Geoff and Chet

Chapter 03 Geoff Gets a Taste

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. BD

I found Chet in the bath. He was searching for something and it was obvious that he was in some pain. "Need more ibuprofen? Can I get you something else? We don't have to swim."

"Do you always ask two or three questions in a row, each with a different answer? Yes, to the ibuprofen. No, to something else. Yes again, to the swim. But I'll need to borrow trunks."

"When Mom is away, trunks are optional—and it would probably hurt too much to put them on anyway. Head out to the pool and I'll bring the pills and some iced tea—sweet, I presume for a Georgia boy? Pool towels are outside by the chaises."

"Great—but no sugar please, I'm in training. Except the day before a race, I keep the carbs low—and even then I eat only complex carbs." Now I understand the muscular definition and deep cut abs. Chet is an athlete who watches his diet as well as training hard.

It was still warm and the pool looked very inviting in the late afternoon sun. It was a large pool and quite long, designed for laps. The gentle waterfall was working and provided pleasant background and white noise. I brought out the drinks, the pills, and a few keto snack bars. Both of us stripped; we were getting quite comfortable with mutual nudity. I dove in and Chet moved more slowly down the steps and sat in the shallow end seat. I showed off a bit with several laps of breast and back while Chet moved slowly enjoying the coolness on his bruised skin. His skin was smooth, almost café au lait where tanned, otherwise pale, with obvious sets of lines from the biking gear. In fact, his tan could pass for a redneck's.

Chet swam, breast stroke, to the deep end, and began to tread, obviously trying out his muscles. I didn't notice any particular signs of pain.

I finished first, climbed out and unashamedly posed at the top of the stairs--so he could get a good look at all of me. My olive skin was tanned very darkly in sharp contrast to the paler Speedo bikini "tattoo" showcasing my penis and large balls that had drawn up in the pool water. I am completely shaved—originally for swim competition, but now because I like the look, except for a patch of Brazilian-cut soft black pubes that almost fit inside a Speedo. Fortunately we had gone from Speedos to compression body suits for competition, because it is doubtful that my super cylinder would fit in a small bikini—at least not without scandal, and I did like to show a bit of masculinity with my bushy pubes. My shaft and apple-shaped cut helmet left nothing to imagination when I was in a Speedo and only slightly less in compression. I had used the Speedos only for home sunning and cruising—and very little of the latter since leaving UT. It is still an open question as to whether a man is sexier in a tight Speedo or nude and fully tanned. Mystery or exhibition? I stood at the top of the stairs, looking intently toward the house, but really just teasing Chet. I headed for a chaise, threw the towel down and dropped onto my back, with Little Geoff swinging from side to side in a wide arc as I did so.

Chet climbed out, his own member arching over his drawn up balls, grabbed a towel and stretched out gingerly on the chaise nearest me. "I'll try not to get blood on your towel."

I began. "Superficial abrasions bleed a lot at first, but heal pretty quickly—particularly in fit young men like you. An accident is not the ideal way to pick someone up, and I don't usually pick guys up that I don't know, but I am sure pleased that you are here. I've got a week before first year med school, otherwise known as hell, begins and I would really like to enjoy it with you. I hope we can become good friends. I can't wait to get my hands on you. As health care provider, of course."

"Your signals are coming through loud and clear. My receiver is working overtime."

"Tell me a little about yourself. I like to know a little about the guys I pursue."

"So you are pursuing me? I guess I can live with that. As you know, I am a competitive and compulsive cyclist. In fact, I'm pretty competitive at everything I do. I've been bred to compete—and win and so far that has worked for me. I've been training and competing at Rice. I plan to return to campus in just a week. A've been here riding the hills to develop more endurance since Houston is so flat and most of our meet courses are hilly. Assuming I have a good year, ah'll need to find a sponsor by next spring to go pro—or go to work after graduation. The costs of competing are enormous. Professional biking has been my goal for as long as I can remember. It's my life. Rice provides my basics and I am the best rider on the team, but they do not sponsor after graduation. This year is make or break time for me. But, I'm realistic. Probably only eight to ten graduating seniors—nationwide-- are drafted by the pros. So I've also learned some financial skills that are going to be very marketable. Ah hope that I don't need them, at least for a few years."

"No parents in the picture. One married sister, Julia, who lives in Atlanta. She doesn't know I'm gay, but I think she suspects it. No girls—or guys--before Rice. Not even innocent circle jerks. Several experiences since then. Really hookups, mostly with groupies, who all seem to be Francophiles anxiously waiting to move to Paris. They think that all cyclists of course will move to France after university to train for the most important race in the world—and they want to be in the baggage—and in our jocks."

"A've had a few hookups with guys, but always away from campus. Cycling is one of the most scrutinized, tested, and homophobic sports since that famous event where a champ was caught doping and stripped of his medals. There was even a suggestion of quiet homosexual relationships within his close-knit team. That part never hit the international press, but it is an urban myth within the cycling community. And the French have been able to maintain this myth that there are no French homosexuals, every French man is an insatiable hetero sex machine—what a crock. I'm required to test for drugs—and STDs--every week and present evidence to the cycling coach to remain on the team. No one at Rice knows that I ride for the other team."

"Last year, I got to live in the jock dorm and eat in the athletic training cafeteria. That means I get a single room with my own bath and much better food at the jock cafeteria."

"I'm a business major and I have spent a lot of time in the mock trading floor at Rice. If I don't continue with cycling, I'll probably end up as an analyst for a securities company or trader for an energy company. My grades are good and I've some aptitude for trading—maybe it's the competitiveness built into an athlete. Good money. Good hours. And in Houston. I really like that city: its international flair, its large LBGTB community and its openness. Even if I ride, this may be a good work option—but it has demanding and long specific hours which would make training very hard. I know several of the energy companies sponsor international athletes and give them liberal leave to train and compete—particularly for the Olympics. Very few of them are traders however. But, I just don't know."

"And I don't currently have a girl—or boy—friend"

"I am really pleased to meet you Chet. Obviously you have spent some quality time in Houston as you keep slipping between your George drawl and more sophisticated Houston lingo. George is cute, but Houston is more credible—at least outside the bedroom. My turn. I think you will find that I'm as competitive as you describe yourself. That should make for some interesting situations. I just graduated pre-med in bio-chemistry from UT. I am also off to Houston next week--to med school. I've been a varsity swimmer and placed nationally last year in back and breast. But, that will just be recreation from now on. Med school, particularly first year, is brutal and I'm not good enough to go pro or the Olympic route, even if Mom and Dad would support it. I've already started a work-out routine that I hope I can keep with during the school year. Mother's family tends to gain weight easily."

"This is home. We've lived here for about 15 years. My Dad is an ER doc as you know. He co-chairs the practice which provides services at the UT Medical Center--Austin. Mom is wealthy from her Italian automotive family and now runs the family foundation with her sister. They deal mostly in the world hunger and related health issues. They've been working with the Gates Foundation on diseases that are associated with severe malnutrition. So she is saving the world for all of us. She met Dad at a medical conference."

"I have one younger brother, Matt, about to be a junior at Regent Classical Prep in Austin. He loves hockey and has worked out most of the summer with the Texas Stars farm team. But, Regent has no hockey team, so he will try out for lacrosse. He's spent the summer learning to drive and scoping out car possibilities so that in a few weeks he can get his license and a car. He is absolutely hetero, not currently attached, I think, and generally hangs with his buddies and his harem. No doubt, there are young ladies at his friend's house even now. I'm pretty sure he's into more than computer games."

"I've never had a girlfriend—although I have many female friends. I've known that I was gay since 13 or 14. I had two serious relationships at UT, but the second broke up a year ago when he left for grad school at UC Davis. Long distance just doesn't work."

"There is one guy at work, a little older than I, who confided he was bi-curious. We've hooked a few times, but there is no future for us."

"And I am very interested in you. You are handsome;in fact, you're beautiful, and sexy as hell. And I'm horny as fuck. If I had met you at the pub last night, I would certainly have hit on you and turned on my considerable charm. I'm told I'm almost irresistible after the first date, or is it the first drink? If I had brought you home, this accident would not have happened. We'd still be in bed. I don't know about karma—but you being here has made my week. I think you owe me—and I can pretty well imagine what the repayment terms might be. The fact that we are going to be in Houston this fall is just hot fudge syrup on that rocky road that I love. Before the week is up, I look forward to spooning it from your naked rock solid abs. I sure hope this turns into something. We've got a week or so to see."

"By the way, you can drop that knee down. I can see you chubbing. I can feel and see you're interested. I'm getting the vibes too—and I guess you are too. You've got nothing to be ashamed of—but I'm guessing you know that." At that, I reached across the chaise and took Chet's dick in my large hand. It was soft and pink, grading darker towards the tip. My grip and a few strokes caused it to engorge. It was long, really long, probably over 8 inches. It would take two hands—even as large as mine—plus--to envelope the length. His surface was almost translucent and the veins really popped. The clean cut plum shaped head inflated and darkened with a nice purple ridge just made for scraping p-spots. He was almost straight up and impressive with the slightest curve pointing to his abs. Was that a droplet of pool water or precum at the tip? My tongue reached out to taste.

Chet moaned deeply, "Fuck, that feels nice. Not only do you ask questions too quickly, but you take things into your own hands—my kind of guy. Are you sure you're from Texas? You act more like one from New York. If I weren't so sore right now, I think I would jump you right now."

"Oh, you'll be in my lap soon. Believe me. For now, let me take care of this. We can work out the rest after dinner." I licked the head, stuck the tip of my tongue in the large slit, and reached down to lav his balls. I took each in turn into my mouth and warmed them to loosen them from the cool pool water. Chet took in a deep breath, spread his legs and his hips levitated off the chaise. He was already hot. I popped the cap back into my mouth, swirled my tongue around the corona and then pulled about half of him into my mouth and swirled again. Then, I reached my other hand under his sacs to the taint and rubbed lightly while I fondled his balls. It was sure nice to have large hands. I tongued the underside of the dick, tracing the hard vein running up the length. Back to the head, I plopped it back inside and ran my tongue around. He was moaning, writhing, and leaking precum and he tasted pretty sweet. I plumbed deeper, but could only get about two-thirds in. So I started sucking hard and he reached out to hold my head as he face-fucked me. At the same time, my fingers formed a ring to revolve around the base of his hard pole to prolong his orgasm.

Chet was close, I could tell. He sucked in his abdomen, his thighs tensed, and hips rose up even farther, getting ready to launch. "I'm coming." So I stuck an index finger in my mouth, scooped up some of his precum, and returned it to the taint, moving slowly down to the hole which I gently rimmed. Sensing the end was near, I plunged in and jabbed his nut while pressing hard on the perineum with my thumb. This was one of my secret weapons—made possible by large hands and long fingers—the P-squeeze. I caught his nut and pinched against the thumb. Chet gasped in ecstasy as the seminal vesicle was constricted, giving him a long jolt of pleasure as he shot a wad of precum into the back of my throat. Houston, we have liftoff. I released a bit, gently probed his prostate, and he shot continuous huge spurts until I stopped counting—and swallowing. He tasted sweet and salty—like seaside caramel nougat and I swallowed it all. And then he collapsed back onto the chaise. I knew at that moment that he was going to want more.

Before he could reach for me—which I knew might be painful for him, I sat up. My own cock was standing at attention (and for attention). "I'd like to cuddle with you and more, but I know how sore you must be. Let's get some clothes on and eat so we can go by your place for your stuff. We can see how much more we can do tonight. If you feel up to it, you can do me later. The anticipation and denial will be good for me. I'm a specialist in delayed gratification." I was already trying to set the pace as usual.

When Chet's breath returned to semi-normal, he smiled, grabbed my steely shaft, squeezed hard, and whispered a thank you. "That showed talent—and practice. Great work. I owe you at least one. I needed that. Undoubtedly the best blow job I've ever had. I was so flooded with pleasure that you even blocked the pain neurons."

We slipped into my room by the sliders and dressed in tees and loose exercise shorts which barely concealed our swinging clubs. We sure were going to make a nice pair. I was on the hunt with prey in sight and was high (and hard) with the prospect.