Chapter 20 Reg seduces Pete
(This Chapter is from Reg's POV--for obvious reasons. It is a side story. Neither Geoff nor Chet would have been privy to Reg's plans and the details of the relationship between Reg and Pete. Originally, this was conceived as two chapters, but I combined them--so it is a little longer. Everyone is over 18. There are some quasi-non-consensual sex scenes and some Afro street language that may offend some. If so, just skip this "outtake." You'll catch up with the implications later. BD)
Reg's POV
Pete and I had planned to visit Club Eight near the western edge of Houston on our first outing together, but a torrential downpour made the trip impossible and we partied instead at a smaller club nearer to campus. Several other jocks were there and noted that Pete and I arrived together. We danced for awhile (not together), but it was soon obvious that the heavy weather had scared most of the ladies away for the night. So we headed home around midnight, making it an early night.
It was now two weeks later and much had happened in that short time. We were off again on another adventure to Club Eight--hopefully getting there this time, but our relationship was very different. We were celebrating our first season win in San Antonio--and of course, I had gone from being a newbie and one of two alternates to now a full member of the team when Jean Marc, a top cyclist, contracted mono and went on sick leave.
The previous two weeks......
Pete had agreed to work out together. He told me during our first workout that Chet had warned him about me. I couldn't understand why Pete would tell me. Was he warning me? Was he declaring his loyalty so early in the game? He really couldn't be so devoid of guile. We'll have to see. Coach had cautioned me about my aggressive riding during practice in Memorial, but he was thankfully now gone since he was obviously a bigoted honky. Meanwhile Chet and I were barely speaking, but he is careful to treat me like every other member of the team. At a school like Rice, my skin color gives me certain advantages, although maybe not with the coaching staff of RCC. That's for sure. At any rate, I really didn't care. When I replace Chet as captain, our friendship, even it had existed, would evaporate and the coaches will have to cooperate. Best to line up my team before that issue comes to a head.
Gold's Gym--Medical Center, a swanky new franchise had just opened near my apartment. As a "celebrity" I was invited to the opening and became a charter member--without cost. I was expected to be the "influencer" who would draw members. Nothing more was required of me or several other athletic "celebrities" who had been given similar invitations. All we have to do is post on our blogs or on facebook periodically. They even gave us occasional use of a private room and locker, coupons for regular massages, and the right to have a guest partner any time I wanted. It was a sweet deal--the first I had negotiated without my agent's interference--or cut.
The workouts went exactly as I planned. I knew and followed the rules of Seducing the Straight Guy 101. It's particularly easy with athletes who are conditioned to follow orders. We agreed on a schedule: Sunday afternoon before dinner or Monday morning early, Friday mornings and Wednesdays before dinner. This coordinated with our classes and meet schedule and practices. I knew my way around a gym. It was my home court, so to speak. I had used similar places to maintain my extraordinary muscle tone and to advance my career in several cities. I knew the secret language of workout hookups, understood the invitations, and knew how to issue my own from time to time.
I started immediately grooming Pete. We changed together. He wasn't blind; and so it was obvious that as between us, I had the commanding body and huge equipment. He of course subscribed to the straight boy's ethos: the biggest dick rules. At the first session, he started setting his own routine and pace, but I quickly convinced him that I had had professional trainers and should lead. After that first session, my suggestions took on the tone of commands. I set the bar high so Pete had to struggle to meet my standards and was always pushing him to work harder. I began setting goals, rewarding success, and holding back the praise when he failed to meet expectations. At first Pete was cautious, but after only a few sessions he was beginning to follow my lead and soak up the compliments that I was doling out.
He began to see me as his mentor, patron and trainer, maybe even coach. It was important that he not see me as his partner, but a little older and more experienced. Of course, I always wore the latest in gym styles--often sent to me gratis in the hopes I would wear them and be photographed in them. When we worked out, envious eyes throughout the gym followed us. You could detect the desire in males and females alike. And Pete was beginning to like the attention which he had never before sought or received. He was special. My boy. The one on whom I heaped praise and attention. Almost overnight, Pete's confidence in himself began to rise, but I made sure he understood it was reflected glory--that I could withdraw at any time. I was his drug of choice.
I also made sure I was very hands on. I wanted him comfortable with knowing his body was mine. We often walked into or out of the gym with my arm around his shoulder--not quite sexual, but certainly possessive--particularly because I'm taller. Occasionally, I let my hand slip down to rest on his waistband and my fingers spread out over his ass as I nudged him toward an empty workout spot. He didn't seem to notice. We followed identical workout routines, although I set it up so that I regularly did a few more reps or lifted a bit more.
I was always in his space. At first the cowboy in Pete seemed uncomfortable, but soon he adjusted and began touching me as well when he spotted. Pete's family was not physically demonstrative, but he quickly began to absorb my attention like a sponge. I think he interpreted it to mean that I really liked him as a friend. I wrapped my big hands around his biceps--rather than the bar--to force a few more reps. I pushed on his inner thighs to spread his legs farther apart on the leg machine. I stood rigidly behind him as he curled--so that he often felt my semi pushing into his butt and my arms at his side. During sit-ups, I held his thighs firmly with the outside of my thumbs brushing his balls, then moved to the abdomen to maintain good form--even feeling and commenting on his ab contractions. I could tell he was often struggling to avoid an embarrassing erection. There was so much skin contact that a casual observer might guess that we were exercising simultaneously rather than consecutively. Or that we were gay partners. But in only two weeks, Pete was comfortable with my frequent body contact, and he was getting results. He liked the look, preening before the full length mirror before showering. He began to accept the complimentary glances as for the both of us, not just me.
After the workouts, I always steered him into the large shower--even though there were many smaller solo cubicles--and followed right behind. We shared shower gel and various other products. I told him that I was receiving boxes of this stuff every week with the expectation that I would use them in public as an influencer. We always had the most advanced (and expensive) products on the market. We soaped each other's backs, perhaps lingering a little more than required on our asses. Once I pushed him against the tile wall and spread his legs to give him a thorough soapy rub down, including his low handing dick and balls. After a few days, I subtly changed the routine: he soaped and rubbed my entire body, but I didn't completely reciprocate. I am not sure he even realized he was becoming my boy. Once or twice we tried the sauna--and I sat thigh to thigh when much more space was available. One arm curled around his shoulder while the other fell "innocently" into his lap. I knew he was chubbing under the towel. He accepted all of my advances without comment--so I was sure, he was giving me a green light. Once, I claimed a cramp in my inner thigh and asked him to rub it out. I stretched on the sauna bench and my towel dropped away. He reached down and massaged my thigh without pause or comment, his lips coming within inches of my exposed semi-hard cock.
Pete began an automatic routine of picking up and tossing both our towels and bundling workout clothes into our gym bags. He often carried both bags when we departed. Pete was now my sub--and he was either naïve about what was going on or he was complicit. He had never had a brother, let alone an older brother, and no one, particularly not a wealthy good looking guy, had ever paid him so much attention.
Once or twice Pete seemed to hold back. But I think he valued our friendship--or perhaps he realized that I was what he wanted to be. My body was chiseled, with runner's long muscles, an ass which had "launched a thousand orgasms", and genitals that were almost super-human. I was confident, popular, a magnet, wealthy, and seemed to have it all. He wanted it all too. Pete was flattered by my attention. He'd had his share of girls in high school and hookups with the cycling groupies, but he considered himself a cowboy, really a farmhand, nothing special. Pete knew he had what was needed to attract the opposite sex, but he had no ambitions about being with beauty queens. And he had no experience with guys like me who would eat him alive if given half the chance.
We ate together most of the time and I was at the point where I controlled what and how much he ate. After the first week, I suggested that he refrain from jacking for 48 hours before races to preserve his edge. He agreed--and the fact that he even discussed his sexuality with me was a milestone. I was in. He was mine. I knew it--and I think he knew it. A few more days.
I slowly began to push my cycling times, demonstrating that I was a world class cyclist, regularly hitting times that were just behind Chet's. And there had been no more suggestions of the alleged foul that some thought they witnessed at the first event. I was just more aggressive than these frat white boys had ever seen. It turns out that Jean Marc, the team's second best rider and typically the leader of Team B in races had contracted mono. Although that didn't take him out of the club, it meant that he would need to move to the alternate slot for at least the first half of the season--maybe even to Thanksgiving. Pete stepped in as captain of Team B and I moved from alternate to team member--with the understanding that upon recovery of Jean Marc, the roster would be reconsidered again. In the races I became Pete's biggest supporter. I helped him to improve his times. I ran interference--and ultimately I let him shine. Only once did Pete detect that I might be pulling back at the finish to insure my time did not beat his. He started to accuse me after the race, but I shut him down. "Pete, you're good. Just accept that. I'll do everything I can to make you a champion." Pete basked in the praise.
We'd had a half dozen workouts and four cycling rides at this point. Pete had more than once given me a massage at the apartment which had become his home away from the dorm--when I faked chronic upper leg cramps. He didn't seem to balk at my nudity. I was always in designer underwear and mostly shirtless in the apartment. And he was getting comfortable with my occasional caresses of his body and my playful slaps on his ass--always accompanied by a hetero comment.
