speechless, but he tried to be supportive: "What about Lucy's defensive line?"
The woman had a bitter laugh.
"Lucy's lawyer has absolutely no idea of what to do, probably he or she doesn't even care..."
She looked lost in her negative thoughts, for an endless second.
"I spoke to her yesterday and when I asked how could I have been helpful, Lucy told me to fight for her son. That's what she asked me to do and I mean to keep the promise I made her. I can't let child services take Marco, Lucy would never forgive me. If she knows he is safe with me, her mother will do everything in her power to prove her innocence and come back to him, cause I know she's innocent!"
"You're not alone," Clark encouraged the woman, "we all know Lucy is innocent, in this room."
"We already have a plan, as discussed before, and I'll tell you about it later," Foster turned to Michael, "I don't want you to remove the article from one of your collaborators in the online magazine, but is there a chance you can give to this case the rightful spotlight?"
"This stuff is clearly out of the ordinary. We need to inform our base that we're stepping up for the aid of Marco, foremost, and for the aid of Rita and Lucy. We need to tell them why we're doing this and how they can help. I can think of a special post on our socials, in addition to the regular weekly web magazine."
His eyes fell on the woman, again: "This is not 100% guaranteed, but we can win this only if we're not the only ones fighting for you. There's plenty of women's rights movements out of here, that will team up for the right battle. And this is a right battle!"
A sincere and optimistic smile enlightened Rita's face.
Michael then looked at his friends: "We're dropping a bomb."
-------------
The whole day, Clark, Foster, and Michael were stuck in the office.
It was the occasion to raise awareness on important topics, but also the occasion to make a bigger name for themselves: one single mistake and everything might have gotten fucked up.
Evening came, and they barely noticed it, but their brains were fused and they all needed to go home and rest.
Michael agreed and went home, but there was too much adrenaline in his blood, he couldn't really just sleep: the best way to calm down, was a legit jerk off.
He took off every piece of his clothes, turned his smart tv on, and looked for some good gay bears porn.
The first video wasn't really one of his favorites, neither the second, nor the third.
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30 minutes past 1 a.m.
Michael was still there, naked and desperate, stroking his limp cock in front of what seemed not capable of making him horny, probably because those were the same videos, played for the gazillionth time.
He wasn't going to drink, not this time.
So his nervous fingers typed "Brad Armstrong" on the search bar of the porn site: straight porn actors were never really in Michael's erotic thoughts, but that Brad was absolutely beefy and bearish! He picked one video randomly, there were two naked bodies already, making out.
Apparently, that was effective: Michael could feel his cock growing in his hand.
Finally, oh, finally...
What a pleasure being horny again: his penis was rock hard, nicely erected, following the moving of his hand.
He observed Armstrong's cock getting in and out of that vagina: all that time, Michael has taken for granted the fact straight men were enjoying pussy because they were straight, without really thinking of what really made them so horny and satisfied!
Michael kneeled on the floor, his right hand around his hard cock: he opened his mouth and let some saliva fall on the top of his manhood, being careful to not let it fall off; the left hand moved forward so he could lay and fuck his right hand like a missionary position.
It was so wet and sticky, his cock made him moan a little: he was fucking his hand, and it was amazing! His stocky body moved up and down, as his eyes managed to not miss a single second of the action.
Brad Armstrong was so fucking sexy, maybe pussy was what made him look so fucking sexy!
The excitement kept growing, 'till the moment of the orgasm: Michael tried to not growl too loud as his cock shot the semen on the floor, the pleasure of his cumshot looked like it could last forever.
His breath got normal, the excitement and the adrenaline were flowing out of his body.
A sense of fatigue invaded him: it was time to go and have his well-deserved sleep.
Trying to forget what happened a few seconds earlier.
TO BE CONTINUED
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