Woof! Let’s party

Sometimes there are certain clubs you just can’t join. Even if you consider yourself to be the fun exception or an amusing anomaly, there is a bit of decorum one must respect in established circles of humans. It can be very frustrating at times, and you might feel a bit left out and lame, but love it, set it free, gaze from the standpoint of a besotted admirer, and gather some inspiration. This is how I feel about the Bear scene.

As a hetero gal, I am bummed out on my instant destiny, by birth, that I will have to settle for sneakily lurking on this crew and spy on their happenings, with a perverted thirst for their roundy cuddles. Even though my Native American Astrology; The Wisdom of the Four Winds book does say that my totem animal is brown bear!

I, too, crave a fuzzy belly to press against my face. Oh man, super tingles thinking of that furry spare tire gliding over my bellybutton… Actually, I want to have a round chubby belly and be fuzzy too. Fur realz, if I met a man today that’d be into gorging out, getting huge, groping, and growing hair, I’d be in paradise. I hate worrying about getting chub and I hate waxing anyway. Woof! Let’s party!

I owe this woe to my bear artiste friend, Jason Villegas, who turned me on when he was turned on. Jason and I used to work together and most mornings would recount in woolly detail the belly love that had left him in downy dream repose the next day. His passion was so acute, his tales so dripping with fur juice that the juice from my own fur was splashin’!
But his journey was not without some teenage sorrow stories. One of many sad young cub tales happened as a freshman in high school on picture day, when they made the students wear suits ‘cause it was a business magnet school. Jason thought he’d wear his dad’s stuff and be extra grown up, but the photographer didn’t think it looked good so he made him change into their backup shit. As Jason put it, “made me change shirts in front of an auditorium of laughing kids and boy boob jiggle hurt my soul forever.” But now bears suckle his teets! And Jason’s chest is ” a chubby bear heaven to lucky bear nuzzlers! “

The more Jason divulged to me, the more sexier it seemed to get big, eat, get round, down, and no shavin’!!. Who wants to party with dieters and waxers? I’ll take a long, greasy flowing hair growing out of crotch over a puss-y carbuncley ingrown boil any day! Take me to the breakfast buffet! (More bacon, cram the ham!) All you can eat shrimp? Lover, let the mercury poisoning devour our sin!

Another thing that makes the Bears so punk and awesome is that it is the exact opposite look most men are expected to acquiesce to. Its like the bigger you get the bigger the fuck-off. How punk is that? Where is my perfect fantasy bear lover that will cuddle me all night and pet my brown eye? I am brown bear totem animal dammit! Where is my fat chubby dream fuzzy who will playfully slap at my expanding chunk? My folds will whisper the dirtiest dirty whimpers, they will dribble the hottest hot sauce, my fur will lengthen and playfully sway, beckon seduction, my waddle will justly wiggle out all the cum of lov’n fuzz fun. If bedtime doesn’t look like two plush stuffed smiling Popples rolling in oil, then I’d rather eat Wendy’s and work on my expansion belly. I feel like I need to take a stand! For fashion, for fuck, for the love of food, love of love, and punk!