Most Canadian Erotic Story Ever?

"I'll have a double-double and some Timbits," Gord said to the server at his local Tim Hortons in Dildo, Newfoundland.

Gord was as Canadian as you could get. He had short trimmed hair and a face that looked like he could be the brother of Wayne on Letterkenny. He had a ginger beard and chest hair to match based on the undone top two buttons of his plaid shirt. He had a fit frame with a healthy amount of body fat that rounded out his Canadian tuxedo quite nicely. Despite his ginger looks and body hair, there was an ethnic je ne sais quoi about him. If a demographer saw him, they would be shocked by how closely his appearance matched Canada's 2021 long-form census. Gord somehow looked like the statistical average of the ethnic self-identification checkboxes: 30% Canadian or English, 12% Irish, 12% Scottish, but also 5% Indian, 5% Chinese, 2.5% Dutch, and 2.5% Filipino.

When his coffee was ready, Gord grabbed his double-double and his small box of Timbits. He turned around to find a seat.

He did not see that Sébastien was waiting behind him. He collided with Sébastien. His double-double spilled out. The coffee emptied itself into the open duffel bag that Sébastien was using to store his clothes.

"Sacre bleu," Sébastien said, as he saw the tan stain spread across his shirts and underwear.

"Oh shit, bud, I'm so sorry," Gord blurted out, taking in the handsome, powerful frame of the also-bearded man in plaid standing behind him.

Sébastien was in his late twenties. He had dark features, inheriting his mother's cheekbones and his father's dense beard and chest hair. He looked like a fit but hairier and regular sized version of Jason Mamoa. Sébastien was a cultural bricolage. He left his home of Saint-Louis-du-Ha!  Ha! and was dog-sledding across the Eastern coast of Canada on a trip to figure out what he wanted to do next in life -- and frankly who he was. He was Métis on his mother's side and Québécois on his father's. Sébastien's family gatherings always left him feeling torn: his mom's side was proud of their sovereign Indigenous ancestry. At the same time, his father's side were Québec separatists who wanted out of Canada's federation altogether.

Sébastien would have been much more pissed off by Gord's mistake if he were not momentarily struck by Gord's handsome features.

Gord was clearly nervous and blabbering. "I'm so sorry, Bud. I really biffed it there. But I can let you use the laundry machine at the rink where I play. I was heading there anyway and that bag looks soaked... If that's not too out of your way? Like I said, I'm so sorry."

Sébastien looked down at the bag, then back up at Gord. "You know, I actually do need to find somewhere to wash this stuff. I haven't seen any laundromats around yet. And these clothes haven't seen a laundry machine since Nova Scotia."

"Bet you could use them to attract doe in mating season -- or a buck" Gord said, grinning. "C'mon, I'll give you a lift over. You skate?"

Sébastien nodded. "A bit. Grew up on the rink. Born with skates on."

They both laughed.

Sébastien looked at Gord with a glint of curiosity. His subtle flirting was not lost on Sébastien. "So what's a guy like you doing out here in Dildo?"

Gord shrugged, "I grew up here. I'm still figuring out what comes next."

Sébastien smiled. "Then maybe we've got more in common than coffee stains and body hair."

Gord chuckled and lightly made a playful punch at Sébastien's bicep. "Let's get your clothes cleaned up, partner."

Sébastien opened the door for Gord. "Please go first."

Gord was startled, "Bud, I just poured coffee all over your clothing. Please," he tried to grab the door. It was a Canadian-stand-off.

Sébastien reached down and pushed against Gord's glutes to maneuver him through the door. He said, "Non, Je will never let un anglais tell me what to do," noticing the firm heft of Gord's ass muscles beneath his hands.

When they got outside, they realized they had a problem. A snow plough had just driven through the parking lot and created a snow mound that blocked Gord's car. Gord cursed.

"You can hop on my ride," Sébastien suggested. He gestured to his dog sled parked beside the Tim Hortons.

Soon Gord was standing in front of Sébastien on his dog sled. He held on to the sled as Sébastien said 'mush' and got cozy up behind him. Sébastien reached around Gord to hold on to the sled and stabilize them both.

"You're, uh, dog-sledding, eh?" Gord asked.

Sébastien sighed; he jokingly head-butted Gord's shoulder in mock exasperation. "My family situation is complex and I'm figuring out my stuff. I'm Métis and Québécois. My québécois side are firm separatists. My Métis family would never trust a new Québec government to be less shitty than the Canadian government." As Sébastien went on, he tried not to be distracted by Gord's firm butt cheeks bouncing in front of his manhood.

"That sounds tougher than trying to parallel park a Zamboni," Gord said. He liked feeling Sébastien's strong arms against him. He started wriggling his ass tentatively, thinking he felt Sébastien's hardness for half a second. He turned his head to look at Sébastien, their beards almost rubbing as he did so. "Well, let me know if you ever need someone to talk to."

Sébastien made eye contact and his expression softened. "You're sweet for an Anglais," he said, winking as they pulled into the town's hockey rink parking lot.

"Let me give you a tour," Gord said, gesturing around the area as they walked in.

It was a small rink, but Gord's pride and enthusiasm were cute as all hell. Sébastien had become very aware of his handsome features and the chest hair bursting out from his flannel.

"This is where the boys and I change," Gord said, leading Sébastien into the locker room with the laundry machine.

They went into a locker room that smelled of freshly cleaned clothing. There was a bench with a canoe resting on it called the "Eh-Team," and the laundry machine by the wall.

"Here we are," Gord said, opening the washing machine door for Sébastien.

"Thanks, bud," Sébastien said. He started to load his clothes into the machine.

Gord went to grab the detergent while Sébastien loaded his clothes in. When Sébastien was putting in his underwear, the smell of sweaty balls from the underwear mixed with fresh coffee started to intoxicate Gord. Gord shuffled in closer to get a better sniff, bumping into Sébastien.

"Oh, sorry, bud," he said as they jostled into each other again.

Their faces were so close.

"You know," Sébastien said, "I wouldn't mind washing all my clothes if you would let me."

Gord brightened, answering in a husky voice, "Can't say I'd complain, bud."

"Is it going to be just us in here?" Sébastien asked, feeling his cock growing in his jeans.

"I think so," Gord replied.

Sébastien decided to make a strip tease out of it. He took out his phone to play Céline Dion and began slowly taking off his toque and unbuttoning his flannel. He gyrated his hips in tune with Céline's warbling voice. He took off his first thermal undershirt slowly, revealing his base layer. It hung to his muscles and showed off his physique. Then he took off his base layer and the undershirt beneath that. He stood shirtless, showing his firm pec muscles and his patch of chest hair while still wearing his snow pants.

Gord stood up, kissing Sébastien's chest. Sébastien enjoyed the feeling before guiding Gord to sit down again as Sébastien's crotch bulged beside his face.

Sébastien's snow pants then came off, and then his jeans. His long johns highlighted his powerful leg muscles and growing groin. Gord's hands and eyes traced the outline around Sébastien's cock, his eyes widening. Sébastien kept dancing to Céline, removing his outer and base layer of long johns.

As Gord watched Sébastien's Canadian striptease, he slowly unbuttoned his plaid shirt and slipped out of his jeans. He let Sébastien take in all of his hairy glory. Gord had chosen to wear his lucky plaid jockstrap today. Clearly, it was working. Sébastien felt his hard cock through the fabric and ran his hands over Gord's hairy legs and furry ass.

Finally, Sébastien was slipping out of his briefs, revealing his girthy 8-inch cock. He put his briefs in the laundry machine and hit the start button.

"Fuck man," Gord breathed. Wanting to enjoy this the proper Canadian way, he lowered the canoe to the ground. He had Sébastien sit in the canoe seat while he threw down a towel in front of Sébastien. Gord got on his knees in the canoe. He took Sébastien's cock into his mouth.

Sébastien put his hands on both sides of the canoe and leaned back. He was muscular and fitter than he'd ever been thanks to the dog sled journey he was on. He felt Gord's blowjob seem to match the rhythm of the washing machine behind them and Céline Dion's music.

Suddenly, former Prime Minister Justin Trudeau suddenly walked into the room. He nodded solemnly as they looked up, startled. He wore socks that had Reconciliation stitched in rainbow lettering.

Trudeau spoke in a voice that sounded like he was announcing a heritage minute. "Before we celebrate our Canadian heritage of blow jobs and gay sex in canoes, we must start with a land acknowledgement. Dildo is located on the traditional land of the Beothuk and in the broader territory of the Mi'kmaq. The Beothuk were the original people of this land. We honour their memory and mourn the loss of their nation. We also recognize the Mi'kmaq as the contemporary Indigenous stewards of much of Newfoundland, including this region. The Mi'kmaq people have maintained deep spiritual, cultural, and familial relationships with this land. As Settlers on this land, we must commit to learning from Indigenous communities. We must support their sovereignty and work towards reconciliation. Reconciliation cannot happen through words alone, but through meaningful action. Like hot, consensual, and passionate man-on-man action."

"You say nice words, but do you support giving my land back?" Sébastien asked.

Justin Trudeau seemed to ignore the question as he answer, "Alright, now carry on, boys."

Trudeau departed as abruptly as he had arrived.

They looked at each other and shrugged before getting back at it. Gord's head resumed bobbing up and down over Sébastien's cock. Sébastien caressed Gord's strong shoulders. He kept getting glimpses of how Gord's plaid jockstrap accentuated his meaty ass muscles. Gord grasped the base of Sébastien's cock like a hockey stick and stroked him as he sucked. Sébastien moaned, watching this hot cub devouring his cock. His hands crept forward, trying to cup Gord's ass, his fingers reaching for his crack.

Gord moaned and made eye contact. "It might be un-Canadian, but maybe I'm not sorry I spilled my Tim's and we ended up here."

Sébastien grinned and guided Gord to stand up. They stood in the canoe, balancing as it rocked side-to-side and kissed again. Gord tasted like Tim Bits and Sébastien tasted like maple syrup.

Gord looked into Sébastien's eyes and fished a condom out of his wallet. He asked, "Can I roll down this rim on you?" Sébastien nodded.

As Gord took out a bottle of lube in his hockey bag, Sébastien stopped him.

"Not yet," Sébastien said, turning Gord around and getting on his knees to eat out his ass. Gord gasped as he felt Sébastien's tongue pushing around and into him -- like he was clearing a path for a curling puck. Gord had to bend forward and grip the canoe's sides for stability as his knees went weak.

"Oh fuck, man," Gord gasped.

Sébastien grinned. He stroked his cock, which was now dripping pre-cum. He got up and slapped it on Gord's crack, prompting Gord to moan.

Soon, after slipping on the condom, Sébastien was gently guiding his hockey stick into Gord's net. He went slowly, giving Gord time to accommodate his girth.

Gord loved feeling Sébastien's hard flagpole filling his ass, and moaned, "Oh, fuck, that is so good. Fuck!" Sébastien grinned, feeling more dominant.

"Oui? You want my thick Métis-Québécois cock fucking your tight Anglo boy-pussy?" Sébastien whispered into Gord's ear. His Québécois accent intensified as he took charge. Sébastien's hips slowly started pistonning into Gord. He had never done doggy-style in a canoe before. But he was gentle as his eight-inch hoser continued to stretch out Gord's tightness. The canoe wobbled slightly, helping them both feel every thrust, push, and pull by amplifying the force.

Gord leaned backwards, feeling the hairy patch on Sébastien's chest tickle his shoulder blades. He turned his head and their lips met again. Gord moaned into Sébastien's mouth as Sébastien continued to drill into him. Finally, it was the Settler was having a pipeline shoved through his territory.

"You like that bud -- don't you," Sébastien breathed into his ear, kissing Gord's neck. "Just another Anglo bottom who needs to get fucked by Québec?". He let his hands reach around to feel up Gord's hairy pecs and abs. He reached down and felt Gord's hard cock pushing against his jockstrap. He freed it from the fabric and lubed up his hand to start stroking Gord's hairy shaft as he fucked him from behind. Gord's cock was thick and an impressive 7 inches. Sébastien paused every so often to also play with Gord's balls.

Gord had not realized how desperately he had needed to be cocked like this. He was a down-low gay Newfoundlander. And the explicit raunchy talk and pounding in his lucky jock was unlocking a whole new level of sexual satisfaction in him.

As Canadian as it was to fuck in a canoe, they eventually did want the comfort of another position. Gord moved the towel from the bottom of the canoe to the locker room's bench. He lay on his back, exposing his hole to Sébastien.

"Missionary-style? How Anglais," Sébastien said, grinning as he pushed his throbbing meat back into Gord.

The passion of their fucking was unlocking new dreams and goals that Gord had never felt before. He led a quiet life in Dildo, Newfoundland. His life was good, but he would be willing to move to keep getting fucked by the dog-sledding stud he had just met. He could tell that Sébastien was also feeling their connection seeing the deeply tender look on his face as he fucked Gord.

"Your hole is so tight and sweet," Sébastien said, locking eyes before leaning down to lick the hairy skin around Gord's nipples. "This is better than what I imagine it feels like to win a car when you roll up the rim to win at Tim Hortons."

"Fuck, man. Can I travel with you?" Gord blurted out. Then he looked surprised. "I know we just met, but I need whatever this is. Every fucking day."

Sébastien was taken aback, but he felt it too. Fucking the descendant of the English colonizer was something that both sides of his family could get behind.   "I think we can make something work," he panted. "But I'm getting close."

"Give me your load. Please Sébastien. Give me your iced capp."

"Oh fuck oh Tabarnak," Sébastien cried, his voice warbling almost like a loon call. He felt a rush of pleasure light up his shaft like the CN Tower during Pride Month. He leaned forward to look into Gord's eye and kissed his lip while his cock poured every drop of cum he had into him. Sébastien's hand was stroking Gord's length at the same time, and he felt Gord hit a simultaneous orgasm. Sébastien felt Gord's asshole clench around his cock while the hand stroking his cock was covered in a warm stickiness. Gord's clenching asshole amplified the pleasure around his now ultra-sensitive cock.

"Sacre bleu," Sébastien gasped, and he kissed Gord passionately. He did not care that the cum covering Gord's hairy stomach and chest was now covering his own abs.

He snuggled up to Gord and they both left caution to the wind and planned what their life could look like in the future.

If reconciliation meant a good Canadian boy bottoming for a Métis-Québécois stud in a canoe -- Gord was ready to do his part.