Geoff and Chet Ch. 27

As we left Coral Gables, I pulled out my cell and realized that I had received a text from Coach Neal. "Please call ASAP concerning developments. Reg has accepted LA draft and has notified us that he is leaving Rice immediately, finishing up his courses by internet. Joe has removed his name from coach selection—he is going to LA as manager and trainer for Reg." I guess this wasn't totally unexpected, but I had thought that Reg would at least wait until the end of the academic year. I guess money talked louder than I had imagined. But, I had no cell service until we reached Islamorada.

While Geoff made arrangements to park the car and move our small amount of luggage to the launch, I called Neal who was apparently still in Miami.

"This is Chet, returning your call."

"I hope you're sitting down and have a few minutes. This is a bit complicated. You obviously got my text about Reg and Joe. I must say Reg's decision is not a surprise and of course we had already discussed reopening the coach search. So, I've been busy. I've spoken to the AD and to the Dean. We are together on this."

"We are pleased to offer you the chief coach position when you graduate. The compensation will include a salary reflecting part-time coaching responsibilities, typical Rice perks, and admission to and full tuition at the Jones School of Business Administration for your MBA. The appointment would be for two years. Your thesis advisor has told us that you are one of the most talented financial students he has ever taught—and we certainly all know your cycling skills, your team leadership, and your ability to attract support for RCC. We think this could be a win-win."

"Wow. This is off the wall unexpected. Thank you for the vote of confidence. Can I think about this for a few days?" Then, I paused, took a deep breath and continued, "One more thing, Coach Neal, I need to tell you that I am gay. If that is an issue, it needs to be on the table now."

"You know better than that. You know Rice. We really don't concern ourselves with the personal lives of our students—or our athletes—or our coaches. By the way, I've suspected this for the last year or so. Enjoy New Years, hopefully with someone you like. We'll talk when you get back to Houston."

The launch was ready to depart so I joined Geoff on board. We were the only passengers. The trip took about 30 minutes at high speed—which was too loud to permit conversation. In fact, they gave us ear protection. I relaxed back into Geoff's muscular chest and surrounding arms and enjoyed the wind. We were met and escorted to our "chalet"—a thatch-roofed suite, at water's edge, with a small private plunge pool. The Gulf Stream waters were clear and blue-green. Palm trees surrounded the space. Our host (a handsome blonde hunk dressed only in sandals, a shell necklace and a colorful sari—the latter probably donned for our benefit) described the policies, and the amenities. He showed us the netted and canopied king bed with a view of the lagoon, the giant tub with hydro-jets, the huge outdoor shower, the stocked pantry, bar and frig and advised us to make reservations at the resort's only restaurant—not because it is crowded, but because the chef will be cooking just for you. In fact, if you prefer, he'll do it right here in this kitchen. "Enjoy. Dial 8 for anything you need. Welcome to Little Slice of Paradise Resort."

He pointed to the saris on the bed. "That's all you will need here. They are easy to wear." With that, he undid the knot on his sari, whisked it off, pushed out his hips to display his equipment in its semi-erect state, shook out the sari to be sure we had time to admire his jewels and retied it low on his waist. "See, it's easy. If you need me for anything, dial 7." I looked at Geoff who seemed genuinely surprised at the explicitness of the invitation. This was after all a five star all-inclusive resort!

He winked and whispered, "No threesomes this trip."

After he left, I stripped, walked to the bar and opened the bottle of DP that was chilling in a crystal bucket. I poured two flutes. "To us, now and forever! Geoff, thanks for this gift. This place is nothing short of spectacular. I love you. But, I think I've got something to top it—even before I top you."

I took him into my arms and we shared the champagne that we had just drunk. His eyes squinted sensuously—just like Zorro. "I'm waiting for my gift." I then disclosed the txt and the call from Coach Neal. "I'm going to take the coaching job and continue with my MBA. I had already decided that Vegas was not for me—or for us, and this offer is just too good to turn down. If you'll have me, we can be together in Houston."

I set my flute down on the counter, reached into my travel bag and flipped down on one knee. He pushed his rising erection toward me in anticipation of my next action. But, instead, I grasped him and slipped a golden-colored silicon ring down to the base of his cock and over his balls. "Will you be mine? Will you marry me?"

He looked down, realized what I had just done and then realized what I had just proposed. "I already am yours. But, wait, wait just a minute. Stay right there." He stepped over to his bag and withdrew a small robin's egg blue box. He knelt in front of me, opened it and showed me two wide titanium rings, each with a single square diamond embedded deeply into the band. "Chet, will you marry me? I don't think I can survive without you." He put one band on my finger and handed me the other to put on his.

"Rice has done it again. I am convinced that someone at Rice has ordained that we belong together. I think the Dean is really one of Cupid's emissaries."

With that, we rose. I took Geoff into my arms and kissed him deeply, pushing him back to the king bed. When his calves touched the mattress, he fell back and I covered him. For some time we just squirmed together caressing and hugging, occasionally looking at our now-ringed fingers. Then I got up on my knees and reached over for the lube. He raised his legs and held them high and to the side. I prepared him as he rested his legs on my shoulder. Then I began the wonderful rocking penetration of his loving entrance. I remained kneeling and stimulated his love button with my swollen cap as I pulled out and pushed in, until he cried for release. I bottomed and dropped so we were chest to chest. My lips went to his and his calves circled my ass and pulled hard. I grabbed both of his nipples and pinched. Suddenly, a look of surprise crossed his face as shots of translucent fluid hit his chest. This was the first prostatic orgasm that he had ever experienced! It was long and hot. But, I too was there. I began to shoot my hot semen deep inside his gut until his own ejaculation turned milky and ropey. We collapsed together and lay in silence, soaked in each other's love, stroking each other tenderly for some time.

"I guess that was an affirmative to both questions."

"And babe, it was a nice thought, but I don't need a cock ring to stay hard for you. I'm hard all the time."

"It can double as a bracelet given your size!"

"Let's get some dinner. Then I want a dose of your Texas slide with an all-night spoon--maybe with you firmly parked inside me."

"Merry Christmas, lover, partner, soon-to-be-husband."

The End BD

Epilogue: I think it's time to end this story. Geoff and Chet are by now old friends of mine. They do marry the following summer. Val will not hear of an elopement, but she agrees to a "small" family wedding at the ranch, to be reprised on the Italian Riviera in August—neither interfering with Becca's wedding-of-the-century. Geoff becomes an orthopedist/sports medicine specialist and affiliates with a major Houston hospital; Chet gets his MBA and continues to coach, part time, at RCC which remains a very successful team, but never really loses the "club" character. Over several years, Chet becomes mentor to many young athletes attempting to deal with sexual identity. He becomes Executive Director of the Ferrari Foundation which begins to focus on medical and nutrition issues particular to the LBGTQ+ community. Years later Geoff and Chet are living together in a large Montrose home—a neighborhood in Houston which is particularly welcoming of gays. They have adopted a child (a daughter) and surrogated two others (boys who appear to be each in the beautiful mold of their handsome and successful fathers). They are happy, in love, and doing what gives them the most pleasure and satisfaction.

Reg leaves Rice in December and moves to LA where he makes a splash as a nationally-ranked pro cyclist—and model and influencer. Ads featuring him in sports gear and suggestive underwear are in every magazine. Joe goes to coach. Reg seems happy and fulfilled—he certainly is becoming wealthy. Then tragedy hits. Joe Gallagher, his trainer, mentor and uncle, is accused of sexually abusing another member of the LA Rollers after a massage. During the investigation, it is discovered that Joe has been abusing his nephew, Reg, since he was pre-pubescent—11 years old, and that the intimate relationship persists with Reg as Joe's confirmed sub. Reg has been dealing silently with this abuse for more than ten years, giving Joe what he wants, when he wants it under Joe's threat: Joe is very close to Reg's Dad, and that if exposed, Joe threatens to convince the Reverend that Reg was the aggressor. Joe certainly didn't make Reg gay. In fact, Reg is probably aggressively bi—the quintessential sexual animal with unquenchable drive. But the scandal destroys his cycling—and influencing—careers. Neither persona can handle a sexual scandal—even when it appears that Reg was the "victim." He disappears from the scene. But, fame (and scandal) are fleeting. So Reg will have a chance to try again after a few years of quiet waiting. He is gifted, resilient, and capable of a come-back.

I considered another end for Reg. I am aware that some of you have suggested that Reg should not have come away from this story "clean." He got the franchise bid and never really "paid" for using team mates and lovers for his own purpose. I thought about this situation, but realized that in real life, bad people often do well, get rich, and become famous—particularly if they are photogenic self-promoters who can claim fame. Very simply, they get away with using other people—of the same or different sex. Society seems ready to forgive exciting, "beautiful" people almost immediately—or they simply look the other way. That's life. So in this scenario, I decided to leave him alone. Someday, if justice prevails, he'd get his—but probably not before destroying a few more lives.

I have had a few comments suggesting that the "color" angle of the story was inappropriate. I did not set out to make Reg the villain. I was more influenced by the fact that at this point in history attractive god-like black men are the idols of the moment in the fashion and cosmetics industries. I saw Reg as one of those aggressive metro-sexual men—not as a black man. As to the discussions of the implications of affirmative action, that just happens to be an important topic of the moment. Apologies if that offended some of you. BD