Note: This story was inspired by The Brothers Grimm, Thomas Hardy and Bill Willingham, though I don't doubt they would all be horrified to know it. This contains a kink not normally found in my stories. Suffice it to say, this is an erotic tale and there are only the two characters. This is heading exactly where it appears to be heading from the introduction, so if that is going to creep you out, stop reading before you get to that point. For the rest of you degenerates, I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it Comments are welcomed.

Baby lumbered down the stairs to the kitchen wearing only a pair of trousers held up by suspenders. It was at breakfast that he missed his parents the most. Before they moved to a condo in Arizona to escape the harsh forest winters, Baby always awoke to the smell of porridge. While he had often complained that it was too hot, looking back, everything Mama Bear cooked seemed just right.

But the price of independence was making his own breakfast. He was, after all, a big bear despite his unfortunately juvenile name. He put the water on to boil. He hummed an old bear song and scratched himself. It was spring, he realized, noticing his morning wood still hadn't receded. He really ought to start thinking about finding himself a mate, he told himself. She-bears could be so demanding, though. He sighed and wondered if it was worth the bother. What he really wanted was someone to make him porridge and that was a rare she-bear indeed.

The water came to a boil and Baby added the porridge. He tried to add it slowly, stirring constantly, but as always it came out much lumpier than Mama's. He poured it into a bowl-Papa Bear's as a mater of fact, since Baby was far from being a little bear. The porridge was too hot to eat, but Baby Bear had a solution for that. He pulled the old brown jug off the top shelf. Before he had migrated, Papa taught Baby the ancient Bear family secret: how to mix honey and berry juice with mash, ferment it, distill it, and make a liquor that could knock that would knock a 500 pound grizzly on his ass.

Baby poured in a generous portion and stirred it into the hot porridge. The aroma filled the kitchen and Baby growled appreciatively. It would more than make up for any lumps.

He knew he should wait for a good ten minutes, but it smelled so damned good that he couldn't resist. He took a tiny spoonful and cautiously put it in his mouth.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, spitting out the scalding porridge and then panting with his burnt tongue out. He eyed the brown jug and grabbed it. He took a swig to cool his tongue. The alcohol burned even more. He squealed between clenched jaws but swallowed. The blessed liquor worked its wonders and took the edge off the pain. Baby sighed, then glared reproachfully at his porridge. It was the fourth time this month he'd been burned and he was seriously considering muesli. He poured an extra helping from the brown jug into the hot mush. He figured he deserved it.

He impatiently stalked about the cottage, waiting for his porridge to cool. It was only then that he realized, underneath his growling stomach, he had other biological needs vying for his attention. He stared skeptically at the bathroom. Mama had thought indoor plumbing was the best thing since huckleberries. Baby couldn't deny it was convenient. But, damnit, he was a bear! There were some things that should go without saying. He headed out into the woods.

Goldie was licking out the bowl when she heard the door open.

"What the fuck?" said an ursine voice.

Goldie dropped the bowl with a clatter and screwed up her face to see who had caught her. It was a big brown bear wearing pants and suspenders. He was quite a bit bigger than when she had last seen him, but even through the fog of liquor he was unmistakable.

"Hey there, Baby Bear!" she slurred. "I was juss helpin' myself to some <hip> porridge. An' iss jussss right!"

She giggled and snorted drunkenly.

"Damn it, Goldie! That was my breakfast!" the bear exclaimed.