Furball at the Rodeo

A gay erotic story by Ventrego, 2016

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"Hey, buddy, can you help clipper my back?"

I looked around, startled.

Thanks to a call-in contest at a radio show, I had an all-access pass to the rodeo. Watching all the butch, booted men stomp around before and after events was fun. But I had no idea just how much fun it was going to be.

I turned to see a man's head stuck out of the changing area. He had a handsome face, heavy, brown mutton chops, a thick mustache, short-cropped dark hair, and eyes as blue as a summer afternoon sky.

I might have drooled a little.

He caught my gaze and shifted position, glancing around to make sure we were alone. "I hate to ask this, but if I don't get trimmed down before the contest, my shirt is going to look all lumpy. One of the farmhands was supposed to do it this morning, but one thing led to another and now, well, I'm in a pickle."

I glanced around. There was plenty of action happening out front with the gates and the bulls, but back here things were quiet for the moment. I met his gaze again. "Sure, why not?"

His favored me with a brilliant smile. The unseen crowd burst into a loud cheer as I followed the cowboy into the changing area.

He wore a white tee-shirt, new blue jeans slung low on his hips, and dark cowboy boots that clomped as he walked. His arms and the backs of his hand had thick, dark hair on them.

"Thanks for helping me out, buddy," he said, and handed me a pair of commercial-duty hair clippers with a short guard on them. He striped off his shirt.

I almost swore. His back was hairy like a sweater. I started to reach out to touch it, when he turned to face me. His chest was just as hairy, if not more so, but the sweater had been trimmed down to a depth of about a half-inch. It was enough to grab, but not enough to hide your fingers in.

He saw my hand still out in mid-air between us, patted his amazingly hairy chest and said, "I already got the front. This is the look we're going for. Even all across." He looked into my eyes and my knees went weak. "Got it?"

I nodded, wide-eyed. I couldn't quite bring myself to speak.

He turned to the wall, braced his hands against the concrete, and spread his legs like he was bring frisked by a police officer. I had the urge to grope him right there, but I hadn't gotten the right signals yet. I turned on the clippers; the switch flipped with an authoritative snap and the humming device began to warm in my hands.

I carefully inserted the guard into his fur and began to trim, mowing his back-sweater down to a more reasonable depth. He groaned quietly as the clippers moved over his skin.

"What's your name, cowboy?" I asked.

"Clint Weston." He looked back over his shoulder at me. "Nice to meet you."

I grinned and knocked a wad of hair off the clippers. "Nice to meet you too."

As I continued to mow down his shoulder, he said, casually, "This isn't how I usually meet guys."

I paused for just a second, but got the clippers moving again before it became awkward. With a chuckle, I gestured to the hair piling up on the floor as though he could see me. "Why not? It's a great way to get to know someone."

The clippers were sturdy, well-maintained, and powerful. After a few entirely-too-short minutes, his back was mowed down and there was a pile of dark hair on the floor behind him.

I snapped the clippers off. "Okay, we're done."

He turned to face me. "Thanks, buddy." His gaze raked down my body with obvious appreciation, but when he saw the floor, he shifted on his feet. "Wow. No matter how much I trim, I still can't believe all that came off of me."

I chuckled. "What, you have to do this often?"

He nudged the hair on the floor with his boot. "Every week or so."

I blinked. "You're shitting me."

He shrugged into his shirt. "Nope."

A short, efficient man stuck his head into the changing area. "Clint, you're on in five."

He nodded. "I'd better get a move on." He pulled a button-up western shirt out of a locker and got it on faster than I'd have believed possible. When he unbuttoned his jeans and tucked everything into place, I scarcely got a change to ogle his package. He did have a nice bulge in his jeans when he was done, though.

"Wish me luck, stud." he said as he stepped out to the arena.

With someone to cheer for, the rodeo was more interesting than ever. Clint competed in calf-tying and bull-riding. He didn't win, but he made a very solid showing in both. I couldn't help but be impressed.

I was even more impressed when Clint tracked me down after the event. I was a little disappointed that he'd already showered and changed, but when he invited me to join him for food and some beers, I said yes as quickly as I dared.

"I'm glad you joined me," he said as we sat down in a quiet spot to eat barbecue and down some cold ones. After his second beer, he said, "I can have anything I want, but I get hairier."

My eyebrows pulled down. "This wasn't the dinner conversation I was expecting, but . . . okay."

He leaned toward me, smelling like leather and soap. "I mean it, buddy. When I started all this, I was just a skinny kid with a little bit of chest hair. I wanted to be a man. So I wished to grow up into a cowboy. A couple minutes later, I was over six feet tall, twenty-two years old, and employed at a cattle company. Suddenly my arms, legs, and back were sort of hairy, and my chest and stomach definitely were."

I chuckled and gave him an appreciative once-over. "And what a cowboy you grew into!"

He laughed and took another pull on his beer. "If only I'd stopped there. Then I wanted to be more of a stud. My dick grew bigger, my sex drive shot up through the roof, and suddenly the hair on my body all connected, from my neck down to my toes."

I grinned. "Am I going to get to try out that big dick later?"

He grinned back. "You know it. But then I wished for something big. I wanted my own ranch, with cattle, and farmhands. The works."

"...and?"

He shrugged. "Suddenly my chest grew so hairy I couldn't see my dick. My arms and the backs of my hands grew hairy like my chest had been. I had gorilla knuckles. My ass, my legs, my crotch, everything just got fucking overgrown. Even my beard and mustache got thicker."

He leaned towards me. "And the next morning, I discovered just how much it was growing. Every day. Oh my god, you've never . . . the hair on my body grows like most people grow beards. My beard sprouts like a time-lapse movie." I couldn't help but notice his jaw had grown stubbly in the hour or so since the rodeo. Clint lifted his hat and ran his hand through the thick, dark short cut there. "Even the stuff up top, I clipper it every day just to keep it in line."

I gave a whistle. "Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."

"I know," he chuckled. "If it gets much worse, I'll have to use sheep shears."

"Sounds like this wishing thing really threw you for a loop."

"Kind of, yeah. I eat like a horse and drink like a fish. I guess all that hair has to come from somewhere." He chuckled and smirked. "Of course, I jizz like a stallion, too, so it ain't all bad."

I grinned broadly. "You'll have to show me later."

He grinned back. "Just letting you know what you're in for."

After dinner, we tossed the empties in the garbage and recycling bins and wandered back towards Clint's truck. With the rodeo shut down for the night, the place was almost deserted.

My eyes stayed on the bulge at his crotch. "So are you done with wishing?" I asked, to make conversation.

"Well . . ." he shrugged. "I could be taller, I suppose. But life's pretty good. And if I keep getting hairier, I'm not going to look human much longer." He scratched his jaw; the stubble was already heavy and dark.

I wasn't sure what else we'd talk about, but some things don't need much negotiation. He opened the doors to his truck, propped himself back on the seat, pulled his big, thick cock out of his pants, and I began to suck.

He groaned loudly, rubbing his hands under his shirt.

"It ain't . . . unf . . . bad," he groaned. "Yeah, keep doing that! I grew up into a studly cowboy overnight. Drinking, roping cattle, my own ranch, hairy as fuck . . . " He groaned when he said it, and his cock pulsed.

I pulled off just long enough to say, "Sounds like you're not done wishing." Then I pulled him back in, and kept my eyes on his face, watching him writhe in ecstasy.

"Oh, you have no idea." He groaned as I dove back down on his cock. "I wish I was taller. I wish I would precum more. I wish my feet were bigger - so big I'd have to custom-order my boots. But what I really want . . . " He thrust his hips against my face. "What I really wish . . . I wish I was a whole fuckload hairier!"

He grabbed my head, pinning me against him; his warm seed shot into my mouth. I swallowed, and swallowed, and swallowed, inhaling through my nose between spurts. He wasn't kidding about the huge loads! It was a good three minutes before he finally let me off his softening cock. I burped quietly and wiped off my mouth, my own crotch bulging.

"Oh, man," he groaned. "That's the best I've had in a while." He smiled at me, his posture loose and relaxed. "Thanks."

I grinned back.

"I'll return the favor in a minute," he said. "I just gotta . . . whoa!"

Everything hit at once. His boots twisted and bulged as his feet grew. His head shifted inches further back into the cab; jeans tightened and pulled down his hips while his shirt rode up and his lengthening, hairy arms emerged from the sleeves. The cock I'd just drained twitched and began to drool clear fluid. He winced and yanked his boots off; his feet were at least size 14 and still getting bigger.

His mustache bushed out until he looked like a caricature of a cowboy. Moments later, his chest and stomach deeply buried in fur like his back had been before I trimmed it. His arms and hands became hairy like a gorilla; his exposed legs grew padding and then a pelt. He sprouted, and sprouted, and sprouted, until the back of the truck was thick the with smell of man-musk and saddle soap.

He looked at himself, looked at me, and his cock began to rise.

My cock never had a chance to go down. I stared at the incredibly hairy cowboy in front of me and wondered what it'd be like to jump him in the back of the truck.

I didn't have to wonder long.