OWGA, pt. 5: Belgian Pride

[muckefuck]

Here is a post with something for everyone: for rollick, lascivious horny bears; for nibadi, some hot nail action; for pheret1, an inside peek at Bear Pride.

It was a time of tremendous ecstasy and bottomless suckitude, simultaneously the best Bear Pride ever and one of the worst, most sleepless, stomach-churning weekends of my life. But we're only going to talk about the sex.

First day, the vendor mart--a few small booths dwarfed by the vastness of the Hyatt Regency McCormick Place. I don't remember who I was with (possibly Blondie; we spent at lot of time together that weekend), only who I was looking at--a striking dark-haired daddy across the room. At one point, bear celebrity Philippe wanders by and informs us, "In Belgium, we arrre known for sree sings: Frrrench frrries, beer, and blowjobs." To my delight, the dark-haired bear seems to be acquainted with him and joins our little circle. My flirting falls flat. Then Philippe turns to the absolute cutest little butterball of man--dishwater blond going gray with glasses, a full beard, a big round belly, and fuzz bursting from every opening in his t-shirt--points to me, and says, "Look at his nails!"

It turns out that the man, Philippe's longtime companion, loves a good back-scratching. And if you've seen my hands, you know how unusually qualified I am to provide one. He offers me his back and I go to work. He's in heaven; the pleasure moans are turning me on. Someone points to the outrageous boner in his shorts and laughs, embarrassed. Then in turns to me and says softly, "Are you ready?" I say "Yes". "Then let's go!"

Minutes later, I'm in his hotel room. I've learned that his nickname is "Moonee", which is apparently an alteration of minou, a French pet name. (Not until last week did I learn his actual given name.) He and Philippe own a fireworks factory in Charleroi. He gave me his card. His English is as limited as my French, but that scarcely matters now...

So is it true what Philippe said about Belgium? I couldn't say. I remember only the sex and that it was good; I can't tell you what exactly we did. For sure, there was no ass-fucking, since I'd long been adhering to a never-on-the-first-date rule. (Meaning that, ever since, I've bemoaned not having that second date!) Afterwards, there was a little pillow talk, then we dressed and rejoined the group.

I ran into him at least two more times that weekend. That evening, at the welcome party, Pickle Boy was staring at Moonee and saying, "Is that Dewey?" They'd just broken up. "No, it isn't." "He looks exactly like Dewey!" "Trust me, I had SEX with him today; it isn't him. He's from Belgium; he doesn't even speak English! Look, I'll prove it." And I went up to Moonee and greeted him in French. The next day, I was burning a hole through the floor at the big dance with drubear and October31. Cooling off in the lobby, I saw Moonee and yelled, "Minou!" "MooNEE!" he corrected, a huge smile on his face. "MINOU!" I repeated; "MOONEE!" he responded.

We never really e-mailed. I made a couple of attempts, but only got terse replies. I tried to indicate that I could read French, even if I couldn't write it, but that made him no more talkative. A year or so ago, I found a very hot porn pick of Moonee with a faceless man and saved it to monshu's hard drive, but lost it when that crashed. I mailed Moonee again just last week to see if he was coming this year, but he said he wasn't. However, he did remember both my name and my nails, which took me aback (given how much he and his lover get around), and gave me another e-mail address. This encouraged me to send a racy note in French (just how racy, I don't know, since I don't speak French), but I've heard nothing. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the photo?