Doug complained via text message about his flight execution to Palm Springs, when it was the wee hours for me.
"Dude, it's 5 a.m. Just get on the plane," I messaged back as I, too, was boarding a flight but from Norfolk, Virginia. "Are you wheels up yet in Toronto?"
He ended up calling me as they were calling people to line up.
"Just need you to be a little less insensitive to what's happening here," he said to me as he was yelling. " We could always cancel the trip, Keenan."
I had a connecting flight to Dallas, then would shoot to another plane headed straight for the desert city. I was cool and calm whenever I traveled, and was super chill knowing I'd finally meet Doug and Fur (real name Chuck) after five years of social media banter and emails.
"Please don't cancel. I guarantee you, the hassles will be worth it, I assure you," I told Doug.
Doug was the main ingredient of the trio as he was the most accomplished writer, one who so was intricate in his erotica fantasies that he was renown in many circles. He was also the glue to our group as Fur and I both knew him first through our posts, and he would bring the three of us together as we all wrote erotica, but brought different styles.
When we first discussed meeting I offered their towns of residence as Doug was a Torontonian and Fur lived in San Francisco, but they both clamored to travel. I mentioned us linking in the gay bear mecca, and they agreed, as we planned to collaborate on a project and have a little fun in between.
"You get to touchdown, and all will be forgotten," I messaged once more when the plane was about leave Norfolk, only for him to complain about the state of his feet and how he would need a good massage when he'd land.
I initially made advances to Doug, as he was a polar bear in the six foot, 240 lb. range, with his thick, white beard and Canadian accent. He mentioned he was married and played on the side, often switching roles in the bedroom to where he piqued my interest to want to experience him first hand. Time went along and so the attraction faded while the friendship arose, and I began to love and care for the 63-year-old that loved pistachios. Fur would be collateral damage as I began to follow his postings of steamy stories, and wanted nothing more than to be balls deep in the a 61-year-old San Fran resident, but learned he, too was married, and not inclined to fly 2,000 miles to fuck as much as share ideas on written entertainment.
"Hey bud. Doug is freaking out right now," Fur texted. "I'm on the road now. I'll see you shortly."
Our common interest of writing on frisky men finally brought us together, with my flight landing in Palm Springs 12 p.m. local time, and Fur right at baggage claim, his six foot four, 320 lb. bearded frame waiting with open arms.
"I got the keys to the suite already," Fur mentioned as he checked into the six bedroom airBnB. "My items are in the house. After we get Doug, then we can bring your stuff, too."
The ornery Canadian would land just 45 minutes after I grabbed my bag. We waited patiently in baggage claim to see a perturbed Doug approaching us, warranting hugs from his faraway friends to alleviate the drama and prep for a good time.
"I need a drink, and I know exactly where to get one," he said to us.
Fur drove to Hunters as it was Friday, and the place would be packed with guys like us and the normal twinks and chasers.
"Straight whiskey, no chaser," Doug told the bartender at Hunters, as we made there once we dropped off our things.
The three of us sat at the bar chatting, with me occasionally rubbing Doug's back to calm him, and make him enjoy the moment. Fur and I weren't nearly as stressed, as he and I looked at the bright side of things vice the perils.
"Like I said, we gotta make sure you have a good time," I whispered to Doug as I was sitting to his left, with Fur to his right.
