Chapter Two
American Airlines flight 2546 from Mexico City to LAX takes three hours; Carlos was luxuriating in the calm quiet of the Dvorak symphony playing in his headphones while seated in Row 1, Seat B. Soon enough, he would be on the ground again in North America's second largest city, fighting traffic and checking his schedule for future travel.
Carlos' travel was not for him as routine and complicated as for some other business travelers whom he knew. He frequently flew to Latin America, where he was comfortable with the cultures, the language, and the food, and was able to visit his family several times each year.
His parents had been deported to Venezuela when Carlos was a young college student in Los Angeles; being born inside the US, he was technically a citizen, and allowed to stay. And that, as they say, has made all of the difference.
The biggest difference was in how he was first situated after the deportation of his parents: he ended up in the home of Mason Taylor and Mario Garza. Mario was his parents' attorney and offered to take in Carlos until they made other arrangements. Such arrangements had never been made, and Carlos more or less grew up in the gorgeous and famous home in Malibu on the beach.
It was in that home where he learned to surf and learned about gay sex. It was in that home where he gained an understanding of the love that can grow and abound between gay partners and how they negotiate each other, their love, their marriage, their place in the world, and their pathways through it.
It was in that home where he learned the world holds broad, bold, beautiful opportunities and options and pathways and horizons, and that he could set sail for any horizon, that he could become the master of his own destiny.
Carlos also learned about his sexual identity: surrounded by surfers, waiters, Mason's many gay friends, and Mason's gay nephew Stuart Warden, he was quickly inundated by the highly sexualized world of young gay fuckers.
At first, he was frightened and intimidated by this world; he soon succumbed to the vortex and became a major player. Together with neighborhood friends Vince and Jerry, Carlos made the rounds of gay bars, nightclubs, strip clubs, and bath houses, until the night they were accidentally caught in a bungled drug bust and ended up in the hospital.
Reminiscing on all of that, flying northwest from Mexico City, Carlos realized his fortieth birthday was soon approaching; he decided to have a party for the occasion and invite all of the former players and ne'er-do-wells. Vince and Jerry were still in the area, as were Mario and Peter, and Stuart and Raj. He would invite his daughter Diana of course, and her mother Leonora. He would also invite business acquaintances and make it a semi-marketing event for his consulting practice as an architect and engineer.
The smaller ballroom of the Loewe's Hotel in Santa Monica was the venue; Carlos enjoyed wining and dining his guests, approximately fifty, from 6 PM to 10PM, and after most of them were gone, invited a special few to the "XXX-After-Party" upstairs in the penthouse suite. There, his friend Phil Downey had arranged for six Chippendales dancers to perform; one Black, two Latino, and three white, all gym-rats with bulging muscles and equally bulging crotches.
The pounding music and pulsating lights were intoxicating as the dancers dramatically undressed each other; the crowd, mostly from the old days of the sex parties at Mason's house, were shouting and clapping. The crowd's enthusiasm encouraged the dancers to strip to the bare bones: fat cocks, goat balls, and shaved crotches were the next-to-last featured event of the night.
The last featured event was the fucking of the six by the six: with all three of the white dancers kneeling in front of the Black dancer and his two Latino friends, cocks became hard and dripping with saliva, sweat, and pre-cum.
Hard cocks were also apparent in the crowd; Phil Downey called Carlos up to the stage and began rubbing his crotch, which really needed no encouragement at all. Carlos' enviable Venezuelan cock and foreskin was soon out of his expensive Armani suit pants, and being rubbed vigorously by Phil, until Phil was replaced by the Black dancer.
The crowd had a difficult time focusing on Carlos, because the Chippendale's dancers had kicked their choreography up a notch: the white boys were getting bent over chairs by the two Latinos, and their ass-holes were about to be filled up by two hard and pulsing Latin cocks.
Phil took the place behind the third white dancer, who luckily was not able to see behind himself to measure the enormous cock on the former sheriff's deputy. Phil could have had a career in porn, with a magnificent cock like his, probably the largest one in Los Angeles County. Very likely Phil had made arrangements before-hand with the twink and made sure he was sufficiently lubed and stretched and tipped.
Carlos was relieved to see Phil step aside; he wanted to take Phil up his ass one more time, and it had been a couple of years since he and Phil had fucked, but not tonight. Tonight, he was glad to get the 9" long thin Black cock into his ass, and the crowd truly appreciated watching that. With Carlos bent over a chair, the Black dancer very un-dramatically shoved his cock into Carlos, with only a little lube and no grace.
But the fucking was very dramatic: pulling all of the way out, and then shoving it all the way back in, with the same grace-less style, the Black dancer was enjoying the fucking that Carlos was receiving, far more than Carlos. The moaning Carlos emitted was real and slightly painful. His was not an act; this was not choreographed. This was real fucking.
By this time, most of the crowd was on their feet and disrobing; Stuart and Raj were the first to lay on the sofa in a 69-position, sucking each other and fingering each other's asshole; Peter and Mario were on the opposite end of the sofa with Peter straddling Mario's lap, enjoying the Argentine cock planted firmly in his ass. Joaquin and his new husband, Miguel, were standing face to face kissing and stroking each other, and soon found a chair so that Miguel could fuck Joaquin standing, from behind. Sam and Mickey were lodged in a doggy-style pose, with Mickey humping his heart out inside of Sam, who was moaning and shouting.
The Black dancer finished inside of Carlos; Carlos soon found Phil and shoved two fingers into Phil's hole, and without permission or announcement, followed his fingers with his cock. His cock had been steadily dripping pre-cum, which Phil loved to suck on, but in his hurry to get inside of the deputy, Carlos used the pre-cum as lube. His ardor in fucking Phil was apparent, as he lasted only about five minutes: the Black guy had ignited a flame inside Carlos with the load of cum he had deposited there.
Jerry Rigby and his US Army captain (Ret.) were providing an amazing rhythm also: the Captain was pounding Jerry's ass with both of them standing, but the speed and the energy of the ass-pounding Jerry was enduring made it seem like magic. Jerry and Vince were facing each other, with hands on each other's shoulders, to keep their balance. Vince was being rimmed eagerly by the Scandinavian God he had dragged along with him to Carlos' party. The Scandinavian God, a Hollywood model as it turned out, had a magnificent cock, `Thor's Hammer' Vince bragged, but it was miniscule compared to Phil Downey.
Jerry and Vince, still old friends from the neighborhood, fell into kissing, and then the Scandinavian kissed the Captain, and the Captain fell on his knees and sucked the Hammer into his mouth, and Jerry grabbed Vince's hard cock and coated it with lube and bent over to give Vince access to Jerry's winking hole.
The Captain and the Hammer fell into some 69-sucking, fingering each other, and soon the Hammer was imbedded into the US Army Captain (Ret.), who was hollering drill instructions. Jerry came just as Vince finished inside of him; the Hammer pulled out and came on the back of the Captain. The Captain still had a load of cum to deposit somewhere, and he chose his partner Jerry, and quickly shoved his cock into the already-lubed ass-hole and came in about a minute and 45 seconds. A new Army record.
Absent the hole of Carlos to fuck, the Black dancer (Fred, by the way; he thought it was a terrible name and used "Fritz" as his stage name) shoved his still hard cock into the first Latino, who was still fucking a white boy, the one which reminded Carlos the most of the twink surfers he used to fuck with in years gone by. What was that fucker's name? Tad? Carlos could not remember, and was only slightly distracted from fucking Phil.
It was well past midnight when the crowd began to drift away; Phil and the dancers were the last to leave. Each of the six dancers gave Carlos' lovely cock some more sucking; he was nearly sore from the experience but loved the attention. He could not cum again; he had already shot four loads, first in Phil, then in Fritz, then in the twink white dancer, finally during the blow jobs at the end of the night.
Carlos awoke the next morning on the sofa of the penthouse suite; he was still naked, and still covered in cum and lube. "Great birthday party" he muttered to himself as he staggered to the shower, sniffing the rancid odor of the suite.
Three weeks later was his daughter's birthday; Diana was too old for Disneyland and too young for a new car. He decided to let her have her choice of a sleep-over with friends at the Loew's Hotel, or a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive, or a rock concert. She wanted all three of course; he said no but he knew that eventually he would give in.
Her mother, Leonora, would object, but really had no way to control Carlos: they had met in college, had fucked around some, but were never serious about each other. When Leonora announced that she was pregnant, Carlos was chagrined at first but eventually delighted that he would have a child of his own. He had never neglected Diana in any way.
While considering all that life had handed him, including the gift of a child, Carlos' cell phone rang; it was Mario, who called occasionally to check up on the orphan.
"How are you miho? Congratulations on reaching the ripe old age of forty." Mario was trying to be jovial but Carlos could hear an edge to his voice.
"I'm fine, thanks, and how are you?"
"Wonderful, enjoying retirement, sort of, Peter keeps me very busy."
Carlos waited; he knew that Mario would come out with whatever he wanted sooner or later, if Carlos simply waited for it.
Finally, "I'm wondering about something. You are forty years old now, have you thought about settling down soon?"
"What do you mean? I'm very busy with my work, I'm constantly focusing on new projects and assignments, I hardly have time for Diana." Carlos was a little defensive.
"Look, I am not your father, I am not your priest, and I am not your therapist, but I am just wondering if you have given any thought to your single status and what the future holds." Mario waited.
Then, after an uncomfortable silence, Carlos replied, "Sure. When I have a couple million in the bank, I am going to retire and live on the beach like you and Peter."
"OK. Good plan. Let me know when you reach your goal." Mario was not very good at sarcasm; it was an American cultural idiom which he had never perfected.
Carlos replied "Look, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, you of all people deserve my greatest respect, I have always loved you and Mason for what you did for me in those years when I had nowhere to turn. I truly thank you every day for that. But right now, I do not actually have a good answer for you, because frankly I have not taken the time to think about the future in the way you suggest. Maybe I should take a week off and go sit on the beach and surf and think about it."
"You are free to come out here and stay at the house and surf every day if you wish. Peter and I would love to have you; great party, by the way."
"Thanks. I will think about it."
Ending the call, Carlos knew that was exactly what he needed to do; he next called Stuart and said he needed some face time with an old friend for some advice.
When he arrived at the beach-side bungalow in Hermosa Beach where Raj and Stuart had landed after their stint working for the governor in Sacramento, Carlos was greeted with huge smiles and tight hugs. He had not been able to spend a lot of time with Stuart in recent years due to their careers, but always knew they would remain friends.
Raj had prepared a light supper of fruits and salads, which they ate on the terrace overlooking the beach. After a decent interval, Carlos launched into the worry he had suddenly been thrust into by the questions from his foster father, Mario.
"I know where my career is headed, I do not have any financial concerns, my daughter is well taken care of, and I have a plan for easing out of the practice in a few years and retiring, sort of, but what Mario asked me is way beyond all of that. I think he wants to know if I am going to get married and be partnered with someone."
"What do you want?" Stuart asked.
"That's just it, I don't have a clue." Carlos looked depressed for the first time in many years.
Raj asked "What about friends, is there anyone that you think you want to be partnered with?"
"That's part of the issue; the direct answer is no, outside of you two and Mario and Peter and Sam and Mickey, and Phil, there really is not anyone I think of in that way. I have not given that any thought or energy in years." Carlos looked to be on the verge of tears.
"You know, I guess Raj and I have been very lucky; Uncle Mason introduced us, and things just clicked for us. We have not had a perfect relationship, but we have learned how to love each other, and we have learned how to accommodate each other, so we know that we will be together forever." Stuart looked pensive, while Raj smiled his usual inscrutable smile.
"Do you want us to introduce you to some of our friends?" Raj asked.
"No, maybe, I don't know, yeah, Hell, I wish I knew what to do." Carlos had a tear in his eye; Stuart stood up and hugged him again.
"I have an idea" Raj continued. "We have a good friend, a therapist, maybe you would like to meet him. His name is Chris Martin."
"The Governor's son?"
"Yes."
"Cool. Where do I meet him? Do I go there or does he come here?"
"Hold on cowboy, let us make a call and we will arrange things. His family has a house in Palm Springs, so maybe we can drive out there with you and meet him. Let us check it out and we will call you."
Carlos drove home only partially mollified; he knew nothing about this therapist except the name, and only vaguely remembered a bit in the newspaper a long while ago about him being arrested in Reno. He was glad he had his career to keep him busy; he would be flying to Central America several times over the next month, so that would keep his mind occupied.