Lion's Pride

Authors Note: This story was written to celebrate Pride. We must always strive to have the courage to be honest to ourselves and to our loved ones and to be proud of who we are.

Entering the Lion's Den

There is a small, quaint, hippie-inspired, village in Upstate New York, nestled among the serene beauty of the Catskill mountains, called Woodstock. It's where the famous festival of music from the end of the 1960's gets it's name (though any local will tell you that the festival itself took place in Bethel, New York).

When I was a in my late teens my mother and I would often make the hour-long drive down from the Albany area to the fun little spot of peace and love and tie-dye to shop and have lunch. We both noted one time when we arrived and parked and got out of the car, that Woodstock itself, and I mean this in the most affectionate way, had a smell. It was the scent of old-hippie, we joked; patchouli oil, covering the faint hint of very strong weed blended with (or covered by) incense. We actually liked that smell and my mother WAS an old hippie so to her (and to me) it was a welcoming, friendly and loving aroma.

I mention all of this because of a certain school of art that we always passed while going down old route two-twelve toward the village. We'd passed it many times and I'd never given it a second thought until I came to live in the village itself. I won't say exactly what brought me down there to live, suffice to say, it was work related.

My name is Dusty, and I was in my early twenties in 2003 and in very good shape and although I never liked the term, I guess you could have said I was a twink, or at least I had twink-ish characteristics. I was slightly short for my age, with smooth perfectly unblemished skin, blond hair, cut short on the sides, left longer on the top and front which I kept jagged with product. I had an oval face and a porcelain jaw and the cutest dimples when I smiled, which was often.

I was making just enough money to live on my own, right in the village itself, over a massive, locally owned, candle and incense store. As one might guess, candles and incense are very popular in Woodstock. Outside the store, under the porch, by the entry door, was a place where anyone could post an ad or a job they could do, or anything they wanted, really. Woodstock was always (and still is) a very people-friendly place.

One day I was returning home from work when I passed the notice board downstairs and one ad in particular caught my eye. It was pretty basic, but it really intrigued me.

Deaf art school student seeking every-day, local men to model for sketches, drawings and paintings, hourly rates, nudity optional, send email to...

Maybe it was the deaf part, I had a cousin who was deaf, so I knew American Sign Language already. Interacting with her had taught me how deaf people don't always get the respect or even recognition they deserve in our society. It was a shame, as all of the deaf people I knew, were truly remarkable people with lots of ideas and lots to say and lots to contribute.

I took one of the email address clippings that had been, placed and cut, ready for tearing off, at the bottom of the notice and I emailed the address with a photo of myself -- clothed, of course.

That was how I initially met, Tyler.

The Tiger in the Woods

After a few emails back and forth we eventually met in person and rrrow, fucking rrrow... Tyler, to me at least, was very sexy! I knew I was outside the norm, in that, I actually preferred chubby guys for whatever reason. I didn't really know why. It was like having a preference for strawberry ice-cream or chunky monkey, you don't really think about it, you just want one over the other some (or all) of the time.

For me, attraction often started with raw physical cuteness, but I also had to like his face and his personality and the way he carried himself.

Tyler was one very handsome, young, dark skinned, black male that was five feet eight inches tall, and on the heavy (and wide) side, with a roundish face, a deep brow, and magical dark brown eyes. He may have been deaf but those eyes spoke volumes in a single mesmerizing gaze in your direction.

One of his facial features, his mouth, seemed to be very pronounced and stuck out a bit more than average from his face, not too much, like an ape or something weird, but in a strong, powerful and masculine and yet still a subtle way.

He had a wide nose and thick lips, coated by a goatee of shallow black fur. His dread-locks went down to, and just about touched, his wide meaty shoulders.

He was wearing a dark blue tee shirt and jeans that had paint streaks all over them. He had on some ratty and very old sneakers that had holes in them and a chunky gold chain about his neck that went down to about his mid-chest. He wore an obsidian ring on his right hand (of a panther skull) and he had on a tangy, citrus noted, manly cologne that I just ate up.

His face was bright and kind and he signed to me with his hands, "You must be Dusty?"

I signed back and nodded, "Yes."

"I read lips, " he signed.

I spoke aloud, reaching for his hand, "It's nice to meet you, Tyler." He shook my hand with a firm, but not overly so, grip. "So, what's next?"

We'd actually already defined all of the terms and conditions of my working with him in emails so there was merely a form for me to sign and we could get started.

That evening he wanted to sketch me with my shirt off and wearing only a pair of cut-off jeans on a tan chaise lounge in the center of his cabin. 

All of the art students were assigned cabins at this art school. He was lucky enough (or had enough money, I guess) to get one without roommates. Over the course of the evening he explained to me his parents were indeed wealthy and that he was not actually deaf, but that he put that down because most people don't know what the word mute means. He didn't say what caused his mutism, and being polite, I didn't pry.

The three pencil sketches of me that he produced in two hours were truly fantastic. He may have given my bulge a little more... bulge but I was flattered and found it funny and cute. I pointed it out and asked him carefully, "You're not... gay... are you?"

"I am," he signed, "...is that okay?"

"Yes. Fine. I'm gay, too."

"And handsome," he added with his hands and a playful, shy grin that didn't show any teeth.

"Awh, you're so sweet! I have to run, but... can I give you a hug?"

He rolled his hands forward and nodded in the positive and I wrapped my arms around him for the very first time. Oh the smell of his stocky body was intoxicating to me. His bulk mass in my arms was something I truly wanted to climb onto (naked) and never come down from, but I held the hug for the average three seconds and we parted.

He paid me in cash and I left. I felt somewhat naughty and horny as I walked to my car and left the woods where his cabin was. At the very least I had Tyler's image to jack off to in my head, and maybe, if I was lucky, and played my cards right, something more later.

Going Inside the Cage

Over the next two weeks, I posed for him after work for about two to three hours in a sitting and, yes, he eventually asked me to pose nude, for extra money, which I did without issue or hesitation for him.

One evening after we finished, I got dressed, and he offered me a drink. Since I had no where to be that night I accepted.

The merlot was delicious. We sat somewhat cautiously on his ratty old, paint splattered, red velvet sofa. Not too close and not miles apart. I could smell his body and his cologne again, his slightly sweaty, chunky, oh so mother-fucking, lick-able dark body.

Without any conscious thought to do it, I swear to you, my hand landed on his left knee. It just happened. I'd just done it. It was a purely base reaction to his powerful beauty and masculine scent that savagely triggered a deep need inside of me for his chubby, smooth, man-flesh.

Since he had not reacted to, or deflected, my hand I took it as a sign he was willing to at least explore some things with me. I removed my hand and leaned forward and placed my wine glass on the little table before us. I turned to face him and he took a sip of his wine carefully and eyed me nervously. His knee started bouncing up and down and then he turned his face to one side and wouldn't look directly at me. I gently took his wine glass and put it with mine on the table.

I took my hand and placed it on his chin, and his knee stopped, and I turned his face back to mine. Our eyes locked. I got my smaller frame over his larger one, carefully, until I was basically in his lap and facing him directly.

The moment between us, as friendly and ever-horny, young men was directly palpable and his heart was racing in his wide chest, as was mine. That first moment of closeness and intimacy between men is always hugely exciting. I was feeling and smelling his merlot scented breaths upon me. He seemed to be searching me for what I might do, even though, I could tell that he knew what I wanted to do. I leaned in and my lips gently met his.

I realized all too quickly that he absolutely didn't want the kiss. Never missing a beat, though, I slid my mouth off of his and over to his cheek. Then to the side of his neck and finally up under his soft earlobe.

He took my head firmly in both of his large, artist hands and, for a few moments, I became his to control. He guided me all over his face, cheeks and neck ...but always avoided his mouth.

He let me go and got his shirt off and I went to the floor between his knees and began licking his wide, mostly smooth, chest. I made circles about each of his large nipples and sent my nose under his arms to get some of that pit-stink, which I liked, and he seemed to be okay with. He even raised both his arms, at one point, so I could get really in there and get a good long sniff and a lick and a kiss. I discovered that he could be a commanding male one moment and a very generous one the next.

My lips and tongue wandered playfully and teasingly all over his chest and big round belly and into his belly button. I began undoing his jeans with my tongue buried deep in his navel and my nose taking in the feral sexual aromas of his large frame and warm crotch.

I could feel a huge dark snake straining in his pants. When I finally got his jeans open I was excited to see no underpants in my way and I quickly kissed the tip of what appeared to be, nine massive inches of thick, dewy tipped, cut, black cock. One kiss and his hands swooped from his sides and planted themselves firmly on my skull with a kind of power and control that made my own dick jump in my pants. I thought to myself with a growling passion, "Fuck yeah! Work me on your dick!"

He lowered me onto himself as far as he could, testing me, to see how much of it he could get into my mouth and down my throat. Since I really, really wanted it (you have no idea), I made sure that it fucking went in as far as I could fucking take it -- which was far.

I'd learned how to give amazing, deep-throat, head by sucking off my high-school's quarterback during our senior year. Travis "Coop" Cooper (number twenty-three of the Maplewood Savages) drove a restored, 1967, cherry-red mustang with a red leather interior, and he had his pick of the ladies at school, but when it came to serious, toe-curling, throat-coating, blow-jobs he preferred my very talented and eager tongue and mouth to theirs.

After school (or a game or basically whenever HE wanted) he would often give me a nod and that meant to meet him a few blocks down and around the corner from the school. That way it was less likely for me to be seen getting in his car.

Once inside he would drive me down by the river and to Lock Eleven where he knew of a dirt-road turn-off that lead to a dead end in the woods. Large, jaggedly hewn, square, gray, blocks once acted as a footing for an old, wooden bridge that had once crossed the river in that spot. The bridge was long gone and the area had grown up around it closing it off to prying eyes. Travis would park under the trees and get his dick out and then he would take the back of my neck, gently at first, but then firmly, and he'd hurl me over and down onto his bobbing for it, sweet, warm, eight inch, cut, cock.

He was no pussy-boy, either, Travis liked it rough and deep, with lots of tongue and spit (and throat) and he always shot his load in my MOUTH, where, in his words, "...that fucking shit, fucking belongs!"

Since we were both constantly horny as fuck teenaged boys (as all teenaged boys are), there was hardly a day that went by where didn't suck him off, at least once. A few times twice, and even this one time, three fucking times!

So yeah, I was pretty much a dick sucking expert by the time I met Tyler and his monster prong. My technique pleased him and he fully relaxed under me to lick, suck and play with his warm and musky cock and balls.

I ate the inside of Tyler's wide thighs, doing a kind of three-wet-stripes maneuver with my lips and tongue that tickled him and made his big member pulse in my hands. I hungrily slurped on his dick-head and ran my tongue up and down his veiny shaft while massaging his huge, dark nut-sack. He had a moist, silken ball-basket that was holding some large, cum-filled globes. The scent of his crotch was so good I wanted get my mouth onto his dick and nurse on it gently while I shot off in own jeans, but I did not. I continued to enjoy his dark bone, making sweet love to it with my slick tongue, lots of spittle and some very tight lips.

All of a sudden he tensed up and held me still (just like Travis always did) and he began to shoot off in my mouth. His load was a vast and torrential, pent-up, horse-fucking-wad that released itself in large pulsing volleys and hard-felt, cock-squirts of silken heat. I was well-fed on blast after blast of his very sweet and tasty, body-heated, man-milk. I was swallowing his jizz as it came and it was only when the orgasm waned that he let go of my head. He was panting strongly through his nose, with eyes closed but with a very relaxed and pleased face.

I swallowed the last of it, with hunger for more, and I leveled my face with his, holding his head from behind and I looked into his large, brown-beast eyes as they opened for me, "I want you inside me."

He never lost my gaze as he nodded slowly to me.

While I quickly got undressed, he searched for, and handed me, a bottle of lube. He removed all his clothes as well, and sat back down with his black meat, up and strong and standing proud, between his thick and meaty legs. I got us both slicked up real good, you see, my daddy had always told me, that everything's better with lube. He was a mechanic... and he was right.

Tyler, with his large arms holding me securely, sank me down onto his massive man-hood and I threw my arms about his neck and I met my lips with his passionately once more.

... And once more he didn't open his mouth for the kiss, so I began kissing his face and neck again. He started to bounce my small fame in his lap and oh fuck did that feel good! My own dick was bobbing, eager and anxiously, wet-tipped between us as he fucked me deep and hard. Eventually he had me up high enough to kiss the top of his head (and his dreads) while his awesome prick powered into and out of me with the reckless abandon of wild beast with a carnal need to breed.

Young strong men, as we both were, can do that stuff for hours on end, if need be, but as I was already so horned up from sucking his amazing dick and taking a juicy load from his huge balls, I went off quickly. As I was holding on for dear life and feeling so much fluid pulse and rock through my cock I shivered and panted and gasped and he held onto me. He too began to cum and I felt his spunk erupting hotly into me and filling me up. The throbbing of his cock in my hole was making my own cock shoot longer and more times than normal. I easily coated his dark belly and up to his chest with one shot even reaching up to his neck.

After we both came down from our shared, tight-faced, jizz-splattering, massively satisfying orgasms Tyler gently let me sink all the way down onto his dick. I could feel it getting softer and softer inside me; bathed in a puddle of his hot man-juices.

I felt his large and powerful arms wrap around me tightly and he stood up -- with me still on him! He held me in place on his dick and front and I kissed the top of his head again. He walked us to his dinky, little bathroom where he carefully set me down on the floor.

He started the shower and we cleaned each other up softly and sedately and with intent and feeling and deep affection in our eyes and hands. I yearned to kiss him, but I knew he wouldn't let me, so I didn't press it. I let his large hands wander all over me and it gave me another boner. He smiled, again lips closed, and he played with it, but he would not suck it. Playing with it, did make him hard again and I let the hot spray run all over us as I knelt down and sucked him off a second time. Even his third load of the evening was large and delicious and I was as pleased to get it as he was to give it. We both left his bathroom fresh and clean and very content.

He put on a pair of long gray boxer-briefs and located a green and yellow, glass, dragon shaped, bong he had lying near his mattress.

Hey! I thought to myself. He had a fucking bed! Next time, we'd do it there, ...if there was a next time. If I hadn't literally just fucked it and fucked us in the process.

I asked, very unsure I wanted his answer, "Are we okay?"

He sat on the sofa and lit the bong taking in a large hit before he nodded to me that we were okay. I felt somewhat relieved but was still not sure what might happen with us.

I got dressed and was about to go home for the night but I wanted to touch him one last time as it might be the last time I ever get to, after all we just did. I asked him, "Hug?"

Without hesitation he stood up and bear-hugged me in his meaty paws very tightly. I felt a quick kiss on the side of my head and ear, a very quick kiss, but a kiss none-the-less. I'd managed to get my gentle-giant to kiss me! I left very happy, if somewhat achingly hopeful that he'd contact me for more artful sittings at least, and more hot, sweaty, man-sex, at best.

Holy - Fucking - Whoops...

Tyler was fine with what happened and he invited me back for more sittings... and more sex. One night after a long session where he painted me sitting shirtless holding a bowl of fruit (something to do with an old master named Caravaggio, or someone, I didn't know) we both had some peach-noted, ice cold, chardonnay and I got frisky and reached for the large bulge in his sweat-pants.

He shifted on the sofa, so he was lying on his back, downed his sweats and released his large, black dick and I got between his legs and I began to give him a most spectacular blow-job. When he planted both his meaty paws on my head with an urgent thwap, I knew he was about to unload in my mouth, but what I didn't expect was to hear the words, "Damn! Fuu--uck me!"

Since my mouth was full and filling with his sperm there wasn't anything I could do, or say, until he finished. I took the strong tonsil-pasting of his fresh, hot wads with pride and I relished the feeling of his nut-load squirting in my mouth. I was humming with pleasure on his dick as he fed me shot after shot. Finally he let me go and his hands quickly covered his mouth, as he realized what he'd done... out loud.

I swallowed that last of his sweet cream and I crept up his large body until we were eye to eye. "You can talk." I said firmly. He shook his head side to side. "Yes you can, I just heard you." I gently took his hands and eased them off his lips."Tyler, it's okay. I'm not mad at you." He pursed his lips and seemed to be shaking under me with fear. "What's wrong, babe? Why are you so afraid of me all of a sudden? So you can talk, I don't..."

He showed me. His lips parted and behind them were a serious set of, what I can only describe as, 'manimal fangs', the likes of which I had never imagined in any nightmare. Four thick, spiked bullets of wolf-like, ivory in total. Two on top and two below crisscross severely when his mouth is closed. The teeth between are small but pointed and not flat like any other humans would be.

I was stunned and climbed off him in a, had-I-actually-just-seen-that, stupor. I found it hard to stand up. He sat up and when I as about to collapse from shock, he caught me in his warm arms and set me down between his legs and let my back rest on his warm and broad chest. He hugged me so tightly, like a little boy hugs onto his teddy-bear for safety and strength, and I felt some tears on my shoulder.

His voice seemed raspy and it had some real depth to it, "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how. I was born this way. I wanted to kiss you, ...so many times."

He stopped the tears and I turned my face back to his, then I turned my body to face him and I stared into those soulful, magical, dark brown eyes. He'd revealed his secret to me. I reached up and he let me explore his lips and mouth and he let me see and examine and even touch those amazing teeth. I softly wiped away the wet streaks from his cheeks.

If I was the Beauty, he was the Beast, but... he was MY fucking Beast and I felt very close to him in that moment.

There was pain in his face as he asked me, "Are you... afraid of me, now?"

"No. Never," I stated, easily shaking off the question as if it were absurd.

Because it was absurd. I was not afraid of him in the slightest. There was way no way I could be. He had always been so sweet to me, and even during our most intense and rigorous ass-slamming, throat-pounding, fuck-me-harder, moments, I had always trusted him and he had never hurt me. I felt safe in his arms and over time I had come to trust him implicitly.

Maybe I'd spend too many hours sitting for him and talking to him, about all kinds of things, as he drew or painted me. We definitely had a connection.

I told him honestly, "You've always been so gentle and kind to me. I could never be afraid of you." I placed my hands on the sides of his face and our eyes flitted back and forth searching one another for truths. I leaned forward for the kiss, but he pulled back. I halted him in his tracks and said firmly, "I WANT to kiss you."

"I can't. I don't know how. I've never kissed anyone and I don't want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you."

"Hey, mister, you gotta trust me here. I know what I want and I want to kiss you. We'll go slow, but I AM gonna kiss you, you handsome beast."

As my lips met his, delicately at first, but then stronger and more confidently, I began to feel his hot tongue darting at mine. A fire was born between us. My first real taste of Tyler had me starving for more and more of him and of us.

I parted that amazing first kiss between us gently and I said to Tyler, "See? I'm okay. I'm not bleeding or anything. I'm fine. We can learn how to do this."

He was smiling with his fangs on show now as he was excited and eager, "Do it again!"

We must have done it for an hour, just sitting there, kissing over and over. Young gay lovers often kiss until their lips are raw and dry but they don't give a fuck. It feels and tastes so good and you crave more and more of it all the time.

I felt his soft lips kiss delicately over my entire body that evening. There was no spot on me he didn't spend time on. The moments were sensual, sexy, sedate and deep. He never let his fangs press too tightly on me or nick me. Our bond became stronger as he realized he could do things like this and I would be ok and I would enjoy it as much as he did. It brought him, for the first time in his life, a little bit out of his self-imposed shell.

That long, wonderful session of exploration ignited a raging bonfire between us. One that still burns very brightly today.

We learned so much together and we've both grown as individuals and as a couple. We've shared a lot of ups and downs, over the years, had many an argument, spent many a serene time watching the sun rise, and shared much love, deep understanding and pure affection for one another.

Tyler and I realized he had three choices. One was to do what he always did and pretend to be deaf (or mute) and to never show his teeth in public. The other was to have some kind of surgery to "correct" things, but he never wanted to change what he felt that mother-nature had given him (and I agreed) and the last option was to just let it happen and to be open about it. To come out and face the world as the man he was born to be; a black, gay, artist... with fangs.

We stayed together having formed a steely, trusting and loving bond between us during all of those sittings and conversations. He finished his art school classes and graduated and we moved to New York City. The art scene now knows of a unique and very talented artist that they nicknamed Tyler "Choppers" Cantrell. He's become somewhat of a celebrity for his fangs, which have even become his personal logo. He's totally embraced it.

Today, he is my husband of seventeen years. Sure, we couldn't get actually get married until 2015, but we've always been a couple since those very first meetings in the quaint, open-minded, hippie-scented town of Woodstock, New York.

We keep a lot of his original work about our apartment and in our bedroom is the pencil drawing that he made of me that very first time I posed for him. When I look at that pencil drawing I do what Tyler now does with pride...

...I smile.

THE END