Geoff and Chet

Chapter 13 Serendipity makes a choice for the guys

This chapter concludes the first part of the story. The second part has been written and edited and will follow, space permitting, on a day by day basis. This is entirely fictional. Copyright, 2023. All characters portrayed are over 18 as should be any reader. Some language is a little rough, but represents the speaker, not the author. BD

Chet's POV (With this chapter, the POV shifts to Chet and he effectively becomes the protagonist.)

It's Monday morning and the near-real world have arrived. It was late and I faced a busy day, so we washed quickly and jumped back into the king and rolled into a quickie 69. Morning wood, sucked hard and sloppily, aided by judiciously inserted index fingers and sensitive prostates produced two massive liquid breakfasts within minutes. We finished with deep kisses, commingling our essences once again. I'm going to miss this—a lot. We rose, showered, dressed and headed for coffee and granola.

I was in "productive mode" and high gear. "I'm not sure whether there will be space to park the truck to unload this morning at the dorm. I'm going to bike over to the residence director's office, register and reserve a time to unload later—unless you need the truck this morning. If you do, I could unload stuff into the garage. I need to go by the cycle club after to check in—so I expect to be back around 1."

"I don't need the truck. We can leave it packed in the garage. Orientation doesn't start until tomorrow afternoon, and I may not use it then. Parking in Houston is a bitch. I think most days I'll just walk. I plan to spend the morning here—maybe get in a swim and a workout. Do you want me to drop you on campus?"

"I think I'll ride the bike. It's less than a mile."

"Can I at least get a good-bye kiss?"

I reached around, hugged him from behind and pulled him up from the kitchen stool. It would be hard to imagine a more forlorn expression or tenser shoulder muscles. He twisted his head and we kissed. "I'm only going for the morning. See you later today. Smile....please." I think he was already contemplating the worst. I pulled him off the stool, went in with a deep tongue and stroked his ass lovingly. And then I left. You might have thought I was leaving for Mars—and leaving him behind.

I took the second bike from the garage and rode the short distance to the residence hall offices. (I didn't normally use the racing bike for routine campus transportation.) There was already a short line and a bit of commotion. I guessed it was just impatience with bureaucracy. About a half hour later, I entered the office. "Chet Morrissey, Room 312, Wheeler Hall." The clerk rifled through folders and then looked up. "The director has your details. Lots of last minute changes Through there."

The inner office didn't have a line, so I walked in. "Good morning, Mr. Morrissey, what have you decided?"

"Decided? I'm not sure what I should have decided."

"Didn't you get our message—sent about a month ago?"

"No, where was it sent?"

"Let's see, Savannah."

"Ah, you sent it to my parents' address. We weren't together this summer. So can you give me the gist now?"

"Well, it's like this. Acceptances of offers of admission for the Rice freshman class this year were about 300 over projections. We've got an enormous entering class. We guaranty on-campus housing for all freshmen if they want it. So, we've been shuffling rooms ever since. I'm sure you know Wheeler is a choice dorm. Freshmen aren't housed there, but we did need to move other underclass athletes into the dorm to make room elsewhere. We had to reassign you to another room. We've upgraded you to a larger and nicer one, part of a suite of four rooms with a common room and an attached bathroom facilities in the new grad dorm. It's very nice, but you are going to have a roommate. His name is Bob Everly. He's from Europe; UK, I think, and a soccer player. We sent you his bio and pic. And you'll have seven suite-mates—two singles and three doubles with a common room and a large bath."

The director handed me his picture and the brief bio. He was cute. Small and very muscular with dark curly hair. Somebody who could curl up in my lap so I could pet him. I wondered about his sexual orientation. "I think you guys should get along ok. You're both athletes and seniors."

"Wow! This is a shock. I haven't had a roommate for two years, let alone seven suite mates. I'm not sure I'm ready now. And I guess none of them are teammates." I also realized that with a roommate and suite mates, regular weekend absences to be with Geoff would raise questions. I'd need a beard. And I'd need to be very careful. Visits by Geoff to me would be impossible.

"We did suggest an alternative to our athlete scholars like you. I'm sorry that you didn't get it or have time to consider it. Essentially, you can accept the double/suite or go off campus. If you decide to go off campus, we'll allow you $600/month for rent; we will change your training table arrangement so that you get a 10 meal per week instead of a 20 meal per week contract; and, we'll allow $500 per month for food. So, we'll give you $1100 per month. You were supposed to elect this option two weeks ago. I am sorry you didn't get the message. Frankly, we'd prefer if you went off campus—we can really use the space."

"Don't you guys use email?"

"Again, I'm sorry—but let me suggest this. Meet Mr. Everly—he's already on campus since soccer training started a week ago, probably in the suite—and if you decide by tomorrow that you want to go off campus, you can stay for a few days in the graduate housing until you find off campus quarters. The financial alternative offer will remain open for this week. There is another note in here from the registrar: coach says you are likely to be captain this year and of course you have your senior thesis. Therefore, your work study requirement has been suspended. The amount will be added to your scholarship."

"That's very generous. Can I let you know tomorrow morning? I won't move in before then."

"Fine. We can certainly use the room as we are now turning doubles into triples. Just let us know if you find something off-campus."

My head was reeling as I biked over to the cycle club. Most of the guys were already there. Coach greeted me. "Chet. Good to see you. It doesn't look like the accident did any permanent damage. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine—except I just found out that I don't have my room this year."

"I can help if you want. You can crash at our place for a few days if you need to until you can work things out." Coach was all business and no sympathy.

"Thanks. I'll let you know. I need to talk to you about the results of the accident."

"Does it impact your performance?"

"No."

"Then let's talk about it later. Time for a club meeting. We have a few things to handle before the workout."

"Everybody take a seat. You're not getting any training sitting in here counting tumbleweeds."

"I want to thank—and compliment—all of you on your training over the summer. We had nearly 98% compliance and reporting. That is exactly what I would expect from the next national championship club." (Applause, high-fives and hollers.)

"Our first order of business is to nominate and elect a captain."

"Almost simultaneously, the team called out "Chet." "Any other nominations? Ok, Chet is unanimously elected."

"I've posted the schedule of training, practice rides and meets on the web site. You should all have it by now. I expect 100% participation. If your academic schedule conflicts in any way, come talk to me. We're going to hit a perfect 10 meets this semester. Absolutely no forfeitures. We're going for the gold."

"That's the good news. Now the bad. I don't have all the details and I'm not a lawyer, but this is what seems to be going down. Rice and other schools have been sued for violations of Title IX—saying we don't provide equal access to athletics, including unequal athletic funding, to young ladies. We are also under scrutiny for alleged aggressive hetero-normative behavior—whatever the hell that is. Fortunately we've a black and a Latino on the team."

"Rice signed a consent requiring them to take specific actions. One of them is to create either a women's team or a mixed sex team in every major sport. We argued that cycling was a club, not a University-sponsored athletic sport. We didn't win. We suggested a women's team, but that was nixed because of cost. We were told that we were specifically called out for misogyny and non-normative harassment. We have an ultimatum: forfeit Rice support for the team—go private with the club as some others have done or expand the team. So we've agreed to schedule open tryouts, available to both sexes, and apparently even those who are confused about their sex. Giving up Rice support is not an option for us—we don't really own most of our equipment or training facilities. So tryouts are tomorrow, and they will be designed and supervised by Rice administrators. As of now, none of you has a guaranteed place on the team. I'm not happy, but my hands are tied."

Out of the general din, one question rose loud: "Do we know if any girls will try out?"

"I think we can expect some. In fact, at the try outs this morning for track and field, the Rice LGTBQ Society put a dozen on the field, mostly all lesbos, I guess, and challenged the coaches to disqualify them. I think they were trying to make a point. I'm told several have made the squad."

"We're just going to have to wait and see. This whole idea turns my stomach. All of us might resign as cycle coaches over this. We don't like the University interfering in our team selection. As you know, we are only part time cycle coaches with other jobs. So, we can afford to make the point. But, I want every one of you guys to be at your absolute peak performance tomorrow. Tryouts are going to be arena style at the old Rice Stadium starting at 1 pm. Don't let us down. I want a complete shut out of competition outside of this room."

"Now get to the weight room. I don't want to see any idlers."

As captain, I set the pace in the weight room—all legs and glutes today, and after a few hours, we were all wringing wet and dragging. "OK guys, Showers. Here or wherever." As the guys moved toward the locker room, I overheard, "It's about time these Neanderthals are being forced to recognize that women exist—and that sexual orientation is not a choice." No one responded.

After the meeting, I went into coach's office and gave him the details about my accident and the proposed Amazon deal—at least the details about Amazon's offer to the club. I didn't think it was necessary to detail my personal deal. I asked him to take it up with Rice admin.

"I promise to do that—if I'm still your coach after tomorrow. Sounds like an interesting proposal. Rice may not be the best place to experiment with this kind of deal. But, we'll see."

*****

I texted Geoff that I would be home by 1 and that I had something important to talk about. Then, I showered and rode back to the condo. Chet had made fruit smoothies and we sat at the kitchen counter sipping. "Is this enough or do you need more?"

"I'm fine" and I paused for effect.... roomie."

Geoff's head swung around to face me. It was then I realized how depression was changing his face. His eyes were sunken and dull. His ever-present smile had disappeared. He hadn't shaved.

"Can I be your roomie?" He brightened just a little and said, "Don't tease; I've had a rough morning."

I explained the situation on the Rice dorms. "So I need off campus housing—unless you want me to room with this cute little soccer player. They showed me his picture and he is quite nice and small enough to be a boy toy. I can pay—obviously not much—but something."

He jumped up, grabbed me around the waist and lifted me from the floor, smashing our lips together as I descended. He stuck his tongue between my lips and I sucked him right in. When I was back down, his hands slipped into my sweat shorts and squeezed my ass cheeks. "These are mine, only mine. Is that enough answer for you?" he asked, focusing a massive smile on me.

I reached into his shorts and gripped his semi-hard dick and forced fingers into his crack, "Only if these are mine." Before he could react, I slipped lower and penetrated a fingertip into his anus and added, "And this is private property."

"Babe, I can live with that."

"Before we celebrate, we need to discuss details. I want to use the guest room as a paying roommate. I'm not your husband, and as you must realize, not your sub. You know how I feel about Sugar Daddies. We act—at least most of the time, well at least outside the condo--as roommates, not boyfriends. You accept payment. We share chores. It's clothing optional, not always nude. And I'm here for the semester even if we don't work out as a couple."

"Are you sure you aren't pre-law? I wouldn't have any idea what payment should be. This condo is actually owned by Mom's Family Trust. The Trust pays everything—even the utilities, the weekly maid and linen service, and even deliveries from Central Market. I don't pay anything. I'm not sure I can even legally accept payment. I know I can't sublet without Trust permission. So save your money, or if you insist, use it on our entertainment or even a holiday later."

"You can have the guest room—but I'm thinking we are going to play musical king-sized beds many nights. When the music stops, we both end up in one bed. I know you need space, but I need you near me in bed. It helps me to sleep—and you wouldn't want to deprive a hard studying doc-to-be of sleep, would you? And, I'll try on the clothes, but no promises that I will be prudishly dressed all of the time. I'm not a Puritan."

"There's more. But, I can't wait to seal this lease in my new bed." I grabbed his tee and pulled him into "my" room. "I know you've been dealing with control issues, but if we share topping, I'm ready to let you have me any way that turns you on—when it's your turn."

He grinned, actually more of a wolfish smirk as his eyes widened. Geoff remarked that it was a brand new bed—so we were going to christen it. "Instead of champagne, I'm going to drink you—it's healthier protein anyway."

I pulled off the duvet. Then I pulled Geoff's tee over his head, trapping his arms as I reached out to his nipples to suck and twist. Geoff gasped and fell back onto the bed pulling me on top. We struggled to remove shorts. Then he abruptly stopped. "You're wearing a jock, a yellow and black jock. Sexy. Stand up. I want to see that ass framed in black elastane straps. That ass is better than the one on Michelangelo's David." I spun around seductively and struck the David pose, picking up the tee to throw over my shoulder seductively. He reached out to palm my cheeks.

"I hope so. His ass is hard as a rock. Try to get your dick in his hole. Let me slide this off."

"Not yet. I'll do it when I must." He again pulled me on top, between his legs, wrapping my waist tightly. His hands went under the jock strap and he stroked lightly.

"Young man, we haven't properly fucked yet today. Let's get on with it. We rolled and squirmed as I grabbed the lube from the bedside table. (How did that get there?) My fingers probed his anus and began the teasing. Surprise. He had exactly the same idea. His was finding mine.

"My bed, my rules. I want it doggie. Really hard and rough. And then I want you to own me like the first time. Pull out all your techniques and push all my buttons. Take me. I'm yours. Make me feel as protected as you can. Don't hold back. I'm not afraid of dependency, at least not this time. I'm yours—your tenant and your bottom. And your cum-dump."

"Oh, you are so much more than that, babe."

I flipped onto my stomach. He threw his thigh over one of mine and caressed my cheeks, drawing his long fingers down the crevice. Then he pulled them apart and began to thrust his fingers inside, often hitting the prostate. I responded by raising my hips. He snapped the elastic straps several times, leaving red marks. "Hey, no whips." And pulled the jock down and off as he licked the skin on my ass. Then he reached over and grabbed a pillow, pushing it under my abdomen. My ass was now on prominent display—so I drew up my knees in a wide stance, wiggled back and forth and his breath caught.

"Stop it, you slut. Do you want me to come before I even get it in?" Slowly, he entered, inch by inch, rocking back and forth, opening the tunnel with each thrust with his massive 9-incher, massaging my prostate sliding in and pulling out. When he bottomed, I am sure I groaned.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. This feels so good, so full. Geoffy's so big."

"Are you gonna cum with me or are you saving up?"

"I've never yet been able to save, but I can try. You're just too good at turning me on and bringing me off."

Then he began savage thrusting, widening my sheath with each downstroke. "God, it feels like a fucking battering ram. What are you trying to break through? I'm not a fucking virgin, you know. You've been there before."

"Oh, we'll see about that." One more colossal thrust. His cock hardened and lengthened. The head expanded. His balls drew up and he pulled me into his concave abdomen, deepening his penetration if that was possible. And then his explosion filled me with his hot creamy fluid and seeds. I had literally squeezed it out of him. My own eruption followed quickly overflowing his huge fist. God he was good. But so was I.

Then, as I had hoped, he collapsed on me, leaving his still hard dick deep inside, pinning me securely to the mattress. His legs enveloped mine; he continued to push hard into my ass trapping his cum; and his arms pinned my shoulders. He dropped his head to my neck and executed a number of side by side love bites, leaving a darkened semi-necklace around the back of my neck, hopefully low enough that a shirt collar would cover it. "Mine, mine, mine," he chanted over and over. I was immobilized and cocooned—more so even than if he had bound me to him and the bed. This was possession. I relished his strength, his weight on me, and his musky aroma. I knew he loved it and me, and now I had grown enough to love it too—and him.

We day-dreamed for awhile as I lay beneath him. "I need to tell you more." I pushed him back against the headboard and got into his lap, feeling his cock staying rigid up my crack (doesn't he ever deflate?), and pressed sweaty chest to chest.

"If it's as good as what you just communicated, or what we just did, I can't wait."

"It's actually more news—but it touches on us—and one of my last hang-ups."

I conveyed the gist of coach's speech—playing up his bigotry. "He even threatened to quit if he didn't get his way." But later after practice, when we were in the shower, I heard a guy voice his disapproval of coach's mindset—and no one said anything.

"I don't know where this will end up. But, it does have an impact on us—yes us. I have no doubt that my time will be good enough that I'll make the team tomorrow. That is not an issue."

"But, as good as all of this is working out, I still can't afford to come out of the closet. I'm still completely committed to cycling and my dream of a world record. Cycling is going to remain homophobic for some time yet—particularly, it seems, at Rice. Our relationship must remain a secret. Outside of this condo, we are roommates. Nothing more. That's going to be difficult on me—but I suspect even more so of you since you're out and ok with being known as gay. Can you live with that?"

"I can deal with it. Besides Houston is a big place. We can date—when our busy days permit--well away from campus. I'll be careful. Outside of the condo, we are roomies. Nobody else needs to know it's with full benefits. And I really like these benefits. I'm absolutely ok to see how this year plays out. Then we can decide what is best for both of us. I would literally do anything to have you in my bed all of the time."