SHARKIE
How do we go through life at all, when it’s so difficult? When everything is a struggle? When each day is a fight and it feels like it only gets worse?
How do you wake up in the morning?
With a rock hard erection, that’s how.
You have to put your pants on one leg at a time. That’s what Sharkie tells himself, although his morning decidedly does not involve putting pants on. The bear sits on the edge of his bed, his big paws feeling the warmth of the floorboards. He wiggles his toes around. His brain is lulling him into sleep – how easy it would be to just fall back into his bed and swim into unconsciousness. It feels like there’s a heavy weight on his eyes, and every moment he resists it is a struggle. Sharkie sits on the edge of the bed, maintaining his balance, grounding himself into this world. The birds chirp outside.
There is so much to be done today. He has to drive out 40 miles this morning to unclog a few culverts that have been flooding the street – standing out there in still water with a rake and a shovel and a pair of gloves for hours while the rain of the Pacific Northwest dews on his fur, like he does every day. He has to collect firewood when he gets back home, clean up the backyard and deal with the stack of dishes in the kitchen that are waiting for him. He has to seal in the windows and shellac the frames and fix his car.
He has to find a boyfriend.
The thought has been weighing on him ever since he moved out into the middle of the woods. Getting away from everything means getting away from people like him. Sharkie loves living 5 miles from the nearest human being, but he’s beginning to miss human touch. At least he could get that in the city – he could go out to the bar beneath his apartment and find someone to bring home easy. Now there’s no one but the other construction workers he meet, and they would never want to fuck a guy, and definitely not a guy like Sharkie. Would John abandon his girlfriend to get head from a bear? No.
That wakes him up. Not just the thought of everything he has to do, but how he has to do it alone. Sharkie mentally catalogs everything there is to be done, and even though he woke up at the crack of crack of dawn, there’s still not enough time. His heart begins to pound. And somehow, that makes him want to lay back down even more. Go to sleep and reject the rest of the world. Then Sharkie won’t have to deal with it at all.
He takes a deep breath and stands up.
One of the benefits of living by yourself in the woods is that you never have to put on clothes ever. The bear is tall and heavy with a big chubby tummy he is not ashamed of. His dick is hard and balls hang low as he holds onto the doorframe and yawns.
What else is there to do when there’s everything in the world to get done but start at the beginning? Sharkie walks into his kitchen, turns the radio on, and begins to make himself a cup of earl gray tea in a mug he lugged all the way from the city. Most of the channels don’t play much, but he can wiggle his butt in the kitchen to noisy rock classics if he wants to. His dick is still hard – it always tends to be that way in the morning when you aren’t embarrassed about it – and presses against the cool counter.
He relaxes on his couch with his tea, no milk and no sugar. The room is dark but beautiful light from outside cascades in. Sharkie takes a sip, then places the cup down with a thunk.
Sharkie wills his mind to be calm.
Intentional.
He takes deep breaths in and out.
Breathes in on a count of four.
Holds it for a count of seven.
Breathes out for a count of eight.
This will be a beautiful day.
Calm, happy, and productive.
It’s going to be okay, he thinks. It’s going to be okay.
He smiles. Look at this little life he gets to live. He gets to sit on the couch and drink his tea.
With his anxiety released, maybe for just a moment, and his mind clear, there’s nothing left to deal with but his erection.
He grabs his big dick in his paw and begins to massage himself.
Sharkie turns his mind to those construction workers. They’re the kind of guys he’d spent his early 20s dreaming about – rugged, masculine, straight but willing to have sex with other guys because they’re stressed out or pent up or competitive to a fault. If only that last point were true. They tend not to be very talkative at all, maybe mentioning sports or local politics or the weather. They are definitely not offering handjobs to anyone who wants them.
But John. John is the one Sharkie’s mind turns to the most. It’s just images. The way he takes his high-vis jacket off. The waders cupping around his thighs. His muscles. His rabbit ears. The smell of beer on his breath. His smile.
He thinks about inviting John over. A beautiful day on the property, hiking through the woods and chopping firewood and hosing down in the backyard afterwards. He imagines John in front of him, Sharkie’s big cock in his throat. The feeling of putting his paw on the back of the bunny’s head and guiding his face down Sharkie’s cock.
Sharkie moans as loud as he wants, because he lives in the middle of the fucking woods. He groans out John’s name so loud it rattles the windows. He jerks himself off faster and faster. He has to stop multiple times to give his dick a rest when his head becomes too sensitive, and when that happens he grips the pillows on the couch. Finally, he coaxes himself into orgasm.
“JOHN!” he roars. “Fuuuuuck. Fuuuuuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
The thick cum oozes down his cock in pulses, pooling around his balls. He pulls his paw away and rests it on his thigh, breathing as hard as he can to replenish all the air he lost moaning his friend’s name.
He chuckles. That’s how you wake up in the morning.
He takes a sip of his tea, wipes himself off, and begins his day.