Chapter 3

“So, the girl can transform into a ladybug?” I asked as I sat down next to him. There were playing a Miraculous Ladybug Christmas special.
“Yes,” Benji said.
“And they live in France but speak English?” I said, winking at Benji.
“Reubeeeen!” He said, exasperated, arching his neck back to look at me. I started chuckling. “They translate the show! I told you!” His little tail began swinging a little. It meant he was getting a little annoyed. I couldn’t help it. I loved teasing the little guy.
“I’m just joking, Benji,” I said as I ruffled his head fur. It was so soft, my whole paw could almost cover his whole head if I truly wanted. “But you know, I have a lot of Christmas specials from when I was a kid. We could watch those instead.”
“From the last century?!” He asked wide-eyed. I froze for a second, then laughed heartily at his hidden insult, grabbing my stomach. I always found endearing whenever young kids talked with their parents at the grocery store and said comments like “in the previous century” or “in the nineteen hundreds.” Benji smiled, looking at me. Cheeky little bastard, I thought.
“Yes, from the last century!” I said as I started tickling him. He shrieked! I knew his weak point: the sides around his waist.
“HAHAHA STOP STOP!” He yelled, and I let him go. He ran in a big circle: crossing the living room, the kitchen, the entrance, and back to the living room again. I was ready and made my Big Scary Bear pose: Standing up, arms around my head, claws shown, and mouth open with big teeth, play-growling. He screamed, jumped back and ran on the opposite direction, giggling. I hid behind the couch, and as he started looking for me, I pounced behind him.
“Gotcha!” I put my maw behind his neck and blew raspberries at him. Tickling him further. He squirmed and laughed. His energy was so contagious. However, when he began clawing at my arms, I let him go. He arranged his fur back to its rightful place, and we smiled at each other. I knew his limits and I respected them.
“So, you want to see better Christmas specials or not?” I said, crossing my big arms at him with a smirk on my face.
“Yes!” He said excitedly.
“Well then, your wish is my command,” I said in the voice of a genie, giving him a reverence. I went to the TV and sat cross-legged under it, opening up the cabinet doors and looking inside. Benji sat next to me.
“Ah, this one is my favorite!” I said, picking up the DVD of Home Alone and giving it to him. He looked at the box art and imitated little Kevin McAllister’s famous screaming face. I laughed then looked for others from my collection: How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Muppet Christmas Carol, and Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town. When I told him some of these were from before I was even born, he gasped and looked at me like I was insane. He thought they were all going to be in black and white, or silent. I tickled him some more and said I wasn’t that old. Little rascal! I decided we would start with Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town.
Benji enjoyed the stop-motion, and since I had already seen these movies a thousand times, I felt myself getting lost in the scenery of the living room: Sitting in a big brown love seat made for two, which was perfect for us since my butt covered one and a half seats, and he sat on the remaining half. I made myself bigger so that I could feel his body. My big Christmas tree was close to the threshold, near the entrance, and away from the fireplace and its fire hazard. The tree was a natural pine that filled the room with forest scent. I had decorated it with classic yellowish lights that gave the feeling of warm candles. There were countless golden glass baubles around the tree, and many silver garlands that gave the impression of snow and icicles. There was a golden star on top. One of the first things I had bought when I left my abusive father was that star: the biggest five-pointed golden star I could find! And I promised myself I would one day buy a giant tree for it. I would not be complete until that star had a tree that could fully support it. This year, after thinking a lot about how sad and lonely my Christmases had been, I indulged myself with a fresh pine tree I cut myself: The biggest one that would fit my living room. A big tree for a big bear with a lonely heart.
“Oh! So that’s how reindeer can fly!” Benji said, breaking my reverie. I smiled and kept enjoying the movie. The tree shone with me, and I could see, not far off from us, a reflection of us from one of the baubles. I started making a list of things I needed to do to make Benji experience the best Christmas of his life. I wasn’t even thinking about how Samantha might have an impossible act to follow. But I knew that a part of me relished in that.
After the Santa Claus origin story, Benji chose How the Grinch Stole Christmas. He was a little afraid of the Grinch, even though he pretended he wasn’t. I frowned when I realized: How often do men hide their feelings ever since they were boys? How many times have we yearned to cry and run for Mommy or Daddy whenever something scary happened? Or play with dolls? Or picked flowers? Or liked the color pink? Countless times! And yet, society forces us to hide our emotions: To never shed a tear. To choose blue. To step on flowers. To punch and insult each other before daring to open up emotionally.
“It’s okay to be scared,” I told Benji as the Grinch smiled his slow wicked smile. He had been covering his eyes with his little gray paws. I scooted next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. “I get scared too,” I said softly. He peeked up at my eyes through his tiny fingers.
“But you’re big!” The movie kept playing in the background. We forgot to pause it.
“Even big bears get scared sometimes,” I said, rubbing his head.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Benji glanced back at the TV. He started covering his eyes more often now, as if he had given himself permission to be afraid. I smiled and finished the movie with him. It wasn’t that long and it was time for dinner.
“Alright,” I said standing up as I cracked by neck a bit. “How about some spaghetti for dinner?” I said as stretched my back. I wanted to confirm if he really didn’t like spaghetti anymore, or if he just didn’t like the spaghetti his mother cooks for him.
“Yes, please! I love your spaghetti!” Benji said, turning the TV off and then taking out a small toy smartphone that only played puzzle games.
A win for me, I thought, smirking.
“Ok, sweetie. Come to the kitchen table in 30 minutes,” I said as I put on my apron and started cooking.
*  *  *
Benji devoured my spaghetti, staining his shirt in the process. When I offered to clean it for him, he said he could do it, grabbed three napkins, and smeared the sauce more.
“Oops,” he said, and began to spread it further.
“Let me,” I said, helping him clean his shirt. As I kneeled down to his eye-level, Benji kept staring at me. I knew that stare. It was the same stare his mom gave me in the morning, and the one Benji used right before he had a serious question. Like mother like son, I thought. I smiled and waited.
“What are you afraid of?” He asked me.
I couldn’t answer. I froze! But with my synapses firing at the speed of thought, I began to think, and the room seemed to dissolve around me:
What are big gay bears afraid of the most? I had job security since I was self-employed. I had a community and neighbors who accepted me for who I was. I had lots of hobbies and I never had a boring moment. But, there was one thing I could not understand: I never had a stable boyfriend. Most guys I knew only wanted sex, but not the love and care I so desperately wanted. I wouldn’t even have minded an open relationship, but all the guys I dated only wanted one night stands. I grew tired of them. I gave up on them. It was always the same story: meet a guy, fuck a guy, ghost a guy. It always made me feel so…
“I’m afraid of being alone,” I said out loud, coming back to reality.
I didn’t have a funny comment. Benji didn’t say anything either. I just stood in place, kneeling in front of Benji, holding the wet napkin, the sauce dripping on the floor. I was looking at nothing. Thinking of nothing.
Before I knew what was happening, Benji was holding me tightly around the neck. I sort of came back to life and held him. I noticed my face felt wet. I had been tearing up in front of my kitten. NO! How could I have been so stupid? I wanted to be strong for him. I wanted to be his big brave papa bear, and yet… the tears… 
“You have me,” Benji said, his voice muffled by my neckfur. Something other than his voice got deeper inside me. Deeper than anything I had ever felt before. Beyond my bear skin. Under my muscles and bones. It was a feeling. A spark of true happiness that overwhelmed me. I had him! I wasn’t alone! I would never be alone!
I held him tight. I tried to suppress my strength, but I lost control. I simply teared up, with eyes closed, and with my little gray kitten boy, so innocent, so lovely and warm, holding me, like I wanted countless lovers before to hold me. I growled softly and chuckled, the last of my tears cooling my nose, falling on the back of Benji’s chair.
“Thank you,” I said. I wiped my tears off and looked at him. We were both smiling. His blue eyes reflected my big brown Grizzly face, with my nose bigger than my head. I laughed and realized this was the perfect time for another lesson:
“It’s okay to cry too, Benji.”
“Were you sad?”
“No, Benji. These were happy tears,” I said, letting out a soft growl. I kept looking at him, and I felt a strong sense of hunger for something I had never tried, but that I deeply wanted. I noticed my eyes looking at his young body, knowing how smaller he was compared to me. How soft his fur felt against my big paws, how his bright blue eyes seemed to shine when he saw me. How open he was with me. How open I was with him. How I wanted him to stay with me. To keep me company. To hold me. To love me…
A sudden jolt of realization came over me, and I stood up, leaving some of the sauce on the floor.
“Why don’t you go play with your little phone? I’ll clean up the kitchen.”
“Oh, okay… Can we have ice cream?”
“Just… give me a minute,” I said, grabbing the plates and moving over the kitchen sink.
“Thanks, Reuben,” he said and skipped back to the living room. I soon heard the sounds of the electronic game again.
This time, I had truly felt it. As I washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, I tried my best to point my hips against the counters to hide the giant tent that my pajama pants were barely keeping in place. My cock had gotten so hard after Benji’s hug, and I could see a little stain in the tip, crossing from my undies and staining my pajamas. I felt exhilarated but afraid. He already saw me cry, but I didn’t want him to see a grown man’s erection… or did I? My cock twitched, answering for me. I panicked and tried to think about sad news around the world to bring it down. It didn’t work.
Then, after a few minutes, I got an insane idea: I turned the water off and remained silent, waiting to see if Benji could hear me. I heard the usual beeps and puzzle music, which meant he was playing. I took my chance, breathing heavily, and took my cock out of my pants. It was leaking like crazy! Drenching my whole right paw, and I began stroking it in front of the trashcan. I huffed, gasped, and felt with my paw how wet and hard my big adult cock was. I felt the thick veins twitching around my fingers. He was in the other room. He would see me if he suddenly decided to come to the kitchen. Oh, please come, kitten. Daddy has something to show you! Something to teach you. Something so wonderful and beautiful and perfect that is only for you, forever, if you’ll have me. I felt my balls squeeze. I could hear Benji’s game finishing. Maybe he will come. Maybe I could just say this is what men do. Maybe I can teach him how to be a true man. How to be special, oh… so special! I felt my jaws clench, my growling become deeper, and my cock getting hot and ready to shoot. The smell of my crotch filled the room. Not even the trashcan could compete. I was a true man in love, excited to include his kitten in his naughty play. I heard footsteps. Come, kitten. Come to daddy! I couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally came hard, shooting long streams of semen into the trashcan, hitting the black bag hard, gasping, hoping he would see me. Please see me! Come to me, kitten. Come see your daddy come! So many streams. So much semen. All for you! My cock kept twitching. I was sweating, gasping in silence, fantasizing just the next room. I kept spewing cum. So much cum! It was making a puddle on the bottom. I knew it. Maybe he had seen me. Maybe I can teach him everything. Look what you do to me, kitten. Look at my manly cum. It keeps flowing. It wants you. FUCK, YES!
As I gasped a final time, and looked at the white stains on the trash bag, I began to feel worried. Maybe he saw me, and is scared now. Maybe he will never talk to me again. Maybe I will be lonely forever. Fuck that post-nut clarity that always gets in the way! I let the rest of my cum drip from the tip of my thick cock, as I hid my beautiful manhood, and turned around. No one was there.
“Kitten?” I called, as I went to clean my paws. My whole body felt hot, but I truly hoped nothing terrible had happened.
As I sprinted to the living room and didn’t see him, I heard the downstairs toilet flush. I sighed, holding my chest. He had gone to the bathroom! When I saw him come into the living room, he looked at me.
“I went to pee,” he said.
“Did you wash your paws?” I asked. Yes kitten, I thought. Nothing happened. You saw nothing.
“Yes.”
“Good boy,” I said. My hot face started cooling down. I must look as if I had just arrived from a marathon. He must have thought I had a hard time cleaning.
*  *  *
“By the way, I wanted to ask you,” I tentatively began to say as we were now sitting in the kitchen with two cups of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.
“Yeah?” He said with his face full of a spoonful of vanilla, a single chocolate sprinkle hanging near his lips. Lucky chocolate.
“Did you come into the kitchen before you went to pee?”
“No,” he said matter-of-factly. He picked up the chocolate sprinkle with his tiny paw and licked it. Such a tease. “You grunt like mom when she cleans.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, looking at the dishes, and trying to avoid gazing at the semen-filled trashcan. “Cleaning can be really hard.” I gulped down a scoop of my own ice cream, as if I had dome something wrong.
“It’s okay to grunt,” he said looking at me, giggling.
I couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, it was okay to grunt and growl when you’re excited and horny. It’s okay to grunt and stroke yourself when you’re happy. It’s okay to grunt when you cum thinking about lovely kittens.
“You’re right, sweetheart,” I said, now looking directly at the trashcan. Beyond the smell of vanilla and chocolate chips, there was my smell: Thick juicy semen, sweat, masculine pheromones, all exciting and perfect smells that I would love to share. I looked back at my kitten. My little Benji with his tiny paws, his lovely smile, his innocent eyes. And then, looking at him, growling deeply, I said:
“It’s okay to grunt when you’re happy.”