Naivete was My Downfall

My stories are autobiographical. I have changed a name here in there to respect the privacy and rights of others.

Chapter the First: Cruising for a Bruising

It was an online service on which one could post advertisements for all manner of things: gigs for musicians, electronics and computers for sale, houses and apartments for rent and for sale, and, yes, for hook ups. A recent change in law that targets sex trafficking has led to the demise of those hook up ads. But my hook up ad led to the demise of my closeted life.

"Seeking Latino or Asian."

That was the caption of the ad I placed on the list. In the ad, I explained that I was a closeted, married, white male bottom looking for an Latino or Asian top for discreet encounters. At the time, I made no mention of marijuana, because I had never smoked weed (or ever been drunk, for that matter). I also expressly stated that I was attracted to younger men, but not looking for anyone that could not legally consent to sex.

Placing adverts on the list produced a lot of dross ... lots of responses from guys asking if I was exclusively a bottom, guys that couldn't host, etc. Eventually, though, I got an intriguing email from Carlos. He included a photo, and told me a bit about himself.

Like me, he lived in Northern Virginia. Unlike me, approaching my 50th birthday, he told me he was 19. We exchanged emails for several days. Eventually, I got that email that I'd begun hoping for.

"Hey Kyle, I've got the house all to myself until tomorrow. Would you like to come by this afternoon?"

I wrote back promptly.

"Carlos, I'd love to! I just have a couple things to clear out here at work and then I can leave. How about 3 pm?"

I worked in DC, he lived out past Tyson's Corner in Northern Virginia. If I left work around 2:30, that would work perfectly.

He wrote back immediately, gave me his home address, and asked me to park up the street from his house.

Chapter the Second: Meeting Carlos

By 2 pm, I'd gotten everything done at work that I needed to do. So I took some personal time, getting myself prepped in hopes that Carlos might be willing to fuck me. Once ready, I got in my car and headed out.

Traffic on I-66 was heavy but moving well, so I arrived in Carlos' neighborhood right on time.

"Damn," I though to myself, "Carlos' family must have some money." The homes were all modern, large, and on 1/2 acre wooded lots.

I rang the doorbell, as Carlos had instructed.

He opened the door almost immediately. He reached out and grabbed my arm and pulled me in.

"Quick, I don't want snooping eyes seeing you!"

We walked through the house and down to the large basement. At the bottom of the stairs was a nicely supplied bar, then a large open floor. On one side of the room, there was a collection of couches, and a large screen television. A Kesha music video was playing on the screen.

At the time, I didn't know Kesha from a hole in the wall.

Carlos stepped over to the bar and grabbed a couple bottles, one of vodka, the other of Sprite. I noticed shot glasses and Red Solo cups on the bar.

"Ummmmm," I said, "are you old enough to be drinking?"

Stupid question, right? I mean, I was aching inside. Aching with desire to be naked with Carlos. He was, honestly, my beaux ideal. Don't ask me why, but I am crazy attracted to Latino guys. I was born in New Mexico, my earliest playmates there were hispanic, and many of my school friends in grade school in northern Virginia were Cuban immigrants. In any event, brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, smooth brown skin. These things really cranked up my yearnings.

Carlos laughed. "My mom bought this vodka FOR me," he claimed. "And I told you, I'm 19!"

At this point, I think he decided I was feeling that things were a bit sketchy. He pulled out his wallet and flashed me his ID. Sure enough, he was 19.

"Anyway," he said, "Let's have some drinks!"

We hadn't talked about drinking, and I wasn't a drinker. Like I said before, I'd never been drunk in my life.

Carlos poured two shots and then poured Sprite into the red Solo cups.

"Bottom's up, Kyle," he chirped, and he slid the shot glass of vodka over to me.

I hesitated only a second, thinking to myself, "what the hell, just one, right?"

I followed Carlos' lead, slugging back the shot and then following with the Sprite. As I set down the red Solo cup, though, he was making his intentions plain by filling my shot glass to the brim for a second shot, then re-filling his own.

"Here's to new friends," he toasted. Our shot glasses clinked and I tossed back another vodka.

He grabbed the bottles and carried them to the couches by the television. I followed.

The Kesha video was over. He used an Xbox controller to scroll through his music library and selected another Kesha tune. He sat down next to me. The warmth of the alcohol had settled in my stomach. It robbed me of thoughts about why a handsome young man in a family of means would want to spend time with a guy literally old enough to be his dad, and one that more resembled Hank Hill than Mr. Clean.

Carlos stood up, but stood close by and poured us a third shot each. After we tossed them back, he began dancing. There was a floor to ceiling post, holding one of the ceiling joists. He leaned back against the post and ground against it. He shimmied down the post and back up it again. He kept up this very lewd, and very seductive dance until the song ended.

When he sat back down, he told me I needed to relax.

I was wearing a three piece suit. He had told me he loved a man in a suit, so I wanted to please him.

With his right hand, he reached over to me and pushed me backward on the couch.

Then he leaned in and kissed me. Just a light, almost tentative kiss, on my lips. His kiss drew a gasp from me.

"I think we're going to have a lot of fun, Kyle," he whispered, "but I won't be able to fuck you. I never fuck guys that don't smoke weed."

I didn't hesitate.

"Well, I've never smoked before, but I'm game to give it a try!"

"YASSS!" he erupted, "this will be perfect."

He got up and went to a room at the back of the basement. I learned later that it was his bedroom. He came out with a large bong, a lighter, and a baggie of weed. The bong was red-colored glass and had the word "ROOR" etched into the glass.

Carlos began packing the bowl of the bong. Once it was ready, he explained how to draw a smoke, showed me how to hold the damn thing, etc. I suggested that he show me how to do it by doing it, and he responded, "oh no, guests first!"

So it began.

He lit the bowl while I pulled my first draft of marijuana.

The coughing spasm was immediate, the tripping followed shortly after. He hit the bong. Then he passed it back to me. "Hit it again," he instructed, and he handed me his lighter too.

I sparked up and drew a long, languid draft from the bong. He followed suit.

My head was swimming.

He stood up and grabbed my hand.

"C'mon," he laughed, "let's go have a cigarette!"

I didn't smoke.

Oh, in high school, when we lived aboard base at Camp Lejeune, I'd had an occasional Marlboro when we found surplus k-rat boxes at the base dump. But until the day I met Carlos, you could have counted on one hand the number of cigarettes I'd smoked in my life.

"I don't smoke," I replied in a sadly helpless tone.

"Have one of my Newports," he came back at me. "The nicotine will really kick up the high!"

We were now out the sliding glass doors of the basement on the backside of his house. There was a picnic table. We sat and smoked and I experienced the incredible feeling of being stoned.

I remember thinking, "God I wish I'd smoked weed a LONG TIME AGO!" The feeling was incredible.

After sitting and smoking and chatting, Carlos reached over and placed his hand on my thigh.

"Would you like to get out of that suit?" he asked.

"Only if you want me to," I shot back.

He stood up and said, "let's go back inside!"

He led me in, and into that back bedroom.

Chapter the Third: Taken by Storm

Carlos directed me to his bed.

"Why don't you get comfortable, I'm going to use the bathroom real quick."

He crossed the room and walked to the other room at the back of the basement. He left the door open and I could see him pulling his cock out and taking a piss.

I removed by suit coat, my shoes, my tie. I was loosening my belt when Carlos returned. He was wearing a skin tight silky green t-shirt with gold cuffs on the sleeves and at the neck. He grabbed my right arm as I reached to unbutton my vest.

"I wanna undress you," he explained.

I relaxed and submitted to his ministrations. Off came my vest, followed by my boxer briefs, then last, my shirt.

Now I was naked.

He was fully dressed.

And then he leaned in and kissed me again. His arms encircled me, and his hands found my ass cheeks.

MMMMMMMMMM ... I hadn't expected the kissing and it was just incredible.

Unexpectedly, he slowly dropped to his knees. He took hold of my cock, which was rigid. He brought the head of my cock to his lips, and he kissed it just as he'd kissed my lips. Then, his tongue darted out and ran a circle around the circumcised head. I shivered.

He still had his arms around me, his hands on my ass. He pulled me forward, my cock sliding into his mouth. Sucking, licking, he gave me such pleasure.

"I'll be right back," he said.

He got off his knees, went out and grabbed the bong, and returned.

"Let's spark up again, before I fuck you!"

He packed the bowl again. This time he really packed the bowl, and we hit it three times each.

Chapter the Fourth: Penetration

We were both sitting on the edge of the bed, enjoying the hazy sensations of being stoned.

He reached up and put his hand on the back of my neck. Gentle pressure insisted that I prepare to adore the package waiting in his jeans. As my face neared his bulge, he said, "get me hard, baby, so I can take you pussy."

I nuzzled his crotch, then I began the hand dance of unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. His cock was still out of view in a brightly colored pair of bikini briefs. They looked amazing against his light mocha and very smooth skin. I slid forward and turned back to him, now on my knees.

I took his cock in my right hand, and drew it to my lips.

"That's it, baby, kiss it good."

Honestly, I didn't need to be encouraged. This dream was coming true right now. I kissed his cock lips. I kissed it again. I took the head into my mouth, and I ran my tongue in a rapid circle around its circumference. His cock began to rise.

As he responded, his cock, engorged with blood, began to fill my mouth, sliding snakelike along my tongue until it was making me gag. Despite the gagging, I continued, now sucking, with my lips closed and creating a tight suction along his length. Then, with tears rolling down my cheeks from the gagging, I pulled off for a moment, and apologized for the reaction.

"It's okay, baby, I liked watching you, you really want my cock, don't you?"

My inaudible mumbling couldn't be helped, I was deep down on him and not ready to come up. This was a cocksucker doing long stroke sucking on his god!

He began leaking pre-cum and I just swallowed. After a bit, I pulled off his cock and began to wash his low-hanging balls with my tongue. Then I sucked the balls, first his left, then his right, into my mouth. I continued with my oral service on them.

He reached for his cock. In his hand, it became a paddle, and he struck me on the face lightly several times.

"Are you ready, baby," he asked.

"God, yes, Carlos."

"Okay baby, get up on the bed, and kneel on the edge."

I obeyed.

He directed me to spread my knees, and then to tilt down until I had buried my face in the mattress. Meanwhile, he rubbed his cock up and down my crack. Then I felt him taking his cock in hand again, and again, like a paddle, he struck me. This time, though, he was paddling my pussy.

Whatever his intention, the effect was to inflame my lust to be taken, to be penetrated.

"Fuck me, Carlos," I pleaded. "Fuck me deep."

He stopped and reached over to his bedside table. He had lube and a box of condoms.

"Are you negative," I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "what about you?"

"I am, yes," then, hopefully, I asked, "do we have to use a condom?"

"It's up to you, baby, you're the one taking the risk."

I already knew how unpleasant the whole condomized sex act was, and from my few experiences, I knew tops enjoyed the intimacy of skin to skin contact.

"Fuck me bare, Carlos, I want your cum in my pussy."

"Okay baby, let's do it."

He put some of the lube on his cock, then some more in his hand. He began opening my pussy. First one finger, then two, and then three fingers, sawing in and out, in and out.

He paused.

"Okay baby, get ready."

His cock head rested against my pussy lips for but a moment, and then he jabbed.

OWWWWWWW! I cried out, but softly.

He wasn't gentle, but he wasn't a monster. He was horny and he wanted release.

He leaned forward, laying over my back, with his cock deep in me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck. And then he began to kiss my neck. I just melted at the touch of his lips on my neck. My cocklet leaked profusely as I surrendered my pussy and my soul to Carlos.

"Oh god," he cried out, "I'm getting ready to cum. Where do you want it?"

In answer, I reached behind myself with both arms and pulled him hard against me: "fill my pussy, baby, fill me with your hot jizz!"

He continued jabbing violently against me. BANG! BANG! BANG!

Then, he pulled back, held his position for just a second or two, and said, "Oh fucking shit" and he slammed deep into my pussy and stayed there. I could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing as he unloaded his hot baby batter into me. I reached around again, and held him tight against me, and kept holding him until I could feel his manhood shrinking out!

"Jesus God, Carlos, that was incredible!"

"Yeah," he replied, "but I think we can do better!"

[Stay Tuned for Part Two, with Carlos' confession of love, and the cracking of my heart and soul.]