Geoff and Chet Ch. 22

Chapter 22 Austin Race and a National Record

Author's note: As previously noted, the cycling rules have been significantly adapted by the author to reflect the story line. Like the story, the rules (and the race schedule and the SCC) are figments of my imagination. Don't bother with search engines. It really is fiction. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. All individuals portrayed in sexual acts are over 18. BD

To readers: sorry for the errors in publication for which I take full responsibility. The entire story consists of 28 chapters—including the 00 Prologue, all written at this time. The duplicate Ch 14 was a mistake—it should have been a "review" of part 1 for new readers starting in part 2, but had been mislabeled in Word, so I attached the wrong Ch 14 to my submission. Ch 15 is ok. I will publish the real Ch 14 as Ch 28 at the end. Ch 19 was published May 15 in "Anal." Obviously, I am not the most comfortable with on line publishing. BD

Chet's POV

Soon it was Friday afternoon and we were headed to Austin, hopefully avoiding Houston's notorious traffic. Rice had agreed to the Amazon proposal and so we had a nice large interstate bus for the team and support staff and two vans carrying our gear—both of the vans sporting banners proclaiming that the Rice Cycling Club was "proudly" supported by Amazon. We arrived for a late dinner, staying at the Marriott University Place for the night. I noted that Reg and Pete did not sit together on the bus—although there was sufficient room that most of us had two seats—to stretch out and nap. I had asked Pete if he wanted to room with Reg, but Pete said, "No. Let's do this by lottery." I was tired and, knowing that I was going to desert the team after the meet on Saturday, I decided not to go out, but stayed at the team's common room after dinner to joke with and encourage the team.

The Austin meet was one of the most critical of the circuit. It was hosted by UT-Austin's team, but Dallas had made the short drive down and the Loyola-New Orleans team had flown in. All four of these teams (including RCC of course) were considered in the first rank in our conference—any one could end up season champion. (The fifth top team, UMiami was not there.) As permitted under conference rules and typical, the host had decided for a free for all race—no separate heats—all 32 cyclists would start at the gun. This was also the hilliest course we would encounter, a real challenge for leg stamina and strategy-over-raw-speed.

We gathered on a green at the UT campus early the next morning. Several hundred team members, mechanical support and fans were there. All four teams had tents—ours being remarkable for its foot-wide alternating stripes of gold and black. UT was red; Dallas was pale blue; Loyola was a harlequin of green and purple—with poles bedecked in Mardi Gras plastic beads. I had the impression we were in medieval times with knights about to joust. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad image, particularly given our bright cycling uniforms. We drew lots for team position and we had second choice—choosing one of the two end slots. All eight of our riders would group together. Pete, Reg and I would be in the center of the group. The "wings" were instructed to go as wide as the rules allowed to give us space to move individually, not as a group; we were going to go for an early lead.

The excitement was palpable as the starting time approached. Texas Patrol Cars would lead and follow the group and advance cars would close off crossing streets and roads. The course was short—about 96 miles, but the elevation changes and difficult turns would more than make up for the length. This race obviously rated high in the local pantheon of athletics and had been well-publicized: there were spectators throughout the route.

The day was overcast and cool—a perfect day for cycling. No rain was projected. Just before the gun, I looked over and spotted Geoff, his parents, Matt, and Rebecca. They waived and Geoff raised a V sign in encouragement. Standing near them was Joe Gallagher—this was almost home turf for him—he had won the national championship twice on this course. He too scanned the team and lifted both arms in a giant V. Of course, our groupies were there and Nicole seemed to have resumed the place on her throne as queen.

I noticed that an EMT team was stationed with one of the trailing trooper vans. They were obviously going to follow the pack. Geoff spotted a friend from his emergency room summer, a good looking Nordic hunk. They exchanged smiles and waves which seemed a bit more than casual. I wonder if he was the one before me? But I was quickly occupied with my mental prep for the start to start comparing.

The race started promptly to a loud gun and the cheers of the crowd. We had decided on a strategy of very fast sprint off the start to take a lead early in this crowded field. Then we would ease off, defend our position, and do what was required at the end. The strategy worked. Reg was leading all the cyclists before we reached the first half mile and the edge of the campus. Chet and I were close behind—allowing Reg to take the brunt of the point at the early part of the race. He maintained a terrific pace. Pockets of spectators were all along the course which circled out into the Austin hills, went down by the large lake, and began a long mostly uphill trek back. After the open sprint and regroup, RCC led throughout the first half of the race without serious challenge. Then each of the other teams began to test our speed strategy. First Dallas approached. Reg picked up the speed and we all followed. Dallas was soon overtaken by the New Orleans team—the most vocal and threatening—if their language was to be believed. And finally the home team began to gain on us. Reg yielded point to Chet who picked up the speed by 2-3%. I wasn't winded and felt really good about the pace and my ability to sprint at the end. Three times UT tried to break the lead, but fell back each time.

Finally, we hit the sprint point. Chet moved left and Reg rode to the right as I moved into point and rode to a blistering speed. I was surprised that despite their hard jobs as points, Chet and Reg kept up with me, barely a cycle length behind. The campus border approached and the crowds had enlarged and began to cheer. They were loud, mostly cheering on the Longhorns. I crossed the ribbon only a split second before Chet and Reg to the hoots of our small contingent. Soon it was announced that I—and RCC—had set new speed records for our conference. We were definitely moving toward the season championship.

Tapes were run and times were re-checked, and all three RCC cyclists approached the podium for the presentation of awards. Chet and Reg threw their arms around my shoulders as I lifted the team trophy for photographers. Then, in a curious, but I think unnoticed gesture, both guys tapped me lightly on my butt.

I went over to where the Peters were standing together with Becca. I noticed that Reg went to embrace Joe, and that Chet's family had driven in from Ft. Worth. Everybody was gushing with praise. Matt grabbed the trophy, a large bronze pylon with a cyclist posing on top with his bike, and raised it high about us. Becca embraced me, "We all knew you could do this. We are so pleased and proud."

I shook Dr. Peters hand, but he reached around and brought me into a hug. "Mom" Peters did the same. "It is nice to have a celebrity in the family. We are definitely going to party tonight."

Geoff stood back, and finally he too gave me a bro hug, whispering, "I'll show you what I really want to reward you with later."

Joe and Reg Gallagher came over to congratulate and I introduced them to the Peters and to Rebecca. By that time, I noticed that Reg was holding hands with Nicole. They made an incredibly striking couple that belonged on the cover of some fashion mag. Pete brought over his family as well. I couldn't tell what was going on between Chet and Reg—they seemed somehow cold. Dad had issued an invitation to the entire team for an early afternoon barbeque at the ranch, but Pete indicated his family wanted some time together before he left on the team bus for Houston. Reg and Joe similarly regretted. But most of the rest of the team and the coaches were coming with us. Coach Neal announced to Chet and Reg and anyone else who has other plans for the afternoon that the bus would leave for Houston from the UT campus promptly at 3. Anyone not on the bus can find his or her own way back later tonight or tomorrow. "I am really proud of you guys. No practice on Sunday. We'd appreciate if you would let the manager know now if you are NOT going to be on the return bus."

Hours later after the feast, the bus left the ranch to rendezvous with the other players who had stayed on the UT campus—I knew several had girlfriends at UT. "I'm exhausted. I'd like to take a nap so I can be human tonight if that is alright with you Mom."

"Of course. You know where Geoff's room is."

After a quick shower, "Alone this time please. I'm really beat." I stretched out in my underwear on the bed. Geoff lay beside me but didn't make any love-making gestures.

"Did you notice Reg and Nicole?"

"Yeah, and it appeared that Pete wasn't too happy about it." Soon, I drifted off—and I guess Geoff got up to visit with his family.

Sometime later, I was enjoying one of those full color dreams with bits and pieces of my life intermingling in a nonsensical sequence. It involved the conclusion of a race which I had won, but for some reason my compression shorts and shirt had been shredded and I was standing on the winner's platform half-naked, my jock showing and blood curling down my thigh. My arms were cuffed above my head holding up an enormous phallic-like trophy. I was helpless before the crowd. Nicole was directing the tableaux as a tall black man approached from behind and impaled my ass with his enormous penis—which I was enjoying, while another crew cut white boy, Pete (?), pulled my dick out of my jock and was deep-throating it--which I was also enjoying. I was moaning in pleasure as the small audience pointed and laughed. Well, it didn't turn out to be entirely a dream. As I opened my eyes, I saw that my boxer briefs had been pulled down below my scrotum and a black haired animal was sucking voraciously on my dick as long fingers probed my entrance. He had placed my hands on the headboard bars. Geoff was back with me in bed! Freud would have a field day with that dream!

I realized that I had been gripping the pipes of the headboard tightly. So I released and reached down and ran my hands through his thick hair. His mischievous eyes focused on mine as he rose and tongued the bulb while continuing to explore my channel with his long fingers in search of my prostate. I decided to close my eyes and enjoy it. He was really a professional. He brought me to the edge several times, each time leaking pre-cum onto his waiting lips, frustrating my urge to orgasm, before deep-throating and sucking yet again. My hips rose from the bed, my tired legs tensed, and I finally shot my seed-filled cream between his waiting lips. "Geoff. Perfect as always. I've forgotten all the intrigues of the afternoon—and I'm ready for the romantic mysteries we will weave tonight. Come up here. This reminds me of our first time together on the pool chaise."

He covered me on the bed and I opened my legs to cradle him in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in for some deep passionate lovin'. He was hard and rubbed repeatedly over my abs until he too popped. Later, we rose, quickly showered—together this time—and emerged refreshed for cocktails, a late dinner and conversation.

Dinner was a buffet of the leftovers from the barbeque—sliced steak, salads, cheeses, fresh bread. It was spread on the kitchen counter for us to graze as we wished. Geoff had filled his mother in on the details of the apartment reno--really not such a big deal--and had regaled his Dad with the infamous pranks that first year meds play on each other.

As we sat with plates in front of us in the great room, Val asked, "Chet, tell us about your studies. And what is going on with your plans to go pro."

"Studies are going well. Senior year is really not all that difficult. I've loaded up on courses this semester so that I will have only two next semester—and my thesis. I switched out a few and I'll be eligible to take the financial advisor and manager exams in December—before the holidays and after exams are over. That's really my job ticket. I've been told that any of the big investment banking firms will hire me in a New York minute as an analyst, working on financial deals.

I've decided on a senior thesis topic—I'm creating a socially responsible fund that could be market traded—focusing on the environment, rather than the whole range of socially responsible investment funds that have been created so far. I'm already using my mock trading time to beta test the initial picks for the fund. I pre-qualify an S&P major equity based upon one criterion: they must spend two-thirds or more of their budget, including R&D, on alternative energy, response to climate change, environmental clean up, or similar activities. Then I look at their performance over one, three and five years to determine volatility. I should have the fund created by the end of the year."

"I actually have some news that's relevant at this point in our conversation. Two weeks ago the Foundation's CFO/Americas resigned. Luigi Marzotti is Italian, obviously, an old friend of the family. I think Geoff knows his son from summers in Italy. Now he wants to return to his family since he is 60 years old. We are currently trying to decide what to do. Meanwhile, the senior CFO of the Foundation in Milan will be handling matters using consultants that we are hiring pro tempore in Houston. I'd like to have you meet the Foundation team and help us with that decision making process. We always like to have a member of the family, familiar with a given subject, serving on important strategic committees."

I looked over at Geoff. It was obvious that this was not news to him. Somehow I felt I was being played. "Thank you for considering me a part of the family. It means a lot to me. I'd be happy to help—but as you know my own full time plans remain that I will go pro next year—which leaves little time for anything else—but not until after May."

"Well, one never knows where life will lead us. We'd be happy to have the perspective of someone with 'new' financial analysis experience."

"So as to the professional selection process: It's administered out of the US Olympic Team's headquarters in Orange County, California by a committee made up of the owners of the ten US pro franchises."

"Sorry to interrupt, but is there a franchise in Houston?" "No, the only Texas franchise is in Dallas."

"The week of Thanksgiving, they will publish a "Potential Draft List--PDL", typically with about 20 names. All 20 are then asked whether they are interested and those who indicate interest are called for interviews before Christmas. This year about 8-10 will be drafted by the various US clubs—and they get together on December 21 this year and decide who will get bids where. Everything is over within a few days of that—unless one or more of the potentials turns down an offer. Then agents are hired and deals are struck. I'm pretty sure I will be in the 20 or so listed. Beyond that, who knows? If for some reason, one is not listed—or offered a position, you can always go independent—but that means you must find your own sponsors and don't get the team support for the series of professional meets which are all technically opens. I will not do that, I've decided that I don't have the stamina or the desire to become a self-promoting athlete-entrepreneur."

Doc broke in. "May I ask a few questions? Is the compensation terrific, like in many professional sports, or is it a living wage—or do you have to find additional sponsors or employment? And what does the professional circuit look like?"

"Salaries are acceptable, not generous. You can live, barely. Teams typically offer dorm room type accommodations without rent during the seasons so you can live away from the franchise if you choose outside of season. You need to have an agent who will get sponsorships for equipment, clothing etc to make a decent salary. At least this is true until you have won a national or international competition. The pro circuit in the US consists of two short seasons: April-June and September-November. Typically about 16 races total—all over the US—and not all where franchises are located. The top team or teams in the US go to various international meets by invitation, often in the summer in Europe and in the winter in Australia and the Middle East. Prize money for these meets can be substantial—but only two or three of the top franchises will get to participate internationally."

"Olympic trials and competitions are entirely separate—and obviously every four years. They really don't pay at all—but the sponsorships can be lucrative. Other than that, it's practice. Team members typically live in the home cities of the franchises and travel with the team for 5-6 months of the year." [Ed. Reminder: all of this description is fictional, but roughly based on other sports franchise practices. So you can forget fact- checking.]

"It sounds grueling and not all that financially rewarding."

"But if you love the sport.....and if you soak up the praise for being a champion...."

Geoff picked up some plates and our wine glasses to return them to the kitchen. "I'm ready to turn in. We'll be heading back to Houston tomorrow morning. I guess it's ok if we take the BMW SUV?"

"Sure, but let me give you both a hug now. I'm on at 6 tomorrow, so I'll be gone when you leave. Chet, we look forward to having you with us for Thanksgiving—and good luck with the process—and your planning about it. Geoff, as always, you have our love and support. Drive carefully."

We headed for Geoff's room, brushed and groomed, stripped and crawled under the duvet. "Do you want to talk—or can I ravish you first?"

"Ravish, eh? You've got my interest already. I think a few words first. I may not be able to think coherently after I've been ravished—that will be a first for me. I know my description of the potential for next year upsets you. Geoff, I am falling in love with you. I can't say that often enough. I promise not to do anything that will jeopardize our love. I know you are committed to Houston, probably for at least three more years after I graduate, possibly longer and that Houston doesn't have a pro franchise. That obviously implies a distance relationship—and we both know what that means. But, being chosen will validate ten years of my hard work. All I can say is that I won't make any decision without your participation. I think I can say that you will be the most important consideration. But, let me at least see if I can get one of the brass rings. I need that for personal validation of my worth. Then we can talk. And, I'm serious. I don't need your family's help in finding a job. The recruiters are already circling the tents."

"You know that I don't need any more convincing of who you are and what you are made of."

As I was speaking, I was pulling him into me and stroking his growing penis. "So how about this ravishing?"

"I was only waiting for the invitation."

"Since when have you needed an invitation to ravish? That door is never locked to you. And I'm still waiting for you to demonstrate your ravish techniques."

He pushed me on my back, smashed his lips onto mine, forced his tongue inside, and kissed me hungrily as he moved his body over mine, stroking and pinching my nipples, spreading my legs with his thigh and mashing his rock hard cock into my balls. This was going to be fast and rough. Geoff was definitely going to be driving. But, I was okay to be the passenger on this fast moving express. Reaching over to the side table, he brought out the lube, squeezed some on his fingers, quite dexterously using one hand, since the other was occupied rolling my nibs. Soon his lubed fingers were rimming my entrance. He knelt below me as I raised my legs around his waist to capture his body to mine. Geoff was really good at this and weeks of practice had made him an expert in playing my erotic zones while opening me to his incredible size. He reached down, grabbed the cheeks and pushed my opening to his lips. He swirled his tongue and began a staccato sucking of the rim.