Blake Hart
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Slut For Cabo - Part 2
🕑 Added 2025-03-16 13:51:59 +0000 UTCEveryone in this story is 18+
I headed down to the bathroom to change clothes; if I was going to check out the nightlife, I wanted to look good—something that didn’t scream “Christian good boy from Alabama.” The vodka had left me feeling light and a bit tipsy, adding to the upbeat mood buzzing through me. I took a quick shower to freshen up; it was hard to stay away from the six inches protruding from my groin, but I wanted to get going. I gave myself a few more tugs as I washed my dick and balls, then stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry off. I slipped into a pair of low-cut shorts that hugged just right.
I took a while in front of the mirror, scanning my body as I stood there. My body was lean but defined—abs visible, shoulders broad, and arms showing the results of all those years of swimming. My skin had a faint sun-kissed tone, a little warmer than usual after a couple of days on the beach. My legs were long and strong, and overall, I looked... pretty good, actually.
My hair fell naturally around my face, still slightly damp from the shower, a little messy but in an effortless way. But it was my eyes that really drew my attention—bright blue, almost startlingly clear, staring back at me with a mix of innocence and something new, something bolder. Dressed in just a pair of snug shorts, I looked different than I felt back home. Confident, maybe even a little bit daring. Like I was just starting to see myself in a whole new light.
I threw on a summer shirt, leaving my arms bare, then headed back to the minibar. Grabbing a Corona, I cracked it open and took a sip, feeling the anticipation of Cabo’s nightlife fill me with exhilaration.
The streets were alive with music and laughter, neon lights casting a colorful glow on the crowds as they spilled out of packed bars and clubs. Everywhere I looked, groups of guys in frat tanks and girls in crop tops and high-waisted shorts swayed together, shouting and cheering like they owned the night. The air was thick with the smell of sunscreen, spilled drinks, and a hint of salt from the nearby ocean.
I took a deep breath, excitement buzzing through me as I moved through the throngs of people. Fraternity guys jostled each other, lifting their beers in loud toasts, while groups of sorority girls laughed and leaned into each other, glittering under the streetlights. The vibe was electric, a kind of wild freedom that felt worlds away from anything I’d experienced back home.
Spotting a group of girls near the bar, I walked over, gathering my courage. They looked like they were in their twenties, confidently sipping cocktails and dancing to the pounding beat of the music. I flashed a grin, introducing myself and trying my best to look relaxed.
One of them looked at me, eyebrows raised, before giving me a once-over. “How old are you?” she asked, her friends smirking beside her.
“Eighteen,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Just graduated, actually.”
She gave me a pitying smile, exchanging glances with her friends. “That’s cute, but... maybe come back in a few years, kid,” she said, barely stifling a laugh.
Undeterred, I tried again with another group, only to be met with the same reaction. “You’re a baby!” one of them giggled, and another chimed in, “You’re adorable, but you look way too young for us.”
I felt my cheeks heat up, a mix of frustration and embarrassment simmering beneath my tipsy buzz. I tried to argue, “I’m not that young. I’m legal!” but they just laughed and shook their heads, telling me to enjoy the night and maybe come back when I had a few more years—and a little more stubble.
Feeling both amused and deflated, I backed away, taking in the scene around me. The crowds were thick with people my age, but there was an edge of experience I hadn’t yet grown into. Still, as I watched the frats and sororities own the night, a spark of curiosity and excitement burned in me.
I made my way to a beach bar, realizing it was becoming painfully clear that I didn’t have much experience—or luck—with girls. So, I ordered myself a shot of tequila, my very first. I tasted the lemon, then gulped it down in one shot, accidentally spilling the salt. The bartender just shook his head, smirking, but I wasn’t entirely sure why.
Just then, a new scent drifted past me, sweet and intense, almost like tobacco but richer. I glanced around the corner of the beach bar and spotted a group of frats, lounging with drinks in hand, but they weren’t smoking cigarettes. The rolled-up, thicker joints they held were unmistakable. It was weed—just like the joints I’d seen in movies with my buddies. My heart skipped a beat as I watched them openly flaunt it, part of me startled but undeniably intrigued.
Suddenly, one of them turned and looked over at me, his gaze lingering. It took me a second, but I recognized him—it was the guy I’d locked eyes with on the beach, the same one who’d kissed his friend right in front of everyone. He wore a fraternity tank top and shorts, looking like the quintessential all-American guy next door: clean-cut, handsome, with short brown hair and an athletic build. His tank top clung to his impressive pecs, hinting at more muscle than I had. He looked a bit older, maybe 20 or 21, and his light brown eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark as they met mine.
He winked at me, a sly smile on his lips. “Hey there! Want a hit of this?” he asked, holding the fat joint out to me.
The alcohol probably played a part, so without thinking much, I decided to act more mature than I really was. "Thanks, bro! Yeah. Let me have a hit.” I took the joint, pretending like I was used to this kind of thing. I brought it to my mouth and inhaled, drawing it in as deep as I could. Then, of course, I started coughing—and not just a little! My cover was definitely blown as I hacked and coughed, my face turning bright red. I felt a wave of dizziness as the world spun a bit, and the guy took the joint back, laughing his ass off.
“First time or something? Haha!”
I still felt the buzz, but decided to come clean. “Yeah, actually, it is,” I admitted, wiping my mouth.
“Oh, for real? Sorry, bro! Didn’t mean to lead you astray or anything.” He chuckled.
“No, no, I wanted to try. It’s all good,” I replied, trying to look cool—suave, or something like that.
“Okay, all good, man. I’m Jake—what’s up?” He bumped his fist toward me, and I instinctively took his fist with my hand, awkwardly wrapping it like paper over rock. What the hell is wrong with me? I thought, feeling the cringe wash over me.
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” I said, embarrassed, before reaching out for a regular handshake. “I’m Isaac.”
Jake laughed good-naturedly, gripping my hand with a firmer shake than I’d expected, moving it up and down enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you, Isaac!” His white teeth flashed in a wide grin, competing with the gleam of his piercing eyes.
Then Jake took another hit from the joint, inhaling smoothly—without coughing his guts out like I had. “Wow, you really sucked the life out of this thing,” he said, glancing at the joint, now noticeably damp with my saliva.
“Ah, crap—sorry!” I stammered, half-panicked.
He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I like it wet and sloppy.”
My mouth probably dropped like a character in a cartoon, eyes wide with shock.
