Initiated

Hey all this is my first story so please bear with me. It's not too explicit but it's more about the thrill that mainly guys with a cigar fetish will understand. I may write hotter stuff later based on feedback. Let me know what you think... ;)

*

Hey, my name is Doug. I am 27 years old, this is a story that happened to me when I was 20. I have blue eyes, black hair that gets curly when it's long enough but I usually have a high-and-tight, usually have a goatee on my chin and am slightly chunky but not excessively so.

I was talking online with a guy who was 40, Joe. Joe was one of the first people I talked to about my cigar fetish. At that time I had tried a few black and milds at parties, a cigarette here and there when somebody offered me one, but what I really wanted to try was real, big cigars. I would think about going into the cigar shop at the local mall but would get strangely nervous. I met Joe in an online chatroom and started frequently talking to him on private chat. Sometimes we would talk on the phone too. At some point it was brought up that he smoked cigars and I was intrigued.

Let me take a minute to describe Joe. He was 40, in really good shape for his age, he worked out and had pretty nice biceps. He had black hair that he wore in a high-and-tight too, but with some gray in his temples that, I must admit, was pretty enticing. Besides that there were no particular other signs of aging except some crows feet, no other wrinkles. He was originally from the South, and though he had worked in hospital administration in New England for years (after being in the Army into his mid 20s), still had a twinge of a southern accent. He was a real nice, interesting guy to talk to, and I loved how we could just shoot the shit and our age difference didn't matter, he didn't give me any crap for being so young, just sometimes he called me "kid" or "little buddy" in a joking way, and sometimes I called him "sir" equally jokingly, but in those occasions I secretly swooned a little in my mind and I think he knew it. He treated me like an equal, didn't demand respect but he had it. I was developing quite a crush on him.

Eventually among other pictures of himself he shared one with a cigar in his mouth, and I must have... overenthusiastically complimented it? Because he picked up on my interest and we started talking about my fetish, which he shared. He said he'd been with quite a few guys over the years with whom he had smoked a cigar while having sex. My heart felt like it skipped a beat when he said that, the thought of that was unthinkably hot to me, too good to be true. I couldn't imagine a guy doing that with me. At this point, I had been with a few guys and loved it, but the thought of bringing a cigar into the equation suddenly made me weak in the knees. All I had ever thought about it before was that I knew on the rare occasion I saw, in real life or on TV or in a picture somewhere, a guy I found attractive smoking a cigar, it increased the attraction even more. Usually a young guy, but often an older guy- in his 30s or 40s- too. Cigars seemed, to me, "right" in the mouth or hand of a 30 or 40-something man or older. A guy with some experience and authority. But a guy in his 20s smoking a cigar, there was something sort of tantalizingly out of place about it. Like he was saying, "I'm so badass I'm not waiting till I'm older to smoke this cigar". Besides authority, cigars represented power. Victory. Celebration. Masculinity. I loved them, but up until now, I explained to Joe, I had never tried them.

It just so happened that Joe had been planning a trip down to the Gulf Coast to enjoy the casinos, the beaches, and the seafood. He suggested we meet, said he always brings a box of cigars with him when he travels and he could share some with me- he would patiently show me the ropes and initiate me into the glories of cigar smoking. I was nervous. I was excited. Of course I said, sure, let's meet up, but inside I was thinking "HELL YEAH SIR!" My heart was beating fast as we discussed the plan of the day he was coming, in about a month. I marked my calendar, he said to just meet him at whatever part of the beach I wanted. I picked a landmark for him to park in the vicinity of, and we decided he would call me on his cell phone when his rental car was parking, and I could wait on a beach bench and when I got his call, I would wave and he would see me from where he was. For added identification, I would do this and be wearing a navy blue polo shirt and camo shorts. I was so excited!

The weeks passed and the day was finally here. I got off work, went home, quickly showered and shaved, careful to make sure my goatee was even, threw on my clothes and some cologne, and drove to the agreed spot on the beach. I waited on a bench, staring intently at the water's edge, practically squirming in the seat. My cell phone rang and I practically had a heart attack. He said he had just pulled up at the right spot on the beach and thought he saw me. Too nervous to turn around, I put my left arm up in the air and said "do you see me putting my hand up?" He said yeah and I hung up without saying anything else, regretting my rudeness but practically too excited to function! I had never felt this much anticipation before!

So I'm sitting on the bench and about 30 seconds later, lo and behold, none other but Joe, in the flesh at last, comes up. He has a long, smoldering stogie chomped in his mouth.

He says around the stogie, "How ya doin', Doug?" and shaking my hand firmly, continues, "here, kid, have a cigar." and before I know what's happening to me, he has pulled another big ol' cigar out of his pocket and shoved it in my mouth. I am taken aback, but intrigued. Through no choice of my own I now have a foot-long, thick cigar jutting out of my face. Actually, I found out later it was a 10 inch, 66 gauge Flor de Oliva, the same kind he had clenched in his teeth. But, damn! That's a real man's cigar!

Immediately he gets out his lighter and starts lighting the end, and I have no choice but to puff, and puff, and puff until it is lit. he grins around his stogie; the sight of me with a smoldering stogie jutting out of my mouth pleases him. I don't want to admit it to myself, but I enjoy it and could see myself getting used to it and becoming a regular cigar smoker in the future.

Who the fuck am I kidding, I fucking love it and am overjoyed he decided for me that I was going to smoke cigars!

We ride around in his car, smoking our cigars. We arrive at his hotel, and enjoy the pool, beers, and cigars.

To be continued...?