Part II
Chapter 28A Review of Part I
Author's note: This chapter begins the Second Part of Geoff and Chet's story. This chapter is from Geoff's POV and takes place at Thanksgiving. It was originally numbered Chapter 14—the first part of the chapter is a review of all of Part I. Then the next few chapters pick up the timeline established in Part I All characters engaged in sexual acts are over 18. All persons, places and events are fictional. Comments are always welcome. Copyright, 2023, all rights reserved. BD
Geoff
The Day Before Thanksgiving
We've just driven past The Woodlands so only a few more miles and we will be officially outside the Houston metro area. The traffic was really heavy, but is now beginning to move steadily north. It's Wednesday before Thanksgiving and Chet has accepted my family's invitation to join us for a Thanksgiving celebration at the ranch near Austin.
It's been about twelve weeks since he moved into our condo. And so far our relationship has survived our brutal schedules. He moved in with me after we knew each other for only a little over a week—much of which we spent fucking our brains out. That was not the plan. (The fucking was—at least my plan from the moment I first met him; the move was not. For me, Chet was total lust at first sight. Later, it seemed that it may have been a close call for Chet as well.)
Chet is a world-class cyclist in his senior year at Rice, captain of the Rice Cycling Club or RCC—which, for some archaic reason, is what they call the Rice varsity cycling team. We met thanks to an unfortunate accident in late August near our ranch. I loved his handsome body even before I knew his name. He's tall with a lean muscular build—particularly his trunk and legs--with an angelic face framed in short curly strawberry blonde hair. His ass could launch another Trojan war (yes, both kinds). He speaks slowly with a residual Georgia Low Country drawl that melts friends and foes alike. He's well-endowed, just over 8 inches, and terrific in bed. And we've discovered we're soul mates. He's the yin to my yang—or am I the yin to his yang? (We're both alphas, versatile tops and bottoms which explodes the possibilities for love-making. It also creates plenty of opportunity for conflict.)
Originally, he had no intention of moving in as my roommate—and lover, but some admission residency hall snafus at Rice deprived him of his plans for independence, his on-campus room in the plush jock dorm, and literally landed him in my lap--and on my dick. Wow, was that good luck. I had been trying to get him to move into my condo almost since we met, but he was careful and reluctant. He initially accused me of being too controlling for a long term relationship, a little narcissistic, and conceited (all of which were at least partly true, but when you've got it, why not?), but I've been working on that. My family (which is pretty well off) had provided a nice condo, if flashy—with an extra bedroom. I needed company—hopefully with benefits. It had been nearly a year since I had ended a long term relationship and casual hooking was not my bag. Chet fit the bill exactly. I tried to seduce him into the place, failed, but Rice's incompetence came to my rescue and pushed him into it.
My name is Geoff. I just graduated from UT-Austin with honors in bio-chemistry. I'm currently enrolled in what is jokingly referred to as first year med school, but more aptly named "boredom and exhaustion academy." I have over 50 hours per week of classes and labs, additional study group sessions and "invitations" to witness medical procedures. I am at the med center from around 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. or so Monday to Friday. Add in gym or pool lap time (I was once a varsity swimmer and in very good shape, but now struggling to maintain my weight and muscle tone) a few days per week and necessary personal and study time and there aren't many hours left for anything. I've always been pretty popular and med school is no different. My Mom is a well-known philanthropist with ties to the medical community and Houston and my Dad chairs one of the largest ER practices in Texas—and periodically lectures at med schools in Houston. I am "in demand" in various social and study circles all the time. But, because Chet is in the closet and I don't want to go without him, I try to refuse most of those invitations.
I'm tall, dark, good-looking if you like the Latin lover style (some used to call me Zorro because of my resemblance to Antonio Banderas)—and I'm very proud of my porn star quality 9 inch plus broad-sword. I'm a serious guy, introspective and tend to overthink most of what I do, and what happens to me. And I'm the first to admit that I have a tendency to rejection neuroses and depression. Every psychologist asks why—given my social and economic status and physical endowments. I can't explain. It just is. Fortunately, Chet is my best therapy—although completely addictive. It must be my part Irish genetics (my Dad)—the feelings of inadequacy, rejection, depression and of course the addictive personality. (I should warn you that first year med students take Psych courses and have a tendency to self-diagnose—and not just physical ailments. They even have a name for it: MSH or medical student hypochondria.)
As a senior and a serious athlete, Chet's academic demands are much easier than mine, but he spends 20 or more hours every week training for cycling events. Then he travels with his team most Friday afternoons to Saturday meets, returning late on Saturday. But his diligence has paid off. Nationally, cyclists are ranked across teams and conferences by average miles per hour performance in races over 100 "equivalent" miles. (A hilly complex course gets more miles per mile; figure that out.) Chet is currently averaging 24.9 mph—almost 1 mph above his junior average and good enough to place him in the top three nationally. He's got a good chance at a national championship this year. He intends to go pro after graduation-but the path to economic security for a cyclist involves a good deal of self-promotion and luck. His team has now completed 8 of the meets scheduled for the fall semester. Just 2 more before year end—including a New Year's multi-team invitational in South Florida.
After our first ten days together, we joked that we wouldn't recognize each other out of bed or with clothes on. We did have marathon, world class sex during that period, and our cocks tended to "dick-tate" our activities 24/7. At first we each had some doubts about a relationship—we were both confirmed tops, and truth be known, I was a little controlling. OK, a lot controlling. It worked out—I think because of our growing affection for each other and a little bit of luck, but just as much because we were young 20 somethings and able to engage in the pleasures of sex many times a day, so we didn't need much conversation time. Thus, there was plenty of opportunity for each of us to try new positions and feel new experiences. We were in and out of each other many times each day and traded so much semen that we both joked that one of us would beat the odds and "pull an Arnold"—i.e. get pregnant.
My economic situation was much better than Chet's. That's also true for my family status. However, the accident resulted in a small financial settlement which, together with Rice's generous scholarship assistance, makes Chet secure financially—at least for the current year. Then in the last days before we left for school, my Mom adopted Chet. In fact, I think they speak more often than I do with her. So his level of family security has sky-rocketed.
But, we knew educational demands would make such an idyllic life impossible once our schools were in full session. While we joked about non-sexual recognition, both of us feared a little that we could encounter compatibility issues once we had time to talk and interact. So far, so good. We remain best friends and lovers—on those occasions when we get a chance to prove it.
I had planned to try to be with Chet at his meets—most of which were outside Houston, but it turned out we had only two chances, one in Austin and a second in New Orleans a few weeks ago..
Competitive cycling is really one of the last bastions of homophobia in national athletics. Thus, Chet is very much closeted. And, as captain, he pretty much must travel and live with the team when they have meets outside Houston—which is most of the time. I did catch a few meets, but purely as spectator, staying in a different hotel and traveling independently.
It's been an eventful year for him. First, the team unexpectedly expanded and changed membership—thanks to a University decree. The team itself had almost nothing to say about the changes. Chet as captain had to deal with the ensuing issues. Then the head coach resigned in a "policy disagreement" with athletic administration. The team has been without a head coach since then while a search was conducted. Chet has mostly filled in. His role as captain has expanded to include coach and confidante—particularly since the assistant coach was not a competitive cyclist before he came to Rice—and all the cycling coaches double as running coaches in track and field or cross-country.
Chet had explained the importance of team sportsmanship and camaraderie—and the changes were challenges for both of those. He said more than once that he felt more like team psychiatrist than team captain. In fact, the University even made a consulting psychologist available to him for periodic discussions about particular team member issues.
But, midterms are over, RCC's season is off to an outstanding start, the team remains in one piece—and mostly speaking to each other, and Geoff and I have managed to enjoy living together for three months. We're about to have a four day break, but I suspect my family may have some surprises in store for both of us. Whatever surprises they may plan, however, we plan to plead fatigue—often—and retire to my old bed and room.
The honeymoon is definitely not over. Even now as I speak these words, Chet has reached over, unbuttoned my shorts and pulled out Geoffy Lube—the name he gave junior near the beginning of our relationship. "Just drive," he says. "I'll be sure to catch everything you can shoot at me."
"Too bad we still don't have the pickup with the bench seat. This console makes car sex very difficult."
His lips surrounded my hardening dick as he began a slow rhythmic pattern of short sucks and strokes. Fortunately the traffic had eased off and we were on the Interstate without much required concentration. Up ahead a saw a rest stop with few patrons. I drove in to the back and parked under a large shade tree in a remote section of the lot. I dropped the my seat back, placed my hands on Chet's head and began to push up into Chet's strawberry blond curls as he began his favorite imitation of a hand held vac. Soon my ropes of cum and tension were gone—actually not gone, just transferred to his warm mouth and throat, and I looked over at his Cheshire grin. "Do you want me to do you?"
"I can wait to get to Austin. I think Id' rather be hard for the final miles."
*******
(The Time line now reverts back to the day Chet moved into the condo in Houston. Geoff's POV)
It was late afternoon when we decided to get out of bed. I was very happy (since Chet had decided to move into the condo), nude and wrapped tightly in the muscular arms and legs of my ginger angel. I felt such peace and contentment. It had all worked out. The late afternoon sun highlighted his rosy curls with an appropriate halo. This was gay heaven. Both of us were starving for food, but sated for the moment on sex—a condition which was rarely repeated in the coming weeks. We had dozed in the hot Houston afternoon, but I awakened first, finding his cock still plugging my ass. I was full of his spunk which definitely had had time to make sure I was pregnant. I pushed into his gut which woke him immediately. I rolled and he covered me and kissed me deeply as I reached around his globes and probed for his hole. Yes, it was indeed there. This was not a dream—or heaven—but a real life. He flashed me one of his dazzling smiles with wide deep green eyes and drawled, "I hope you enjoyed my thank you. But, I really need a shower and maybe some food."
"Let's use mine—it has all the accessories." So the afternoon delight was over—Chet had kept me on high with his Savannah slide for nearly an hour before we both fell asleep.
So we untangled and unstuck and walked (definitely not a walk of shame) completely nude across the great room (with all its full length mirrors) to my side of the condo—so it looked like an army of new recruits was marching to the medics for exams. I adjusted the water and motioned for Chet to enter, giving him a tap on the ass as I did so. We showered long, cleaning each other thoroughly, dried and wrapped in towels.
"Let's go see what Central Market has given us for dinner. I don't feel much like going out tonight." The Sub Zero fridge was stocked, but we chose simply: a Caesar salad (no anchovies), steak burgers, and fries (the kitchen had an air fryer). We decided on beers and Chet started into the cooking.
