Geoff and Chet Ch. 20

********

At the end of the second week of Pete's new training regime, he was a changed boy. On Friday afternoon, we boarded the vans headed to San Antonio for the first meet of the year. He had arrived early and claimed the prime seat in one van for us. Good boy. Feelings and tension were high. We had to win. This was to be my first meet with the team as a full member, not alternate. Chet had assigned rooms and made sure that Pete and I were not roommates. Of course, I expected that. In fact, Chet chose Pete for his roommate. I got to bunk with one of the mechanics--since Janet needed a single. But, I would love to have been a fly on the wall to hear Chet and Pete talking about me into the night.

RCC won the meet, rather decisively. Chet had the best time; Pete was second; and I was third, only.5 second off Pete's time. All three of us were at the top of the ladder for all teams. This called for a celebration--after we returned to Houston. We boarded the bus for the trip back to Houston and headed home.

I picked Pete up at his dorm at 9, driving a silver BMW 500 series convertible (a courtesy rental). I was dressed in a conservative, but tight white button-up silk shirt, with several buttons undone--which of course turned it into a sexual statement. (Almost anything I wore made a sexual statement; that is just the kind of guy I am.) My light brown hairless chest sported a wide gold chain that I had not worn before in Houston, but I figured tonight was a night for some bling. I had on tight black jeans, custom made for me with some extra room on the inside right thigh where I usually hung, a thin lizard belt, and sockless black ostrich moccasins. Tonight I was dressed to impress, every bit the successful young star that I am. Hopefully, Pete was ready to be my sidekick and bask in my moonshine. He had given me a few blowjobs at this point and I had finger fucked him twice. So far, he was okay with my actions; in fact, he probably was beginning to crave them.

I put on a toothy smile as I pulled to the curb, "Hey, pardner. Hop in." As Pete slipped into the shotgun seat, I leaned over and drew him into a bro-hug. He pulled back, perhaps a little embarrassed at this PDA in front of his dorm. He also had on a button up shirt--but his was cotton. It was tight, clean and pressed. He also had tight black jeans, not torn or ripped, fitting his ass like a glove and whiskering his basket. "We're twins going clubbing, bro. You're lookin' really fine. Time to party. Are you in for a night of dancin' and lovin'? I'm lookin' to you to be my wingman." Instantly, I co-opted Pete's possible fear, maybe even feelings of inferiority, and turned them into feelings of gratitude. I was his partner. We were out for pussy. Tonight I was going to show my hetero side--and let him do the same, the one he was still most comfortable with.

Nearly an hour later (Houston traffic is tough even on Saturday nights), we pulled into the large Club Eight lot. It was nearly full. But, the place was large and there was only a short line--just an ID check and wrist stamp. Both of us were of age--Pete barely--and so we didn't need fake IDs. I was greeted like a celebrity (my agent had called ahead) and one of the bouncers immediately escorted us into the VIP lounge..

Eight was located in a large former shopping center at the edge of Houston and consisted of four large metal butler buildings set around a quadrangle with awning covered bars scattered around the central court, all surrounded by acres of parking. The large neon Eight sign at the entrance showed the numeral lying on its side (an infinity symbol or a Texas Lazy Eight?), with a large red nipple in the middle of each circle. Cute. Each building had large garage type doors opening into the courtyard with airlocks to control AC. Each was themed. One had a stage and a country-western band on weekends. There, the crowd was mostly hetero urban cowboys and their "wholesome" dates. Here boots and Texas two-step reigned. A second disco-type space seemed to be mostly gay. Over the door, a long tubular phallic symbol had been propped above and between the ovals of the horizontal Eight symbol. A spray of lights shot up from the bulbous head. Not exactly subtle. LED lights under the floor created the notion of motion, even if the floor were empty--but it wasn't, dozens of men were gyrating, swinging their hips, bumping their stuff and generally cocking it up to attract a mate-for-the-night. Some looked like they already had and were in advanced foreplay on the dance floor.

The third and largest building held an arcade with large format games--and yes, two bulls--with very loud music and louder conversations. The final building was a United Nations--heteros and gays mingled, every skin color was present, lots of singles, probably one of the largest "meet-and-greets" in Houston. The disco music was contemporary--a mix of rock, soul, heavy metal and rap. Most of the dance floor was full. And everyone looked really fine. And if they weren't having fun, they were faking it. Every hand held a plastic cup of liquid. The VIP section was behind velvet ropes on one side of this last building. It was half-full--and it was clear the outfits were expensive, designer and custom. Drinks here were in glass or crystal. Eight is one of the places that made Houston a mecca for young twenty-somethings getting started and enjoying life--and those that had already made it or were faking it. Pete's mouth turned up in a broad smile.

It felt good and exciting just walking in. And of course, I had wrapped my arm around Pete's waist and locked fingers under his waist band. We drew vultures immediately--male and female. Either my presence or his fresh meat. We got drinks and started dancing. Within an hour, Pete had danced with a dozen beautiful girls, white, brown and black--mostly semi-dressed, all inviting, and all very sexy. At one point I saw him with a Vietnamese girl. She was characteristically very small and with a very tight short dress that rode up her ass showing an orange thong when he carried her in dance as she gripped his neck with her willowy arms. He looked like he was in paradise and it wouldn't take much imagination to see him secretly dicking her as they moved. I guess that's one of his types. I had also danced a lot--with a couple of knock-out babes who immediately draped themselves on me, pushed their pussies into my hardening dick, and slipped their numbers into my back pocket. I could have had any of them right there. Probably to Pete's surprise, several of my fast dance partners were tall, muscular guys. I had all the porno moves to go with my rep. I should have charged admission. When I danced, I was given a wide space and it was obvious, I was a star.

As midnight approached, we had begun to tire--after all, we had raced a 100 mile course that day and taken a near four hour bus ride home. We found seats at a booth in the back. It was a large booth, but I crowded in thigh to thigh with Pete. My hand immediately went possessively to his basket and an attendant waived off potential company. We ordered and I opened my palm to reveal a few orange and blue capsules. "These will give you a second wind. And they disappear from your system in 24 hours--so if we get a surprise drug test on Monday, they won't show."

Pete paused. "I don't take performance drugs. My only sin is caffeine."

I smiled and held my hand out again. "Take them, for me. I'm sure caffeine is one of the ingredients. I don't want this night to be over quite yet." So Pete took two and swallowed with a Tequila shot. Minutes later, we both felt a mini-rush and were ready to go again.

"OK. This is how it's going to go down. We've got a half hour to find partners for the night. If we do, it's back to my apartment. If only one of us scores, the other ubers back to campus. If neither of us does, we go back to the apartment and you're my date for the night. Deal?" Pete looked back at me with some question, but nodded. And so we walked back toward the dance floor. I think he was looking for Ms. Saigon, but he didn't find her. I hung my arm again over Pete's shoulder and I whispered into his ear, "I can't lose tonight."

Then, I spotted two very attractive young beauties. They were obviously here to party, ready to hook. They were poured into identical white jeans, ripped and spangled with silver sequins, very tight cami tops over generous bra-less breasts in silver lame, showing lots of creamy beige skin, and white denim jackets with rolled up sleeves and dozens of wrist bangles. They had huge dark eyes, enlarged with makeup and delicious lips. They were really fine. Clearly above what Pete might have chosen. "Could we interest you young ladies in a dance?"

And the deal was sealed. No one could turn me down. After all, the critics all called me the "sexiest ass in New York." I had also used my exaggerated deep persuasive southern drawl, designed to melt any remaining inhibitions. We danced a few fast rounds. Then the music turned slow. Dorie molded into Pete's chest--which was a neat trick given her impressive rack, and by the end of the song, I know she knew his jock size. It was obvious she was wearing only a thong--if anything under the jeans. He had his thumbs in her waistband and his hands spread on her juicy ass. Pete looked over and saw that I also had both hands possessively on Linda's denim-clad cheeks. I winked. It was time to regroup. I asked how they had arrived, where they lived etc. It was decided. They had gotten rides with unspecified friends. So, they would ride home with us. We would take them back to the UH campus in the morning. So we were on for a night together. Within minutes, my car was retrieved and we all were headed east. Pete had forfeited shot gun, but it was fine because Dorie was giving him a lap dance in the back seat (those BMW convertibles don't have much leg room in the back). Linda's arm was over the console--re-confirming the kind of night she was in for.

This was working perfectly. I have always been able to go with a hot babe or a masculine sub--but I had the feeling that Pete might be beginning to feel a little claustrophobic (or maybe homophobic) as our relationship had progressed over only a few weeks. I needed to show him that we can both continue to have fun with babes--so long as at the end of the day, he knew who was master. So this was my gift to him--a super-hetero intermission. Deep down, he knew I had picked up our dates and that I was calling all the shots. But, he had a hot one, massaging his dick, and enough alcohol not to ask difficult questions.

We arrived at the apartment, parked and went up. As per custom, all shoes were left at the door. I pulled out some iced Tequila and shot glasses and opened up my home pharmacy. Neither Pete nor I took any, but the two mocha-skinned young ladies chose carefully--they knew it like a Whitman's candy box. Pete put on some slow music. We began to dance as articles of clothing were discarded around the room. They were really good looking bi-racial babes with large racks, tiny waists, and big round asses meant for fucking. Linda and Dorie both stared wide-eyed at me as I peeled off my tight CK's. I was now fully engaged--and engorged. Elvis was in the room. Linda cried, "I'm not sure I can take all that. But I sure as hell am going to enjoy trying."

I smiled. "I have a funny story about this guy. You all know that I modeled for underwear. CK shocked New York twice--the first time with a billboard with Brooke wearing only his briefs, nothing coming between her and her Calvins. The morals police hollered, but the billboard stayed. A month later they followed up by placing a giant billboard of me full-frontal, wearing only his briefs. It was a hit. The photographers had taped my dick to my groin so it wouldn't rise up and spoil the pictures. But, I was still big--and it was positioned horizontally so it caught shadow. We got by the critics. But the Village Gazette published a front page picture of the billboard the next morning with the caption: "It's five and half feet long flaccid!" Pete laughed with everyone else. But, I had set this up--he had to feel inferior and small--even though he was packing a quite nice fat 7 plus which Dorie seemed to find very acceptable.

"The bedroom is this way, folks. After you. This apartment is absolutely PC. Vegas rules: clothing optional, equal opportunity/affirmative action in force, nobody asks and nobody tells, what happens here, stays here. Let's see how many combinations we can think up and try before morning. There's plenty of junior to go around."

So, it was going to be musical partners and, if I can pull it off, maybe an orgy. Pete and Dorie moved to one of the queen beds. She wanted to ride cowboy--probably so she could watch Linda and me. Pete spread out, wrapped and Dorie climbed on. So I threw Linda onto the same bed and began to lavish her tits with lip massages while I spread lube around her already wet pussy. I reached over to the side table and rather ostentatiously pulled out an XXXX condom. "These need to be specially ordered." I unrolled it. And unrolled it. Finally after a bit of showmanship, I began to push slowly into Linda. The room was filled with her groans--but they were groans of pleasure. For the next half hour, we all enjoyed the party. And I think all of us got off.

Pete finally managed to flip Dorie, climbed on and pushed deeply into her cunt. I made sure to reach over and caress Dorie--and Pete's ass--from time to time to create the orgy atmosphere and to assert my dominance. This was my party. It was a neat erotic image--his white boy ass glowing and bouncing in the moonlight against all of our darker skins. Pete and I were now thigh to thigh and synchronizing our plowing action and sucking on big light brown tits. He was enjoying himself, grinding up and down on her soft brown ass. He was definitely invested in the depths of this babe. So I coated two fingers with the juices of Linda's pussy, reached over, rimmed his hole and plunged in until I reached his button. I flipped it a few times and began using my big black hand to direct his thrusting glute muscles. He turned, smiled at me, and whispered, "Perfect." His legs stiffened, his ass tightened, his toes curled, and he shot multiple times. Hell, I was even directing his hetero fucking and he was loving it!

I focused on Linda who came again almost immediately and screamed out in pleasure. I fell to the side as she turned and began to trade tongues with Dorie. I got up and went behind Pete. "We're going to make a sandwich--a "hood" sandwich." You're going to be the white meat between our dark bread. I placed my pole on his ass crack. I knew that he couldn't take my whole dick--at least not without significant preparation and certainly not now. But that wasn't my objective. I wanted to establish the idea that he was mine when I wanted him.

Everybody started penetrating--I was inserting a few lubed fingers in Pete's hole as he groaned. But, he was pre-occupied with Dorie here his dick was deeply implanted. I soon had four lubed fingers inside. Then, I placed my cockhead at his entrance and pushed just enough to seat the head and reach his pleasure button. I tapped it a few times and he exploded again in Dorie. He shouted out his orgasm. And coincidentally shouted out his welcome of my cockhead in his chute. I stopped there, pulled out and spouted white viscous fluid all over his muscled back as Linda bucked under Dorie's active tongue. "And here is the mayo." I collapsed on Pete which caused the entire structure to fall to the bed in a tangle of limbs and cum soaked muscles.

About a half hour went by and I thought that Pete and Dorie might be dozing. The night was not over--at least for me. I pushed up over Linda. "OK. Time to switch. Dorie, you come here. Linda make sure Pete knows what it means to be a sloppy second to the famous Reg."

The next hour was a replay--except that the aroma of sex was beginning to intoxicate all of us. Then, we all slept for several hours.

I awoke mid-morning. Pete was already in the shower. Our two guests were asleep in each other's arms in one of the queen beds. Somehow during the night, the beds had become segregated by sex and Pete had slept spooned in my arms. I was hard and horny--so what else is new. Should we try for another round with the babes? No, I don't think so. So I joined him in the shower. I immediately pulled him into my abs so he could feel the fullness of my dick knocking on his asshole door. He turned, tried to kiss me, but I pushed him down. He instinctively fell to his knees and began to suck. Soon I shot into his bobbing mouth and I let him stand and handed him the gel to wash me. Our morning ablution.

In my deep morning voice, I murmured, "Great sex dude. Those babes were hot. And so were you." He reached down to begin stroking one off, but I grabbed his hand. "Wait. We'll have more fun later. Let's get rid of these ho's." I had plans for later. Pete was going to lose his anal virginity, not just a little tap of my head at the entrance, but a full bottoming, and I wanted him hungry.

We were done for the morning. I walked back into the room. "Ladies, do you want to shower? I'm afraid that I'll need to take a rain check on the brunch. I'll call you an uber when you are ready. It's pretty late. Thank you for your hospitality. Pete and I need to work out this afternoon and maybe even study a little. We're in training." At least he was. So they dressed and we put them in a car after trading numbers.

And of course, I digitally recorded the entire night. I was pretty sure that I had positioned the camera to keep the ladies' identities out of the scene. But if not, I could have it cropped later. I know a great porn editor who can make this film say anything I want--including a white boy's ass sucking in my big black dick while he fucked a black sister.

I'm pretty sure Pete is mine to keep. But, if not, the film should be an interesting persuader.

"I'll drive you over to Gold's, if you want. I can drop you back at your dorm after."

"Ok, but I don't have my gear here."

"Go ahead and pick out some workout gear--anything you want," I said, pointing to one of the closets. Inside were a variety of still-in-the-packing shorts, tees, and jocks. Pete decided to walk on the wild side and chose a white spandex unitard, piped in black. He pulled on tight silky black modesty shorts over the skin-tight body suit. He threw his clothes from last night in the gym bag and was ready to go. Picking up on his boldness, I picked a neon yellow sleeveless tee and compression shorts in black and threw them in my bag. Forget the modesty shorts. Pete won't care. I pulled on jeans.

I grabbed a hoodie and handed him an identical one. We were ready.

Gold's was deserted--after all, it was 3 o'clock on an early football Sunday. All the couch potatoes wouldn't be doing their various penances until tomorrow. "It looks like we have the place to ourselves." I walked into the locker, stripped off the jeans andhodie. Pete threw his bag in a locker and looped the wrap key over his wrist. Our workout was by now routine. Pete waited for my command and then stepped up and performed. With no one else in the room, I was all over him. Within a few minutes, his shorts were uncomfortably tenting. "Just slip those off. You don't need them." Soon it became obvious that his sweat was soaking the white nylon unitard fabric and making it transparent. He was essentially naked. And more remarkably, it didn't seem to bother him at all. He kept looking over at the mirrors which reflected his ever-present semi. The two hours went by quickly and, really exhausted, we headed to the showers. As usual, we stripped and he washed and rubbed me down before washing himself. "Be sure to clean out that asshole. I intend to be eating out of there in a few minutes." He looked up at me, wide-eyed, realizing that he wasn't going back to his dorm yet. He reached around and squirted a liberal gob of gel up his asshole, then penetrated with his fingers and swirled around. I licked my lips at his delicious muscular butt cheeks.