Geoff and Chet Ch. 24

Chapter 24 Chet confesses and takes the next steps

(Ed Note: This chapter recounts briefly an attempted rape described in an earlier chapter. Skip the first few pages or the entire chapter if that bothers you. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. All men engaging in sexual activity are over 18.BD)

Chet's POV

I arrived at the condo near dinner time. Suffice it to say that I was a wreck. Geoff had ordered in Mexican from Mamasita's. He took one look at Chet, and said, "Let's start with a pitcher of Margarita's. I'm gonna mix up a strong batch right away."

"I'm going to take a quick shower and get comfortable while you do that."

Ten minutes later we were seated on the leather sofa, both barefoot, in tees and sweat shorts. Geoff had quieted the music to a soft classical background and dimmed the lights. "Okay. Let me hear it. I don't need to be a psychiatrist to see that you are at the edge."

"I need at least one of these first," I said as I drained the frothy green liquid from the glass in one long drink and poured a second from the pitcher. "I'd like to get all of this out before you comment. And I need you to promise that you won't try to do anything before we've had at least a day to think about and process it."

"Now you are really scaring me."

"Let me get the easy part out of the way first. Reg beat my time in Chapel Hill today—by a full second, and there is no question that he did it without breaking any rules or fouling anybody. He was just better today."

"I'm glad you said 'today'. Was your time bad?"

"No. In fact, it was one of my best—but his was outstanding and I don't think the competition was very strong, so his point responsibilities didn't require him to expend any undue energy before the sprints. But I think he's a better overall cyclist than I am."

"But that is not what is upsetting. Well, it is, but not in the same way. What are the chances that one university level club would have two cyclists with nationally ranked times? It is extremely unlikely that the pros would draft two guys from one school or club. So I have that concern—if Reg decides to go pro this year and he continues to ride as he did today, I could really be hurt. That worries me, obviously, but it is not what has got me tied up in knots."

"Let me start back at the beginning of the season. You remember that I was trying to make Reg welcome on the team, so I invited him to work out at the condo gym. That was a mistake. He realized that the Towers was not a typical senior off-campus apartment. He is really street smart—and he's seen all the ways that corners can be cut and rules can be broken with impunity. He immediately started making remarks about my sugar daddy or possibly illegal payments. Reg is smart, intelligent and street smart. He is convinced that I am a closet gay. That I have a sugar daddy or that I am taking money, probably from Amazon. Either allegation, if made convincingly—even if later proven wrong—would easily tarnish me and kill any chance to get a pro bid."

"But, back to the workout. We had a good workout. It was intense. We were alone. And we were probably both sending out sex signals. You know how competitive guys like to play 'king of the hill" in athletic contexts. But at the end he pulled his shorts down and waived his humongous dick in my face and made a couple of offers that sounded a little like threats. He claimed that I was obviously into him and ogling his dick and ass throughout our workout. I can only guess what his usual workout routine must be like if he thought that was normal. He told me that he was out to beat me this year, but that he would own my ass first. He told me that he knew I was gay—that his gaydar was never wrong. I was gay and that I wanted his big chocolate dick in my mouth and in my ass. I refused and left him standing there, but as I walked out, he made a comment about how odd it was that a scholarship student athlete like me was living in this condo. He told me that he 'knew" you were my boyfriend, not my roommate, and that you were paying for everything as a sugar daddy. He accused me of being your whore for hire. Incidentally, he didn't use your name—so I'm pretty sure he was bluffing. If you think about it, my being here could be easily seen as suspicious at best."

"He said that sooner or later he would get to me and I would beg him for his cock. At that time, I wrote myself an email with details to record the incident. And I let it go. At least I thought I did."

"But you know me and my tendency to overthink things. Reg is a magnificent guy, really a god in human flesh. He's been toned and groomed to be an international idol. He is hard to resist. And his dick is truly enormous. Sorry, it's even bigger than yours. I've been stewing over whether I was attracted to him or whether I invited the overture. Geoff, I'm really into you in every way possible. I know it's love. Does that mean I'm not supposed to notice other attractive men? Or even fantasize a bit?"

Geoff was silent for once. He didn't try to interrupt. But, I could tell he was considering all this. So, I went on. "You remember how I told you he went after Pete for awhile and suddenly dropped him? While we were in Athens, Pete told me that Reg seduced and fucked him—even to the extent of arranging an orgy with several others. He's pretty sure Reg has a video of it. Pete is now convinced he is gay. He came out to Reg, asked Reg to breed and brand him, said he was coming out, and Reg panicked. He and Reg have stayed way apart since then. After he revealed that bombshell to me, Pete hasn't said a word and has been avoiding me at practice and again today at the meet. Pete told me he was on the team because he is attracted to me. I'm worried about Pete, but I'm still very wary of Reg."

"I know you said not to interrupt. But did you just say that Pete has come on to you?"

"Yeah. But, I think he is really confused."

"And so we come to earlier today. After the race, I was alone, I thought, in the locker room, with a little time before we were to leave for the plane. I got out of the shower and was on the bench drying myself, getting ready to dress. Reg had followed me to my locker. He was nude, but not wet, and he was sporting a semi--so obviously he had been waiting for me. I hadn't seen him in the shower room. Of course I was still naked. He gloated over his win and asked whether I was now ready to taste his champion jizz or for him to fuck me. I ignored him and reached over the bench to begin to dress. He turned and I thought he was leaving. But he quickly spun, caught me off-balance, and forced me into a straddle on the bench, pinning me with his body. He started to spank and then to finger my ass. I threatened him with a rape charge and after a few minutes he finally moved off me and away. He said I would regret not accepting him, but he would give me one more chance to hitch my fortune to his rising star—and dick. He said he knew people who could whisper to the executive committee of the Southeast Cycling Conference that they look into my financial situation as a violation of amateur rules. He left the lockers and was not on the plane coming home."

"This guy seems genuinely evil."

"I'm not sure. He's obviously ambitious and has been involved in a world which operates under different rules. He may be genuinely convinced that I am gay—and that I'm into him. After all, he hasn't had any trouble in the past seducing men or women. I don't think anyone says no to Reg. His ego is really outsized, fed by fans and agents. I am not at all sure I could sustain a charge of attempted rape. And even if I did bring a charge, it would certainly come out that I am gay—and that I've had partners, and that I have been closeted--to my advantage. Many still think that being in the closet is a living lie which taints everything else you say. Even if I won the rape charge, the disclosures would finish me as a potential professional cyclist. I don't think I can publicly accuse Reg without destroying myself."

"For an allegedly homophobic sport, it does seem that a lot of its participants are gay. So both Pete and Reg want a shot at your cute ass. Why doesn't that surprise me? It's seems even more than swimming. I'm not going to answer or try to solve this now. Just come here and rest in my arms. You can drink your way to Margarita heaven if you want. You're not driving. And I promise not to take advantage of you—or at least not any more than normal. I'm going to make you feel good, real good. We'll talk about this later. First, however, I want to reassure you that none of this changes my feelings for you—or my opinion of who you are."

"Is it going to be ok if I touch you?"

"Yes, okay. I'm not really traumatized by the scene, but I am really concerned about where all this leaves me in terms of future options."

"I think I know you well enough that you are not just concerned about 'future options.' You are concerned about your feelings—your guilt--about them and what that means for us. Let me just say for the record, that my being so into you doesn't mean that my eyes don't stray to that occasional fuckable ass that passes by. We are young gay guys, afterall."

I leaned into Geoff as he slowly began his "light" explorations of my erogenous zones. He nibbled my ear lobes and licked under them along my neck sending chills through me. Then his hands reached up under my tee and started massaging my pecs, edging my nibs into mini-erection. Slowly his hands moved down as he traced the ridges in my abs following the V until his fingers invaded below the waistline. Then his whole hand was under my balls, rolling them in his fingers. Everything was deliberately gentle and caressing. But it had the appropriate impact on me. My anxiety dropped—in no small part because of the Margaritas. But, my hard cock began to tent the shorts, already leaving a spot of precum on the fabric. He sure knows how to distract a guy.

"Raise your hips." And as I did so, he slipped off the shorts, only momentarily constrained by the erection. He pulled the quilt over us. Reaching back under, he wrapped me in his muscular arms and rested his large hands on my dick, holding me gently and stroking slowly. I sunk lower into him relishing the intense contact. I could feel his love. I closed my eyes and focused on the incredible sensations his talented fingers were producing. He had me in a hypnotic trance of pleasure until I "woke" just a few minutes later refreshed and really hungry for a little Mexican and a big Irish-Italian.

"Let's eat—and then I want you for dessert."

"By the way, it occurred to me while you were dreaming. Our condo gym has closed circuit monitoring. I suspect that the UNC locker room also had video surveillance, probably on a short loop—perhaps as short as 24 hours. You need to call Coach Neal and ask him to call UNC. They need to preserve that tape and not video over it. He should ask them not to view it; just save it—perhaps he could tell them a little white lie, that strategy was discussed and he would like to preserve the tape, but not disclose it to competition. Meanwhile, I'll find out our condo video policy."

"Forget about the condo. Wednesdays before 10 are male clothing optional days and the cameras are turned off. We were alone. I already checked. That's why I wrote the memo."

"But what about the UNC tape suggestion?"

"That might seem a little strange. What do I tell Neal? It is a men's locker room with obvious nudity. They probably have a confidentiality policy in place so that the tapes are quickly destroyed unless an incident is reported. They could suspect his motives."

"Maybe you need to tell him a little more about Reg."

"Let me think about it over dinner." I started to slip my shorts back on.

"You don't need to do that."

"Yeah, I think I do. I don't think I could call Neal in my present state of undress."

"Is that another rule of the cycling code—no coach conversations while hanging loose?"

By the end of dinner, I had decided that my future was at stake and that I had nothing to lose by calling Coach. I had decided Reg was not bluffing. So I did. I gave him a much abbreviated account of the encounter with Reg. "I do not intend to go public or press any charges. But, I need to preserve the evidence and my options." He told me that he had accidentally overheard two other team mates talk about unwelcome approaches from Reg. He promised to do what he could, but UNC security might be unwilling to share a locker room tape with a coach they didn't even know. He suggested that he had a good friend at Rice security—and they could explain to their counterparts that they were investigating some potential criminal allegations—without providing any detail. A transfer from security to security might be easier. However, there is always the risk that they will keep a copy or view the tape before they release it—or that a copy might be made anywhere along the way. Did I really want that? I told him I didn't have much choice at this point. I hadn't done anything to be ashamed of, but obviously if the mere threat of a formal complaint didn't stop Reg, I could not follow through without destroying my future.

I was upset and tense again so Geoff put on his psych persona again. "You must remember. You didn't provoke this. You didn't ask for it. Every rapist tries to convince his victim that the victim is somehow at fault, that he invited the attack. This helps to self-justify his illegal actions. Just because you're gay doesn't mean that you are fair game for anal rapists. There was never an indication that you were inviting the attack, that you were enjoying it, or that you were reciprocating in any way. I realize that your future plans may be jeopardized if all of this becomes public. But you are not responsible for the homophobia of the sport or its promoters. You need to keep telling yourself that. You did nothing wrong. You're a victim, but I know how strong you are. You are a survivor."

Deep down, I wasn't sure that I was totally convinced of what Geoff what was saying. Was I a victim?

"What can I do to help you right now?"

So we decided to catch a Netflix version of Zorro before heading off to bed. We had always laughed during and loved after watching that movie. Geoff refreshed the Margaritas and we settled in to watch Geoff's twin cavort across the screen on horseback dueling with various desperados and corrupt royals—and in bed with various grateful senoritas including the sultry Zeta-Jones. It was great therapy. We laughed, caressed, and relaxed. But, he kept teasing my dick into semi-erection, even bending over occasionally to take me inside his hot, moist mouth. As the closing credits began, Geoff looked over at me and drawled in a pseudo-Hispanic accent, "My sabre is itchy for use. It's bursting out of my scabbard. It hasn't been wet for days. I've haven't pierced any banditos for a long time. Vaya con migo, mi amorita."

And so he led me to bed. Geoff was really into the Zorro role—and since I was going to be the bad guy, he got out the blindfold and cuffs. "Geoff, I'm sorry, not tonight. I don't need any suggestion of being forced to do anything tonight. You can use your sword, but let's skip the rest of the role playing."

"I'm so sorry, Chet. I'm really an idiot." He slipped into bed beside me and pulled me into a deep embrace. He rolled onto his back, pulling me on top and I slipped between his legs which he quickly used to envelop me further. "I hope this makes you feel safe—and loved, because you are so important to me. If you want me to mention something to Mom and Dad, I'm guessing that we could make things untenable for Reg at Rice."

"I'm going to give him one more chance. Let Neal talk to him."

Then, I slid down and took him into my mouth as deeply as I could manage while he continued to massage my ass cheeks and tease my rim. "Don't bring me off that way. I do want my sword buried deeply into you. It likes to be there more than any other place in the world." I slipped up and our lips met. He rolled me on my back and gently began to prepare for his entrance. "I'm going to watch you this time." Then he slid his dick in and I pulled him down deep with my heels on his ass cheeks as we embraced like the lovers we were. He pumped slowly and deeply, brushing my sensitive walls and love spot with each pass, carefully increasing our arousal. Then he came, hotly, copiously and without fanfare bringing me also to a satisfying climax. I put my head on his shoulder and just before drifting off to sleep, whispered, "Gracias, amigo. Te amo, Zorro."

"Bueno noche, ninito."

*******

The next two weeks were devoted to preparation and mid-terms. Practices were mostly solo—so I used the condo gym, often with Geoff late in the evening after his classes were complete. With Geoff present, I was comfortable and efficient.

On Tuesday he confirmed that the New Orleans party was definitely on—and that we had "dates." We decided not to make hotel bookings for the team on Saturday—instead we suggested that each make his own arrangements. We confirmed that dates and significant others were included. Everyone was excited.

My tests were concluded early in the second week—and were not really very difficult given the independent nature of much of my study—my only real exams would be the national financial qualifying tests in December.

Coach Neal had obtained the tape using his friend in security and sealed it in the university's vault. He made sure Reg knew that his actions in the locker room had been filmed and would be used if there were another infraction of the code of conduct at Rice. He now had two strikes. One more and he would be history. I hoped that RCC practices and meets would return to some degree of normalcy, but perhaps that was too much to expect.

********

After checking my schedule, Val convened a meeting of the Foundation in Houston and invited the global finance chief to attend. After the board meeting, there would be an informal brain storming session. I was asked to attend. She had provided some background on me to the others, and they greeted me warmly. It was quite clear however that she as Co-CEO of the Foundation and a family member received deference from the others. I was asked a number of leading questions and was able to talk about not-for-profit investment trends.

"Many foundations are now fully committed to the fact that their mission is bi-furcated: the stated mission with respect to goals in medicine, education etc and a collateral mission to use their investment policies to enhance their basic goals. The idea that investment policies should maximize profits and funds available for the mission—even to the extent of investing in counter-productive ventures was of the past. Everything needed to work synergistically. Thus, the investment directors needed to be part of the mission planning process and understand the short and long term goals of the Foundation, just as they needed to analyze in detail the myriad of activities in which their invested funds were involved. If companies were opaque or outright objectionable from a policy viewpoint, they were not candidates for investment. Investments which meet the overall goals of the foundation are plentiful and have demonstrated profitability to the same extent as more objectionable companies."

"This kind of thinking is new to us, but it is absolutely logical. When we are looking for investment direction—or contracting with consultants, we need to make it clear that this is an essential part of our strategy and mission. Thank you, Chet, for helping me to clarify my own developing thoughts on this subject. I hope you'll be available to help us formulate position and consultant description statements—and perhaps even to sit in on some of the interviews."