Sean's naked 225-pound body flew over my shoulders and he landed on his ass with a walloping thud. The look of surprise on his face bent his usual shiteating grin into a frown signaling surprise and annoyance at my unexpected, if brief, besting of him. It was a little victory, but for once in all the brawls we fought it was mine.

Winning any brawl with Sean was entirely another matter.

The surprised frown on his face betrayed the fact that Sean had grown used to beating me. I was as tough a customer and as dirty a fighter as he was, but Sean always won. Sure, he had wrestling experience in school and outweighed me by better than twenty pounds and had two years on me, so he ought to, right?

Well, when you wrestle a guy a lot and he constantly annihilates you you begin to learn his tricks, his weak points, his tactics, if you're paying attention, that is. Sean and I wrestled every chance we got and he beat me every time. I paid attention.

Now, with Sean momentarily, uncharacteristically flat on his back, I wasted no time, lunged forward and hurled myself on top of his prone figure. He grunted heavily at the pounding blow of my body.

We had met the previous July at that same camp in the Adirondacks owned by my bear dad, Leo, and Sean's papa bear, Greg. Our two dads, best buddies since they were young bears, were also two of the biggest, wildest, meanest, furriest old bareass grapplers you could find. On a fateful, steamy July day Sean and I discovered that we were both badass little grappler bears too. Like papa bear, like cub.

Well, a few months later I found myself moving to Upstate New York with Dad after he and mom divorced, and I was ecstatic. Greg and Leo decided to share their lives and a home, so now Sean and I were going to be living together.

We were quite a foursome and as you can imagine it was quite a unique household, all four of us bears and grapplers. Our huge basement was equipped with good-quality wrestling mats. On the day I moved in Sean grabbed me and we two husky, furry young 'uns headed for the basement, every stitch of clothing flying off on the way down, then we started a raw, bareass, unchained, totally uninhibited, growling, snarling, brutal, all-out bearcub sex fight that lasted for hours.

Standing an inch or so over six feet and then weighing around two hundred-twenty five pounds, Sean was darker than I was, with a head of curly black hair and a beautiful thick pelt of hair all over his huge chest, nice and thick on his powerful forearms, and even denser on those big muscular legs. One little glance at Sean's fantastic coat of curly black fur covering a magnificently tall, rugged body was all I needed to put the iron in my rod. His understated manliness, the simplicity of power based on genuine strength rather than bluster, the ruggedly handsome face with deep blue eyes set under thick brows, the square, prominent jaw, wide mouth, and ever-thickening beard shadow finished off the icon of the rugged, natural man. In bygone days Sean would have easily been pigeonholed as a warrior, explorer, or frontiersman. Given his Acadian-Cajun-French ancestry on his father's side combined with his mother's Irish ancestry, that was pretty imaginable.

And me at sixteen, I stood five-feet-ten, weighing just shy of two hundred pounds. My dark brown hair was wavy, eyes greenish blue; and best for a bearcub's pride and his best buddy's delight, I was as hairy a fucker as Sean, except that my body hair was fine and straight.

After arriving in my new home Sean remarked that he'd noticed right away that my chest, belly, and groin were much hairier than last summer.

The next summer Sean turned seventeen and inherited his dad's old Dodge pickup so he could take us to the Adirondack campsite to spend time by ourselves and brawl our asses off.

It was early June, the fiery new summer sun warmed the days again, and both of us grappling young 'uns were about as horny as hell and itching for a good fight. Sean's basement may have provided us a great place to wrassle through the long cold months of winter, but we really craved tangling buck naked under a warm sun in the wild. Nature's way, with nature's weapons.

For us wrestling was a hell of a lot more than exercise or competitive sport. Our combat was like a primitive rite of puberty driven by plain old-fashioned, manly lust. We fought to unchain the raw power each of us drew out of his body and innermost self, set it free, become part of wild nature, propel each other into a bond two men like us needed.

So there we were, at it again back at the scene of our first combat: each of had started by punchin' away hard at our pecs and guts, but before long we started grabbing, swatting, slammin' and squeezin' our balls and cocks, which had got rock hard. As usual.

The raw manly power of our cocks, slammed, swatted, struck together was the best part of each brawl Sean and I had. Sure, we fought using all sorts of holds and tactics -- choking the lights out of each other by scissoring our necks, jerking and yanking each other by the hair or body part for advantage, kicking and mauling each other, putting each other into camel clutches, surfboards and all that shit. We had instinctively learned each other's limits in our combat through lots of brawls.

But when we started fighting with our mantools, those two prongs of adolescent lust-filled flesh full of boiling adolescent jism, that was really IT -- that was The Battle, the man-on-man test, the brotherhood of two young Bear warriors finding their way to manhood. It was rapture.

The struggle between us reached its climax, boiling sap in our loins thickened to seal our shared combat. Our fur slick and runny with oil and sweat under the June sun, the might of Sean's muscles ground my back and drove my trembling arms into the freshly grown blanket of grass.

Exhausted but erupting with passion, held down by the furry might of his body, I opened my mouth and began to lick the sweat and oil caking his fuzzy cheeks and chin and brows, and he ran his tongue over my chest and biceps. And then our tongues, meeting in between the space where our eyes locked on each other, plunged deep into our mouths, little streams of saliva flowing out our mouths and down our chins, mixed with the hot sweat of combat. Even the breath in our lungs was shared and exchanged as the thunder of heartbeats pounded over and over in our heads.

There was still fury in us, in our loins, which were so hot they cooked our blood and our male sap until it was a frothy heat and filled up the tongues of flesh jutting out of our loins, filling them until they were the hard branches of our manhood. Still in a kind of combat, we kept rubbing and pressing our young bear cocks against each other, jamming the meat of manhood together, once, twice, then again, again, and again.

Our furry chests rubbed together, our hairy bellies, our legs. We kept rubbing together like that until we'd driven each other to a state near delirium. Sean pushed himself up with his huge arms, arched his back, wincing at his pain, scraping and rubbing his groin and his hard cock against mine, and I pushed my groin and my cock up against him. Two hairy young male bears pressing, rubbing hard one against the other, our hard bearcocks red and raw, ecstasy and anguish mingled.

The primitive frenzy of our madly scuffing, scraping, grinding male bodies became a blazing masculine furnace. Hotter and hotter with each movement of fiery flesh with flesh, our bodies pulsed and trembled and shook so savagely I thought our hearts were going to stop and our bodies, now like one, would explode like a volcano out of legend and vaporize us into myth.

In the same moment as long, low rumbles churned in our throats and mouths our bodies really did explode: it wasn't like two separate, distinct cocks but one cock, a cock that joined us and to which we were joined as warriors and was ours, that shook and spewed out big gushes of milky manly juice that soaked our chests and bellies and our groins. We were marking ourselves with the cream of our shared manhood.

Sean murmured softly, raising himself up off of my torso with his big hairy arms. Our chests and guts were sticky with cum and sweat and made a crinkling sound as they unstuck.

Sean's two big eyes were the color of coal.

"One of these days, brother bear, I'm gonna fucking beat you," I muttered hoarsely.

"You just damn near did."

I frowned. Sean's fingers ran through my wet hair and he tugged my head. "Damn near doesn't cut it."

"Tell that to my sore muscles," he crooned.

"I plan to."

"We make each other fight for it, buddy." Sean's voice was a whisper as he clutched me. "And you're gettin' better, harder, stronger every day."

"You know it!" I looked into his face. He clutched me hard against him. "Aw, shit, maybe winning's not all it's cracked up to be," I said, clutching back.

"Luke, you already are a winner. Always have been, all your life. You don't just fight with your body you fight with your heart, your spirit. You're a tenacious fucker who doesn't let anything stop him. You stood up to your mom's family when they tried brainwashing you about going in the navy."

We both chuckled at the reference to my summers as a kid when I stayed with my mother's family, all gung-ho naval officers.

Sean ran his thick fingers along my hairy chest, then tugged. "You're twice the man than any other guy I've ever taken on. I love you, buddy."

Again we sucked air from our lungs as our mouths curled around each other.

Now both our cheeks were moist. Our fingers locked tight. Pushing him lightly, he rolled over on his back as I mounted him.

"Sean, we've got something good, because I'm really alive when we brawl. It feels like we always did this ... grappled, fought together, all through the ages."

"Yeah, something old and deep. Grapplin' wild and naked, two bear warriors."

"Sean the Bear against Luke the Bear. We ARE the battle, buddy!"

"Sean and Luke, the warrior bears... Yeah, sounds perfect!"

And I growled at him. "Together, and against all comers!"

"Together, and against all comers!" He growled back.

It was a perfect summer day, a dry eighty degrees, a cloudless blue sky, the sun shimmering on the lake. We decided to canoe around the lake and packed up our canteens and a hearty supply of Sean's favorite trail-mix, popcorn, almonds, and peanut butter crackers, and shoved off.

Our campsite was on the shallower and most remote part of the lake on a gentle slope at the foot of a large wooded hill. A long neck of land covered with spruce jutted out into the lake on our south side, a narrow island rose out of the water on the other side. We rowed south, heading for the deeper waters of the lake, out past the neck, and were excitedly chattering about plans we'd started to cook up with our dads for a vacation trip to California.

Rounding the neck we spotted a large sheltered cove about a half-mile from our camp, separated from it by a another thickly wooded hill as well as the promontory. Rowing at a relaxed pace about twenty yards or so offshore, we spied a khaki tent nestled along the edge of the shore. Campers were common in the area but we never had any unexpected visitors or lost hikers wandering into our camp because of its remote locale and the fact that our dads had carefully posted no-trespass signs along the edge of our property line.

We were about ten yards offshore when we saw the tent flap open. Out crept a burly, bearish-looking guy about our age wearing nothing but white cotton briefs. He stood up sleepily, yawned and stretched.

Sean stopped rowing, craning slightly. "Damn! Check out the white bear!" Sean exclaimed.

The tent bear might have been about Sean's size, with light hair, sandy or brown, but at that distance he didn't look like he had much fur on his solid body. Our oars dragged in the water and we let the canoe drift on the calm lake as we eyed the guy. The tent bear had spotted us and waved, and we waved back.

"He's a big sucker alright. Great body, but no fur," I said, disappointed.

"Hey, wait a sec. That guy looks familiar. Like a guy I knew in junior high, on my wrestling team -- yeah. Marty ... I'm not sure..."

My interest peaked. "Yeah? Fellow wrestler, huh?"

"A damn good wrestler, but no one really knew the guy. A real quiet, shy type," Sean answered. "Kept to himself, never hung out with us outside of practice. "Wanna row ashore and see for sure?"

"Let's do it," I said and instantly our oars were working briskly. The guy on shore didn't look shy, standing there and waving to us in nothing but his underwear.

"Hey, guys! How's it going? Great day, huh!" the tent bear shouted.

Sean and I answered. The guy seemed downright overjoyed to see us. Maybe just the sight of other human beings out in the Adirondack wilderness made him feel less lonely.

"Hey guys, what time it is? I remembered to pack everything but a watch!" the white bear called, and in answer Sean hollered back that it was just past one thirty.

"Hey, wait a minute! Sean Beausoleil? Is that you?" the white bear called, stepping into the lake.

"Yeah, I'm Sean. Aren't you Marty ... ?" From Sean's slightly stiff tone I gathered he wasn't thrilled about meeting up with Marty. I wondered if they had some old grudge or something but I kept my mouth shut and paddled. The white bear wasn't bad to look at.

"Yeah, Sean ... Hell, this is too fuckin' great meeting up with you out here! Come on in."

"You said he wasn't friendly?" I whispered, chuckling softly as we neared shore. "This guy's so excited to see ya he might wet his briefs."

"Shit," Sean muttered back under his breath, "The Marty I knew was never like that when I knew him!"

"They never are until they're alone on a camping trip, and out of food," I answered.

Marty was in the water almost up to his basket to greet us as our boat came ashore. And Marty's basket was noticeably full with a good bulge of manmeat confined in those white cotton briefs.

He grabbed Sean's hand, clasping so tightly he almost caused us to tip over. He was really genuinely glad to see us, seemed like a big friendly bear, however, clenching my hand hard as I hopped out of the boat.

And at closer range Marty was a really hot looking bearcub who definitely looked like a guy who could hold his own wrassling.

Sean's beefy, brawny equal in height and size with a thick torso, big square shoulders, burly arms and legs, I found to my surprise and delight Marty was also just as furry a critter as Sean and I. It's just that Marty had this sandy blond hair and his body fur was the same color so it didn't show up well until you were up close. But the guy was hairy, on his thick chest, belly, arms, and legs.

We sat down at a distance from the tent, Marty taking some sodas out of a cooler and handing them to us. Good-natured, warm, easygoing, I found myself instantly liking Marty. So did Sean, who seemed surprised at the change in him.

"Hey Marty, what happened to that quiet, shy kid on the wrestling team at Washington Irving Junior High?"

Marty chuckled and shrugged. "He just grew up a bit, came out of his shell."

That led to Sean and Marty reminiscing about school, old friends, catching up on news. As they jawed away I began to visualize these two great big husky cubs wrestling, not in some school gym but buck naked, the way Sean and I went at it out here in the wilderness. That fantasy was hot enough to make my bearcock swollen in my shorts, which I tried to hide. Well, a little. Sean noticed and winked at me.

Marty turned to me, beaming. "Luke, does this fucker brag about all those wrestling trophies he won? Sean was one of the best wrestlers we had. I mean it, this guy was gold-medal all the way!"

As deadpan as I could, I finally said, "Marty, a day never goes by that Sean doesn't remind me how great a wrassler he is."

A murmur came from the tent. Suddenly the flap flew open and out stepped another bear cub. This one was fairly brawny, about my size, with very red fur. Redbear.

Without a word or nod to anyone, Redbear stretched out his brawny body. About my height and size, barefoot and shirtless in a pair of frayed, faded old jeans, Redbear sported a handsome pelt of fine tawny fur flowing down his pecs into a dark, dense crab-ladder that shot straight down into his bulging basket.

His red curly hair tumbled over his forehead and down the back of his neck, brushing his beefy shoulders. His face was good and strong, square with a prominent jaw and his cheeks coated with a couple of day's worth of red down. And except that Redbear's face was in a permanent scowl the guy wasn't bad looking. I guessed he was about my age, too.

"Hey Tim," Marty called amiably. "We got company!"

Ignoring us Redbear just gazed out at the lake, his big downy-haired chest expanding and contracting as he sucked in a long, deep breath, then loudly blew it out.

"I heard." It was more a spit than word. This Redbear seemed about as arrogant and cold as January in Buffalo. After a moment he turned and cast a sullen glance our way, then Redbear snorted and curled his lips as reached into the large cooler next to the tent.

"That's Tim, my brother," Marty said, with noticeable discomfort.

Marty smiled bravely and tried again. "Hey Tim, come meet Sean and Luke. Sean and I were on the wrestling team at Irving Junior High."

"Superfuckin' great," Redbear muttered, removing a wrapped sandwich from the cooler and without another word lumbered off to the other side of the tent nearer the woods, out of sight from us.

Marty shook his head, making no effort to hide his embarrassment. "Hey guys, I'm sorry about Tim, don't take it personally. The kid's got some head problems, and he's like that with everyone."

"I'm not offended." Sean was sympathetic. "Some kids have problems."

Marty's tone briefly sharpened. "Yeah, but sometimes Tim can be a real fuckin' asshole. He's been getting into trouble lately. Even beat up a couple of kids in elementary school. He's hard to reach, sometimes. I thought maybe if I took him along on one of my camping trips it might help loosen him up a little."

I thought I saw why Marty had lost some of his shyness. "Sounds like you're a good brother, Marty. But it may take a hell of a lot of camping," I said bluntly.

"Hey Marty, how about a little canoeing, man?" Sean grinned.

I chimed in. "Yeah, Marty, spend the afternoon with us. Don't hang around camp on a day like this!"

The afternoon out on the lake turned out to be lots of fun, Marty was relaxed and loose and was great to have along. Marty was the sort of guy you would have to work at to dislike.

He wasn't hard to look at either. Sitting in the boat shirtless, flashing us that hot chest coated with light fur and handsome face, Marty was a hunk of hot bear flesh which Sean and I were both enjoying. Marty finally asked Sean if he still wrestled.

"All the time, Marty." Sean shot the shit-eater grin at Marty and then me.

Marty smiled at me. "Luke, how about you?" I could tell he already knew the answer.

"Every chance I get, Marty."

"Thought so. You look like you're good. Maybe we can do some grappling later?"

We invited him to our camp for supper, which he eagerly accepted. Politely, Sean asked him to invite Tim but Marty just shrugged.

Later Marty sat with us at the picnic table down at our camp. As expected Redbear didn't show. I thought Redbear was hot to look at but a total jerkoff, so I couldn't decide whether I was disappointed or relieved.

Good guy that he was, Marty was concerned. He told us about Redbear's problems, his lack of friends, and more recently, getting into fights and trouble. The youngest of seven kids, Redbear stuck to Marty and listened to him, but as Marty said, not a hell of a lot.

"I haven't even seen Tim since this afternoon when you saw him," Marty said. "The fucker doesn't know these hills so I hope he doesn't get lost."

Redbear wasn't lost. As the sun sank into the mountains a while later a bearish form in faded jeans and a white shirt lumbered down the hillside trail into our camp. Redbear strode over to the table glanced at us with his usual sullen face. With his usual bad manners didn't say hello to anyone.

"I want to go home." It wasn't a request. Redbear was scowling and as surly as ever.

"But we just got here yesterday!" Marty answered. "The weekend's---"

"Fuck this camping shit, man," Redbear snarled. "C'mon, let's go."

Marty's face frowned. He cared about the little asshole and was a sort of stand-in parent, but Redbear's shitty treatment of him and everyone else was wearing Marty's patience thin. Real thin.

"Forget it Tim," Marty shot back, irritated and unyielding. "You agreed to the whole weekend, that was our deal.

"Well, I changed my mind!" retorted Redbear sullenly.

Marty had plainly had it with Redbear and snapped back. "No way, man. No way. I got two new friends here and I don't feel like going." Then with a big sigh his voice was pleading. "You're welcome to join us, Tim."

"I don't give a shit about your friends!"

"Well I do. And we're not leaving." Marty's tone was as sharp as any frustrated parent and we saw he had a definite boiling point.

Sean tried to help. "Hey Tim, be cool, man. Chill out. You're welcome to hang out with us."

Redbear glared back angrily at Sean, then at Marty. "FUCK OFF, YOU ASSHOLE!"

That was it for me. The line in the sand. Neither Sean nor Marty deserved that shit.

I lit into Redbear. "Why don't you cut the fuckin' bullshit and stuff your crybaby act and figure out how good you got it, you spoiled little jerkoff! Marty's trying to let you have a good time, so's Sean. Except I don't think you're worth a jar of cold piss!"

"Shove it, shithead! Who th' fuck asked you?" Redbear shot me the fuckfinger. In spite of the guy's hot looks, in spite of the fact I wanted us to slam our cocks in Bear Warrior battle, the guys was a fucking mess.

I looked straight at him, calm as a lake at sunset. I grinned. "Shove it yourself, asshole. I'm not one of the fourth-graders you like to push around."

"Fuck you, man. I step on guys like you every day!"

"Guys like me?" I was on my feet and took a couple of steps toward where Redbear sat. He stiffened as I got in his face. "I don't think so. You're too stupid and you're definitely too gutless 'cause the odds aren't stacked in your favor. So if you want to try it one on one you just say the word, you stupid little prick!"

"ON YOUR FEET, NOW!" Marty's booming voice was probably heard at the other shore of the lake two and a half miles away. It sure as hell startled all of us.

Marty was standing over Redbear looking about as fed up and pissed-off as it gets. He grabbed Redbear's shoulder and in a sharp voice barked, "I said up!"