Geoff and Chet Ch. 12

One particular position stands out. Chet had never even heard of the spider—which is perhaps a favorite of a back-stroker like me: I stretched him out on his back and spread-eagled his arms and extended his legs, placing the bottoms of his feet on the mattress for hip leverage. I then perched over him, using my long strong arms and legs to prop myself above him as he thrust with powerful thighs up into my ass, causing my dick to wave in the breeze—all seen live and in color in the overhead mirror. Arms and legs stuck out in all directions. And my dick stood straight and tall. It reminded me of that final scene on the barricades in Les Mis—except it was my dick, not the Tricouleur waving away. Each thrust hit the prostate from a new angle. Each plummet stretched my sheath as it had never been stretched before. Echoes of Star Trek! We definitely needed music.

Finally, my arms gave out and I collapsed into his squirming, sweaty embrace which gave new meaning to the words "deep penetration." He absolutely impaled me to his root. He grabbed my hips and held me hard to his manhood as he used his hips to scrape my love spot with his long hard dick as he continued to launch his hips from the bed. My darkness contrasted with his lighter tan on the brilliant white sheets creating a chiascuro to rival the best erotic painters. My cyclist continued to pump with enough strength to actually push his and my weight up off the mattress while my weight caused him to go deep with each downstroke. This was powerful stuff. I called out, "I'm really cumming." He grabbed my cock, held it aloft, and shot hard into me, pushing me up like a volcano. I erupted, shooting high into the air above us and sprinkling us liberally with cum—his or mine? Was he shooting through me? Or just permeating my insides with his essence? And this all meant that although I was on top, he was in control—complete control. I was still trying to dispel any dependence notions that he harbored. We'll try this one again, soon.

My God, it's good to be a horny young 20 something. I rolled off and he covered me with his warm, moist body. His head dropped down to my neck; he growled, and nipped me below the ear, leaving his mark.

A few minutes later we were ready to go again.

We got up as the sun set. Our refractory time was lengthening beyond an hour. We were both whipped. I got some wine, fruit and cheese, and we reclined on the leather sofa—he in my long arms, as we looked out into the Houston skyline with lights twinkling in the humid night. I could sure imagine many nights like this after long days of classes, labs and studying. Not as good as the ranch, but with Chet in my arms, a much better total experience. It's a paradox that he brings me down from anxiety and up from my depression. I really need this guy. It's gone beyond desire to need.

"Are you hungry? I'm sure we can find something in the fridge." "Not really, but I think we have worked out today to justify almost anything."

We made deli sandwiches, went for an evening walk in the park, and retired very early, exhausted after a long day of exertion. I think this is what a honeymoon can be at its best, but we sort of jumped the cart before the horse.

We woke Sunday with him spooning me and still semi-erect in my hole. "What the fuck?" Then, I remembered that we had awakened during the night and I had persuaded him to perform his Savannah slide. I had climaxed and fell back to sleep. He apparently had not and thus his long semi-soft snake was still buried in my burrow. When I started to move, he quickly engorged. The sleeping giant was awakening. He pulled me to him, stroked only a few times, and made a seed deposit in the Garden of Eden. The rest of the day was largely a repeat of Saturday—after Chet did a morning ride and we tried out the gym and the pool.

Late in the day, we showered and headed for our last night in the king. Somehow, the walk almost felt like one to the gallows. But dammit, this was going to be good.

We writhed into each others arms. I took him doggy style after long foreplay. I slipped in deeply, brought him to orgasm with long slow strokes and then fell on his body—stretching out to envelop and trap him. My favorite. Then, after a little while, he spooned me, pushed me on my side, spread my legs with his powerful thighs, and slipped in, southern style, with finesse and an ease which caused me to shiver. His favorite.

We showered again, made a quick dinner and then sat down to tackle the inevitable issues of our different schedules. It was impossible. He had the training and meet schedule, but not his final class schedule. My own would not be available until Tuesday. "Let's try to find a few late afternoons for workouts. I know you've got ten weekends booked before the end of the year, but that leaves about six or seven for us. Would you consider coming home with me for Thanksgiving? Keep clothes in the spare bedroom—that is officially your room when you need quiet time for study--for workouts and the occasional overnight. Store your bikes in the garage. So other "chance encounters" might occur. We can regroup after next weekend when I have my schedule." We were both going to be working essentially full time jobs. Life was intruding. I was going back to being a bachelor again and just starting on what would be my medical life. He wasn't moving in, but dammit, I was going to do my best to anchor him here.

Then, I tried to convince myself that he would move in soon—so I didn't try to insist on more. It must be on his terms. I think he was beginning to think that dorm life wasn't a necessity to team esprit—particularly since none of his teammates would be there. I was changing, I think. Perhaps a little less possessive. He in turn was becoming more aggressive as he came to terms with my wealth and the lifestyle it had brought us. And hopefully he will soon conclude that he is my partner. He's got to see that we both take and receive, the foundation of any relationship. Let's see how this works. We still don't know how the Amazon deal will work. So many unanswered questions. But I was determined to have him in my life—and I was beginning to think in terms of forever.

The next part of our lives was about to begin. The weekend had placed us on a high. But, I looked at him in our bed with a melancholy outlook, anticipating storms on the horizon—or maybe worse: nothing. Just falling apart without deliberate intention because we were preoccupied with our lives. There would be challenges, but I wasn't going to allow us to drift into something less that a completely fulfilling union—despite his obstinate independence.