My name's Matt and I've been snowboarding since before it was cool. I know how that sounds; kind of "I-liked-the-band-before they-were-popular." I don't mean it that way. All I mean is that my best friend Dean and I have been snowboarding for around 15 years and that we're still having a blast at age 35.

Although both of us have season passes to two great ski resorts, last January we decided to forego the groomed slopes to try our hands snowboarding au naturale. And no, I don't mean we were snowboarding nude; I tried that once on a dare and I won't be doing it again. When I say "au naturale," I mean in the wilderness. Dean's grandparents own a remote log cabin in the Colorado Rockies, far from civilization, but with some of the best natural runs I've ever seen. So, one snowy Saturday morning, Dean and I headed up into the mountains in his Range Rover with all of our snowboarding gear and a week's worth of food and supplies in tow.

There are a couple things I should mention. I'm gay and Dean's not. I came out to him in my early twenties and he couldn't have cared less. He got married a few years ago and has a baby daughter now. His wife, who is also a great friend of mine, is fine with letting him run off with his gay best friend for the occasional "Brokeback Mountain weekend" (as she calls our snowboarding trips). Of course she doesn't have to worry. There has never been any sexual tension between Dean and I. Dean is skinny and athletic – hardly my type. As for me, I was captain of the wrestling team in high school and I've kept that physique. I'm 5'7" and weigh 190 pounds; I'm thick, muscular from way-too-much snowboarding (especially my legs), and covered all over with a dusting of light brown hair. Even if Dean was secretly gay, I doubt that he'd be interested in a bear like me anyway.

Early Saturday afternoon we arrived at Dean's grandparents' cabin. It really was a beautiful place, all woods and snow. Because no one from Dean's family had been up there for a few months, his grandparents had asked him to check that the cabin was secure, make a few general repairs, and so forth. It was our payment for having the run of such an awesome place for an entire week. As Dean set about going down the list they had given him, I quickly unpacked and then stood, staring, transfixed by the perfect, clear, natural run of snow before me. Dean could tell I was antsy to get on my board.

"Why don't you just go for a run?" he asked, replacing the screws in the back screen door. "I don't mind."

"Don't you need a hand with some of these repairs?"

Dean looked up at me and smiled. "Yeah, because you're being so much help as it is."

"Good point," I conceded. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go snowboard down the side of the fucking mountain!" He laughed. "Besides, you're distracting me from my handy-man-ing."

"You don't have to tell me twice," I said, heading for the cabin.

"Actually, I just did," he said.

"Smartass." I ran inside, grabbed my board, put on my snowboarding boots, and headed towards the mountain's edge. "Where should I start?" I yelled to Dean.

"The north side of the mountain makes a great ride. Why don't you try that?"

I walked to the north side, pulled my red goggles down over my eyes, and raised the hood of my coat. "Got any pointers?"

"Try not to fall off the mountain," Dean deadpanned. "And keep the road to your right, always in view. Call me when you get to the bottom and I'll drive down to pick you up."

"Will do, boss!" I snapped my feet onto my board and surveyed the run before me. It was smooth and clear and covered in soft powder, only interrupted by the occasional aspen or evergreen tree. I tilted my eyes up. I could see for miles into the distance, the clear mountain air affording me a view of the surrounding cliffs and peaks. The view was breathtaking. I inhaled and leaned forward.

The cold air whistled past me as I flew down the mountain, tickling my skin and making me feel alive. "God, I love this," I thought. "The speed, the smell, the cold, the view – all of it." I became consumed in the moment, all of my worries and troubles left behind on the mountaintop.

I must have navigated the snow for 15 minutes or so before I suddenly realized that the road up the mountain was no longer in sight on my right hand side. "Shit," I whispered, pulling to the side and stopping. The slope continued ahead of me, but I was worried about being lost. "Better call Dean." I reached into my coat pocket. No cell phone. "Don't panic," I told myself. "It's not that big of a deal. The road has to be nearby. I'll just find it and then stay put until Dean gets tired of waiting for my call and decides to come get me." I slipped my feet out of the board's straps and started traipsing sideways through the snow, scanning the horizon for the missing road.

After 10 minutes of walking, I was beginning to despair. "How could you lforget your phone?" I asked myself. "And lose the road! Dean is never going to let me live this down…."

A few minutes later, I saw some smoke rising out of the woods in front of me. Thankful for any signs of life, I headed towards it. After crossing through a dense, but relatively thin woods, I emerged into a clearing. I stood in the last tree row around the clearing, taking stock of the scene before me. In the center of the clearing was a rustic log cabin. It wasn't as modern as Dean's grandparents' cabin; every log looked as though it had been chopped and assembled lovingly by hand. Smoke rose from a stone chimney at one of the cabin's ends, spiraling into the clear blue sky. I heard a repetitive and rhythmic "chunk" sound, but I couldn't quite place what it was. I headed down the gentle slope out of the woods and into the open area. The "chunk" noise got louder as I approached the back of the cabin.

As I rounded the corner of the cabin I saw him, the very epitome of a lumberjack. He stood around 6 feet tall and was hefty and thick with a full bushy brown beard. He was wearing black suspenders over a red, long-sleeved, plaid, flannel shirt and heavy, leather, work boots. He was splitting wood, so he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt for ease of movement, exposing his huge, hairy arms to the chill air. As he swung the axe high and then hammered it down onto a hapless log, the now-familiar "chunk" noise sounded.

I pulled my goggles down around my neck so I wouldn't look like an insect. "Uh, excuse me?" I called, trying to make myself heard over the sounds of his axe. "Could you point me to the road up the mountain?"

The lumberjack looked up, his large, dark brown eyes tracing the shape of my body for a moment, really studying me. He didn't seem at all surprised that a snowboarding bear had suddenly ended up in his backyard.

"Got a little lost, huh?" he asked, leaning on his axe with one hand and scratching at his curly beard with the other. His voice was deep and gruff; manly, but not intimidating. He smiled a little as he looked at me. I could have sworn he was checking me out.

"Yeah, I did," I stammered. "Kind of silly, I know. My friend told me that all I had to do was follow the road, but…."

"It happens," he said kindly. "We all get lost sometimes." He sat his axe down beside one of the logs he'd split. "Why don't you come in and get warmed up?"

"Okay," I said, wondering what would happen inside. "Do you have a phone I can use to call my friend?"

The lumberjack was already inside the log cabin. I followed him through the doorway and into the darkened interior. Given the very homemade feel of the cabin's exterior, I was surprised by how nice and homey it was inside. Two leather easy chairs took up the center of the room, turned toward a blazing fireplace at one end of the cabin. The skin of a large black bear decorated the floor in front of the chairs, stretching all the way to the hearth. One wall of the cabin was outfitted as a kitchen, with a stove, sink, and fridge. I could see a tiny bathroom just beyond the kitchen. A large bed sat against the wall opposite the fireplace, thick quilts folded neatly at its foot. All in all, I felt very comfortable in the lumberjack's masculine, yet comfortable home.

I walked up beside the lumberjack, who was rinsing a metal cup in the sink. He filled it with water and held it out to me. "Drink?"

I took the cup and downed it, not realizing how thirsty I'd been. "Thanks," I said, handing the cup back to him. Without rinsing it out, he filled it again and took a draught. "Do you have a phone?" I asked again.

"I do," he said. "But why don't we get you dried off and warmed up before we call your friend. You look cold as a witch's teat!"

He was right. I was shivering. The snow on my clothes had begun to melt, changing into cold, seeping water.

He pulled a drying rack from a closet and then marched over to the fireplace to set it up beside the bearskin rug. "Better get our clothes dry before we put them back on," he said, matter-of-factly. Then he pulled off one boot and smiled.

I couldn't believe what was happening. Was this man just overly friendly and socially backwards? Or was he coming on to me in a major – and not particularly subtle – way? I decided to ride this thing out and see where it took me.

"You're right," I said, walking over by the fire. "I wouldn't want to catch pneumonia." I removed my goggles from around my neck and sat them on the hardwood floor. Next I unzipped my brown and red, hooded coat and tossed it over the drying rack. I kicked off my shoes, pulling off my thick wool socks as well. I was now standing in just a long-sleeve, white, thermal undershirt, two pairs of pants, and a jockstrap. I looked beside me. The lumberjack had already removed his boots and socks, his flannel shirt, his suspenders, and his pants. He was now wearing nothing but a red, full-body, union suit. I could see a lengthening bulge in the front of his long underwear, snaking down his left thigh.

"Better strip down to your underwear," he said. "We want everything to get dry."

"I'm just wearing a jockstrap," I said, a little self-conscious. "I don't think you want me parading around in that."

The lumberjack raised one eyebrow. "Why not?" he asked. "I don't want you catching a cold from wet clothes." He held his arms out and looked around as if searching for someone. "And we're all men here, right?"

"Right," I agreed. I pulled off my undershirt and removed my snowboard pants. I had on a pair of black, thermal underpants over my jock and I contemplated leaving them on. Ultimately, however, I decided to go for broke. I bent over and pulled down my underpants, exposing my asshole to the lumberjack behind me. I glanced back through my legs as I stood there; the lumberjack was staring at my ass with lust on his face. I tugged the underpants off my legs and added them to the pile on the drying rack. It felt good to stand by the fire in my tight, white jock, my ass exposed to the world but my cock and balls cradled in the soft cotton.

"What do the tattoos mean?" the lumberjack asked, studying the series of bear track tattoos that started on my lower left butt cheek and climbed across my back to my right shoulder.

"They mean I really, really like bears," I answered truthfully.

"Then you must love my rug," he said, unbuttoning the first several buttons of his union suit. A carpet of matted black hair poked through as if his beard continued down from his neck and across his chest. Carefully, he freed one arm from his red long underwear, and then the other. A second later, and the top half of the union suit hung down his back, revealing his large pecks and thick, firm belly. The swirling tufts of hair that crisscrossed his chest continued down his belly as well, coming together to form a wide treasure trail beneath it. I wanted to see what was at the end of that trail; I tried to see down into the front of his underwear, but the union suit stayed firm against his crotch. I glanced up at his handsome face and caught him studying my bubble butt and strong calf muscles. He glanced away.

"I need another drink," he said, heading back over toward the sink. I watched him walk. He had a nice, round butt that bobbed back and forth with each step. The union suit was hanging low on his backside, exposing the beginnings of a hairy ass crack. As he drank another cup of water, I couldn't stop watching him. Deciding that I would now need to be the forward one, I laid down on my back on the bearskin rug in front of the blazing fire, making myself comfortable. The coarse bear hide tickled my ass crack.

"That's better," the lumberjack said, finishing his second cup. He turned towards the fireplace. "Where'd you go?"

"I'm down here," I answered. My nipples were as hard as rocks now and I couldn't help but run my index fingers along them both. The feeling sent a shiver up my spine.

"Oh," the lumberjack said, seeing me sprawled across his bearskin rug. "How's the fire feel from there?"

"Great!" I said. "Why don't you join me?"

Without a word, he sat down next to me and then laid back. There was a huge tent in the front of his union suit and a wet spot had formed at its apex.

"You might as well remove the rest of your clothes," I said.

"Do you mind?" he asked. "I'd really like to make love to you, right here on this rug in front of the fire. Would you like that?"

I turned onto my side, facing him, and smiled. "Why the hell do you think I came inside?"

In a flash, he was kissing me, his great, bristling beard tickling my face and meshing with the hairs of my goatee. I felt his tongue slip into my mouth, probing my lips, my tongue, the roof of my mouth. I groaned, excited and amazed by what was happening. He reached down with both of his strong hands and started to remove my jockstrap.

"Leave it," I whispered. "I want to see you naked first."

He did as he was told, leaving my hard, straining cock concealed beneath my white jock. He stood up and peeled the rest of his union suit down his sweaty legs, never taking his eyes from my body. His cock popped out, hard as steel and dripping with clear liquid. He was massive – at least 8 inches long and beer-can thick. As a pretty strict top, I knew that I wouldn't be able to take that monster up my ass, so I silently hoped he'd be amenable to bottoming for me.

"You're beautiful," I said.

I was shocked by what happened next; the burly masculine lumberjack in front of me smiled an awkward smile, turned his head to one side, and blushed. His face actually turned red! That reaction just made me want him all the more. I turned over onto my belly and pulled myself toward him across the bearskin rug. I took his giant cock into my mouth as far as it would go, tickling its underside with my tongue and tasting his precum. He moaned as I licked his cock, stumbling backwards a little. I let his dick slip from my lips. "You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he muttered. "It's just been a while."

I went back to work, using my taught lips to encircle just his engorged mushroom. He was much too big for me to deep-throat, so I decided to focus my attention on just the head. I took the head through my lips and then quickly pulled back again several times in a row, jacking his cock with my mouth. As I lay sprawled out before him on my stomach, my lips around his dick, the lumberjack bent forward and rubbed my back and ass, stopping every once in a while to work one of his thick fingers into my furry crack. His strong hands on my back and ass felt so good that I inadvertently started writhing from side to side on the bearskin rug, rubbing my belly against the fur and trying to open up my asshole for his finger. I glanced up at his face as I licked his cock and saw him insert one of his fingers into his mouth, twisting it around and lubing it up with saliva. He returned it to my ass, rubbing the wet slippery spit across my puckered hole. The he sank it into me, just the tip at first. I groaned.

"You like that, huh?" he asked.

"Mmm," I moaned.

Encouraged, he pressed further in, forcing his entire finger into my ass. He found my prostate and pushed down hard against it several times. I stopped sucking him and squirmed beneath his fingertip. I felt like I was being fucked, and in a way I was; after all, the lumberjack's finger was bigger and fatter than many guys' dicks. Then, without warning, he pulled his finger out and stood up.

"On your back," he said, his big cock dripping and jumping slightly in time with his heartbeat.

I sprawled out on my back across the bearskin rug, my cock straining to escape my jockstrap. The front of the jock was soaked through, suffused with my own leakage. The lumberjack grabbed both sides of my jock and pulled it down, forcing my legs up so he could remove it entirely. My thick dick stood straight up, pointing at the wooden beams above us. A stream of precum dripped back onto my belly, pooling into my belly button. The lumberjack moved my legs wide apart and then kneeled down between then. He started to play with my cock, squeezing it gently and giving it the occasional tug. It was nice and slippery from my homemade lube, so his rough hands glided across its surface with ease. As he jacked my cock, he reached out with his other hand and dipped one thick finger into the pool of precum in my navel, really digging around to get his finger coated in lube.

"Oh, shit, that feels good," I murmured as he twisted one fist around just the head of my cock.

"Yeah?" the lumberjack asked in a voice that was almost too deep to hear. "Let's see how you like this too, then." Using the finger that he had lubed up with my own precum, he began to rub in a circular motion across my asshole, opening it again. I pulled my legs into the air to give him access, and he took the opportunity, working his fat digit into my tight ass. Then he began to curl and relax his finger inside of me, pressing on my prostate in a steady rhythm. I moaned and squirmed as he finger-fucked me while continuing to stroke my dick. I felt myself getting close to cumming.

"Stop," I said, pushing his hand away from my cock.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sliding his finger out of my asshole.

"I don't want to cum yet," I said. "I want you to sit on my face.

The big man grinned behind his beard and stoop up. He turned around, giving me a view of his chunky, furry ass, and slowly backed over me where I lay, one foot on either side of my body. As he straddled my face above me, I marveled at the view from below. His big, bull balls hung low, straining for release; his cock stood straight out from his body, dripping ropes of precum onto my chest; and his fleshy ass cheeks were parted just a bit, giving me my first view of his tight hole. He lowered himself onto me, then, prying his own ass crack apart with his hands.

The smell of his asshole was amazing, musky and manly. I inhaled, savoring the heady mix of sweat and precum. Unable to resist any longer, I stuck out my tongue and tickled his pink pucker. I felt the big man shudder. Gently, I traced along the outer rim of his asshole, getting it nice and wet. After a few minutes of this, I inserted just the tip of my tongue inside of him. The lumberjack's entire body shook.

"You like this?" I mumbled from beneath his ass.

"Yeah," he stammered. "I love this! Keep going!"

"You ever have this done to you before?" I asked.

"Nope," he admitted. "I didn't know that my asshole could bring so much pleasure."

"You ever been fucked before?" I was pressing my luck, I knew. But damn I wanted to fuck this burly man's brains out in the middle of his cabin on the bearskin rug by the fireplace!

"Nope," he said again. "But I'd be willing to try."

That was all the inspiration I needed. I began to lap at his hole with abandon now, really working my thick tongue into it. The lumberjack moaned and rocked his hips from side to side, twisting my nipples with his big thumbs. Eventually, all I had to do was stick out my tongue and keep it rigid while the lumberjack did the rest, raising and lowering himself onto my face, fucking himself with my tongue. After a few more minutes of this I was ready to fuck him.

"Hold on a second," I said, stopping him in mid-lunge.

"Okay," he murmured. He stepped off of me and turned around. His cock was thicker and tighter than I had yet seen it and his entire body was flushed and red.

"Straddle me again, this time with your face towards me," I ordered.

He did as I said, his cock still dribbling precum onto my belly.

"Now, lower yourself down onto my cock. You should be nice and open and you can control the speed at which you take me in."

Now that it came to the actual deed, the lumberjack looked a tad unsure.

"You want to get fucked, don't you?" I prodded. My own cock was straining for release now.

"Yes," he said. "Definitely."

And, with that, it was decided. He squatted over me, his big, thick dick bobbing up and down and his low-hangers swinging from side to side. I watched as my cock disappeared behind his balls and slipped between his ass cheeks. I felt my wet cock head press against his waiting hole, rubbing against my own saliva. The look on the big man's face was sheer ecstasy as he rotated his hips and tickled his asshole with my cock. Then he squatted lower and I felt my wide mushroom head break through his sphincter. The lumberjack paused there, his eyes closed, savoring the new feeling deep inside of him. For a second, he seemed overcome with emotions and I thought he might cry.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Amazing," he whispered. "I want all of you inside of me."

And he made that happen immediately, lowering himself all the way down my rigid dick and settling onto my thighs. I felt my cock travel up into the depths of his warm ass as the hair on the underside of his balls mingled with my own mound of thick pubic hair. I was shocked by the tightness of his ass; I felt like someone had wrapped their fists around my cock and was squeezing as hard as they could.

"You fit so well," he moaned, rocking his hips from side to side like a pro.

"You're very tight," I answered, my eyes rolling back into my head a little.

"Is that a good thing?" asked.

"Maybe," I said, "but I won't be able to last long in there."

"Oh, no?" he said, toying with me. I felt him tighten his ass muscles, squeezing his sphincter even tighter.

"Ah," I groaned and sat up a bit in surprise.

"Lay back down," he said, pressing his big hands against my furry chest.

I did as he asked and the lumberjack began to ride me, raising and lowering his body off of and onto my cock. Eventually, he started standing all the way up, letting my dick slip out of him entirely and then plunging back down onto it. He really liked when my cock broke through his sphincter on each entry. After several minutes of this, I saw him start to jack his beer-can cock, wrapping both of his hands around it and working it in earnest. I could feel his ass beginning to constrict and relax rhythmically as he got closer and closer to cumming.

"Warn me before you cum," I struggled to say. "I want to cum with you."

But it was too late; the big man above me arched his back, squeezed his cock tight with both hands, and blew a massive load all over me. The first thick volley of his jizz splashed across my face, getting into my hair. The next two decorated my chest with ropes of white cum. Three or four more big blasts erupted from his cock, splattering onto my hairy belly.

As the lumberjack came, I could feel his ass clenching and unclenching, trying to squeeze the juice from my cock. I threw my head back, moaned, and let nature take its course. I felt a warmth grow inside my ball sack, which then traveled up the length of my cock to explode into his tight, hairy asshole. As his cum splattered across my body, I felt myself empty a huge load inside of him, gritting my teeth and curling my toes in pleasure.

The lumberjack remained seated on top of me, my cock still buried in his ass. I could feel it softening a bit. The burly man leaned forward and gave me a gentle kiss, just brushing my lips. He stood up at last, my dick slipping from his hole and some of my still warm cum dribbling down his inner thigh.

"I can show you to the road now," he said, grinning. "It's just on the other side of the cabin, about 100 yards."

I sprawled back onto the bearskin rug and laughed. "Well, if it's that near by, maybe I don't have to leave just yet…."