Geoff and Chet Ch. 17

Chapter 17 Working out with Reg

Chet's POV

Author's note: Author's note: All characters are over 18. All persons, places and events are fictional. Comments are always welcome. Copyright, 2023, All rights reserved. This chapter contains references to racist anger exhibited by a descendant of slaves, including harsh language and threats of non-consensual sex. They should not be taken as the views of the author, but are just part of the story. If these matters bother you, I suggest you skip the chapter. BD

Reg had texted his interest in working out together and, for some reason, I didn't tell Geoff I was meeting a new teammate for a gym session. I just responded that we should meet in the lobby of my building at 7:00 a.m. "The guard will telephone me when you arrive or you can TXT me. Shirts and athletic shoes are required. There are locker rooms, towels, water bottles, showers and saunas. I generally don't use the sauna because the gym becomes more crowded after 9 when I finish up, but you are welcome to use it. The patrons, at least after 8, tend to be 60+, but they stay out of the way of those engaged in serious workouts."

Reg was prompt and sat under the watchful eye of the concierge until I came down to guide him to the gym. Even in liberal Houston in 2020, there is residual, latent prejudice. He was obviously a young black stud and therefore a potential threat. I was not sure about this building—and thinking back about it, I probably should have mentioned that I was going to host a black teammate at the gym before he arrived. It was unusual enough that the concierge might make an offhand comment to Geoff, particularly since the manager seemed put out by my living in the condo at all. I don't think I had seen anyone of color, other than an octogenarian Latino, in the gym so far. A young Afro would be a curiosity—at best. He was dressed for a workout, not a show, this time: lightweight heather grey cut-off sweats and a Rice logo t-shirt in bright yellow with a large black screened owl on the front. However, he sported $500 Nike shoes in neon green. This morning was definitely going to be a voyage of discovery for both of us.

The guard called within minutes of Geoff's departure for med school. We took the stairs down to the gym which was empty. "Except for spotting, I pretty much work alone. I try to put myself in a zone. Make yourself at home. My routine is warm up, machines and I typically lift after about an hour. But, we can adjust. Make yourself at home."

"Incidentally, don't be surprised if you see some nudity. I had forgotten. Every other weekday for early morning, the gym goes male or female and clothing optional. Today is male-only and clothing optional day—until 10."

"I think I'll keep my shorts on for the time being. I don't want to traumatize any old codgers. They turn off the closed-circuit cameras, but over there is a panic speaker. If something happens, just shout and it will activate an alarm at the security desk."

I moved to the mats and began my stretching routine and instantly regretted that I had worn loose thin basketball-style shorts without a liner or a jock. Working out alone, these were not issues. But, anyone who paid attention would get periodic flashes of my equipment. The jury was still out on Reg's sexuality—but it certainly was strong, whichever way he swung. He was definitely a very sensual animal—probably what has become known as "metro-sexual." Thirty minutes later, my shirt was wet and clung to my carved chest. I moved to the arm machines. Reg had warmed up using the stair-master and was already several machines ahead. He too was very wet, but not significantly larger than I, although a little taller. I couldn't tell the weight he was pushing, because he carefully reset seat and weight adjustments to zero after each set and wiped the machine down. Being so tall—and black—had probably taught him this routine courtesy.

We took a water break and I had a chance to ask a little about his background. His family had lived in Texas for many years—mostly in Dallas—where his father was a minister in a large church. He had three brothers and three sisters; he was right in the middle. The family originally came to Texas from Georgia. Before the war (to a Georgia black, "war" means the Civil War), they had been slaves on a plantation near Savannah. Jim Crowe forced them to move around 1900—although Texas wasn't much better by then. He said he wasn't angry about the experience, but his facial expression suggested otherwise. I wonder if he knew that my mother's family were Savannah slave holders. And then I wondered how similar our religious backgrounds might be—black churches in Dallas were inevitably Baptist and evangelical. I was about to ask him about his boyhood experiences with a preacher dad.

Then he remarked that his skin color indicated he had had several "white masters" in his bloodline—since his family was from the darkest skinned part of East Central Africa. His mother had initiated the ancestry research years ago but ran into a stone wall a few generations back since most slave records (mostly estate inventories since slaves were property and many census records from that period) had been destroyed during Sherman's march and the following Reconstruction years. But, she did learn from DNA that they had Nubian (present day Sudanese) blood.

He had been scouted as a model in high school. He was a minor and his daddy permitted it only if he kept up high grades. I could certainly see why—he was photo-genically gorgeous with those deep purple eyes and high cheekbones that the camera loves—not to mention his ultra-cut body. Yes, several of the CK ads were his. As well as the Chanel Bleu and Versace perfume ads. All were of course extremely suggestive and with or without air-brushing, he was a god. "I still get royalties on those. Enough to keep me in Rice and equipped with the best cycle equipment. So I'm not on scholarship. Maybe the only campus black not on Rice's payroll. But, not enough to be rich. That'll come after I graduate. I need more than modeling; I need to be a celebrity, an influencer. Until then, I need to live a quiet "moral" life—or risk termination under the morals clauses. They're such hypocrites about it. They expected me to be a hermit—but I was living in an environment where everything was available. I had a rigid workout routine, a restricted die and tutors to maintain my grades. No sex, no drugs, no parties—unless of course some major store buyer or some renowned photographer wanted to dip his dick in my prime ass or have my cock in his or her cunt—with or without chemical enhancers. Then it was ok. In fact, it was an unwritten requirement of the job—even before I was 18. But, I learned to use my assets to make it. I know how to make the man very happy—even if his dick is half of mine. Ladies still fall all over me. They're all ho's. I'm going to do it again and make really big money. Just give me a year or so."

"My uncle lives in Dallas and has been my dad, much more than 'the pastor'. He's retired now although he's only 55. He was on the Dallas police force and was shot in the line of duty. He coaches at one of the big Dallas Y's. He's offered to come down here and do some personal coaching—if I make the club. I called him Tuesday night and I think he's already packing. My agent told me CK is interested in a possible cycling angle, but I need to have my legal team review the sponsorship rules for club cycling in our conference."

"I can tell you, I've done the same thing. I've had a few offers. My roommate's family has a lawyer who has been looking at those issues for me. I'll be happy to share. So far, they've told me no personal sponsorships, but with Rice approval, club sponsorship is possible. Otherewise you risk losing amateur status and would be disqualified from competing in the SCC."

"I'm not sure what that does for me."

"Yeah. I hear you. Time for the beasts—the weights and benches."

(In just a few minutes, I had formed my own impression of the talented Reg—an amoral, on-the-make, maybe grudging, beautiful predator of a man—to be watched carefully. I was curious—and a little aroused by the danger and temptation. He would be hetero, bi or gay-- or whatever he had to be to land on top of the hill with his pot of gold.)

We spent the next forty minutes lifting and spotting each other. I was secretly pleased that I pushed more than he did—but not by much. But this part of the weight session turned out to be a form of torture—not because we pushed hard, but because our loose-legged shorts showed our hanging stuff when we leaned over to spot. Of course, leaning over the bar meant pant legs drifted over faces. Fortunately, the place was empty except for us. We both started showing hardness—and neither the sweats nor the shorts hid anything. Neither had anything on under. I think our competitive instincts took over; we were both peacocks showing our stuff to a potential competitor. His dick soon was outlined in the sweats, a long horizontal tube reaching for the waistband and when he squatted, the head pushed out along his thigh and was fully exposed. Before long, both of us were red-faced, and likely not just from physical exertion. Reg was actually pretty obvious—using his thick pink tongue to swipe his lips repeatedly as he gazed up my short leg openings. More than once he brushed my dick with his long fingers and at the end of every set, he grabbed my biceps as he guarded the bar replacement. There was now no question that Reg was bi or gay (later, I learned he preferred pan-sexual)—or at least wanted me to think so, interested in me and flirting. I was flattered, or course. He was a Nubian warrior-god. I certainly wasn't immune to his teasing. But, I wasn't a fool—and fortunately I wasn't deprived of frequent sexual release thanks to two weeks with Geoff—so I wasn't abnormally horned. (Just normal 22-year-old-horned.) I was hoping to keep this light, a game, but he had other ideas.

As I finished the last set and lay on the bench, Reg released my forearms and bent far over the bar over me so that his dick dropped to within a few inches of my lips. "Shall we finish with a sauna? Or maybe a shower?" he asked. His smile suggested he was asking something else. "Maybe we could go up to your place to shower." "You want a taste of this prime meat?"

"You're welcome to use the showers and sauna, Reg. But not for me today. Just so we are on the same page. I'm not available." I ignored the other questions.

"I was just thinking it might be fun to get to know each other a little better." With that, he pulled down the front of his sweats, pushed his hips forward, and showed he was hung with an incredible set of genitals. He was truly monumental. The nearly hard black uncut dick was easily 12 inches. The hood had already rolled back revealing a deep maroon head the size of a large Georgia plum, leaking juices. It looked angry and ready to do battle. His balls hung low and were swollen, the size of lemons and his abs were tensed and deeply sculpted to perfection. He must be a porn-class grower—that stuff would never have fit in a Calvin.

As I started to stand, he moved and his dick head brushed my lips leaving them on fire. I was initially afraid to speak—he might take advantage of an open mouth. Then I mumbled, "I'm serious Reg. I'm not available."

"Does that mean you're taken—by that med school roommate? Is that how you got to live in this place?"

"It means, I'm not available. Nothing more. Nothing less. And even if I were interested, there is no way I would betray the team by screwing one of my teammates."

"Oh, you thought you were going to do the screwing? Whatever made you think that? Do you think that maybe one of your ancestral grand-pappies or great grand-uncles might be mine as well? You think one of them might've planted his seed in my great grand mammy? Hell, more than likely were cousins, kissin' cousins, maybe even fuckin' step cousins, Chet. You seem quite un-neighborly." He swiveled and pushed his bubble butt into my face. My nose was actually in his sweaty crack. "I can go either way. Whatever it takes to get what I want. I presume you like this ass. You've been staring at it for an hour. It has sold millions of briefs and boxer briefs. They told me that I single-handedly put FOTL boxers off the market for city studs. Do you want me to play submissive slave bottom for your little white dick? I'm guessing you could slip it in and I wouldn't even feel it, it's so small."

"Reg, this conversation is over. I'm sorry that I've just lost a gym buddy. I wish I could remove you from the team. But we aren't going to be in this position again. I can't trust you now. You'll find the club gym is quite adequate. You need to use it from now on. You're not welcome here."

"Well, we'll see. I'll use whatever gym I damn well please. I know you love to play the innocent captain. But you're nothing but a descendant of a slave-master. Yes, Massa, I can see the hunger in your eyes. I think it is yourself you can't trust. I've just planted the seed. Too bad you didn't let me show you how deeply I plant and how good I can be for you. I can give you the fuck of your life. You can't erase this image." He fisted his dick with both hands and waved it in front of my face. "If not you, now, then I have my ways. I think I'm going to raise up your green-eyed monster—and I don't mean your little white dick. Which team mate do you want me to seduce? I assure you, I can have anyone I want. It's just a matter of time. Maybe, I'll take on a few. Soon your desire will overcome your fear and you'll come begging for me. I'll be waiting, but next time you'll be on your knees begging to lick my dick—and my ass. And I'll fuck your puny little pink cunt so hard and so good you'll cry for more, Daddy."

"I only hope your cycling skills are as good as your ego is over-blown. See you later Reg." With that, I rose from the bench, threw a towel around my shoulder and headed for the elevator. "Next mandatory team practice is Saturday morning at Memorial."

But, he had to have the last word and as the door closed, I heard, "The only thing that's going to be overblown is my dick....by you and soon."

I rode the elevator to the vacant condo, shaking with anger. Or was it lust? What had I done to provoke this? Am I so obviously gay that someone that I met only a few hours ago thinks I can be had so easily? Is it conceivable that we're step-cousins? That dick and that body would tempt the pope. I was on fire and my thoughts were ablaze.

I showered and scrubbed with a ferocity I didn't know I had, trying to wash myself clean from the experience. But, I was still hard. Did I really know myself? Did I commit to Geoff before I even had a chance to enjoy the forbidden fruit? Did I want to play with this exotic piece of manhood called Reg?

I'm not going to tell Geoff. He won't understand. He might even blame himself for being too rough in our last love-making.

But how am I going to manage this situation with the team? And suppose Reg makes good on his threat and goes after someone else? He's done his research and he knows that I'm grooming Peter—not as lover, but as captain. Should I warn Pete? Should I warn anyone? Who can I talk to about this? I feel like a victim of rape—but he never really touched me. I wonder if psychological rape is a possibility. I doubt it. I'm just being soft. I really am a wimp sometimes. Then something occurred to me. I've gotta write all of this experience down and make sure it is identified as being written today. Let's see how the future unfolds. Perhaps I'll never need the self-serving memo. But deep down, I knew that I would. I just hope that Reg doesn't bring down the team with his ambition, his pent-up anger and his tactics. So I went into the kitchen, got out my laptop and wrote of the encounter—and sent it to myself which would date it. Then I made myself lunch—a protein shake. I didn't much feel like the team table at the jock cafeteria today.

Later that day, I got a call from the Assistant Coach and went to meet with him at the club. He explained that Nelson had resigned and was filing a formal complaint against Rice for deliberately embarrassing him in front of his peers and team—by completely usurping his authority and conducting the club trials without his assistance, let alone his supervision. However, the two assistants had decided to sit tight until the new coach was named. "We're going to rely on you to keep the team spirit up as we prepare for our first meet in San Antonio in two weeks."

Then, I explained the Amazon offer of sponsorship and told Coach Neal that it had probably not been presented to Rice. He picked up the phone and asked to speak to the Director of Athletics. A few minutes later, we walked together to the Director's office.

I described the offer. The Director listened, remarking that Rice was looking for various ways to offset the costs of the new athletic regulations. Perhaps they will agree. I'll try—and I'll be sure that they know it came through you, Chet. Good work. We appreciate your sportsmanship and your commitment to Rice. Even though cycling is not a major activity at Rice, your performance and conduct have been a great credit to this institution. It is well known. Thank you."

I left his office feeling somewhat vindicated and hopeful that I was imagining problems where none existed. I think I've earned a drink and a memorable night with Geoff.

(I could never have imagined what was happening at the same time. Reg was feeding information to his uncle Joe—and Joe instantly decided to apply for the Head Coach position.)

I headed home to wait for Geoff. It was the end of the week and we deserved some treats. I ordered Chinese including several orders of apps. They arrived before Geoff and so I put a dozen or so bites into the oven to keep warm. Then I got out a chilled bottle of our favorite French Chablis, started some smooth jazz, stripped and reclined on the sofa.

He arrived a few minutes later—looking wrung out. "Time for a quick shower. Join me?"

"I just had one."

"Doesn't matter. Getting clean is not the objective." So I walked up to him, unbuckled and dropped his shorts and fluffed up his equipment. Then I pulled the polo off and went in for the kill on his nibs. "Chet, another few seconds of this and I won't make it to the shower. I'll be showering you." Arm in arm, we stepped over his clothes and into the revitalizing shower. First hot, then cold (speaking of both water temperature and physical activity)—then really hot as I took him into my mouth. I didn't finish him however. I wanted him denied and hungry. We toweled and moved to the sofa. I handed him his wine.

"So how was your day? Actually not at all boring. Several routine classes, but we had a visiting heart surgeon who has pioneered a new technique for opening arteries with minimal invasion using the robot. We got to spend a few hours in the theatre watching him do his magic. The patient was walking two hours later! I'm so happy to be here—where cutting edge medicine lives side by side with teaching of routine stuff. And I'm so happy to be here with you."

He set his glass down, reached around my shoulders and drew me into a long hot embrace with lots of lip suction and tongue. My dick responded like he had flipped a switch and his arms dropped to my ass. He fell back on the sofa, pulling me on top as his hands went busy stimulating my cheeks and asshole. I was on him less than five minutes, and his index finger was already poking my prostate. However, he had this wonderful ability to double-task. While he continued to work me, he continued our conversation.

"I did speak to Mom--and Dad since he was home. They know you are now my roommate and they are ok with the arrangement. They more or less expected it—they know me too well. But, they thought it might take a few more weeks—they don't know me that well. We can thank Rice for the poor admissions administration. I didn't go into any details about our sleeping arrangements, but I'm sure they can imagine. Now Mom insists that you join us for Thanksgiving. Mom is texting the name of her guy at the Design Center who will do what we want here. She wants it to be our place. But of course Dad warned that my studies are first and foremost. I was able to calm him with a full description of the surgery theatre experience today."