The bunny suit was a last-minute decision. I had assented to attend with reluctance, but it was hard to say no when I had been the one who organized it. My boss was relying on me to make sure the drink orders were delivered correctly and that the caterers were on time. She promised that once it started, I wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, and I could just enjoy myself. I deserved it after the week I’d been through.
I didn’t feel like “enjoying” myself in company that night. I felt like eating Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia straight out of the tub while watching *Midsommar* on repeat, rewinding that end bit where she sets her boyfriend on fire. I didn’t need a Halloween party. I needed catharsis.
Farah reassured me that Jake and Kayla wouldn’t be there. I had the RSVP list after all; I should know. But she’d double-checked out of concern for me. She was a good boss, and a good friend.
She knew the full story of course. I’d come to her office crying Tuesday morning, explaining why I was late for work. I’d been her assistant editor for two years now. We were close enough for me to tell her about the unexpected implosion of my ill-advised office romance, and the subsequent humiliation of finding out he was now engaged to the new girl in HR after two months of fooling around behind my back. Two-thousand employees in this goddamned company, and he had to choose the one who I would have to see every time my overtime sheet fucked up my hours. Farah had told me to take the rest of the day off, but to come in tomorrow because she wouldn’t allow me to get too sentimental over a man who wore a faux hawk in the year 2019. I laughed. She had a point. He hadn’t changed his hair since 2007. I’d seen the photos. He was probably trying to recapture his youth. Maybe that was also why he had dumped a 32-year-old for a 21-year-old.
Saturday afternoon, when I showed up at her three-storey mansion in Bellevue, Farah took one look at me and burst out laughing. “*This* is your costume?” She queried, mock-incredulously.
I looked down at myself. I thought I’d done well for a last-minute adjustment. Neck-to-floor length voluminous black dress, cheap dollar store witch’s hat. What more could she ask of me? I was hardly going to go with the original Lois Lane plan. Who the hell was going to care about Lois Lane without her Superman? I silently swore to myself I would *never* agree to another couple Halloween costume, no matter how solid I thought my relationship was. I wondered if whatever trashy Halloween party he was going to tonight, he was still planning on wearing the Superman costume. Probably. Superman without Lois Lane was fine. Lois Lane without Superman, on the other hand… *snap out of it*, I mentally commanded myself.
“Lainey,” Farah chided, “You don’t have to commit to a lifetime of celibacy just because some asshole dumped you.”
I gasped. My boss was never one to mince words, but I wasn’t used to her being vulgar. It was a rare pleasure to see her on her home turf. She was still as in command as ever, though.
“Come in. I think I have something you can borrow.” She said “borrow” like “BOE-roe”, in her charming Canadian manner. I knew she could and would convince me of anything she liked.
I followed Farah up to the master bedroom, with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Washington. Was it her salary at a glossy tech magazine that could afford these views, her inheritance, or her millionaire ex-husband’s money? I was going with all of the above. Maybe some day I could be her, if I worked hard and got lucky, although I knew she’d made sacrifices to get there.
After throwing open the doors to an enviable walk-in closet and rifling through a couple of drawers, she pulled out a lustrous white piece of molded cloth and unfolded it.
“There!” She exclaimed, holding up what appeared to be a satin boned corset. “There are some shorts and some ears, and a little tail thingy. You know, like a… what do you call it… pom pom thing. You can wear my white Jimmy Choos. Those boots won’t work.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain at my Doc Martens.
I took the garment from her with hesitation. I could say no, of course. She could hardly fire me for insubordination for refusing to wear a slutty bunny costume. But something within me wanted to go outside of my comfort zone and dress like an attention-seeking sorority girl for once in my life. It couldn’t hurt to try, right?
I’d been through that emo stage in my teens like many women my age, so it’s not like I’d never worn a (cheap, Hot-Topic) corset before, but nothing like this. Farah turned around respectfully while I slipped off my shapeless dress and sports bra and wrestled to get the construction over my head. I wasn’t sure if it would fit at first. Farah is slenderer than I, and I have a notedly more voluminous bosom. But the laces at the back were forgiving. When I indicated that I was inside it, she turned back around to lace me up, as I watched myself in her full-length mirror. I looked on as the contraption exaggerated my waist and the flare of my hips while pushing out my ample cleavage to cartoonish proportions. *I never* wear shit like this, but I had to admit it to myself: I loved it. But did I want my colleagues to see me like this?
“I can’t wear this, Farah!” I protested. “It’s a *work* party, not a sex party.”
She laughed. “If anyone disrespects you, let me know. I’ll fire them.” She said it soberly enough that I believed her. Then she added, “I think you look perfect.”
Maybe if I hadn’t agreed to wear the costume, my behavior that night wouldn’t have been so brazen.
Two hours later, the sun gone down on the crisp autumn evening, the jack-o-lanterns placed along the walkway, the Dom Perignon chilled and the playlist underway (heavy on the Beyoncé), I made up my face, let down my glossy black mane and donned the full raiment to greet my workmates as they had never seen me before.
It turned out that the rest of the costume consisted of … very little. The “shorts” were little more than bikini bottoms, made of pink spandex. They barely even covered my ass cheeks. I was glad I’d been doing all those squats lately. One of the white-and-pink satin ears was bent at a bashful angle. At my throat, there was a matching pink bowtie. Normal girls wear this stuff on Halloween, right? I was just hearkening back to missed opportunities in my college years. I’d always wanted to be the sexy bunny, but never had the guts before.
I was relieved to find that Farah’s costume was just as inappropriately distracting as mine. Some might frown at a 54-year-old woman in a sexy cat costume, but if anyone could pull it off, she could. Her 2-hour daily weights and cardio sessions had clearly kept her in peak physical condition. And she was the boss! No one would dare criticize how scandalously revealing her Halloween attire was.
The first to arrive was a middle-aged exec from the media group board and her wife. They were both dressed in matching, floor-length black gowns with witch hats. Farah shot me a knowing look. I knew what she meant. How boring it would have been for me to play it safe. I was embarrassed, though. I could swear they were looking at me with disapproval. I was relieved when James from Legal showed up in full drag as Brittany Spears from the Toxic video. He squealed when he saw me and said I was looking a million times hotter now that I’d dropped the “dead weight”. (It was comforting to know that he was choosing my side over his colleague’s in the breakup.) He then grabbed me by the hand, pulling me into the kitchen, while making me promise to give him all the tea and insisting that I do Patrón shots with him.
Several tequilas/hours/canapes later, the house had filled up and I can honestly say I was enjoying myself. James and his work wife Beatty stayed by my side to nod in sympathy as I ranted about the indignities I’d suffered at my ex’s hands, only occasionally piping in to verify, “Men are trash.”
When “Work It” by Missy Elliot came on, we ran into the living room and jumped up and down with glee. (I’d abandoned the terribly uncomfortable Jimmy Choo stilettos after the first half hour.)
“Ti esrever dna ti pilf nwod gnaht ym tup I!” We yelled out in time with Missy, flawlessly executing the backwards lyric in perfect sync.
Arms flailing about in abandon, laughing, I unbalanced to avoid hitting Beatty’s skilfully coiffed 1970s-style Afro (she was dressed as Pam Grier in Coffy). In my drunken mismanagement of my limbs, I overcorrected and ended up falling ass-backwards onto one of the occupants on the couch, a man dressed in a full-coverage grizzly bear costume with a slightly terrifying, realistic head.
Showing commendable courage under fire, the man stayed in character and let out a “Grrr!” I shrieked in mock horror. He had miraculously avoided spilling his IPA. I was impressed at his ability to hold and drink the slippery bottle with his clumsy bear fist and tried to get a glimpse of his mouth as he took a swig through the jaws of his mask. I couldn’t make out a thing. I had no idea who he was.
I suppose it was my own outrageous costume, along with the tequila that made me bold. I asked the man if he minded if I rested a while on his lap, as I couldn’t *bear* being on my feet any longer. He growled and shrugged. I admired his commitment to the bit.
Before long, James and Beatty had joined us, flanking the bear-man on either side of the otherwise unoccupied love seat. It was a tight squeeze.
James piped up first, “Lainey, my sweet bunny, do I have to tell you that bears are your natural enemy?”
Beatty: “Seriously, girl. I know you’re taking a break from men, but this is not the way!” Her eyes widened with emphasis.
James whispered, “This is not the good kind of bear.”
Bear Man did not break his silence. I couldn’t tell if his refusal to speak was delightfully intriguing or beginning to grate. Maybe a bit of both.
I leaned back onto the surprisingly soft faux bear-fur. “But I like it here!” I insisted. “You know I’ve always loved the hairy ones.” At that, I began to pet the stranger’s arm. He moved it ever so slightly closer to my leg. I was enjoying the sensation of the smooth fur rubbing against my bare skin, all along my thighs and the bottom of my exposed ass cheeks. I leaned back slightly. He smelled faintly of spice and good, clean sweat. I wondered which brand of shampoo he used. It was alluring. The sweat was unsurprising; the bear suit must be very hot. It might be late October, but the house was packed and well-heated. I realized I was sweaty myself, post-dance.
“Alright!” Beatty said, ready to cross-examine the witness (she was in-house legal counsel, so right on brand for her), “Enough foreplay. We need to know your identity.”
I heard the bear chuckle. It would have been rude to hold out any longer.
“I don’t know.” He finally spoke, his voice deep and unrecognizable to me. “I’m having so much fun right now, I would rather keep it secret just a while longer.” There was a certain way in which he pronounced the vowel in “while” so that it sounded like, “wall”. I have always loved trying to break down regional accents, although I can’t say I’m very good at it. Texas? I wondered. Too many options still.
To me, he said, “I know who you are, Elaine, but I’m not sure you would have noticed me before. That’s all I’ll say.”
James mocked, “Ooh. Stalker, much?”
Nonetheless, I got goose bumps when the man said my name. He knew me, even if I didn’t know him. The enigma intensified. Now, maybe it was the tequila talking, but I could no longer deny that I was finding myself increasingly attracted to an unidentified stranger in a bear costume. The mystery was enticing.
I began to realize that I had been slowly but subtly moving my ass against the bear’s crotch, and the bear was responding to my ministrations. I felt a slight but increasing hardness against my backside. Heat grew between my legs at the knowledge I had caused that hardness. The bear began to ever so gently move his left paw up my bare thigh. I glanced at my companions, but they didn’t seem to notice.
James insisted on twenty questions to get to the bottom of Bear’s identify. He agreed good-naturedly but stipulated that we were not allowed to ask any questions about his job, his name, or his appearance, because he didn’t want to make it too easy for us.
Beatty went first. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.” A reasonable age. Good so far.
James interrogated him next. “Where were you born?”
“Arkansas, but I’ve moved around a bit.” Arkansas! I was a little disappointed in my accent-deduction abilities.
I asked, “What brought you to Seattle?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “My wife got a job here.” I felt a momentary stab of disappointment that there was a Mrs. Bear. So much for that. But he qualified his answer. “Ex-wife, I should say. At least, soon-to-be-ex-wife.”
Oh. Well, that was a different story entirely. Was I actually glad to hear this mysterious bear man was going through a doubtlessly painful divorce? Yup. I remonstrated myself, inwardly. Also, why was I so invested? For all I knew, he could have a face like Jeff the Killer under that bear head.
Beatty fired off immediately, “Why are you getting a divorce?” She was never one to pull punches.
He took it in his stride. “She left me for a guy who runs a vegan restaurant.”
“Oof!” I exclaimed.
James jiggled my arm for emphasis. “Ooh, hon. His ex has terrible taste in men too. Sounds like you’re his type!”
I reached around and punched him, playfully.
“Speak for yourself!” I shot back.
“How dare you! Android was an angel. An angel who wrecked my car and stole my cat, but other than that he was perfect.”
“Android?” Queried the bear.
James’s reply was matter of fact. “Not his given name. Had to change it because the FBI was after him.”
“So, if his ex is an angel, what did your ex do?” Bear inquired. I realized he was addressing me.
I blushed and turned my legs so I was sitting sideways on his lap and could reply.
“Just your basic, left me for a younger woman thing.”
“Doesn’t he understand how time works?” The bear asked, taking the opportunity to surreptitiously slide his paw between my legs and caress the front of the tight pink panties for a moment, and then, frustratingly, put his paw back on my knee.
I was searching my brain for a retort when I looked up to see Superman enter the room, with an incredibly elegant Poison Ivy draped over his arm. (They’re not even in the same comic!)
I could feel my face go numb.
He had RSVP’d no. HE. HAD. RSVP’D. NO!
I was drunk, and I didn’t want to make a scene. The only thing I could think to do was run.
I sped out to the garden, where Farah was regaling the crowd with anecdotes of her time in Morocco, and a handful of revellers roasted marshmallows around a patio furnace. The stone pavers were icy under my feet in the October chill. I realized I was basically in my underwear.
“Elaine!” Farah called out. “Come join us! I was just telling the story of the camel.”
I felt incredibly silly. On the one hand, I was stuck outside on a cold night in my underwear. (Well, alright, someone else’s underwear.) I should go back inside immediately before I got hypothermia. On the other hand, my douchebag ex, who had dumped me mere days ago, whose clothing was still at my apartment (packed in boxes), who was already parading around his new fiancée half his age, was inside the house and I would rather die than let him see me in this stupid outfit. What was I trying to do, reclaim my lost teen years dressed like this? I suddenly felt very old, yet very childish.
At that moment, the bear showed up.
“Hey! Where’d you go? Are you okay?”
I realized that my teeth were chattering.
Farah called out from the other side of the patio fire. “Oh! You’ve met the mysterious bear, I see! Come join us, bear! I was just telling the story of the camel. You wouldn’t know it, of course.”
The bear looked down at me, or at least as much as he could with his enormous costume head. “Are you okay?” He repeated more softly.
Something about the way the bear head bore down on me, and overhearing my boss tell the stupid camel story that I’d heard 20 times, and knowing that my asshole ex was in the other room with his child-bride and all the tequila I’d had, all became a bit too much and I burst into a wild hilarity bordering on hysterics.
“Do you want a nap? I think I need a nap.” I said, and grabbed the bear by his paw, dragging him without pausing to confirm his consent, back into the house and through the living room.
“Elaine?” I heard Jake’s dopey whine as I barrelled past. I didn’t pause to respond. What exactly did he think I would want to say to him?
Bear stumbled behind me, not arguing against the cracking pace as I yanked him up the stairs towards the designated guest bedroom that Farah had prepared for me.
Inside the room, I pushed him back on the bed and straddled him. He went to take off the bear head, but I stopped him.
“Leave it!” I commanded, as I ground into the rapidly growing hardness at the crotch of his costume. “It’s more exciting if I don’t know who you are.”
He complied, but he had questions. “Wait, like, don’t stop, but what exactly is happening right now?”
I chose honesty. “The truth is, I’m gonna fuck you for revenge on Superman.” Did I feel his erection dissolve? Yep. Yep, I did. Turned out I knew the magic words to kill a hard-on.
“Oh.” Was his response.
Damn it.
I suddenly didn’t feel like continuing either. I slid off him, and lay down beside him, facing him. He was still wearing his stupid bear mask, but there was something about the anonymity of it that made me feel like I could tell him anything: like chatting to a stranger on the internet.
I felt guilt wash over me.
“Sorry, it’s just. I’m going through some shit. I shouldn’t have…”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “No one wants to be a revenge fuck. Well, maybe a bit. I mean, I guess I could still… On second thought, I’ve considered it, and I am happy to be your revenge fuck. Proceed.”
I snort-chuckled. Not attractively.
“So, yeah. That was my ex that I mentioned before. He dumped me on Monday, and that girl with him is now his fiancée.”
“Wait… Monday?”
“Yep. Monday. We were together four years. I mean, fair enough. He wouldn’t have been able to be engaged to her four years ago. She wasn’t quite legal then.”
“Yikes.” Replied my bear.
“I’m sorry I tried to fuck you for revenge.” I expressed, contritely.
“I think maybe your heart wasn’t in it.” He sighed. And then, “Look, I’m not trying to get you to change your mind again about the revenge fucking. I swear I’m not, but do you need a hug right now? You seem like you need a hug.”
It was the thing I needed the most right then, and I gratefully collapsed into his silky bear-arms with relief. A few moments later I was sniffling into his chest-fur and he was stroking my hair. The fur was so soft and warm and comforting. I started sobbing. It felt oddly purifying. He held me tighter and just let me cry. After a few minutes, I wore myself out and just lay there. He didn’t let go.
“You know,” I spoke, “You seem like a kind man.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Thank you. I try to be.”
When I had regained my ability to speak normally, I broke the silence. “Mr. Bear,” I ventured, “Promise me something.”
“Hmm?”
“Promise me that as long as I’m with you at this party, you won’t tell me your real name or take off your bear costume. There’s something deeply comforting in you being a perfect stranger to me.”
He cleared his throat. “Interesting. Well, I can say this costume is surprisingly comfortable. I’m glad I rented it. I know you can’t see it, but there are built-in cushions in the head. I could probably wear it for a while longer.” He paused.
“On the other hand,” He said, “I’m dying to tell you who I am. This is a tough one.” He pondered it for a few moments, then countered. “Let’s make a deal. I promise not to reveal my identity, if you promise to have dinner with me next week.”
I pretended to mull it over. “I don’t know.” I hemmed. “On the one hand, I am enjoying this game. On the other hand, what if you’re an uggo?”
“Oh, I am completely *hideous*. Why do you think I’m asking you out before you’ve seen me?”
I giggled. “Well, in that case, I guess I have to say yes because I can’t have you realizing I’m shallow.”
“Oh, I don’t think you’re shallow. I just think you have a furry fetish.”
I gasped and immediately grabbed a pillow to pummel him for the jest. “I am not a furry! How dare you!” I squealed, hoping that Farah was far too passed-out and far enough down the hallway to hear us.
He forcefully stopped the trajectory of the pillow with his paws. “Oh, I’m not one to kink shame.” He pronounced with superiority. “Personally, I find you very sexy, and *you* are dressed as a rabbit. How do you know *I’m* not a furry?”
I realized that I was still stuffed uncomfortably into the boned corset, with the tuft of a tail continuing to jut from the butt of my undies. “Well, I can fix that.” I announced, and I got up. The situation had made me audacious. I turned on the lamp.
Standing in the middle of the room, knowing his eyes were watching me behind the sockets of the bear-mask, I began to slowly loosen the cords of the corset.
The bear took note and raised himself up onto an elbow. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “I like where this is going.”
I undid the ties enough to slide the corset over my head, or so I thought. In an attempt to sensuously slide myself out of the garment, I soon became stuck with my arms pinned against the sides of my head, my hands uselessly dangling over the top. This was my instant karma for trying to be sexually provocative.
The bear was merciless. He began to chortle at my predicament.
Irritably, I chided him, “You know, instead of making fun of me, you could help!”
He jumped up from the bed and began to tug on the material, awkwardly jerking at it a few times until he was able to wrestle it off me. My tits, finally released, dropped and bounced.
“Holy shit!” He whispered. “Those are incredible!” I decided that I could remove his paws for him without it wrecking the mystery of his identity, and without warning grabbed the gloves off the costumer and threw them onto the bedside table. His hands were large, square and brown, with neatly manicured nails. Beautiful hands. I wanted them on my breasts and guided them there.
He cupped my breasts softly, and I felt my nipples harden as he caressed them. I began to regret that I couldn’t see his face and he couldn’t kiss me or use his mouth on me. But I was determined to commit to the game.
Stepping away from him momentarily, I slipped off the pink hotpants, revealing my neatly trimmed blonde bush. I took him by the hand and led him back to the bed.
It was such a novel experience, being completely naked with a man whose identity I didn’t know. He could be anyone under there.
We lay side by side, and I guided his fingers to my warm, willing sex. He parted the wet lips with his fingers and slid inside me, slowly stroking with authority. It wasn’t long before I was moaning at the edge of an orgasm. I collaborated, stroking my clit while he twisted and slid three fingers in and out of my dripping opening. I shuddered and cried out, not caring any longer if Farah or any of her other overnight guests could hear my pleasure. I quivered and convulsed and came with violence.
After he brought me to climax, I immediately wanted to return the favor, and scrambled to find the zipper at crotch of his costume. There was a convenient flap that I turned back to reveal a hard, uncut cock, dripping with precum. I had to have it in my mouth immediately, and I heard him suck in his breath as I plunged my face around it, sighing in pleasure as my tongue licked off the wet salty fluid.
I wrapped my lips around his hardness, and bobbed my head up and down, then moved back my head to spit on his dick. I twirled my hands up and down the shaft, moving the foreskin back and forth on the head for a moment to masturbate him like a cock sleeve. I worked his lubricated pole for a while, sucking on his balls and then his taint. Then I went back to work, taking him to the back of my throat. He grabbed my hair to help guide my head up and down and began to growl with pleasure. Before long, I felt him seize up and then shoot his hot, salty load down the back of my throat. I savored the taste and texture as it hit my tongue.
Temporarily spent, he spooned me again, this time with softening cock pressed up against my bare ass. I marvelled that I had just swallowed the cum of a man whose face I’d never seen.
Within an impressively short time, I felt a renewed stiffness sliding between my asscheeks. He methodically began to stroke back and forth along my crack, and then nudged the tip down to my sensitive perineum, just teasing the outer edge of my pussy. He moved his hands down and began to play with my clit. I fumbled in the bedside drawer and it was no huge surprise to me that Farah had stocked it well with condoms. It was like her to prepare for every eventuality, and I appreciated that she had anticipated I would slut it up at her party enough to provide her guest with complimentary prophylactics. What an excellent hostess. I would have to thank her on multiple fronts.
I slid the condom onto his cock for him and returned to spoon position. He slid up between my pussy lips and slowly began to fuck me, while his hand under me slid down to play with my clit and the hand above me grasped my breast.
In this manner we moaned and ground and slid against one another until we came together. Panting and still processing, I lay there in his arms after and fell asleep.
I woke up some time later, still in darkness. The bear was snoring.
Gingerly, I extricated myself from his arms. By the lamplight, I folded the bunny costume and left in on a chair for Farah. Then I left a note for the bear and crept out.
It was two days later, on a Monday morning that I got the text.
*Dinner Friday night?*
*-Bear[/II]*
I had been thinking about it. Before I saw his face, I still wanted to play the game one more time. I told him I had one more condition. I explained myself and he agreed immediately.
I booked out a two-person interview room on the second floor at lunch time: one of those windowless little cells they used for recruitment. If you turned the lights off, it was pitch black in there.
I got there first, of course, as per our arrangement. And then I sat and waited.
Five minutes later, came the knock. “Shave and a haircut…” Just like in *Who Framed Roger Rabbit*?, I replied with the completing taps, “Two bits!”
I faced away from the door as he entered. When the door snapped to, and he locked it, we were plunged into darkness.
I felt his hand on my shoulder. Strong hands. I smelled the now familiar, faint scent of his cologne. I stood up and he slid the zipper of my dress down and slipped it off my shoulders.
I turned and felt the new sensation of his body against mine, in his work clothes. His face found mine in the blackness, and I felt lips. His mouth was on mine, his tongue against my tongue, and I still hadn’t seen his face. I still didn’t know his name. His chest was hard against me. I felt the impressive musculature of his arms as I slid off his suit jacket. I loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, kicking off my shoes and stepping out of my dress into my underwear and bra.
In a frenzy, we undressed each other the rest of the way and I yanked a condom out of my purse and slipped it onto him, then jumped up on the interview table and pulled him against me, my legs wrapping around his ass as he entered me. I felt the glory of his smooth skin pressed against mine, as he fucked me and his tongue plunged inside my mouth. The perilous nature of our workplace tête-à-tête heightened the excitement, and with the pleasure of full skin-to-skin contact and the stimulation of my g-spot from the angle, it wasn’t long before I told him I was going to cum on his cock. The announcement sent him over the edge and again, we came together. Whatever he looked like, whatever his ultimate nature, I thought, it was eminently clear to me that I loved fucking this man.
I jumped off the table then, and quickly dressed. I had a meeting in ten minutes, and I’d cut it a bit fine.
“I’ll *see* you on Friday.” I announced, emphasizing the word, “see”.
Then I slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind me without a backwards glance.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/isjjqc/bunny_meet_bear_mfromantic