Straight Tequila Pt. 01

Author's Note - There are elements of non-consent in the story. If that type of element offends you or is problematic, please do not read.

###

As I opened the door, a sense of excitement went through me.

"Carlos! You finally made it!"

I pushed open the screen door, and grabbed his hand. Grinning with that sexy smile he always wore, Carlos grabbed my hand and, in typical fashion, pulled me forward for a quick hug.

"Of course I made it, pendejo! What, you think I don't know how to find your house anymore?"

Laughing, I stepped aside to let him in the house. "I don't know, you fucking wetback. It's been a while since you were here."

Carlos laughed and walked inside. As he passed, my eyes raked slowly over him, admiring the hot ass that his jeans showcased so well.

At 26, Carlos was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. He was Hispanic, with the typical golden Latin skin, black hair and brown eyes. He was only 5'5", which was a source of embarrassment for him, but his body was anything but embarrassing.

When he was a teenager, his father had him work hard physical labor by building houses with him and his muscular body was toned from natural work. As Carlos got older, he started working out several times a week at a gym, developing a hard, muscular and extremely defined physique. Even when he wore extra-large shirts, you could still see the muscles in his chest and arms where they stretched the fabric. His leg muscles were so big that he had to wear pants that were 2 inches too big in the waist for him, just so they would fit his thighs.

Even in the larger size pants, you couldn't miss Carlos's tight muscle ass. His body was a work of art and you can be sure that Carlos knew it. But even with his hellaciously fine physique, Carlos was very humble about it. He had worked hard to turn it into something special, but unlike many guys, he didn't think he was god's gift to the world.

Carlos and I had known each other for over ten years and were very close. We'd always been there for each other when life got tough. He knew I was gay, I knew he was straight, but we loved each other like brothers. Although I have to admit, his sexy muscular body was a turn on for me. ### I'd first met Carlos when he was 15 years old, working at one of the local grocery stores. It was early December and, believe it or not, I was ringing the bell for a Salvation Army kettle that was at the store.

Carlos was a sacker and kept going in and out of the front door as he helped people with their groceries. Even back then, he was a sassy little spitfire, flashing that gorgeous smile and talking shit to me as his humpy little body walked by. "Hey, you gonna wear your arm out ringing the bell like that!"

"I didn't know you gringos had the strength to lift a big, heavy bell."

He was so cute and sexy as he grinned and talked his trash, I couldn't get mad at him. All I did was laugh along with him after he popped off a good one.

On one trip back inside the store, he asked me my name, and I told him. Biiiiig mistake.

When he came back out, he said, "Hey Ian, you making any money?"

When I just smiled at him, he said, "Maybe if you bolillo's were as good looking as me, you'd make some." He laughed and walked on.

I found out later that "bolillo" was a Spanish slang expression for white guys. But all I did after that comment was laugh along with him. And watch his sexy, little ass bounce as he walked.

I was there at the kettle several times over the next 2 weeks and when Carlos was on duty, we'd keep up the same smartass banter.

"Hey Carlos . . . did you lose your high top shoes or are you just a short Mexican?"

"I might be short, Ian, but I'm 'big' elsewhere. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. But if you'd go on a diet, you'd lose that gut!"

And on and on like that, every time we saw each other. Even though we both talked a lot of shit, it was always a joy to be around him. His smile brightened up my day and his laugh was infectious. And, of course, watching his muscled chest push out his shirt, or his biceps bulge when he pushed a cart was very nice indeed.

On my next to last day of working the kettle, I saw Carlos come out of the store. He didn't have his usual smile and just nodded to me as he passed by. When I saw him returning a few minutes later, he looked even more dejected and I called out to him.

"Hey Carlos . . . you okay, man?"

Carlos looked directly at me with a blank stare. "Yeah."

He started to walk past me and I reached out and grabbed his upper arm. Fuck, it felt nice. He wasn't even flexing and I was barely holding half of his bicep.

"Carlos, what's wrong? And don't tell me nothing."

Carlos stopped and looked at me. I'd never seen him without a smile before and he looked like he was about to cry. For a second, I thought he was going to just walk on by without saying anything. Finally, he looked down and muttered something that I couldn't hear.

"What did you say?"

He looked back up at me and I could see his eyes tear up and his lip quiver slightly. Slowly, he spoke again.

"My father died last night."

"Oh my god! Are you all right?" It was a stupid thing to say, but I was shocked.

Tears started streaming down his face and with an angry look in his eyes, he said, "Do I LOOK like I'm alright, dumb fuck?"

"Ah hell, Carlos . . . I'm so sorry. It just took me by surprise."

He nodded and looked down again. Trying to comfort him, I said, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Carlos wiped the tears off his cheeks and was quiet. After a few seconds, he looked back up at me and said, "Can you take me out to eat? I'm sort of hungry and there isn't anyone at home."

"Sure, no problem, Carlos." I paused. "When you want to go?"

"Let's go now. My shift is almost over and I need to get the hell out of here."

"Sure. Just come back out here when you're ready."

Carlos nodded and walked slowly back into the store. Ten minutes later, he came back out and said, "You ready?" I gave a weak smile and we headed towards my car.

As we ate dinner at my favorite restaurant, Carlos shared what happened. His father, who was divorced from his mother and lived in another city, was helping a friend move when he suddenly collapsed. A heart attack probably, but no one was sure yet. What he was sure of though was that his father was definitely gone.

It was interesting listening to Carlos because many people are usually quiet when they experience the death of someone they love. But Carlos was actually more open than I'd ever seen him, sharing stories from his childhood. Some of them were really painful, as his father was an alcoholic and would get abusive towards him when he was drunk. The more Carlos talked, the more I was touched by how good and loving he really was.

You would never have guessed that about him, listening to his smart ass bantering. But obviously his demeanor hid a heart that had been hurt many times by a father he loved.

During one particularly heart wrenching story, I reached out and put my hand over his hand, wanting to let him know I cared. He didn't seem to mind because he kept right on talking. After a few more minutes, he stopped suddenly and, for the first time that day, smiled weakly at me.

"You like holding my hand, Ian?"

I was startled and immediately pulled my hand back.

"I'm sorry, Carlos. I just . . . just . . . care about you, man."

Carlos smiled a little broader and said, "Ian, don't worry, mano. I was just kidding. I don't mind." He paused a second, and then said, "After all . . . it's nice having someone care about you."

I didn't say anything for a moment, and he asked, "Don't you think so?"

I looked at Carlos straight in the eyes. "Yes, I think so. But not everyone thinks like that, Carlos."

A strange look came into Carlos's eyes. "Fuck everybody else. There ain't nothing wrong with caring, Ian."

I kept looking at Carlos and slowly put my hand back over his. "I agree, man. There's nothing wrong with caring for someone else."

We finished dinner and left the restaurant. I drove Carlos home and let him out in front of his house. It was dark and I was concerned about him being along.

"You sure you'll be okay? I don't want you being alone."

Carlos looked at me and his sexy smile slowly crept up his face. "I'll be alright, mano. Thanks for dinner."

He started to turn towards the house, when I asked, "Carlos . . . what does 'mano' mean? You've called me that twice tonight."

Turning back, Carlos looked at me and hesitated. Another smile appeared but this time it was different. It wasn't a teasing smile . . . or a sexy smile . . . or even a smartass smile. It was the smile of someone who was in pain . . . but willing to open up and let you see that they WOULD overcome it.

"It's short for 'hermano'. It means brother."

I was touched but couldn't say anything. I'm sure I had a goofy look on my face, but Carlos just smiled a little broader and said, "I mean it, Ian. You're a good man. Thanks for being there for me."

With that, he shut the door and started walking towards his house. As I watched his sexy ass walk up the sidewalk, I started grinning, and thought, "Any time, mano. Any time."

###

I followed Carlos into the living room, eyeing his hot muscle body. Yes, he was like a brother to me, but it didn't hurt that my brother was sexy as fuck. When my gay friends would meet him, they practically drooled all over him and flirted with him shamelessly. But that was all they would get to do. Because Carlos was as straight as they come.

As he sat down on the couch, I headed for the kitchen and asked, "You want something to drink?"

"Hell yeah! Give me a shot of tequila if you have some."

I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around, and raised my eyebrows.

"You sure you want that, Carlos? You know, you and tequila don't always hit if off well."

Which was a fucking understatement. Tequila was his Achilles heel. You never knew what Carlos was going to be like after drinking some. And if he drank too much, he would get so wasted that he didn't know what the hell was going on around him and would eventually pass out. When he woke up, he would rarely remember what happened. When Carlos was drunk on tequila, anything could happen. And that could be dangerous someday.

Carlos laughed and said, "Don't worry, Ian. I'll be fine. I just need a shot tonight. Actually, several shots. I WANT to get fucked up!"

I started back for the kitchen and didn't say anything. Something serious must have happened to start him drinking like this. I mean, Carlos liked to drink and party with his friends, and he could get drunk. But he never set out to purposely get drunk. Knowing him as well as I did though, I knew he'd tell me when he was ready.

I handed Carlos his shot glass and sat down with my beer in the recliner next to the couch. As I sat down, I couldn't help stealing a quick glance at his spread legs and bulging crotch.

Smiling, I asked, "So . . . to what do I owe the honor of your presence after such a long time?"

Carlos snorted. "Oh please, maricon! It hasn't been that long."

I gave him a sarcastic look. "Oh noooooooo. Not long at all. Let's see . . . it's only been . . . four months."

Carlos looked surprised and said, "Bullshit! It hasn't been that long." He paused a minute. "Has it?"

"You were here for my New Year's Eve party. And today is May 18. Think you can do the math?"

Looking a little more humble, Carlos stuttered, "Damn, Ian. I'm sorry. I didn't think it had been that long." Smiling sweetly because Carlos gave up so easily, I said, "That's okay, fuck face. I know you have responsibilities at home." I leaned back and sipped my beer.

Carlos was quiet and didn't say anything. He was staring at his glass and acted as though he didn't hear me. I sat up in the recliner and said, "Dude, did you hear me? I said don't sweat it. I know you're busy with Rosa and the boys."

Carlos still didn't say anything and I thought it was a bit weird. Quiet was not his usual style and I was getting a little uncomfortable. I set my beer down, leaned towards him and waited. He sat there frozen. Finally, I reached out and put my hand on his leg.

"Carlos . . . what's wrong?"

Slowly, Carlos put his shot glass down and hung his head. After what seemed like hours, Carlos looked at me, pain in his eyes, and said, "Rosa kicked me out."

I was stunned. I knew Carlos and Rosa had divorced two months ago. But I also knew they were trying to get back together and Carlos was still living in the house. They had 3 sons and the youngest was my godson. Rosa was a beautiful, sweet girl and doing something like that was totally out of character for her. I knew Carlos loved his boys dearly and the divorce had been hard on him.

When I found my voice, I said, "She kicked you out? Why? I thought you two were trying to work things out?"

Carlos took a deep breath and said, "We were. But she said she was tired of me coming home wasted and didn't want the boys seeing their daddy like that."

"What does she mean coming home wasted? What have you been doing?"

Carlos looked away and didn't say anything.

"Carlos . . . what have you been doing?"

Finally, Carlos looked back at me and said, "Nothing! Just going out from time to time and having fun."

I didn't say anything and kept looking at him. Carlos started getting irritated because he knew I could tell when he was lying.

"Okay! I was going out and . . . well . . . Beto, the boys, and I would get to drinking and . . . sometimes we'd have . . . too much."

I gave him a mocking look and said, "Oh, just . . . sometimes?"

Carlos rolled his eyes and turned his head away, but didn't say anything.

"Carlos, I know Rosa. Very well. She wouldn't have kicked you out just because you got drunk 'sometimes'. So don't bullshit me, mano."

Carlos stood up, tossed the tequila down his throat, and turned away from me. As I waited for him to say something, I looked down and found myself looking at his ass. I knew I shouldn't be checking him out right now, but it was damn hard not to stare. His sexy ass filled the back of his jeans and jutted out nicely, the curve starting out at the bottom of his lower back and ending at the top of his thick legs. There was no doubt that his tight, solid ass would be a great fuck for anyone that managed to get their cock between those mounds of muscle.

Slowly, Carlos turned back towards me and my eyes darted back to his face. He took a deep breath and said, "Okay, Ian. Yeah, you're right. I've been getting drunk practically every night."

He sat back down on the couch and said, "But goddammit, it's hard trying to deal with her shit! We talk and talk and she says one thing, then something else that is different from what she just said, and on and on! I get confused. After a while, I just say 'fuck it' and shut down. She can be such a bitch at times!"

I moved closer to Carlos and said, "I know, mano. I know you're hurt." I paused and then said, "Have you thought about going to see a counselor?"

Carlos threw his hands up. "We've made appointments to see one. I said I'd be willing to go. But she's cancelled the last two appointments." Angrily, he shouted, "How am we supposed to work through it when she makes it so hard?"

I sat back in the recliner. "Well, why don't you go to the counselor by yourself if she can't go?"

Carlos rolled his eyes again and said, "Fucking hell, Ian . . . what good will that do? We BOTH need to be there!" He picked up his shot glass, held it up to me, and said, "Hit me again, mano."

In spite of my misgivings, I got the bottle and poured him another. We talked some more and during that time, Carlos had several more shots. I could hear the slurring sound in his voice, telling me he was getting drunk. I decided it was time to wind it down, when I had a sudden thought.

"Carlos, where were you planning on staying tonight?"

Carlos looked over at me slowly and I knew he was in no condition to drive.

"Look mano, you just stay here with me. For as long as you want. That would be one less thing you have to hassle with."

Carlos looked at me. "Thanks, Ian." He paused and hiccupped. Finally, he said, "My stuffs . . . in the truck. Can ya . . . uhhh . . . get it?"

"Sure, man. C'mon, let's get you in your room."

Carlos struggled to stand up. I pulled him up, placed my arm around his back and under his armpit and grabbed on to his chest. His back and side muscles were so large, it was difficult for me to get a hold of him. I walked him over to one of my guest bedrooms and he sat down on the bed.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get your shit."

I got Carlos's bag out of his truck and walked back in to his bedroom. As I walked in, I said, "Here mano . . . what are you going to need for . . ." and stopped.

Carlos had fallen back on the bed. I smiled and gave a small laugh. I figured the best thing he could do would be to just sleep it off. I got a blanket out of the closet, opened it up, and started to cover him. As I looked at my passed out friend, my eyes glanced at his crotch.

The swelling I'd seen earlier was still there. I looked at Carlos's face and could hear him snoring lightly. Hesitantly, I reached out and put my hand on his jeans covered cock. I knew it was wrong but hell . . . Carlos would never know. And I knew I'd never get another chance like this anytime soon.

I squeezed his cock firmly for a few seconds and a tingling feeling coursed through me. I keep squeezing the bulge for a few moments more when suddenly, Carlos moved. My hand flew off his cock and I stepped back. But I needn't have worried. Carlos didn't wake up and was just moving in his sleep. Hurriedly, I put the cover over him, walked over to turn out the light, and then walked out and closed the door.

Out in the hall, I leaned weakly against the door. What an idiot I'd been! I loved Carlos too much as a friend to risk losing his friendship over my hormones going into overdrive. I vowed then and there to control myself so that Carlos would have a safe haven until he worked out his problems with Rosa.

But, like many vows that people take, it's easier to make than to keep. ###

After Carlos's first night, things settled down to a routine around the house. We'd both get up, him at 5 AM and me at 6 AM, get ready, and go to our jobs. Carlos worked in a petrochemical plant and I worked in a real estate office. We'd usually talk to each other once or twice a day, but I didn't bring up Rosa and the kids unless he did. Some days he would tell me what was going on and other days, he'd say nothing. Carlos seemed like his old self. But you could tell that being away from his boys, and dealing with his problems with Rosa, weighed him down.

Carlos normally got home before me. When I got home, I'd usually cook dinner or we'd send out for delivery. Sometimes, we'd go out and eat at a restaurant or fast food place. Then we'd kick back in the living room and watch TV. Sometimes it was sports, other times it was a movie, or something else.

It was nice having Carlos around the house because we got along so well. I must admit though, that there was one thing that made it difficult for me at times. Carlos was used to walking around in his home with very little on. And he continued to do that at my place.

One night during his second week, I called him to dinner. Carlos came out of his bedroom and walked to the table. I turned around from the counter and almost dropped the food. He was wearing nothing but some Calvin Klein boxer briefs and a wife beater shirt.

Carlos's muscular pecs stretched the front of the shirt and I could see his nipples protruding through the material. His chest pushed out so far, the rest of the shirt beneath it just hung there.