Geoff and Chet

Chapter 18 First Team Practice in Memorial

This chapter is from Chet's POV. Author's note: Before the comments come in, the cycling rules have been significantly adapted by the author to reflect possibilities within the Houston environment and the story line. Like the story, the rules are figments of my imagination. Don't bother with search engines. It really is fiction. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. All individuals portrayed in sexual acts are over 18. BD

Saturday mornings in Houston's Memorial Park were the time and place for an urban happening--ten months of the year. The park wasn't wide in most places--really two extended embankments of Buffalo Bayou near downtown in the east to the far western suburbs where it was miles wide. Major east-west commuter routes were north and south of and occasionally through the park. It was also criss-crossed by north-south city streets, many tunneled. Plenty of greenery, bridal, hiking and running paths could be found--but nothing commercial (except for the fringe food and beverage trucks) which made it almost unique in Texas--where commercial interests and private property typically trump parkland and public spaces everywhere. Texas parks are typically borders of development, flood water catch basins, and islands in the midst of multi-story buildings. But not Memorial--except for a few blocks downtown, Memorial was surrounded by wealthy residential areas and very few high rises. It had been carefully preserved and sculpted with hills, streams, bridges, landscaped and wooded areas--all to create the illusion of the hill country in the city. Thus, on Saturdays, it was one of most densely packed recreational areas in South Texas--the bayou was not swimmable and there wasn't even a beach!

It was so busy that the "county fathers" of Harris County had begun to parcel out use: prohibiting most motorized vehicles on weekends, designating some areas for picnics, hosting marathons and shorter "fun" runs, and creating cycling meccas. It was the latter which was of interest to the Rice team. A cycling track (most of which was commuter road during the week) of almost twenty miles, an irregular long oval had been marked out. It was assigned to a half-dozen clubs for several hours each week on Saturday or Sunday. Rice Cycling Club, being the most prestigious in town and one of the oldest, got a prime time: 8 to 11 on Saturdays. Other cyclists could use the track before or after the assigned times (but not during the week because the horrible traffic situation in Houston had made blocking the cross streets impossible on weekdays). Otherwise, there were more than 100 miles of biking trails, mostly separated from motor traffic for casual cyclists.

By 8, RCC's tent was set up and its three vans had arrived with athletes and their bikes and gear. Mechanics, support staff, and spectators arrived separately but parked in the same location. Thus, even before 8, about 50 people were milling about, sipping at water, energy boosters or coffee. The groupies typically rolled in around 9 or a little later.

The RCC routine was set--and explained briefly to all since the club now had several new members. The twelve riders would be divided into two teams of six--by lot. Team A started promptly at 8:10 and Team B at 8:20. Each was expected to complete two circuits of the oval in about 90 to 110 minutes. Sprinting by one cyclist was discouraged--rather the teams were expected to support the captain and ride in a loose formation until the final sprint--typically the last two or three miles--essentially trying to duplicate meet conditions. Then for the next hour, the eight "regulars" would rehearse the maneuvers which had been blackboarded earlier that week--on the adjacent shorter track which was reserved for their use from 10 to 11. Coaches filmed--and the films would be watched and critiqued later Saturday morning at the clubhouse. Everyone cleared the area by 11 and the vans returned to the clubhouse. Everything disbanded before 1.

I realized that this system was not perfect. The entire team rarely was given the opportunity to practice and ride together. But more importantly, no one was required to ride the full 100 miles that made up the average competition meet. However, once meets started (in two weeks), almost every Saturday was taken up by a meet--so the Memorial "practice" became almost irrelevant after the season began.

So RCC relied on the "honor practice system"--each team member was required to ride a consecutive 100 miles at least once each week, alone or with a small group at racing speed. Times, places and distances were recorded. The Amazon vans would be very useful in transporting 2 or 3 team members outside Harris County for such occasions. Chet hoped Rice would approve their use soon.

Just before 8 a.m., Teams A and B were announced. By tradition I would captain Team A. The next best time holder would captain Team B--the current holder of that title being Jean Marc, an excellent rider from France, by way of Southern California. Lots were drawn. Janet ended up on my team. Both Peter and Reg ended up on Team B.

I had concluded that Reg was going to go after Peter, but I didn't know exactly what that meant. I hadn't had time to warn Pete. We might know more in a few hours.

We started at exactly 8:10 to the sound of the gun. I felt good and set a pace of just under 22 mph. No one should fall back at that speed. It was a cool overcast morning and we made excellent time. We were about half way down the north side of the oval when we heard the second gun. Everything seemed to go as planned. Just about 87 minutes later, I crossed the line--not my best time, but pretty good: 23.7 mph. Every member crossed the line within the next 60 seconds--which meant our team score would also be very good.

Just about ten minutes later, Team B reached the line--but the front sprinter was not Jean Marc, but Reg, virtually tied with Pete. Reg finished at 23 flat Pete at 22.8 and Jean Marc at 22.6--all terrific times. The entire team score was slightly better than Team A.

(Some will find the scoring a bit confusing: In cycling, at least in our conference, the fastest mph (or kph) over the entire course is best. This permits staggered starts and multiple heats. The individual score is the length of the course divided by the time in minutes and seconds to complete it.)

The groupies had descended on us. Nicole was there and came up and laced her arm through mine. "Great performance, babe." She reached up and kissed me on the cheek. With her hand concealed by her embrace, she palmed my dick outside my compression shorts--so I had to embrace her to cover my responsive semi. Last year we had been an item, but the intensity of our relationship had just fallen off. We didn't break up; just stopped "seeing" each other, and I had heard she was after a graduate student in French literature.

So I was surprised with her approach. "How have you been Nicole? Thanks. I've been working hard."

"I can tell--and so can the timekeepers." Backing up and staring down my body to my crotch, she added, "And your body is even more cut than it was last spring and more tempting, I might add."

"That's mostly lack of food--that happens when you run out of money."

"I don't believe that for a minute. You look great and I know you spent the summer with Rebecca. But I do like the hungry look."

"Just so there is no rumor starting here. I did not spend the summer

with

Rebecca; she's engaged to my former roommate. She is just a friend and her family had a garage apartment they let me use for the summer. We haven't dated except a few times freshman year. We are not a couple."

"Hey. Don't get excited. I'm just joking. But, you do look really great. Can we get together?"

"Sure, but I'm still trying to figure everything out. Rice bumped me from Wheeler and I had to find a roommate and an apartment. I'm just moving in now. Then we had to reconstitute the team, and Nelson resigned. I've got a lot on my plate--and it's not food. Let's give it a few weeks."

"Well, I plan to be in San Antonio--and I will have a hotel room. It's been too long. And you're one year closer to the French Gran Prix."

"I've got to run--I'm expected at the clubhouse to run the replays. No promises about San Antonio. As captain, I'm expected to bunk with the team."

"We'll find a way."

It had been a great start to the cycling year. The coaches were glowing. Reg looked over at me, deliberately sucked a few fingers into his mouth and adjusted his dick in his shorts, running his tongue over his wet lips--not very subtle, but I don't think anyone else caught it. Later I heard him tell Pete that they both would have beaten my time if they weren't in supporting formation behind Jean Marc for most of the race. It was obvious he waited to speak until he knew I could hear--and spoke loudly enough that several others did as well. Dissing a champ like Jean Marc was not done. Pete was silent. I presume both of them had witnessed the scene with Nicole.

Later at the clubhouse, we reviewed the films, and the coaches pointed out some potential fouls and some strategic missteps. It was obvious that Reg was responsible for several, but no one used names when critiquing. As we finished up, we headed for the lockers. I pulled Pete aside and asked to speak with him alone. He said he was going to lunch with Reg, but he would call me later--unless it's urgent. "No. I'll talk to you later. Be careful of Reg." He looked at me with a quizzical expression before turning to the showers. I skipped the shower and rode the bike to the condo, knowing that Geoff was probably waiting.

*******

Greg greeted me with a smiley, "Hey babe," as I walked in.

"I need to shower."

"I presume you're wearing a jock?"

"Of course."

"Then, I'm joining you. I love this part." We headed for the giant shower. Geoff peeled off the jersey and compression shorts, but left the jock in place. I'm taking that off with my lips and teeth." He turned on the water, adjusted the temp and pushed me in. He knelt down and started the tortuous job of removing a tight jock using only his mouth. It turned out to be harder than he expected--yes pun intended--since my dick filled out the pouch and kept it in place as he worked. Finally it was on the floor of the shower and I was fully erect. He kicked it aside, grabbed the gel and began to wash--in some cases after licking the salty sweat away. This was a sensation that never got old. He even cleaned me out with the douche spray. We dried, but remained nude as we went into the living room to drink our lunch shakes.

"The practice was terrific. I think we've got great potential this year. My own practice time is only a few seconds off my best to date. But, I think there are going to be a few issues that I, perhaps we, will have to deal with."

"Really. How can I help?"

"Remember that I told you about the nympho groupie Nicole?"

"Yeah, you dated her for awhile last year. And I guess you more than dated her. Isn't she the one who taught you some of your tricks?"

"Well, she's back. She wants to start again, probably pick up where we left off. Apparently the guy who succeeded me for her attentions has taken a teaching fellowship in Montreal. I put her off, but I'm not sure how this is going to work out. There is nothing we need to do today, but soon...."

"I'm not worried."

"That's not what I'm concerned about. She knows half the team and they know her. Some of the team girls went for one team mate and stuck; others, like Nicole, tried out most of the offerings before latching on to me. More than once she told me that I had the biggest, most talented dick on the team--and I don't think she was faking it. She knew. I can't give her any reason to doubt that I'm hetero--or the whole team will know within a day or two. She is a one person gossip factory. Obviously, we keep to the same story: we met this summer as a result of an accident while I was staying with Rebecca--with whom I did not sleep. I planned to bunk in the jock dorm but Rice screwed up that plan. You had space. I called and you agreed. We're roommates. Except for your parents and Rebecca, no one else knows anything. And I doubt anyone here in Houston knows you are gay. But, if any of my teammates saw this apartment, they would begin to suspect something-but they'd probably think I was breaking rules and had accepted an endorsement contract. Nothing else makes sense. They know I'm essentially destitute. Nicole can never come here. In fact, I don't think we can have anyone from the team here. It's just too nice."

"Incidentally, I concur with her assessment of your sexual talents."

"Stop. I'm not even done."

"The other matter may be even more difficult. I told you we have two new club members--both initially taken on as alternates. One is a good-looking Afro, actually a former world-class, A-list underwear model, from Dallas. He's got money. He's also got a chip on his shoulder. His great uncle is an iconic cyclist now in retirement. He's good, very good. And, I think he's going to be a troublemaker. Already today, it was clear that he wants a place on the team itself right away. He's not satisfied as an alternate and he's been with us only a few days--and his performance today could justify some team adjustments. But, in the Team B heat, this morning, he was caught on tape fouling another cyclist, maybe more than once. His aggressive cycling style doesn't fit with Rice's. We are definitely not push-overs, but we play by the rules, and we are particularly considerate of our teammates. Later he bad mouthed two team members, one of whom was the captain of Team B--to whom he theoretically owes loyalty and support. I'm not sure whether he's gay or bi, but I think he is ruthless, a predator, and will do whatever to get what he wants. He's going to try to eliminate at least one of the team guys--and probably not just by riding faster. And because he's Afro, I really can't do much without calling down the team's rep on me. Everyone is watching how we handle a new woman member and an African-American. Thank God we have one other talented black on the team already."

"Fortunately, the other new member, Janet, seems to be a real devoted athlete, not out to leverage her femininity and not overly concerned about the lack of facilities for women at the club house. I think she's going to be an asset. She might even turn out to be the mother every team needs. But, if I appear to favor her, I'll earn the anger of many other team members."

"I'll probably meet with Pete this afternoon to discuss this as discretely as possible. You may remember that I think he is my successor next year. But, I don't want any teammates here, and I don't want to risk talking privately at the club house, so I'll go to the Coffee Bean. He's going to call me later."

"I'm glad to have that off my chest. It's really good to have someone to share this with. I didn't realize leading the team would involve so many personnel issues. I feel like a psychiatrist, not a cyclist. So, what time is dinner? I think I'd like a nap."

"Only if we get to do it together. I think I need to give you a little TLC, babe."

The bed felt wonderful--soft, cool and welcoming. Geoff felt better--hard, hot and welcoming. We embraced and I crawled on top of him, adjusting our cocks to rest beside each other. I dropped my legs on either side as he stretched his long legs and reached his long arms around to caress my ass cheeks and hold me in place. My head dropped to his shoulder. "Geoff, I simply can't believe how deeply I've fallen for you. I feel more comfortable like this than at any other time in my life. I can take on anyone, anything--so long as I have this consolation."

"You know how I feel about you. I know you can handle any of this. I totally trust you. If you need to fake it with Nicole for some time, I can handle that--just so long as you don't try to keep anything from me--and use protection. Every day, I gain confidence in us. Don't feel you need to keep any secrets from me. I'll understand. We'll deal with it."

Boy did that make me feel unsure about my decision not to be completely honest about my encounter with Reg at the condo gym. But, before I could dwell on this, Geoff's caresses became more insistent. He gripped my globes hard, pressing his thumbs into my hip indentations. Then he placed both index fingers at my entrance and penetrated simultaneously. I guess he had lubed while I was talking because they slipped right in. How could I be so distracted? Both fingers began to stroke my prostate sending wild vibrations deep into my ass and my dick lengthened along our abs. He can make me forget anything, maybe even my name. "I need to be in you, Chet." I was no longer distracted with team concerns! I was absolutely in the moment. Geoff has a tendency to do that to you. He played me like a virtuoso with a Strad.

"Oh, yeah, Angel, my dark angel. I'm just itching for you. Make me forget everything but how much I love it when you make love to me."

I rolled off and stretched out on my front. I reached up and grabbed the bars on the headboard and tensed my legs, spread-eagled towards toward the corners of the bed, pushed up my ass and issued the invitation. He covered me and immediately began to push his rock hard sword inside. I still needed to stretch to take his girth as he slowly deepened his ownership of my scabbard, but it was such a good exercise.

"My turn. This is one of my favorites." He just rested there, throbbing and pushing out the walls. "Just feel me, babe. I can feel your muscles massaging my dick. I can feel the pressure building. My spunk is boiling. It's heaven. I think we're both at the gateway of pleasure."

Suddenly, I could feel his urgency. He couldn't stop the process. So, he started pumping furiously. He didn't want a slow, quiet release. He wanted a mind-blowing blast. And that is what he got. I contracted my tube in waves using anal muscles and pulled his hot cum into me until my toes curled, I pushed up from the bed to deepen his thrust, and shot blast after blast into his fist which was holding my cock in a tight sleeve--the tightness heightening my pleasure. He fell on my back, dropped his mouth to my neck, kissed, licked and then sucked. I would be marked again. We both dozed in that position, spent again, until my cell began to chirp.

"He can wait. Nothing trumps this."