Geoff and Chet

Chapter 02 Quick Recovery

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction, part of a multi-chapter, two part novella. Copyright, 2023. All characters portrayed in sexual situations are over 18. Apologies that the Prologue with a full description did not appear before Ch 01. BD

After Chet fell asleep, I sent the pictures of the accident to the sheriff's office and filled in what I could of the required report that I found online. Chet would need to review and sign it before it would become official, but they promised to open the case and contact Amazon. Hit and run is a felony and serious business in Texas. And companies are typically responsible for the actions of their drivers.

During the morning, I napped on the sofa and checked on Chet hourly. He was very restless. Before long, when I walked in the sheet was on the floor, the tee had retreated up his chest, and he was otherwise nude in my bed. But, there was no evidence of nausea and no bleeding.

As he tossed and turned, I had various views of his body. I spent some time (actually quite a bit of time) watching him—if he woke, I could always explain that my actions were medically motivated. He was a few inches shorter than I and well-muscled. Creamy complexion with a pinkish tan on his face, arms and legs. He obviously wore shorts regularly. Long, thin (maybe 4" flaccid, 8" hard or perhaps a little longer?—if he is a grower) cut penis, nearly translucent so all the veining was prominent, with a much larger plum-like head. Just made for fucking. Good sized pink balls. Just made for fondling. Blonde with a little curl and rosy tints in his hair—including his pubes. Both were trimmed. All natural. Otherwise hairless. I hadn't realized that cyclists shaved. Sensuous thick pink lips. I had previously noted his cobalt blue eyes with long reddish lashes. Nice small bubble butt with deep hip indentations and small ass dimples and muscled thighs.

He was a young Adonis. Then it occurred to me that he looked a little like a grown up version of one of those cute Hallmark cherubs—sans the baby fat, but with prominent dimples in all the right places—and the rosy curls. Once when I came in, he was erect—proving out my earlier size estimate—and that he wasn't a "cherub.". Once or twice, I thought he might be awake, posing for my benefit, but I decided to play along. What did I have to lose?

I had lunch and left out a protein shake and bar by my bed if Chet woke and was hungry. He must have been, because both were consumed when I returned to the room. He had gotten out of bed. But, he was apparently asleep again and covered with the sheet.

Finally, mid afternoon, I heard Dad in the kitchen and left the room to explain the situation. He was making himself a sandwich, so I sat at the counter. I asked him about his night and he launched into a mini-stump speech about gun shot wounds, ER results, gun control regulation and our NRA-owned legislature. That's one of his hot buttons—and he's seen so many of the consequences. He frequently recommended that they open a gun shot emergency facility inside the state capital precinct so our NRA lackeys could see first-hand what they were doing to society. But, he realized it probably wouldn't make any difference—they would just ignore the carnage.

But he wasn't distracted from what I had done. He was not pleased that I had taken it upon myself to avoid the ER—even when I explained that Chet specifically requested no ER. He was also concerned that we had not called the Rangers immediately—accidents with bodily injury require reporting. He also noted that he knew both the sheriff and the Amazon general manager because of their ER use from time to time. He promised to let both of them know that he was interested in getting to the bottom of Chet's accident. But, he was visibly upset that I had taken all these "rash" actions without fully considering the potential personal consequences. I wasn't a doctor—yet—and wasn't entitled to legal protection if something went south.

We walked into the room as Chet was waking—he had pulled the sheet up to his chest. Dad makes an impression when he enters a space. He was casually dressed in blue scrubs—his standard leisure wear. He's tall, with a grey/blonde crew cut, and light blue eyes. Most would describe him as handsome and distinguished. He's a little thin, but has bulging arm muscles. ER docs tend to be beefier than others; they encounter lots of different experiences over the years since ER patients often come from the rougher end of society, and often from the rougher night spots of the town. But he has a quiet, mellifluous voice that inspires confidence (and obedience).

"Chet, this is my Dad. Dr. Brett Peters. He is an ER doc as I told you. He wants to take a look." "Sure," he said as he sat up and the sheet dropped away. Dad looked at me when he saw Chet was nude save the tee, but didn't say anything. Chet pulled off the tee. Dad examined the wounds and pronounced them all superficial. "It's been only eight hours since the accident, but there does not appear to be any evidence of concussion or infection. Let's keep antiseptic on the cuts. And observation is warranted for another 24-48 hours."

"Chet is currently living alone, so I've suggested he stay here for at least another day. His hosts return next Tuesday or Wednesday."

"I think that's a good idea. Can we convince you to stay for a day or so for observation?"

"I really don't want to be any trouble. I think I'm going to be ok."

"No one ever anticipates the impact of a concussion unless it's immediate. All you young guys think you're immortal. It is obviously advisable to be around others who can detect changes in your behavior or any swelling. I definitely recommend further observation."

(Oh, Dad. I could hug and kiss you. Thank you for that. Best wingman I've had all summer. And I'm definitely on for watching for swelling.)

"Well, if it isn't too much trouble. I'll stay. But, Geoff, you need to have your own bed back. I can make it on the sofa. And, I think I'm well enough to see what happened to the bike."

"I parked the pick up in the barn to protect it from any further damage. We can get it out later. We can talk about the bed later as well. We have a guest room, but it's in the pool house and I couldn't keep an eye on you as easily. It's definitely better if you stay here. Meanwhile, can I get you something to eat?"

Dad left to return to the kitchen and I stayed for a few more minutes with Chet. "I need to get you some clothes." So I pulled out some exercise shorts and another tee. "I'll leave these for you," and started to leave. "No need to leave. You've already seen what there is to see. I'm not really modest—in fact, I'm somewhat of an exhibitionist." At this, Chet threw the sheet off and rose from the bed and walked to the bath to wash his face and teeth and brush his hair. He returned in just a minute, obviously fluffing his equipment and reached for the clothing I had thrown on the bed. He had certainly set the sartorial standard (actually, the lack of same) for our time together and I couldn't be more pleased. And I was pretty sure that he was flirting. He was obviously proud of what he was carrying and the impression that he made. I suspect he's done a bit of cruising and may have been quite a hit at the gay bar.

"Let's go have some lunch and look at the bike." "Is a sandwich ok? I'll pull the pick up out so we have maximum light. You can use those sliding doors to follow when you're ready. Extra sandals or flip flops in the closet over there."

I left, pulled the truck out and unloaded near the barn. Chet came out and began a careful inspection. "It looks like the front titanium wheel is shot. The brake lines and gears will need adjustment or replacement but the derailleur looks ok. I can't really tell about the rest without equipment that can test alignment. But I surely won't be able to ride this bike in this condition. I think the repair costs could be substantial."

"We'll take it into Austin tomorrow morning if you want. There is a pro cyclist shop in the Austin Eastside Mall. I can make the calls later. We probably should have it inspected by the police before however. Do you have insurance?"

"Unfortunately no."

"Well, at least let's take some photos while it is set out here."

I took more photos with my cell phone and started picking up the pieces to reload into the pickup. Chet reached over to help, but seemed to stumble (hopefully not a medical issue). I grabbed him quickly around his waist and took the brunt of his fall into the tall prairie grass. He landed exactly on top of me with our legs entwined. I looked up into his eyes and he looked down and smiled. What a terrific smile. I reached my arms to his head and drew him to me and his lips met mine. His arms were pinned and he was momentarily helpless. But, his mouth opened to me and his tongue emerged and I opened to receive him resulting in a passionate exchange of tongues and a bit of a duel.

I held on, my hands moving to his butt. It fit very nicely in my large hands. "Careful now." I could feel he was already hard. I knew that I was. So, I reached under and squeezed his dick. I think he shot a bit of precum since I felt the "little spasm."

"That was not the smoothest move, Chet. You didn't have to fall into me. I would happily have embraced you. In fact, I'm game for anything more you'll let me have—or do. I'm all in—or at least I hope so."

"Yeah, I know. I've been watching you watching me for hours. I sorta guessed that you were scoping me out—for more than just medical reasons. I thought I was putting on a good invitational show. Once, I even pulled a woody to entice you. I surely expected you would join me in your bed hours ago. I really need some TLC. But, I'm a big boy, capable of handling a little accident. Don't treat me like an invalid."

"I can tell you're a big boy. Certainly big enough to play in the big leagues with this bat," I added as I squeezed and stroked his lengthening rod.

We continued exploring each other in the grass—but I didn't roll him over for fear of re-injuring his back. "I think we can find a more comfortable place to take this introduction, don't you?"

"Oh, I think we've been introduced. I think it's time to consider how we'll handle our first date."

And so we rose—keeping as much contact as possible as we did so—obviously to be sure he was stable. After he was upright and steady, I reached around and grabbed his ass cheeks through his shorts. "This is about the best looking—and feeling--ass I've ever the pleasure of holding. I'm sure I'll have some fun with this."

He reached down into my shorts, "And I think this is the largest dick I've ever held. I'm sure we'll have some fun with this."

"So I guess we have a future?"

"I sure hope so. You've just invited me to use your bed for the next few days and a good southern gentleman doesn't steal another guy's bed from him."

"I really wasn't thinking in terms of gentlemanly activities. And I was always taught to share. Let me get the bike into the pickup and back into the garage. I don't really need your help for that. Go on in. There's a sandwich in the kitchen. I'll join you in a few minutes. Are you up for a swim?"

"Sure, but you'll have to lend me some trunks."

"We are on "BOQ mode" here with Mom away. Skinny dipping is the norm, unless Matt decides to bring home friends—male or female. No one wants to go there."

I finished packing the bike and drove into the garage. But my own thoughts were in turmoil. Chet was beautiful, athletic, intelligent and apparently willing: a potential playmate by any measure. But, I'm normally the aggressor, the hunter. I do the picking up. I top except when I want to be the bottom. I control the pace and the game. It seems that I may have met my match. He's been teasing me, maybe even trying to seduce me. Am I playing his game or is he playing mine? Chet is probably a top, clearly an alpha--although I don't think he even knows it yet. He just acts alpha naturally. He's only a year younger and physically he nearly matches me. He may not even consider himself to be completely gay or a bottom and probably not in search of a relationship. I think he's worth the effort. At a minimum, his being here will give me something to play with for the next few days.

He's going to be my project. First we'll make sure he is recovered. Then, maybe I can teach him a few things, perhaps I'll make him my boy toy before I leave for Houston—and then I can decide what more I want after that—but I want it to be my choice. I need to control my relationships—and my best hooks always become relationships. So, I'm going to put on all the charm. And, when I fuck him—and I will fuck him—it will be my show—that he asks for--and my opportunity to make him mine. I'll definitely show him what it means to be a bottom for Geoff Peters. He won't know what hit him until he's totally in my web.