The Maiden Voyage

I may have mentioned, in one of the last posts of 2008, that I bought a new pair of boots shortly before we left for San Diego. I don't normally pack a lot of footwear when I travel, and I already had my hiking boots (I wore them on the flight out, to make packing easier.), so I hadn't had a chance to wear them.

There's this guy. He answered one of my craigslist ads in mid-December, saying he was "hot latin 25." By the time he answered, I wasn't free, so I told him maybe another time. A week later (i.e., a few days before Christmas), he sent another email, asking if I was available, and including a picture of his very pretty ass. I wasn't available, and I wasn't available the day after Christmas, when he asked again. But we exchanged numbers, and I texted him a few times, and we spoke once, and then the next time he was available, I was about to fly out to San Diego, and I pretty much forgot about him.


Then yesterday morning and afternoon, there were some more text messages.


10:06 am. From Mike: Latin guy in columbia here. avail?

11:52 am. From TED: Available tonight.

12:11 pm. From Mike: Off work @7. no ride though. host in elicott city?

12:13 pm. From TED: U can host in EC? I can travel.

12:14 pm. From Mike: What time earliest? b4 7?

12:15 pm. From TED: 6.30 or later.

12:16 pm. From Mike: Ok its a plan. i will text u closer in proximity 2 tha time.

12:18 pm. From TED: Ok. So I'm coming to your place?

5:07 pm. From Mike: @ work dead for hours. wanna come 2 my store. its jus me. lock doors its private.?

5:08 pm. From TED: Ok.

5:36 pm. From TED: Where is the store?

5:42 pm. From Mike: It's a slow electronics store. its legit smooth sailing.

5:44 pm. From TED: Ok. I need the address.

5:46 pm. From Mike: [Street address.] i hav a customer

At that point, I was home, so I jumped in the shower, and when I got out, I figured that it was a good time for boots. I figured this guy would want me to fuck him in the back office, and that's never easy for me to do, and the boots might help set the mood. Or at least they'd look cool.


There were a couple more text messages.

5:55 pm. From TED: I can be there about 645.

6:00 pm. From Mike: K

I was a little late getting out the door, but I drove swiftly, so when he called me at 6:45, I was almost at his location. He gave me the name of the store, I drove over and parked, and I walked in. The storefront was empty, but when I opened the door, I could hear him talking on his cell phone. It sounded like he was talking to a boss or co-worker, so I walked back towards the office. He saw me and nodded. I followed him into the back. He was short, thin, and very cute. I got behind him and started to squeeze his ass. Then I ran my hands up under his sweater and started to fondle his nipples. He motioned to me to be silent, but I'd already figured that out. I had lowered my head so that my lips were right near the back of his neck, and I could hear his manager talking to him. He reached back to fondle my crotch. He had just ended his call when we heard the door open and someone say, "Hello?"


I didn't say anything. He went out to the front, and I walked towards a closed door and found that it opened onto a bathroom. I turned the light/fan on, went in, and closed the door behind me.

This whole situation struck me as exciting, but I wasn't hard, probably because there'd been no kissing. There hadn't been any opportunity for kissing, obviously, and I was standing up, wearing jeans that weren't terribly conducive to maintaining an erection. I leaned against a wall and played with myself for a bit, and it felt good, but I was nervous. So far, it was too much like public sex, and I've never been able to do public sex. I turned off the light and fan and listened to his conversation with the customer. Finally, she said goodbye, and I heard him lock the doors.

He came back into the storage area, and suggested that we go over to the office area, where he immediately pulled out a folding chair, sat on it, and asked me to "whip it out." And I'm thinking that's not going to work for me, so I start pulling on his sweater and t-shirt, and then I kneel down and start to suck on his nipples, and he laughs and says that it tickles, and I pull him down to the floor next to me and start to take off his pants, but when I move towards his head, he tells me, "I don't get into kissing. Ever."


Ok, now, I'm willing to take most of the blame for this one. He had, it's true, said that he was an oral bottom, but while I always think that guys who say they're oral must like to kiss, I know that they often don't. And he had asked me what I liked and I'd been very specific with him in an earlier e-mail, but he'd never responded directly on that subject, and I hadn't pushed it because, well "hot latin 25" and an oral bottom. I figured there'd be some way to make it work.

So we're down on the floor, and his sweater's off, and his pants are down, and he asks me again to pull it out, so I lower my jeans and pull my cock out of my boxers, and he tells me that he wants me to make it hard before he sucks it, and I'm thinking, "Oh, dude, it just doesn't work that way." But he doesn't seem like he's being an asshole about it, so I try to find a way to make it work. Usually, kissing is the instant wood generator, and if there's no kissing, then sucking on a guy's nipples always works. And if there's no sucking on the guy's nipples, then a good mouth on my cock does the job. If there's none of the above, I have to go for some other sort of contact, so I start touching his brown, hairy (but manscaped) abdomen and crotch, and then I start idly rubbing his cock. And it's a really pretty cock. Small and brown and straight. It's not uncut, but it's still beautiful, and it never gets bigger than about five inches, so I'm already thinking that I want to suck on it. But I know he wants to suck on mine because he's saying, as I'm stroking, that it feels good, and he's getting hard, but he's also saying that he usually doesn't get hard from being stroked, and when I ask what gets him hard, he says usually it's sucking on another guy's cock. I invite him to suck on mine, but he starts to play with it instead. And we talk some more about recent sexual experiences, and I'm finally growing, and he's up on his knees now, so I've left off playing with his cock in favor of fingering his ass, and he's a little bit mesmerized by my cock, but he's still not sucking it. And then he says, "I'm just not in the mood to suck. Let's put a condom on you, and I'll sit on it."


And then he steps away to the bathroom for a minute, and I'm thinking, "This is never going to work." I'm erect, but I'm lying on the floor of the backroom of a store, and there's no kissing, no nipple sucking, and no oral stimulation of my cock, so I'm pretty sure this erection is not going to stand up to a condom, AND THE BOOTS ARE NOT HELPING. I mean, granted, I have something like a kissing fetish and a nipple fetish, and I don't have a boot fetish, but a lot of people do get erect at the sight of a pair of bad ass boots, and these boots are definitely bad ass, and I ought to be able to substitute someone else's source of instant wood for my own, right? RIGHT?

But, no. Mike comes back from the bathroom, and he's got his pants on again, and I tell him to take them down and to lie next to me, and I start playing with his cock again. I've decided to give up on getting myself off and concentrate on the cute brown body and the beautiful brown cock. He lies back and tells me that he's very frustrated because he spent two hours helping someone earlier today and then she turned around and reported him to corporate headquarters. I tell him to relax, and he tells me that what I'm doing feels good. I start to suck very lazily on the pretty cock, and he says no one ever does that to him, but he likes it, and he asks whether it's okay, and I tell him that I have a very broad definition of fun. I start to finger his ass a little, and I ask him whether he's sure that he doesn't like being rimmed, and he tells me that he can't handle anything that makes him squirm, which was why he resisted having my mouth on his nipples.


I keep sucking on him, and it's really very nice because there's never any danger of a gag reflex kicking in: he's not big enough even when I take him to the root. He tells me "either it just feels really good or I'm going to cum," but he's got low hangers, and they're still hanging low, so I don't think he's going to cum. All the same, I ease off and suck his balls for a minute. Then I very lightly kiss along his sides, in the smoother areas, being careful not to tickle him.

When I come back to his cock, it's softer again, and he says he needs his cock ring. He pulls from his pocket one of those thick rubber bands that you see around stalks of broccoli or bunches of asparagus and puts it around his cock and balls. I wonder idly how a cock ring keeps blood in without keeping blood out, but I've got a hand tweaking his nipple through the t-shirt, and he isn't complaining about that, and when I start sucking on his cock again, he tells me that it feels really great, and I'm very much enjoying the small cock and all the shades of brown.

I suck on him a little harder, and push my finger back against and then slightly inside his anus, and he gets harder again, and this time his balls do start to pull up, so I ease off for a minute, then I stroke him lightly, reminding him, when he starts to try to play with himself, that I'd told him he's not allowed. Then I repeat the process, again bringing his balls up and making him breathe hard and fast, and I ease off again. He tells me, "I almost came like five times," and I reply, "I know" and laugh. He says, "Oh, you did that on purpose?" "Maybe." I mean: duh.


Anyway, I'm having an unreasonably good time, considering what a lousy cocksucker I usually am, but I decide it's time to finish him off, so I get a little more insistent with my finger and with my mouth, and he tells me that he's going to cum, and I can see that it's approaching but not imminent, so I suck a bit more, and then I start to stroke him more aggressively while sucking the cockhead, and he gets more animated, and I pull back to watch his cock as I stroke it, and he jerks, and he starts to cum. And it's a forceful ejaculation, but without a lot of volume (small nuts, too), so I take the cockhead in my mouth to receive the next gush, and that makes him squirm, but he apparently decides not to object, and I notice that his semen has almost no flavor, and I'm very, very grateful for that. So grateful that I clean up the globs from his abdomen with my tongue, remarking (to myself mostly, but also aloud) that this is something I never do. I tell him that he has very neutral-tasting cum and a very pretty cock. He asks whether neutral cum is a good thing, and I assure him that it is.

Then I turn him on his side and spread his cheeks so that I can stare at his very pretty ass. I don't try to eat it, but I really want to, so I do check with him again that it's really something he doesn't like. He says he really can't handle it. It's clear to me that he's being honest, and he's not being a jerk about the whole thing. We chat a bit more, and he says, "You don't smoke pot, right?" I reply that I don't have any with me, but that I do smoke it when it's offered. He says that he has some at home and that if I'm willing to give him a ride, he's got a blunt that we can smoke in the car. Then he looks at me and realizes that I don't know what a blunt is, so he tells me. I'd been planning to offer him a ride home anyway, since where he lives is pretty much on my way, so I figure a little weed is just a nice side benefit.

I help him with the store closing, which only takes a few minutes, and we're on our way. It's about ten minutes to his place, and we start talking, and he tells me that he's 31, and I say, "Didn't you say you were 25?" "Yeah, I lie about my age all the time. I usually get away with it because when people find out, they say I don't look 31." "You really don't." And we talk some more, and get to his place, and he has me park just past his driveway so the lights don't come on, in front of a big pine tree, so the neighbors don't see. He goes inside, and I see him talking to an older person who, it turns out, is his father. He comes back outside and says something like, "My fucking dad," and then he starts to explain why he lives at home, and I want to tell him that I really don't care about his living arrangement. I care that he's cute and that he's pleasant and can hold up his end of the conversation, but I'm certainly not judging him because he lives at home. Then he starts to light the cigar, and just as he's taking the first hit, I get a call from EFU telling me that she's coming over to spend the night when she's done with work, and I tell her that's fine, and she says she'll be earlier than usual, and we finish the call, and he hands me the cigar and warns me that it'll be harsher than I'm used to, but tells me that it's really good stuff. I think he says that it's "sixty dollars an eighth," but it's possible that he said, "eighty dollars a sixth," but since they come to the same unit price, I can't bother remembering exactly.

And, wow. Harsh. But I do my best not to cough too much, and we each take a few hits, and talk a bit more. And then he puts it out and says, "It's going to hit you like a ton of bricks. Are you okay to drive?" And I feel pretty much the same as I always feel, so I say, "Sure," and he says goodnight. Oh. I had thought we were going to sit and talk for a while, but I realize that this isn't a guy with a very long attention span, and he asks me to stay in touch, so I say I will. I mean, I'm not sure I'm up for the same thing again, but I might be able to get him home sometime, and then he'd probably go down on me, and I'd fuck him, and that'd be cool. Or at least I might get some weed out of it.

So I start to drive home, following the directions he gave me, and I'm about a mile down the road, and whoa. Ton of bricks. Nothing at all like the one other time when I had to drive after smoking part of a joint, and I had no impairment at all, just a terrific sense of well being. And it's very cosmic, but my immediate thought is, "It would be a good idea not to be driving right now," and I see a familiar supermarket, so I pull into the parking lot. It's mostly empty, and I move to the back and turn off the car. And there are a few more text messages, which are reproduced exactly below.

8:18 pm. From TED: Whoaaa. This is some strong shit.

8:58 pm. From TED: How long before I can drive?

9:00 pm. From Mike: Ur still here?

9:04 pm. From TED: don't worry about discreet. I mad it to [street name]. Just wondering when I'll come dowm enough 2 drive.

9:05 pm. From Mike: 2o min more. eat something.

9:07 pm. From TED: Ok. Already got some chips. Thanks again.


In the interest of anthropology, I'm going to reproduce here some notes I scribbled down last evening, when it became clear that I'd be sitting in the parking lot for more than a few minutes. I do not have the patience or intestinal fortitude to note all the errors with a sic, but rest assured that I am aware of them and feel them more keenly than you ever could. And I'm sorry that some of it is boring, but, hey, I was stoned. I mean really stoned. There were times when I felt like the ton of bricks was sitting on me and other times when I felt like I was the ton of bricks and a number of times when I felt like I could lift the ton of bricks and fly away with them.

Note: in the entries below explanations in braces {} were written while I was composing this blog post. All parentheticals () and items in brackets [] are as I wrote them; i.e., they were written in parentheses or brackets last night.

{An attempted timeline, written beginning at 9:15 last night.}

8:08 Call from EFU {I checked my received calls list before I wrote that.}
8:09 - 8:12 puff, cough, puff, cough, puff, cough, cough, cough.

{8:15 Pull into grocery store parking lot.}

8:20 - 28 grocery store, parking lot {The trip into the grocery store was surreal, mostly because I had trouble focusing on the items that I wanted to get, but then I wanted a cold Diet Coke to drink, and the refrigerator was in the lane of someone who was just finishing with the customer ahead of me, so I went through her lane instead of a self-checkout lane. She saw my peanut butter and chocolate cookies and went into a long spiel about some sort of dark chocolate and pistachio toffee product, and I'm pretty sure that she implied that they gave her some sort of sexual pleasure and that she has some pretty serious boundary issues, but it's hard to be sure when you're stoned.}

8:30 check time (still in parking lot)
8:38 check time (still in parking lot)
9:00 check time (still in parking lot)
9:05 check time (still in parking lot)
9:05 Flashes of coherence
9:10 Take notes
9:10 - 9:25 Take notes off and on

{Additional notes from last night. Written at the time indicated in the note.}

9:38. It is not instructive to make oneself recite The Gettysburg Address if one has never committed The Gettysburg Address to memory.

9:56. It starts to feel not entirely like a tragedy. More like a comedic tragedy. Perhaps it will soon feel like a tragic comedy. Someday, this will all seem funny.

10:01. This is all Raphael's fault. {I'd corresponded and talked on the phone with Raphael a number of time since I'd given him those four anal orgasms in one night. I'd mentioned, on Sunday, playing Tuesday, and he'd said he'd have to get back to me, and then we got into what I wanted to do to him, and he seemed very interested, but he didn't answer my text message on Monday or my email on Tuesday. I guess I have to write him off. Pity.}


10:02. It appears that Mike's estimate was a bit inexact and/or off.

10:04. I honestly have no idea whether or not this would be fun if I weren't stuck in a parking lot.

Almost certainly it would be if I were in bed with a cute guy. Otherwise, who knows?

I am pretty sure that the 6" Subway, the bag of Hint-of-Lime tostitos, and the container of chocolate peanut butter cookies I ate tonight more than offset any benefits derived from my light lunch.

Songs gioing through my head as I crunched and crunched my Tostitos. "I'm Mister Heat Miser," "Take a Chance on Me," and some ballad that was stuck in my head only until I remembered that "Heat Miser" had been stuck in my head earlier. Then Heat Miser battled with the ballad, which started to melt in his clutch. He's too much.

10:13. I'm feeling a little bit inspired. As if I'm seeing connections when I wouldn't have seen them w/o the 420. I'm not sure that the inspiration is worth the inconvenience/self-chastisement. But it (the 420-inspired inspiration) would be worth it if I weren't stuck in a parking lot.
10:17. Of course this would be worth it if I were home, w/ or w/o a cute guy to play with. (Duh.)
(Duh.) Must explore safe avenues of inspiration. See about purchasing a voice recorder. And some Whip-its.

10:23. Would my inhibitions weaken only more than 2 hrs after smoking? Would my inhibition weaken more quickly than my coordination and sobriety return?
In other words {I had a Miss Adelaide moment as I was writing this sentence. Hire a lawyer and sue me.), if my inhibition is 50% reduced and my sobriety/coordination is only 40% off will I make a mistake and drive too soon? Clearly, I am not drunk; still, I am impaired.

How long shall I wait. It's already been an hour longer than Mike said.

How can I tell for certain whether my coordination is improving? Handwriting (penmanship)? Number of miswritten characters? Do I even know how many typo equivalents I make when I'm writing in script and I'm fully unimpaired? I don't think I have a reliable baseline.

10:29. The parking lot continues to grow emptier. This would all be very pleasantly reflective if I didn't have EFU waiting at hom, or, at least, I didn't have to worry about getting home before b&c. (But we all operate under constraints. I was going to make a math joke, but I can't remember whether LaPlace or Lagrange is the guy who worked that out.)


10:40. Short test drive around the parking lot. I feel that this is one of those better-safe-than-sorry situations, but I'm pretty sure there has been a significant increase in my level of coordination.
Wonder about driving the 3-4 miles to Clarksville and going to the bank and McDonald's. Maybe I'll see the cute Asian whom EFU says must be gay.
Maybe another quarter hour or so. I'm not really hungry right now anyway, though I suppose that might be due to the chips, cookies, and sub rather than any abatement of the munchies.
[note to self]NTS: The Abatement of the Munchies would be a good title for a horror movie. Send e-mail to Jonathan Demme in the morning. {Damn. Stop Making Sense was released in 1984. I am old.}
10:46. Penmanship declining again. Might be fatigue (i.e., from so much writing by hand compared to what I'm used to) rather than mental impairment. Hard to say.

10:48. I'm not sure taking notes is helpful, but it couldn't hurt, right? NTS: have chicken soup when you get home.

10:50. I'm not really waiting for my sobriety to be greater than my inhibition. I'm waiting for "What if something terrible happens?" to grow weaker or at least quieter than "Nothing bad is going to happen.") Soon, I hope.

10:53. Soon it will have been 3 hours since I took the hit. I can wait until the 3-hourmark. If I do, it may mean passing up McDonald's, but is a burger really worth putting myself at risk. This is a harder question than you might think, and the addition of a large order of fries might just tip the balance. [Hopefully, I've shamed myself into waiting another 15 minutes.]
I sort of feel like I could read Don Quixote {I am currently reading Don Quixote, so that wasn't some random, drug-induced reference.} right now and still retain some of what I'm reading tomorrow. [Issues w/ verb tense.]

10:57. Even w/ the pit stop in Subway, those three 20-oz. Diet Cokes are beginning to catch up with me.

10:58. I feel that the noteworthiness of my entries recedes w/o a corresponding reduction in impairment.

God. I'm getting all self-referential and introspective. Marijuana Sucks! [NTS: this is a joke. Please do not pass up future opportunities to smoke weed. It doesn't inspire as much looking inward as outward. Also, it's hella fun. {Yes, I really did forget to close that bracket. I noticed the failure about two minutes after I wrote that entry. I was very upset.}

11:03. If I wait another five minutes, I can say in my journal (i.e., here) that I waited another five minutes. Perhaps pissing my pants is a small price to pay for such assurance. NTE: This last sentence was not meant to imply that I wet myself. I have not. I mean only to imply that the need for urination grows stronger -- and, frankly, it's a shame that none of the guys who want to do ws with me are here right now -- not that it overpowered me. I imagine that in the logical light of morning this explanation will seem unnecessary, but right now it seems important. also, if were to wet myself, I would surely not tell you. Please don't make me explain how that last sentence doesn't imply....

11:09. Time to try.

11:22. Tragedy strikes. cute Asian Guy has been replaced by Plain Latin woman. Struggle to carry on in vain belief that the situation might be temporary. Engage in bootless attempt to drown sorrows in double quarter-pounder. W/ cheese.

11:25. Recent use of illegal substances is no excuse for failing to say, "No onions."


Anyway, at that point I no longer had any trouble with coordination or concentration, and since driving home didn't involve any sort of philosophical decision making, I was fine. I made it home, took a very long and relieving piss, and called EFU, who said that she'd been delayed but was still coming over. I chatted for a while with b&c, but he went to bed soon. I had some laundry to start, so I stayed up. When EFU came in, I told her what had happened, and she thought it was extremely amusing. She also warned me about a few things, but they were all things I'd sort of figured out from having to spend three hours in a parking lot.

I think I'll take a few days to figure out whether I should contact Mike again. He seemed genuine about wanting me to keep in touch, but I should probably wait for him to contact me again and hope that he doesn't. Then again, I might be able to get him to sell me an eighth (or a sixth, or whatever) at a modest mark up. I don't really know how much that is, but I reckon it'd enough to last me a long time.

I don't suppose I can reasonably hold the boots responsible for last night's activities. Besides, I really did have a fun time with Mike last night, though it was fun largely because it's something I do so rarely. I have no interest in or intention of becoming a guy who goes in search of younger cock to suck on. (As I was driving him home last night, I told him that I don't usually bother with guys under forty. "Me neither," he said.) Even nice ones like his. I think it might be a while before I take those boots out of the closet again. Besides, I have a pair of Army boots that still haven't gone out for a test drive. Surely they'll bring me better topside luck.