Hunting to Farming

Steve, our barrister, prepares the coffee and sets the sugar bag and the coffee mate on the table with a bunch of spoons. On a paper plate, he puts Vachon's Jos Louis cakes, some May West, Ah Caramel, and 1/2 Moon. Needless to say, they disappear almost instantly, each man gorging himself on two of these sugar-laden cakes just a couple of hours before lunch.

"Watch this, my dear hunters," he says, with a big grin on his face.

"What? That same big moose?" Rick is lour and incredulous. Bob and Steve are watching with big eyes. I know they're thinking what we did: what are the odds?

"Yup," answers Maurice. He just looks at them, starts eating one of the three cakes he took. He downs half of a Jos Louis in a single bite before continuing; it barely takes two seconds. "He wasn't scared one damn bit."

They stand around Maurice and me, watching the whole thing. The film is a four-minute video. Steve can't resist adding at the end, "That's it? There's nothing else, isn't there?" He smiles at me with one of his shovel-sized hands squeezing my shoulder. I shake my head and shrug without saying a word.

On the stove, a soup made of potatoes, carrots, green onions, red onions, red beans, and lots of rice, is simmering in a beef broth, compliments of Bob, today's chef. It smells terrific. Steve is preparing croutons in the oven. It's a good, simple lunch to be served hot. My mind, though, is somewhere else. Maurice and I are suddenly sitting alone at the table; the other guys are busy with whatever.

Maurice, still sitting next to me, his thigh firmly against mine, puts his arm around my shoulders. "Hey! Where are you, little man?" he asks hushedly. "Let's go for a walk while they're preparing lunch."

We walk to the dam a few hundred feet from the cabin. We sit on the big flat rock by the side of the lake.

"You're overthinking again," he says. "The only true problem is your contract, right? As far as the other stuff is concerned, we will adapt, you and me. You keep your apartment. We can use it when we want to go to town instead of driving back and forth. The kids are no problem at all. I have a good nanny who will be pleased to spoil the children. The farm is a perfect place for them. You can have them all summer long. For the other stuff, I don't see the problem. Your job can be managed by internet."

Maurice is right; everything he's saying makes sense. I'll tell him about the building and the money at some other time.

"You're right," I say, agreeing with him. "The job is the only problem. I make my weekly schedule, and I work mostly from home anyway. However, I have to be in the office once or twice a week. There are meetings, but they're scheduled in advance. My preference is to seek its termination. I have to look into it. I'd rather be useful to you on the farm. The more I think about it, the more I want it. Thanks, Maurice."

"Okay, let's go set the table for lunch," Maurice says, getting up, waiting for me. I get up, he hugs and kisses me, and we walk back to the cabin.

After lunch, the temperature cools down as the wind turns to the northwest. I grab my eBook, sit on my bed, and continue the story I started on Thursday. Maurice goes out to meet his son. He wants to talk to him about us. He wanted me with him, but I said that it was better for him to go alone.

Maurice smiles, and as they enter the cabin, Rick proudly shows the three red trout he caught.

"Supper, anyone?" he asks.

"You bet, Rick," I enthusiastically say. "I like fish. I'll prepare them." Then come all the doubtful looks--accompanied, no doubts, by the visceral memories of the solid chunk of overcooked Kraft Dinner I tried to cook years ago. "Okay, boys. I can't cook regular stuff, I know, but I can cook fish because I love fish."

I prepare the fish, wrap them in a waterproof bag, and walk to the dock to put the bag in the water. The water is cold, approximately 6 or 7°C--enough to keep the fish fresh for a few hours, until supper time.

The boys sit down for lunch, and the usual raucousness makes the mealtime pleasantly entertaining. After the dishes are done and the place is cleaned up, Steve and Bob go for a walk. They choose the easy path down to the other lake--the "moose lake," as they now call it. Rick goes out with his fishing gear again. He wants to try the stream on the other side of the dam. It runs down from this lake to where Maurice and I saw the mouse twice.

"Well, Maurice," I tell him, "if you don't mind, I'd like to take a nap"

"Me too," Maurice replies with a lusty grin. "With you."

We both take our pants off and lay in bed. We pull the light blanket up to our necks, and we do go to sleep. Maurice spoons me, his smaller lover, and I can't help getting an erection. He pushes his dick into my crack and settles down to sleep with one arm under my neck and the other holding me tight against his whole body. It feels so good to be wrapped in my own personal human comforter. His hard cock is driving me crazy.

I hear Bob get in the cabin and hesitate. He's probably surprised to see Maurice and me softly snoring. I'm tucked into Maurice, barely visible, but I'm awake and so damn comfortable. Steve seems to have the same reaction. I can hear his comment, "Cute couple."

Steve prepares coffee to warm up the gang. I love the aroma of fresh coffee. I slowly get up and put my pants on. Maurice doesn't move a bit. The sun is out, reigning alone in the sky, but the wind is cold. The cabin needs a little warm-up as well.

Rick comes in a bit later, empty-handed. Seeing his dad asleep in my bed, he looks at me with a grin showing at the corners of his mouth. He takes a few steps towards the bed and gently touches his father's shoulder. Maurice growls, as he usually does when woken up. "Had a nice nap, dad?" Rick teases his dad and me. Maurice gets up and puts his pants on, stretches, scratches his groin, and goes to the bathroom.

I go to pick up the trout at the end of the dock and come back. I use simple ingredients; fortunately, we have a couple of lemons, which Steve slices. I butter the fish I filleted with Rick's fillet knife, then add the lemon, plus some salt and pepper. The fillets are put on a cooking sheet, covered with the lid of an old pot, and I slide the thing into the oven. Bob starts cooking the rice, into which he presses the remainder of the lemon. We have that bread that's sold in a vacuum-packed bag. Steve will put two loaves in the oven near the end of the cooking. All that counts as a feast when you are in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a zillion trees, a big bull moose, bears, and countless smaller animals.

Rick cooks a box of Kraft dinner for himself. They all look at me and start to laugh. They remember on the first trip to this camp--almost the same group, except some other guy instead of Steve--it was my turn to cook, and Kraft dinner was the menu of choice. I made such a mess of it that they all decided to eat toast and peanut butter instead. Yes, I did too. The guck I cooked was... disgusting. I was never asked to cook after that, including on this trip. My job was to do the dishes forever thereafter. But my trout fillets are a big--no, a huge success.

We're leaving tomorrow morning. The seaplane is expected around 9 a.m. I play cards again, and yes, I get humiliated yet again. But hey, we have fun, and that's all that matters. I can see this little group getting closer. Friendship develops, again. I inform Rick and Bob that I have what they need if they want a nice, fully renovated apartment. They will both call me on Monday. They seem keen on the offer.

11 p.m. comes, and we all do our business and go to bed. Nobody is surprised, nor should they be, to see Maurice and me sharing the same bed again. Steve turns the gas lamp off. Complete darkness envelops the cabin until our eyes adjust to it. Maurice shows his unrelenting affection by kissing me everywhere--around the neck, nose, mouth, ears, shoulders, and wherever else he can reach. We kiss with passion, love, and tenderness. Again, our hands explore the other's body, and under the heavy blanket of darkness, we pleasure each other until our bodies and minds explode in magnificent jouissance.

We are quiet lovers to start: a little moan here; a groan there; the low growls of my bear deep in my neck; tongues licking sans noise; and hands rubbing to endless pleasures silently. Our noses are intoxicated by the masculine musk of our sweat, which covers our entire bodies. Fingers penetrate expecting and wanting love canals.

The explosions, when they finally arrive, are so ferocious that it is almost impossible to keep quiet. Mouth-on-mouth absorbs the joyful grunts of our pleasures. Our highs calm down. Our control returns. My big, hairy bear spoons my smaller, hairy body. Exhausted and satiated, we fall into a deep sleep, our hearts beating and our lungs breathing in perfect unison under the soft blanket of our love. It's amazing what a couple of fingers can do.

*** *** ***

Chapter 4

Sunday, October 1

Maurice gets up before everyone else. He covers me to the jaw with the sleeping bag, and he dresses fast. He's nervous. He would like so much for me to go home with him--no delays, right now. He sees himself at forty-five years old, with his life going by so fast, that he doesn't want to lose a single minute away from his lover. He gets the stove started. The place is downright cccccold this morning. Steve gets up right after his brother and starts preparing breakfast. It will be a very simple breakfast. Coffee, plus toast and peanut butter. That's about all that's left, of course, with this being the last morning. It's 7 a.m. Towering at 6'5", Steve invites everyone to get up, eat, and pack. No one argues. The plane is due at 9 a.m. The weather is clear, so there will be no delays. Bill--the pilot--will be on time, as always.

The boys are quiet this morning. The day ahead will be a long one, a forty-minute flight to Fort-Coulonge, probably twenty minutes settling things at Bill's place, then a four-hour drive to Montréal. Maurice will drop Rick off at his downtown Montréal apartment, and I will drop Bob off at his place on the West Island. Maurice has a forty-minute drive to his farm near Varennes. I estimate I should be home around 3 p.m.

***

I park in front of the complex where Bob lives and get out to give him a hand. Lo and behold, Stella, his wife, is in the window, watching our every move.

"Don't pay attention to her, BJ," he says, without looking at me. "She's not worth it. I'll call you tomorrow. Would a visit before lunch be all right?"

"Absolutely." I reply. "You have my coordinates. It's very easy to find. It's a small street with six buildings, three on each side. It's a dead end just below Wellington, on rue Ste-Madeleine, in Pointe St-Charles. I have something nice for you."

"The rent is?" he asks.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow, Bob." I say with a smile. "I'll give you a hand with all this."

He doesn't refuse, which surprises me. I help him carry his luggage up to his apartment door. Stella opens the door, and before she can spit a single word, Bob firmly tells her, without yelling, "Not a word from you, and get out of the way." She shows me the finger, and I shrug. I shake Bob's hand and leave. I suspect that the rest of the day isn't going to be very pleasant for them. I feel sorry for Bob and the kids.

***

I'm finally home. Ah, it feels so good. As I always do, I strip and dash for the shower. It's been four days without one, and I can't stand myself. I let the hot water run from my head down to my toes for quite a while before soaping and cleaning every nook and cranny my body hides. I shave and dress very casually. In other words, I put on my light sweatpants. I prepare a good batch of coffee; I'm an addict. It's 3:30 p.m., so I can relax a little bit. I get my contract out and start going through it when the phone rings. I pick it up and answer without looking at who's calling; I'm too absorbed by my reading.

"BJ. I'm downstairs. I'm parked double. Where can I park my truck?"

Maurice! He's downstairs! I'm speechless. My brain stops, my heart leaps, and my cock grows.

"I'm coming down, Maurice." That's all I say. I'm so fucking excited. I drop my key card twice. I don't have shoes on. I get back in my apartment and put on the first thing I see: my slippers. I run down three stories instead of using the elevator. Outside, Maurice is leaning casually on the front of his truck, waiting for me with a huge smile on his face. Man, I love him. I kiss him on the lips--a full and meaningful kiss, not caring one bit about whoever might be watching.

We get in his truck, and I hand him the key card. "It has a chip programmed to open all the doors, including the garage door. Of course, you have access to all the doors. You have two private parking spots, number one and two, at the end of the underground garage under the building."

He looks at me. "You?"

I reply, "Yes. You have the car, not me."

He nods.

"Just put the card in your visor or wherever; as you approach the garage, the reader will pick it up, and the door will open. I'll give you another one that you carry in your wallet. You never have to take it out. Doors open by magic as you get close enough. I think it's set for four feet for regular doors, and twenty feet for the garage. It's nice to see you, Maurice. Man, you surprised me. Look at me. I'm half-naked, wearing loose sweatpants bulging at the crotch, with worn-out slippers on my feet."

Maurice lets me get through the whole speech, smiling at me all the while. When I finish, he says, "I love you so fucking much, BJ."

I smile at him. "I love you, too, Maurice."

He parks his old, but very well-maintained, pick-up truck right over the dividing line between parking spots one and two. He leans over, and we kiss lustily. I suck his tongue hard, grab his manhood, and squeeze it just firmly enough. My Big Bear grunts, growls, and plunges his thick, enormous tongue down my throat, then grabs my cock, pumping it with a robust grip.

"Let's get to your apartment, BJ," he says, looking at me with his dark, hypnotizing eyes full of desire.

"There are cameras in the hallways and the elevators," I tell him in case, well, you know...

We quickly enter the apartment. I look at him and point at his clothes. He understands and strips, exposing his huge, hairy body. We slept naked together in my sleeping bag twice, in near total darkness--an experience I will forever remember. Now, there he is, in front of me, completely nude. Maurice is a mature man of 45 years, 6'3" tall, and 220 lbs of muscles. He has a strong, virile farmer's build, with large, thick shoulders, a big chest, and a cute little belly supported by muscled thighs and legs. He's very hairy: long, thick, black fur in front, from neck to groin, lighter on the back, from neck to buttocks. He has penetrating, dark brown eyes, under thick, black eyebrows and strong, masculine facial features. He's well provided for, with a 9-inch, very thick, very straight, hard, uncut penis and a large, plump, hairy sack. He's an impressive man with a masculine demeanour and a deep voice. He's calm and perfectly composed all the time, but I'm starting to know him better. Under this hard carapace, he's a tender, loving man and father. He's quiet and observant. Most importantly, he's, my man.

I push my sweatpants down so he can also enjoy my nakedness and my stiff cock pointing straight up. He looks at me for a long, delicious moment. I can feel the caress of his eyes on my body. I'm a small man, but far from being ashamed of my body. The proof of that is in his way of looking at me.

He grabs my hand and asks, "Where's the bathroom?"

"We'll use the one in my bedroom," I say, pointing with my chin in the direction, and we both hurry there.

"Wow! What's all this?" He waves broadly at the shower's various bits and bob.

"Just turn this lever there," I tell him. "We'll use the other jets another time."

Maurice turns the lever to hot water, and the main showerhead turns on. The spray is powerful and very wide. He stands behind me, his body glued to mine, and he puts his big, muscular, hairy arms around me.

"I can't believe I'm holding you in my arms, BJ," he says. Then his voice drops to a whisper. "Naked." He kisses me on the neck. "I've dreamed about this for such a long time."

He continues kissing me on the back of my neck, moving first to the right, then to the left. His big hands are rubbing my chest and belly. He moves his lower body sensually against my lower back and buttocks. Ah, man! It feels so good to be completely wrapped by a Big Bear's naked body. His hard cock is lodged at the bottom of my crack, and his knob is between my thighs, touching my balls. I stay immobile, enjoying the sensuous and erotic movements of his big, dominating body. So good. I grab the bottle of body soap, turn around to face Maurice, and squirt tons of soap all over his beautiful body. I let the plastic bottle fall to the bottom of the shower, and I rub him vigorously. He stands there, big and solid, his deep, tender, dark eyes locked on me, and lets me wash every square inch of the mountain of muscles and hair. I take a long time rubbing his cock while he grunts. My hand reaches his balls and gently washes the hairy sack --so heavy.

He turns around, exposing that fantastic, rounded ass--so hard, so perfect, so hairy, so lovable and eatable. I start with the shoulders and work down his back. Both of my hands want to rub those gorgeous buttocks, and they each get what they desire. But it's the right hand that gets into the bushy valley, finds the rosebud it caressed the night before, and lets its middle finger visit that wonderful, hot love canal.

"OH!" The big bear growls deeply and pushes against the loving finger, which goes in search of the sensitive and explosive button of pleasure. "Ah, fuck, yeah, BJ. Fuck, that's so good." I rub his prostate gently, but firmly and with rhythm.

Then, just like that, I stop. Maurice protests. "Later, Maurice. I'll do whatever you want me to do later, in bed, but only after you make love to me."

We kiss for a long time, and after Maurice washes me thoroughly, we get out of the shower. We dry ourselves and go to the living room. While my giant bear is looking through my DVD and Blu-Ray collections, I put his clothes in the washing machine. Maurice roams around my--or should I say our--apartment naked, to my delight.

"Is pizza ok for supper, Maurice?" I ask him.

"Great, BJ. Pepperoni and cheese, please."

Wouldn't you know it, but that's the only pizza I eat. I order the pizza from Gino's down around the corner--the best in town, in my opinion--with a six-pack of beer. He doesn't sell beer. He buys it for me at the depanneur next door and delivers it with the pizza. I've been ordering from there forever. Gino's is just a small place with two tiny tables by the window and a counter where people get their pizza. That's it. He's got two boys and a girl who deliver the pizzas by bike--or on foot, in my case.

"Twenty minutes," I tell Maurice. He nods, and at the same time, he shows me the film he wants to watch: Dune, the newer version. It's one of my favourites. I put on a pair of light sweatpants and a polo; I certainly don't want to answer the door naked. Gino would kill me if one of his kids saw me in my birthday suit.

The pizza arrives five minutes earlier than planned. I give a large tip to Emilio, Gino's youngest kid. He's barely ten years old. After that, my clothes are gone again. Maurice and I sit down on the sofa, nude, with our pizza, some chips, and our beer on a tray set on our laps, and watch the movie on my giant screen TV. We both wear high-end Sennheiser headphones. I don't want to disturb the neighbours.