My friends and I were spending a week down in Mexico, at a little place called “La Bufadora” (Spanish for ‘The Blowhole’ Or ‘The Buffalo Snort.’ Translations were ever really clear.) It was named after a curious feature of the coastal cliffs. A sea cave had formed in such a way, and at such an angle, that air was trapped in the cave by wave action. The force of the waves would compress the air, causing it to blow back out of the cave with considerable force and noise. Otherwise, the town defined “Sleepy coastal Mexican village.” Forty or fifty homes, a combination Bodega and Cantina about twenty miles south of Ensenada on the Baja California peninsula. The group of us were SCUBA divers, and we liked the uncrowded beaches and unspoiled diving conditions. This was a pretty cheap vacation for us in terms of food, as well. It wasn’t unusual for us to bring up a large bag full of Spiny lobsters, abalone, and rock scallops larger than a grown man’s outspread hand.

We would boil the lobsters over a driftwood fire, Pound the abalone flat and thin on a beach rock, then grill the steaks with a bit of butter. The scallops adductor muscles (The big muscle that holds the shell closed, what most folks think of when they hear ‘scallop’, ) were larger than a pack of playing cards, and could be almost the size of a grown man’s fist. One was a decent meal. Just scrape them from the shell, clean off the guts, add a squeeze of lemon juice and a dollop of either horseradish or a splash of local hot sauce. Delicious, and no cooking needed. (Also some of the freshest sushi you’ve ever heard of, but this was before sushi was popular.)

Our major expenses were air for our tanks and alcohol. There was a nice dive shop at the Ensenada Marina to take care of the first need, and a block up the street was the world-infamous Hussong’s Cantina to service the other.

How to explain Hussong’s to someone who’s never been there? Hussong’s is THE quintessential Dive Bar. Not A dive bar, THE Dive Bar. Books have been written about what goes on in Hussong’s. None even come close to the reality. Walking in, it’s pretty unassuming. There are a few rickety wooden tables and chairs, (the better to break impressively when used as weapons, but that’s rare.) Sawdust on the floor, (where that comes from nobody knows, there’s not a lot of forestry going on in Baja, ) to soak up spilled drinks, and ... other fluids. A huge, thick wooden bar well over a hundred years old. Against stereotype, it’s not dark and dingy. No, it’s brightly lit and dingy. Painted white with light green trim. And some of the weirdest shit on earth happens in there. A legless man on a cart with a car battery and rheostat circulates, offering to shock anyone as much as they can stand for a dollar or so. It is left as an exercise for the student to determine why this would be a good idea, but he seemed to make a good living. At least by disabled Baja standards.

I have seen, with my own eyes, a 400 pound man walk in playing a tuba while wearing a Santa suit in the middle of July. Not a head turned. It wasn’t anywhere near weird enough to even register. I might have missed it myself if I hadn’t been seated facing the door.

I have acquaintances who insist that their children were conceived in unlikely places within those walls.

What Hussong’s is mostly, though, is a place for Really Serious Drinking. I am fully convinced that if a Zeta Reticulan were to park it’s saucer on Revolucion Ave., ambulate into the bar on all seven of its pseudopods, lay down just about anything negotiable (including raw gold, I’ve seen drinks paid for that way there, ) and ask for a jar of smoldering bituminous coal as an afternoon pick-me-up, the bartender might ask what sulfur content the customer would prefer, but would otherwise promptly and cheerfully fulfill the request.

There were four of us on this trip. My best friends Brady and Hector, Mike and myself. We’d had a couple of good dives that morning, had our fresh seafood feast, and were making our daily air-run into town. We had the tanks filled and decided to get a drink or two over at Hussong’s. Hey, the law is the law!

We started with beers and tequila shots. Three or four of those, each, and we had a nice buzz going. What none of us considered was that Brady, Mike, and I were all over six feet tall, weighing in at between two hundred and two hundred forty pounds. Hector was around five foot four, if he was thinking tall thoughts, and weighed in at one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet with rocks in his pockets. This was a problem in that he’d been keeping up with us drink for drink, and he was the designated driver.

In our condition it seemed like a fine idea when somebody, (it may have been me, ) suggested switching over to shots of Mezcal. Mezcal is Big Bad Booze. It’s made of the same cactus as Tequila, but apparently a somewhat different process. Everything you’ve ever heard about Tequila? Double or triple it for Mezcal. As one of the final, quality assurance steps in the manufacturing process a worm (actually a hairless caterpillar, ) is dropped into the full bottle. It’s apparently important that the worm be straight, since it shows that the liquor is so strong that the worm died before it had a chance to curl up. And people drink this stuff. Deliberately. Voluntarily. Further, if you get the last shot in the bottle, you’re supposed to eat the worm. This has been known to have psychoactive effects. (NOT kidding!)

We killed the bottle. Hector got, and ate the worm.

By now, none of us are feeling any pain whatsoever. The four of us staggered back to our car, and headed back to our campsite. (Yes. I know, I know. What can I say? Drunks aren’t famous for good judgment.)

Everything went pretty well, until we were about a half-mile from the campsite. Hector suddenly screamed, pointed out the windshield, and shouted “POTHOLE!”

We all looked. I definitely saw a pothole in front of us. About four feet wide and two feet across, maybe a foot deep, gravel and dirt bottom. Vertical sidewalls. A real car-killer. Mike was driving. He swerved, but not enough to avoid the hole. There was a horrible BANG! And the car immediately pulled to the left, and there was a loud scraping noise from the front left corner, and the ‘flap-flap’ noise of a truly flat tire. Mike pulled the car to the side of the very dark road, and turned on the flashers for safety. Being the good divers that we were, we always had some powerful waterproof flashlights around, so we piled out of the car, and stood around examining the front left wheel. There was a large, sharp-cornered dent in the rim. No way was it ever holding air again.

Mike and Brady wanted to fix the tire. I could see that it was pointless. While there was a full moon out, it was dark. This road was probably over fifteen miles from the closest thing that could charitably be called a street light. We were terribly drunk, and the campsite and our beds were less than a half mile away. Closer if we cut across a hundred yards of baja desert scrub.

Hector and I started out, Mike and Brady stayed at the car and said that they would meet us at the camp later.

Hector and I were leaning on each other as we staggered our way across the scrub. About halfway there, he stopped and turned to me.

“Norm?” He said, “You like guys. Right?”

I just looked at him, there in the moonlight. I didn’t answer. I just looked at him and waited.

He looked nervous. It was an awkward conversation, but that conversation usually is. He continued, “You ... You like taking guys to bed. Right?”

What the hell. This was one of my best friends in the world. I loved him like a brother. We’d been through so much together. The least I could give him was a little honesty. “I’m not real public about it, but yeah, I do,” I answered.

He sighed, and looked hurt. Ah, hell. I’d fucked everything up.

“So ... So why haven’t you come on to me?” he asked.

So many answers went through my head. He’d been my friend and confidant for years. Like I said earlier: I loved him like a brother. I had to fight myself every day to keep from coming on to him. I didn’t want to jeopardize what we had by mucking it up with unwanted sexual advances. And what would he think of me afterward. And on and on...

Then I heard him say, “I’ve wanted you to. I’ve wanted you to take me to bed for years. Am I just not your type?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful. I just always thought that you were out of my league, or wouldn’t be interested. I’ve wanted you for years. You’re exactly my type.”

We stopped there on the trail back to camp. We turned to each other. Our arms went around each other. I lifted his face to mine, and there on that dusty track, we shared our first kiss. I’d kissed any number of boys and men before, but it was never anything like this. Our lips tingled electrically at the contact. Our tongues wrestled wetly. We sent each other years of unspoken and suppressed passion. We both accepted what the other sent, and returned it joyously.

An unknown time later, it felt like hours, but had probably only been minutes, we separated enough to walk, hand-in-hand, back to the otherwise deserted campsite. We stepped together into my tent. The furnishings were really pretty spartan. A pile of drying SCUBA gear, a few five-gallon jugs of drinking water, (There was no running water at the camp, and you wouldn’t want to drink it if there was.) a cooler doing double duty as a bench, and my air mattress, queen-sized and covered with my sleeping bag and a few blankets. It wasn’t much, but for us, for now, it was enough.

We stood there and kissed some more. Truly enjoying ourselves now that we had some minimal privacy. After a few minutes, Hector started to work on my shirt buttons, opening one, spreading my shirt open, and kissing the newly-exposed flesh beneath. He was down on his knees when he opened the last button, leaned in and licked my belly button. I was hard as stone. He opened my shoets and pulled thm and my briefs down, allowing me to step out of them. He wrapped his hand around my member and gave a few playful strokes.

I lifted Hector to his feet and returned the favor. I pulled his polo-style shirt over his head and kissed the side of his neck, just below the ear, and kissed my way down, nibbling a bit as I went. He liked when I lightly bit his collar bones and truly loved when I worshiped his nipples. I stroked, sucked, kissed and nibbled his little nubs, and got some cute little moans out of him for my troubles. I grinned around his nipple, then continued my journey southward. I kissed and nibbled the sides of his abdomen, just where the rib cage ends at the ‘tickle spots’ and got some wonderfully cute reactions from him over that. I went in and gave his belly button a very nice french kiss.

I dropped his pants to the floor and his hardness sprang out at me. I leaned back a bit just to appreciate the view for a moment. The full moon’s light penetrated the cloth of the tent just enough to provide a dim, sourceless light. Hector’s nearly hairless caramel skin glowed under that light, making him look like a Roman statue brought to life. His seven and a half inch dick looked huge against his slim frame, and I just had to taste that delicious treat.

I leaned in, reaching around to grab and caress the firm globes of his ass, and turning him toward me and pulling him in. I licked up the sides of his cock. As I licked the head of that beautiful instrument, I tasted the salty sweetness of his pre-cum for the first time. One taste and I was hooked. It set me off, and before I knew it, I had the first half of his cock in my mouth, and I was heading for more. I sucked him in and out of my mouth, going a bit deeper each time, until I felt his head knocking at the opening of my throat. He was guiding my head with his hands and moaning in pleasure. I was making my own little ‘bitch in heat’ grunts around his cock. Time to go in for the big one! I breathed through my nose and swallowed him down until I felt his pubes tickle my nose and I had him all the way down my throat. I love giving a deep-throat blow job, particularly to a slim dick like his. I continued the swallowing action, massaging his cock, until I felt him stiffen and swell. I knew what that meant, and I knew that I wouldn’t get my tasty treat if I kept him in my throat. (Well, I’d get it, it just wouldn’t be tasty. Can’t have that!) I pulled out but kept him in my mouth, pumping my head harder and increasing the suction a bit. Soon enough I felt and tasted as he filled my mouth with the most delicious load of come I’d ever tasted, I continued to suck as he continued to pump, a look of exquisite agony on his face. As he started to flag, I swallowed what was left of his spend, then cleaned up his dick with my mouth and tongue. I laid us down on the bed, one of my legs between his, and his head resting on my chest.

We lay there, enjoying the afterglow for a few moments, then he quietly said, “I didn’t know what to expect. I thought it would be good, but I had no idea! That was beyond anything I could have imagined. It was beyond words!”

“Sweetie,” I said, “we are just getting started! That was just a quick taste to knock the edge off for both of us.” I kissed and licked my way back down his body, paying special attention to all of the little erogenous zones I’d found on my last trip that way, and experimenting with a few more. I licked and sucked his dick enough to get it hard again, but I wasn’t trying to make him come this time. I kept going south to lick and suck on his balls. He really seemed to like that, at least from the sounds he was making. I turned him over and worked my way down his legs, lightly nipping at the backs of his knees. That nearly made him cum. Interesting. I’ll have to keep that in my back pocket for later, if we have a later after this. I spread his legs and worked my way back up along the insides of his thighs. He enjoyed that, particularly when I got to the top and licked on the backs of his balls and his ‘taint.’ While I did that, I started to run my fingers around his hole. Not trying to penetrate, yet, just circling around the rim and giving the sphincter a light massage. He was pretty clean, so I went in and gave his pucker a nice lick. That really got his attention.

“Do you want more of that?” I asked.

He nodded his head enthusiastically.

I continued to lick around his asshole, getting him both nicely wet and nicely relaxed. When I felt the muscle soften a bit, I pointed my tongue and entered him. I didn’t get my tongue very far up his obviously virginal ass, but I did make some progress that he obviously welcomed. He loosened a bit more and I got my tongue a little further there. I wiggled my tongue a bit and he lost control of his vocal cords, giving out a loud moan. I reached over and grabbed my handy-dandy bottle of my favorite combination suntan oil and sex lube and squirted some onto the fingers of my left hand.

Removing my tongue from his anus, I replaced it with two of my lubricated fingers. They were much firmer and penetrated muck further. Hector made a long exhale at that, but didn’t seem to be in any pain, so I wiggled them around, spreading the oil as I went. I felt around the front of his rectum until I found the lump of his prostate, and batted that around for a bit. Hector’s breathing changed to a rapid panting with a little whine on the exhale. I pulled my two fingers out, oiled them up again and replaced them with three. I kept up the play with his prostate, and Hector kept panting.