Geoff and Chet Ch. 26

Chapter 26 Houston Victory, Thanksgiving and a Threesome

Author's Note: We're getting near the end. Thanks for sticking with me and apologies for the publication glitches. All characters portrayed are over 18. All places are fictional. Remember, this entire competitive cycling regime is fiction. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. BD

Chet's POV

We had two back to back meets after the New Orleans experience. First, we flew to Jacksonville and rode against three teams that we had not yet seen this season—from South Carolina, Jacksonville, and Nashville. None were rated in the top half of the SCC and so the coaches repeatedly warned us not to let up on our times. We did well—not our best and Reg once again eclipsed my time. We seemed to be falling into a pattern. When we rode against strong teams and he and Pete were required to expend significant "point energy" to promote my win, as called for by team strategy, I would have the best time after the final sprint, but when the point responsibilities were easier because the competition was weaker, Reg conserved his energy and out-sprinted me in the stretch. This of course strongly suggested that he was the better overall cyclist. He and I, and probably others, noticed this. But, we weren't talking and the team certainly detected the hostility between us. I think some saw it as competitive envy.

Then we had our eighth (and final qualifying) meet at home in Houston. We drew a large crowd as we hosted an all-Texas field of Austin, Dallas and El Paso. At least two of the teams were still contenders. It was a beautiful November day for Houston and local officials had been prevailed upon to create a traffic controlled course that involved a round trip all the way to Galveston, including miles of riding along the beach promenade road—where of course the crowds gathered. We narrowly edged out Dallas to win, posting our best team time for the year. I won with a time slightly off my best and Reg was third. Second went to the Dallas captain. This meant that going into Thanksgiving, my average time, Jack Morris' time (the Dallas captain) and Reg's time were within tenths of seconds of each other. Any one of us could clinch the individual season title in the remaining two meets of the season—and we would meet Dallas again on the final weekend between Christmas and New Year's Day in Miami.

On Tuesday, after the Houston meet, Rice announced that it had narrowed the field for coach of RCC to three finalists. I think they chose that day because most of the school including many of my team mates had already left for Thanksgiving break. All the potential head coaches were known to us. One was the assistant coach at UT Austin; one was the assistant coach of one of the smaller pro franchises in Nashville; and surprisingly, the last was Joe Gallagher, Reg's uncle—and not currently coaching a cycling team. Fortunately Geoff and I were leaving on Wednesday for his parent's ranch or I would have spent days answering questions about whether Joe's candidacy might constitute a conflict of interest since Reg planned to remain on RCC for another year (his fifth at Rice—he had stretched his curriculum over five years to permit the continuation of his lucrative modeling contracts). The final choice would be made before the end of the year and the new coach would be in place for the shorter spring season. Ultimately, it didn't matter to me. I would know by year end whether I was going pro—and if the team decided to move Reg or Pete into the captain's seat for the spring meets, that was fine with me. Frankly, I had had enough of the team intrigues and I lived in constant fear that something would explode between Reg and me or that Pete would come on to me. It was wearing me out—and I think it was beginning to bother Geoff as well. But then one more layer of complexity was added: Coach Neal had put me, as captain, on the final interview committee so I would have a vote as to whether Reg's uncle, the iconic retired cyclist, would be moving to Rice.

Geoff was beginning to tire of my extreme caution to remain in the closet. He knew that several members of the team were gay (although none of them had come out publicly)—and that Rice simply did not care. If anything, Rice was openly supportive of all sexual identities and militant in its pursuit of those who disagreed with that policy. Yet it was sapping my psychic energy. More than once, Geoff had remarked that our terrific New Orleans team party was a complete charade for us. If I went pro, would this be our lifestyle for the next years? Would we need to live mostly a lie if I were on the public stage?

We drove to the BV ranch on a sunny cool day. The traffic was heavy, but we were not really bothered by the extra time. My semester was effectively over. Geoff had placed near the top of his class in the first set of exams and he was moving into another fresh set of courses after Thanksgiving—with a few electives, so he was effectively "on break." And of course, RCC had qualified for the championship of SCC by completing eight meets—and we were in first, and, I was in first with the best average time in the history of the SCC. We were returning as conquering heroes to a beautiful ranch, a loving family, and what promised to be a great feast. And of course I assumed Geoff and I would have four days of over-the-top sex. I hoped it would help me to forget all the issues that were bottled up inside.

Val greeted us with hugs and kisses. "You boys have about an hour before dinner. I'm guessing you want a shower. Join us on the terrace for our sundowner flute of Prosecco. We've set up some space heaters so we can have one more evening outside before winter. All this soul food has awakened my hunger for all your gossip."

We carried our stuff into Geoff's room (is it our room now?), stripped and went to enjoy a long joint shower. We washed, rubbed, and caressed each other into rock hard erections and took turns providing the oral stimulation that would hold us until later. "Geoff, I swear that you are still growing. Every time I think I am finally able to deep throat you, you're just a little longer."

"No, it's you Chet. Just thinking about you makes me more aroused every time we do it. I think you are stretching me to my limit. Your blow jobs are better than penis vacs at enlarging my dick. By the way, I haven't taken you all in yet either."

We dressed in shorts and collared polos (formal for a Texas eve dinner), threw cotton sweaters over our shoulders, and walked out of the sliders onto the terrace where Val and Doc were sipping and grazing on the antipasto. Doc rose and hugged us both. "I hear you two have been burning up the track in Houston. Congratulations."

Matt was there with a beautiful blonde pixie. He stood. "This is Greta. She's going to spend the holidays with us. She goes to Regent, but her parents have been transferred to Singapore and it's just too far to travel for just a few days. She's a boarder for her last year and Regent closes down for five days at Thanksgiving so she was homeless."

"Well, not exactly homeless, but thanks, Matt, for the introduction. I'm pleased to meet the famous Chet and, at least according to Matt, the infamous older brother."

Before Geoff could respond to the brotherly insult, Matt began, "You'll meet another classmate, also staying with us for Thanksgiving in a few minutes. Greta and Taylor are going to be staying in the pool house." Matt seemed quite pleased to have attracted two nice young lady companions for the holiday season. He was certainly keeping up his reputation as a guy with a harem.

Geoff looked at his Dad and said, "Well you know the first set of med exams is over and I placed in the top 5%--they don't class-rank any more. So that's all I know. The next set of classes start on Monday. But, Chet is the one with the outstanding news."

"I'm pretty sure that Geoff has told you most of this, but cycling news isn't exactly distributed around the world. As of last Saturday, RCC had completed the required 8 meets to qualify for consideration as season champions. We placed first by a significant margin. We have two more meets—Orlando in a week and half and Miami just after Christmas. We then get to drop our two worst performances—but so do all the other teams that that complete ten meets. It will be close, and I don't want to jinx our chances, but it looks pretty good for the team."

"As of now, I am nearly tied for best individual performance. It may be determined in the last two meets. New coach nominations have just been announced—and they've asked me to sit on the interview committee. I haven't decided whether to accept—one of the finalists is related to a team member. And he is probably the only guy on the team that I don't get along with. So I'm not sure I can be impartial."

Geoff broke in, "Chet's moral compass is enormous—you can see his back pocket is always stretched from the weight of carrying it around."

"My back pocket is stretched because Geoff orders too much food and my ass is growing. I thought my Irish grandmother was a harpy about eating. You should live with this Italian nag." I chuckled and reached over and touched his gut.

"With all the calories you burn in riding and exercising, if I didn't feed you, my Mom would accuse me of starving you. Besides, I like your ass just the way it is."

The terrace went silent; Geoff blushed, and Doc came to the rescue. "Aren't we expecting an announcement this weekend?"

"Yeah. Friday, high noon, Los Angeles time. The twenty pro draft pick list of names will be published on the internet. I don't think that there will be any surprises for me. I'll be on the list—the more important consideration will be the club that drafts me—and I won't know that for several more weeks."

"Have you heard from your family?"

"My sister called a few weeks ago. She is expecting their first child in late March. She tells me Mother and Father are delighted, but are already lobbying to get her to move back to Savannah. They'll be with the extended family on the plantation tomorrow. But, I don't think that they will move. She and her husband both have good positions and like Atlanta. The family can be absolutely stifling since my mother's older brother still tries to run the family the way his great grandpappy controlled the slaves—and the family."

"But nothing from your parents?"

"No, but I really didn't expect to hear from them. I sent them my address when I wasn't going back to the dorm and my cell phone number after the semester started, but the letter was returned unopened."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

As the sun set, we moved indoors and all gathered at the large trestle table for the feast. Conversation continued with Matt and his friends dominating the conversation (for a change). Dinner was a delight.

Val had a wonderful "Thanksgiving Eve" meal prepared when we arrived—a delicious variety of her Italian traditions—a huge tray of antipasto (shipped in from her family), veal Milanese, lobster polenta, and a medley of vegetables marinated in olive oil and vinegar. We even tried a few chocolate profiteroles (before we retired for our real dessert).

"Thanks Mom for a great dinner. Chet and I are going to turn in. Long drive today. Dad, are you working tomorrow?"

"Yes, we agreed to split up the day. I'll go in at 6 and be home by 2."

"We'll have dinner at 4 to 5."

"Is there anything we can do to help tomorrow?"

"It's all under control, thanks."

"I think I'll go out for a ride tomorrow—we brought my bike with us."

"I'm going to drop by the ER tomorrow morning to see some of my friends from last summer."

"I'm going out to the pool house with the ladies to play gin—do you want to join us Mom?"

"No, I think I'll enjoy an early, quiet evening with your father."

"Good night then. Until tomorrow." My guess is that gin would yield to truth or dare without Val at the table. Matt looked really pleased with himself.

We headed for the bedroom. As I was walking out of the bath, Geoff remarked, "Better close the black out drapes before you strip, babe. There is a clear shot from my sliders to the pool house windows."

"Now you tell me. How often have we screwed around in here with the drapes wide open?"

"But you always boast that you're an exhibitionist. I didn't think it would bother you. And we typically don't have guests in the pool house."

So I walked over and shut the drapes. I noted that the pool house lights had been dimmed and the drapes pulled shut. I guess Matt was in for a magic evening too. Then I hummed a bad version of The Stripper while I put on a show for Geoff. It didn't take long—I didn't have much on. "Come over here boy, I want a lap dance. Make it good." Geoff was removing his sandals while sitting on the ottoman, so I walked up to him and facing him, sat. My arms went around his neck, my legs around his hips, and I began to invade his mouth with my tongue as I squirmed my ass over his hardening dick. His fingers went immediately to my ass cheeks and alternately squeezed and lifted. I knew what was coming (and cuming) and I pressed my chest into his in anticipation and rolled his nibs between my fingers. He moaned and dropped his head back. I reached over and took his lips in mine, forcing them open to prepare for my invading tongue.

Then he grabbed my cheeks and stood simultaneously. He took a few steps toward the bed and placed me on my back near the headboard on the pillow, trapping the hook of my knees with his powerful arms. He grabbed the lube from under the pillow and anointed his love tool and my inviting pucker, reaching in far enough to press the p-spot. Then he rolled me up on my shoulders, grabbed the bars of the headboard to stabilize himself, positioned his purple head at my entrance and stiffened out into a push up position. A few moves later his body and his dick were steel-stiff and he was buried to the hilt. I could feel his swollen sacs on my ass. I knew this was one of his favorites since it left him in almost complete control of his and my pleasure. He had me helpless, rolled back onto myself, "bound" to the headboard by his long arms, and fully open to his driving into me. When we first fucked, I chafed at giving him such control, but with time, I too began to like the surrender and there was no question that he knew how to stroke my button.

With one major exception: I had learned that I could use my anal muscles to stroke his pole even when he had me immobilized. I lay there passively, or at least as passively as one can when a strong masculine hunk was doing aerial pushups into one of the sensitive parts of your body. The pure physicality of this position was incredible. His passion rose. I could feel the tension in his thighs as he rocked into me, and I began the inner stroking of his penis. His size meant that he fit tightly inside and the walls of my chute were sensitive to the final expansion of his dick and the rise of his fluid, and as I felt it begin to rise, I tightened as much as possible. He smiled, recognizing my game. "Oh babe, that feels so great. Are you ready?"

"Anytime you are, big boy." He tensed and stretched his legs again, drew in his gut, and exploded deep into me. The heat and passion released me and I spurted over and over again onto my chest, neck and mouth. I knew what was next. He released my knees; I wrapped his ass with my calves; and he moved down to lap up my cum.

A few minutes later, he rolled to the side and then rose to get a warm towel. Back in bed, he pulled up the duvet in the now chilly room and cradled me in his arms. "You are such a great lover. I am so lucky to have you."

"Incidentally, you're welcome to visit the ER with me tomorrow if you would like."

"I think I need to ride. We're in for a big meal—and I do have two more races. I can't let up now. I presume you are going to see that gorgeous blond hunk who waived to you at the Austin meet."

"You noticed that? His name is Sven and he is an EMT. We had a few adventures before I met you. You've got nothing to worry about. He's not even sure he's gay or bi."

"I noticed him because he and I are amazingly similar—light, blond, a little shorter than you, athletic. I know your type, Geoff."

"You're my type Chet. Period. However, if you want to meet him, I can probably arrange for us to go out for drinks on Friday night. I don't know his current dating status."

"Sure, I always like to keep my competition close."

"I wasn't talking about Reg."

"He's not your competition, babe. He may be a world class hunk with one of the biggest cocks in the universe, but he's a selfish bastard."

"Well, you'll find Sven is a really nice guy. Maybe I can talk him into a threesome."

"I'll have to think about that."

******

I had always thought Thanksgiving was over-rated, but Geoff and family changed all that. We awoke early, took care of our morning wood in the most pleasant of ways, and I went off for a long ride. We regrouped at a light lunch—the date with Sven was set for Friday night. ("I didn't mention a possible threesome, but he does know you and I are together.") We napped, fucked again with me pitching this time, showered and gathered together for a wonderful meal—filled with laughter and good feelings. Val had outdone herself—again. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the casualness with which this family produces perfection—no wonder Geoff is perfect.

Throughout the day, however, as I rode and as I relaxed, I kept thinking about how families and close friends during our youth determine how happy our childhoods are—and how our psyches handle decisions, emotions, and relationships later in life. Geoff seemed to have the perfect environment—but he is nevertheless insecure in relationships. He gives and gives himself over and over. He is generous with his time, talent and treasure. But underneath his generosity is a foundation of insecurity—if he doesn't give, will others love him? How did that happen to him in such a loving and accepting environment?

Then I began to think about Pete. His family was loving, but cold and non-demonstrative. They expected their offspring to be perfect (without praise or comment) and to contribute to the welfare of the family. Did this make Pete more susceptible to the apparent loving gestures and praise of others or did it make him less vulnerable? I think maybe lack of experience with emotion creates its own natural immaturity—and vulnerability when potential relationships are encountered.

Reg was another story. He was born into an ultra-religious family with strict rules of conduct—but almost inexplicably, his "reverend daddy" had "sold" him into the world of commercial modeling in the Big Apple at a young age. Reg was a prize, a valuable asset, a commodity in the world of sex-selling. Daddy had to know how that would change his son and the temptations that would come his way. Yet he permitted it. Presumably, the family had benefited financially from Reg's modeling success. What kind of parent sells a son into de facto sexual slavery, masquerading as modeling. And then of course there was the mentoring relationship with Joe, his wife's brother, a lifelong bachelor, a cycling idol. How did that play out? Reg had apparently hardened and developed a shell to survive. For him, interpersonal relationships were all transactional—what does it do for me—or to me?

It seemed that my own situation was a combination of all of them. In many ways, my family was very much like Reg's. They insisted on a strict religious upbringing. Their opinions on sexuality were formed thousands of years ago. They had expectations of their children, again born in a patriarchal age. And they were like Chet's—expecting a full day's work on the farm of their children—and that in young adulthood, those children would return to the farm and raise traditional families in the traditional way. Any deviation from this norm was punished with banishment—emotional (in Chet's case) or physical in mine.