Geoff and Chet Ch. 27

Chapter 27 The Miami Race and Conclusion

Author's note: This chapter concludes the story (00-27). As previously noted Ch 14 was posted in error (it is a dup of Ch 15). The correct 14 will be posted as 28 and marked as such. All chapters were published in Gay Male except 19 which was published in Anal. My apologies for the posting errors—I take full responsibility. I personally think 00 and 19 have the hottest scenes—but perhaps it was mis-posted, 10 got no comments and a low satisfaction score. All characters portrayed at over 18. All places and persons are fictional. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. BD

Chet's POV

We left to return to Houston on Saturday morning, ostensibly to avoid Sunday traffic. But, Matt was hosting a large party that night at the ranch and we didn't need to chaperone or have any desire to witness. We were pleased to be "home" and spent the day "relaxing" although we returned to our workout and riding routines immediately.

With practice and classes winding down, time went quickly for me. Geoff was starting a new cohort of classes, some of which were elective this time, which increased his interest level, but didn't reduce his commitments which remained about the same. It was gratifying to see how comfortable our life together had become. My fears that we might be incompatible roommates were unfounded. We actually became mutually dependent, enjoying the emotional support of having someone to talk to (a partner), the occasional massages after workouts, laps or cycling events, and of course the "on tap" sex. Geoff managed to curb his dom tendencies—except of course when that is exactly what I wanted. And we moved into a pattern of shared topping. Geoff actually began to crave my special talents at bringing him to an intense, long finish which totally drained him. I learned to cook a few things, but takeout and/or delivery were still the mainstays of our respective diets. Fortunately, Geoff had the medical school cafeteria for lunch and I had the jock cafeteria for most of my mid-day meals so we were guaranteed nutritional choices. Breakfast was always a protein shake—occasionally supplemented with "something special" delivered between the sheets.

With only two meets left in the fall season, the coaches carefully studied the team and individual standings to determine optimal results. The statistics gurus were in nerd heaven. RCC was obviously in first place and would likely stay there absent a catastrophe coupled with a spectacular performance by either UMiami or Dallas, but the individual championship was very much still in competition.

I noticed that as of that point, the team's two worst performances were both on occasions when Reg had won the race as an individual and the SCC rules were unclear. So we asked for a ruling: If a team drops a meet (any team can drop one or two meets provided eight meets remained in the average), does the individual from that team who won the dropped race lose credit for that win? If so, both of Reg's wins might be dropped—and he might not make it into the top three individual performances. By the time we were ready to leave for Orlando, no answer had been received. So, I wanted the Orlando race to be spectacular and for Reg to have an outstanding performance—to be sure he held on to his individual honor position. We could talk about Miami later.

We flew off to Orlando about two weeks later for the meet. It was hosted by UCF, but UMiami, and Dallas planned to race. So three of the four contenders were still in the running for top SCC honors—and two os us flew in. The early December day was perfect Central Florida weather—dry, sunny and just a little cool. The course had been laid out east of Orlando, in the lake country and away from the notorious traffic surrounding the entertainment meccas of Disney, Universal and others. It was fairly flat, often alongside peaceful rivers or pastureland. UCF chose a "free for all" start so we drew lots for post position. RCC got lucky and we had the prime inside slot. Thus, our strategy—with a small twist, would be one we had used before: a fast start, commanding lead and defense until the sprints. The twist this time rested on the fact that Jean Marc was back. He was a superb cyclist and very fast. He would take point first and set a blinding speed, to be relieved by Chet and then Reg—preserving Reg's energy for the sprint. Because of his short season, and given his incredible team spirit, Jean Marc was prepared to sacrifice.

The strategy worked. We won with the best time of the year so far, as a team. I posted my second best time, but Reg edged me in the sprints for overall honors in that race. My best time (from an earlier race) remained the top and remained a national record.

And my average kept me in first. The Dallas captain edged out Chet for the show position. We were really pleased, but given the holiday season, few RCC fans had followed us to Orlando. We had a short victory lunch and headed for the plane back to Houston—to celebrate with our friends back home. Nine races down. We were undefeated. And I had the top position in the individual ranking. Reg was third. Chet, fourth. I did notice that Chet sat with Janet on the trip home—but it was perhaps the accident of how airline seats were allocated.

The last two weeks before Christmas break were hectic beyond belief for me. I only saw Geoff naked in bed (which wasn't the worst fate in the world). Fortunately, my Rice course exams were a piece of cake. The NASD exams were the third Saturday in December. They were an entire day, reflecting far more questions relating to ethical issues and dilemmas that I would have expected. My financial background was barely tested. But, I think I did fine. Results would be published on line in early January. I flew out to John Wayne Airport for the meetings in Orange County with the franchises that very Sunday just about a week before Christmas. Reg went out at the same time, but since he already had an agent, his arrangements were all made for him and he wasn't on the same plane or in the same hotel.

The meetings were mostly parties and celebrations. Photographers. Publicists. Agents, introducing themselves. Fancy cocktails, fancier restaurants. Opportunities to meet cycling stars. We were treated as celebrities. There were six of us there, but Reg was clearly a standout. I was never quite sure whether the hype was for all of us or whether Reg's agent had amp-ed up the situation. He was obviously planning a major product endorsement launch. Representatives for YSL and FILA were both ever-present by his side. Perhaps he was going to dump CK for a French connection?

I was a favorite: good looking (I learned I was very photogenic in that preppy Anglo clean cut style popular with the younger target groupies that had been identified by the ad agencies), well-spoken, obviously well and liberally educated, capable of being a spokesperson, possibly a star endorser. (I was fed all of this as a steady diet. I didn't need Geoff to stroke my ego, at least.) We were surrounded all the time by groups of beautiful young "Valley girls"—but because we were never paired with just one, there was no awkwardness that I could detect. In fact, it was all pretty asexual, but with a heavy suggestive sexual undertone.

Through it all, I of course never mentioned that I was gay. It was absolutely clear that the professional franchises were homophobic. Jokes, comments, hand signals all attested to this: cyclists were alpha heteros and being portrayed as larger than life. I met with several of the franchise managers and I think made a good impression. Then I met with some product promoters. I detected that at least some of them (male and female) were coming on to me—looking for something that I might have to give if I wanted endorsements. (Reg would have known how to handle that situation.) Some salary ranges were discussed, but obviously, details were franchise-specific and at least partially related to local cost of living conditions. I was given the standard contract to peruse—obviously not filled in--which gave the franchise owner the "unconditional" right to terminate any cyclist for cause if "the cyclist's conduct or reputation reflected badly on the cyclist or the club." We all knew what that meant. I executed some papers—mostly form authorizations for background checks and attestations that I had no reason to believe the official stats of my performance were materially incorrect. I assured them I wasn't bankrupt, in serious debt for my education, married, that I had no dependents—at least that I knew of--etc etc. And suddenly, three days of partying were over. We limo-ed back to the airport and I was back in Houston Wednesday night, ready to go back into a rigid training routine for the big event closing the season in Miami.

During that final week of classes, all three coach candidates visited campus. They met with team members, athletic administration, various Rice coaches and generally became familiar with what Rice had to offer. All were interviewed by the selection committee. After those meetings, Coach Neal and I (and a third member of the selection committee, a major donor to the cycling club) were troubled.

The Nashville pro coach was not going to fit with the scholar-athlete image of Rice. He was a little crude, way too rigid and one-track minded. We wondered whether he could adapt to a club where members did not owe their existence to his approval and where academics were important, even more so than athletic performance.

The Austin coach seemed ideal, although some background that was developed by the head hunter firm suggested that he had some "ancient" history of racism and misogyny. During one interview he expressed "tremendous surprise" that one-third of the club was made up of African Americans, a Latino and a woman. My own view was that he had already testified himself out of a position. It went without saying that he was rigidly homophobic.

That left Joe of course. Everyone loved him, but he had no academic credentials (a bachelors from a bible college, obviously not in physical education), spoke grammatically questionable English, and there was always the issue of his relationship with Reg—particularly now with Reg's potential to go pro. What would Joe do if Reg went pro and left Rice? By the end of the process, Neal told me he was going to recommend that we re-open the candidacy selection process. That at least took me off the hook—so I could head for the ranch with Geoff for Christmas unencumbered by those issues.

We left after Geoff's last class on Friday and headed north, enjoying smaltzy Christmas music in the SUV and generally decompressing; we realized that we weren't going to reach the ranch until late that night so there was no reason to push. Around 11, we pulled through the Rampant Stallions BV gates and made our way to the house. Val and Doc had spared no expense to create a holiday wonderland. The entire front porch was framed in lights and the drive to the door was lit with electric Southwestern faux-luminaria. Cherubs held the tops of the greenery surrounding the front door and candles lit every window. Geoff remarked that the cherubs could have been modeled from my baby pictures—and I pouted, "Their dicks are way too small to be me. I was born big." Inside in the timbered great room was an enormous tree with mostly antique Italian ornaments, cantilevered over an ancient crèche. Brightly wrapped gifts were already piled high around the great room.

Val greeted us with hugs, drinks and snacks and graciously allowed us to retire without an inquisition. "We'll talk schedule tomorrow—Chet do you want to do an early ride—if so, I'll plan a hearty family breakfast around 10."

"Sounds perfect. Happy early Christmas."

Several members of Val's family were already ensconced in the pool house, while Brett's sister and family were arriving tomorrow, Christmas Eve, to occupy the two guest rooms in the north wing. It seems that both Irish and Italian traditions call for a big feast on Christmas Eve and an open house "grazing" atmosphere with tables laden with foods on Christmas Day itself.

Geoff and I retired to our room, showered and fell into an embrace in bed which turned into immediate slumber. I rose at dawn and left for my ride, leaving Geoff snoring. I'm going to let my tired med student sleep in. He's always up by 6:30 and he had made the drive to Austin after a full day of classes.

I had a great ride, but a little short since, with the solstice, the sun did not rise until close to 7. It was cool but not cold. When I got back, brunch was underway—and Italian seemed to be the lingua franca as Brett had already left for the ER. My Italian is nil, but I smiled, used a lot of "grazie's" and soon we were into a form of pigeon English with lots of hand/arm gestures which would occupy the next few days. Geoff was occupied most of the day greeting and catching up with relatives, introducing me often as his boyfriend. No one seemed the slightest disturbed. They were very touchy-feely and easily invaded personal space (both physical and emotional). What a terrific family!

Dinner was spectacular, supplemented by foods from Italy (and the fine Sicilian caterer in Austin). We had legendary wines, the "Seven Fishes", Texas filets, sausages in pepper sauce, and so many pastas that I feared for my diet (the great Miami race was only four days away). Several of Val's relatives insisted on finding a midnight Mass in Austin, but most of us enjoyed the feast and called it a night.

We went to our room and Geoff presented me with his first gift of the season, wet foreplay under the rain shower that demonstrated he had learned all my erogenous zones, followed by a massive Geoff-induced orgasm that challenged my knees. Fortunately when I came, he was still hard and still holding me tightly into his gut, or I would have collapsed from the pleasure and loss of so much testosterone. I literally hung on him—impaled on his enormous hard cock. Then it was my turn, in bed this time. I was still tense, so I forced him onto his back, spread his legs, lubed, and immediately plunged into him. I teased his prostate, edged him a couple of times as his tension rose, his color darkened and his muscles stretched. I reached down, kissed him just under the ear lobe and licked my way to his lips as he thrashed beneath me. When I dropped to his lips and pulled him toward me, he exploded tightening his sheath around me so as to bring on another climax. His legs came up and trapped me to him, holding me hard and moist inside. Even after four months of intense sex, we could still manage two per on most occasions. Then I let him spoon me with his massive softening cock resting in my crack. I pushed back in and invited his hand to cup my balls. Another gift, this time from me to him.

Since there were no young children, we had decided to gather for breakfast and gift giving at 9:30. This meant Geoff and I could enjoy each other for a long slow time before we emerged—this time wearing matching red Ferrari print pj bottoms and tees (gifts from Val) and red Santa's caps (gifts from Matt). I think everyone knew we had just put them on after our shower. The day was filled with great food, gift-giving beyond anything I could have imagined, and a feeling of a loving family that I had never experienced. I would always remember it. Geoff and I had agreed to hold our gifts until after the Miami meet. We presented Brett and Val with a chef's kitchen dinner at the fabulous La Dolcissima Vita in Austin. Matt got an authentic RCC jersey, shorts and helmet. We had heard that he was receiving a racing bike from his parents, and I had agreed to coach.

The day after Christmas, we needed to make our too-early farewells. I had only two more days with the team before the great season finale in Miami. Doc and Val embraced us like the children of theirs we now were. I couldn't express my feelings without choking up. "This has been the best Christmas ever. Thank you."

Val quickly responded, "We are looking forward to many more—perhaps even with grandchildren some day."

A few hours later, we were back in Houston. En route, I got the Franchise Draft txt. Las Vegas had drafted me with a generous financial offer. Reg was drafted by LA. My offer was a good one. I would clearly be treated as a star in the City that Never Tells, but I realized immediately that the compensation would not support a split residency in Houston and Las Vegas unless Geoff picked up all the Houston expenses—and even then, it would mean we would be apart for about half of each year until his studies ended—and I would need to live a lie. I expected Geoff to be sullen, but I think he had already accepted the fact that any draft would raise the issue of living apart. Perhaps I was a bit disappointed not to get the golden LA bid, but I realized it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway. At least air connections between Houston and Vegas were many and easy. And we had six months before any of this actualized.

There was no time to celebrate—or even to discuss these options with Geoff. Two days later we flew to Miami. Geoff had decided to go as well since he had no classes, but he carefully took a room in a nearby hotel. This was an off year for bowls in Miami and the Super Bowl bid had gone to Vegas that year, so the tourist authority was in full swing. Although UMiami was technically the host, the MTDA made all the arrangements. They laid out an imaginative course: all teams were bused to the Everglades National Park (Shark Valley) about 50 miles west of Miami. The course would head east to Ft. Lauderdale and then make a dogleg and wind through a dozen tourist meccas en route to the finish in magnificent Coral Gables. Police escorts would be required throughout. Stands had been erected in several locations—including the route of the famous Orange Bowl Parade which we would follow for a short distance. All the potential SCC conference champs had been invited: UMiami, Dallas, UT-Austin and RCC. It was to be a free for all start with a lotteried placement. We drew a center slot.

There was excitement in the air, but a thin crowd, at the National Park which was some distance from civilization. We again used our fast break strategy which was less successful because of our post position, but the strength of our front line—Jean Marc, Reg, Chet and myself made it clear almost within the first five miles that we were the team to beat. We were ahead, but not by much as we road through the tourist streets of the Atlantic beach communities to more cheering crowds than we had ever before seen. It actually gave us the taste of pro cycling. We were challenged again and again, but RCC prevailed and protected its perfect season. My point riders were exhausted from those challenges, but they generously pushed me to the winner's box with a time just about equal to my overall best. Reg and Jean Marc were second and third. Chet tied for fourth with the Dallas captain, producing the best time he had ever cycled.

There were speeches, photographs, an al fresco lunch near the Westin pool, and it was over. Recognizing that many of our team members might want to stay in Miami to greet the New Year, I had agreed to permit everyone to purchase his own air for reimbursement. Managers collected the bikes and equipment for transport back to Houston. Then, many who had dates began to wander off. I headed back to the hotel with the van, secured my bike for the return to Houston, and went up to the room to shower and change.

Minutes later Geoff showed up in a rented car and we headed for the Keys. He had arranged a "surprise" vacation for us as his Christmas present. It was an all-inclusive resort, on an island reached by a hydro-foil launch from Islamorada. The resort was barely in Florida, out in the Gulf Stream, toward The Bahamas. It was described as ultra-chic, small, clothing optional and gay friendly.