A gay sex stories: Geoff and Chet Ch. 08 Chapter 08 The pleasures of southern style sex
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. I think you will find that the story line begins to pick up with this chapter. I appreciate your comments. As I mentioned earlier, this is a new genre for me and I’m learning as I go along. The chapters in Part I are told almost entirely from Geoff’s POV. That too will change. BD
During the next few days, Chet was going to try to return to a normal training schedule–except that we tried each day to add some “dessert” to the standard fare. I drove Chet “home.” We carried his stuff in, checked the house–he had been house-sitting and had now been away for a few days. His back-up bike was wrapped in the garage and needed to be set up, cleaned and tuned for use. I helped with that although he was clearly in his element as he quickly assembled and tested. He didn’t want pizza–so we had picked up salads at Subway on the way to his place. I could see the “training mentality” clicking in.
Rebecca’s folks’ home was very nice and Texas-sized as you might expect–“Texas” French provincial: stone with timber accents and quaint windows, and a slate roof, with formal landscaping in a community of similar homes on two acre plus lots. Inside, lots of comfortable, large “country-French” furniture pieces–obviously much of it antique. Now I could see the French connection.
(I wonder whether Rebecca had been one of his early unnamed groupies? Is that how she met Chet’s room mate? That might be a good guess.)
Chet had a small apartment over a three plus car garage, with an efficiency kitchen and a separate entrance. The one bedroom had its own bath with a small shower and long queen bed. The apartment had a useless “French” decorative balcony–suitable only for a few pots of colorful flowers. As was common in Texas, the garage and “quarters” were separate from the main house, connected only by a breezeway. I knew there were nefarious Jim Crow aspects to this practice, but I kept it to myself. They even had a very large hot tub set very privately in a landscaped courtyard with a waterfall feature–both of which Chet flipped on as we arrived.
After dinner which we ate outdoors, I suggested we try the tub and he agreed. “But no sex–I need to ride tomorrow, and I don’t mean you.”
“Very funny–I thought I was doing all the riding.”
“And I’ve got the sore saddle to prove it.” So we had a quiet luxurious soak in the hot tub. Then he stretched out on a chaise and I gave Chet one of my best massages, using lots of oil and with extra care to his glutes, inner thighs and groin. We were both hard and dripping by the time I finished. And we did say good night with long sloppy mutual blow jobs. I could suck on this beautiful piece of manhood for hours. This could be on my dessert menu forever. But neither of us was prepared for long ejaculatory denial. It was going to be quick, juicy and powerful. But, just to be sure, he remembered me, I was sure to finish him with my P-squeeze to push him over the moon. His prostate was super-sensitive, and he purred in pleasure as I stroked it.
“That’s the second time you’ve done that. I never knew that was possible. It makes me even longer and bigger than I thought possible and then it pops my cork like a shaken bottle of champagne. Do you have it patented? It could be a real hit in certain impotency medical fields.”
“I call it the P-Squeeze. I can just see the patent application now. I think the Patent Office has a rule against sexually explicit toys and procedures. And I’m not sure it’s original–or that I am the first to discover it. But you can have it whenever you want. It’s only possible with a large hand and long fingers.”
“Oh, I do want. But make it an occasional surprise, not routine.” He stretched and got up from the double chaise. “However, all good things must come to an end. It’s time to turn in.”
“You can end me anytime. Do you want me to stay?”
“See you tomorrow. I’m hoping to get back to a semi-normal schedule.”
“Let’s plan for an afternoon swim, some extra exercise in my room, and dinner.”
“Tomorrow is fine. Rebecca and family are due home Tuesday I promised to pick them up. So I think Tuesday is going to be a busy day.”
“Mom gets home Tuesday as well, so I am definitely on duty that night. God, only married three days and we’re already finding it hard to have time and privacy for sex. Let’s send the kiddies to their grandparents.”
We both laughed. But, I think I really have it bad for this boy. The thought of being away from him tonight and most of tomorrow depresses me.
“OK. I’ll come by for a swim tomorrow and then it is my turn to treat you to dinner. You know the area, so you pick the place. We can come back here after if your ranch is too crowded when the camping trip finishes.”
Chet managed to get a long ride in the morning–all morning, covering maybe 100 miles, just over 4 hours, and, after a high protein lunch, drove over to LA Fitness franchise for his workout. He had met a friend there who often spotted him. “What happened to you? I haven’t seen you in days.”
“Oh, it’s a long story. Accident. My best bike was hurt bad. Me, not so much. I was rescued by a doc-in-training who has helped me a lot. I’m taking him to dinner tonight to thank him.”
“Well, welcome back. Have fun. Or should I say more fun–you are really glowing! He must be something to seduce you so quickly. I wish my doc had such an impressive bedside manner. See you tomorrow. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do–unless you can do it better and longer and harder.”
Rather than showering at the gym, Chet drove over to our place and found me by the pool. Matt and a few friends were horsing around in the pool, making a lot of noise, but I was nevertheless dozing on the chaise. Chet quickly showered using the outdoor nozzle, changed into swim shorts, grabbed a small pail, filled it from the pool, and began pouring it over my back. I jumped up, grabbed him, and both of us went flying into the pool.
Matt suggested pool volley ball and went to get the net that stretched across the pool. One of Matt’s friends joined Chet and me and the game was on. Boy was the game on. Each side was out for blood. You might have thought we were playing for gold. Of course, all of us were athletes. And all of us liked to win. But my long arms made spike after spike and we prevailed. We could actually interact together and with others for an hour or so without falling into my bed. That was a milestone.
“Have fun guys. Chet and I are going out to dinner. Dad promised to be home around 6 and then plans to have two days off.”
Chet had driven Rebecca’s A3, robin’s egg blue, cabriolet–definitely a chick car. I had picked a barbeque place out in the hills, not expensive, and it was a pleasant drive. We had a great meal outdoors in a not so crowded spot before returning home. Late August was turning out to be unusually cool for Austin. We talked about Chet’s role in the club and generally about how cycle teams, in clubs or sponsored varsity sports, functioned as a unit to put the star cyclist over the finish line first. The clubs are really close–but Chet made it clear they weren’t close sexually–at least not at Rice. He was Rice’s star. We finished; Chet paid and tipped generously, I noticed. Not a word from me. We left for home. When we arrived, Matt’s friends were still there, so we detoured to his apartment.
We each grabbed a beer, stripped and I stretched out on his bed. “That was a good dinner. I really enjoy being with you. Bread and soup would be enough.”
“I plan to feed us better than that.”
“And how do you plan to do that when I’ve never seen you cook?”
“I make great reservations and my little black book is full of take-out options.”
“I bet that’s not all that is in your little black book–you must have an army of willing privates waiting for your attention.”
“You really are funny in a different drummer sort of way. I haven’t used the word ‘privates’ since I was a ten year old. Right now, your privates are the only ones that interest me. And I hope they are going to be my private property soon.”
Chet leaned into me and took me into his arms. Our lips touched and his tongue invaded. I opened and let him in. He climbed up onto my chest, reached his arms around my neck and really went at it. He was so avid that I pounded a fist on the mattress to signal that I needed to come up for air. “You are so beautiful, Geoff. I love the shaggy hair, the full soft lips. But, I wish I could see into those dark pools you call eyes. It makes you so mysterious–I never quite know what you are thinking.”
“That’s obviously part of my mystery. Presently, I’m thinking about you, particularly that long hard dick of yours that is poking into my gut–how could I not? But, I’m a little scared–and that’s pretty rare for me. After our conversation yesterday afternoon, I don’t know what I can safely do to you or for you. I thought I was giving everything to you. And I guess you thought I was just taking it from you–including your independence. I want this to work. Now I’m like an anxious schoolboy on his first date. Do you want me to kiss back? How hard? Can I use my tongue, my arms? If I spread my legs and you drop in between them, am I trapping you? Can I flip you and fuck you? Don’t get me wrong. I want to do all those things. I do want to trap you. I do want to fuck you. But only if that makes you feel good. Or do you want to fuck me? I’d be ok with that.”
“Geoff, don’t over think this. I don’t need a neurotic boyfriend. Although you are really cute when you are in distress.”
(Did he just use the word “boyfriend”?)
“Are you ready for me tonight?”
“I can be in a few.” So, I walked into the small shower and cleaned up thoroughly, bumping my arms and hands against the walls and ceiling. “I definitely prefer my shower.” When I came out of the bath, Chet was nude and erect.
He stood and pointed to the bed. “Face down, Pillow under the gut. I’m about to demonstrate my famous Savannah slide, not to be confused with my Savannah screw which is for another time. I have an entire quiver of techniques I’d like to try on you. Just give me time.”
I lay down, crossed my arms under my head to make by bis and tris pop. And I knew my vee was worth a photo: broad (back and breast swimmer) shoulders tapering to a waist even smaller than Chet’s. My muscular ass isn’t so bad either and the pillow positioned it nicely for his inspection–and insertion. I spread my legs, wanting to look as open and vulnerable to him as he had been to me. My hard dick was forced down toward the mattress between my legs. I was hard, really hard.
He opened my legs wider and he knelt between them, pulled my cheeks apart, and dove in. “Is that cinnamon?”
“Yeah, I managed to get to the adult store today and picked up some spiced lubes and some toys I’ll show you later. Go easy. I’m no more experienced than you as a bottom–it’s been more than a year since Connor was there–and he was much smaller than you.” He began by rimming and tonguing my hole, lapping up the cinnamony flavor. I shivered in anticipation. Then he probed with a finger, again around the edge, ultimately pushing in. I was tight, but the lube permitted easy access. He swirled the finger around, like he was mixing a cocktail, until he found the magic button. I jerked, rose off the pillow and moaned, “Yes, that’s the spot. You’ve found it.” With his other hand, he pushed me down and then added another finger, scissored for a few minutes, again grazing my spot. “I think that I’m ready.”
“Sure you don’t want three? I’m really not small, except compared to you. I’ll go in slowly, but…” “Oh, you’re definitely not small.”
He rocked back on his legs and placed his well-lubed head at the entry. He leaned in and just like that his plum head popped past the sphincter. I automatically squeezed and felt the burn. He really was big, much more than I had ever taken before. Fortunately he paused. Then, I breathed and pushed back as he began a rhythmic slow rocking, pushing a little more with each forward motion, adding more lube each time. He was really long and he got really deep, past the second ring before he bottomed. I was full of him and I cherished the fullness. His shoulders dropped to my back for balance and to pin me, as he reached around and took my hardness in one hand, my balls in the other. I am pretty sure he wanted to demonstrate that he was capable of control as well. And I liked the feeling. We rested tensely like this for a long time as he stretched me to accommodate his size.
Then, he pulled almost completely out, rolled me on my side, pushed one thigh forward, re-lubed, and started this languorous side-stroking. His head scraped my prostate with each stroke, bringing me higher and higher as I pushed my ass out to meet him. Every minute or so, he just stopped while deep inside, wrapped his fingers around the base of my penis, and gently squeezed. His edging technique was professional–where did he learn that? Or was it a genetic talent of Savannah boys? Finally, I felt his precum squirt inside me and tightened my sheath around him. Then, I pushed back into him slowly. He grabbed my hips and penetrated even more deeply as we both shot simultaneous long continuous lines of thick semen. His was hot and moist inside me, like a summer Georgia evening. He continued for what seemed like ages to contract and eject small shoots as he squirmed on my welcoming sweaty ass, prolonging my orgasm. Not at all violent, but oh so nice and so lasting. He put his arm over my side, pulling me into him, rolled forward and released himself onto my back as his cock softened and settled into my crack. I turned my head and we kissed. This is definitely making love, not fucking. I think I like Savannah.
“Wow. Can I get an encore?” We fell apart, barely touching on his narrower bed and cooled under the revolving ceiling fan. Chet got up and brought in a wet towel and another couple of long necks. We talked and cuddled and talked. Soon we were both hard–it is so good to be young; our refraction time is measured in minutes. He rolled to his left, exposing his beautiful back to me–the colors were changing. He moved his top leg to the mattress in an obvious invitation for me. We were both already rigidly hard.
“Your turn. Now show me what you’ve learned; show me Texas, long and slow.” Texas (big) was doable. Long was doable–at least for the second act. Not sure about slow. I wrapped my arms around him and moved so that we were spooning. My thigh stretched between his and forced him open and my penis nestled so nicely in his crack. He sighed and my head dropped to his neck. I nibbled his ear, a place that he didn’t even know was erogenous, sending electric shocks down his spine, and we both just chilled for what turned out to be a long time. He rolled just a bit more, so he was partly on his front, and widening his stance, revealing his pink twinkling hole in invitation.
“Can you do me like this? Just slip it in slowly.”
“I’m sure gonna try.” I said as I reached across him for the lube on the side table. I coated his anus and began to caress his rim and then his entrance, slowly stroking his cheeks–I just couldn’t get enough of that beautiful ass–while pushing deeper and deeper with my long fingers. The sounds, “mmmm, mmmm, mmmm,” coming from him were expressions of pure pleasure. When he seemed to be ready, I positioned and when he silently assented by pushing his ass back at me, I penetrated. I used my thigh to raise his leg and pushed in just a little farther. Slow, slow, slow. I paused and my hand gripped his pole which was hot and throbbing. He really was enormous. My long fingers barely touched. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes, he pushed his glutes into me and swallowed me whole. Then he squeezed. This has got to be the definition of paradise. He used his hips and anus muscles to milk me slowly on each outward stroke as I began to stroke his prostate and pump his cock at the sameslow tempo. I could feel him tensing and then, when he shot into my fist, I felt the familiar rapid anal contractions that would bring me over the edge. Gentle and powerful. Absolutely emptying me until I softened and withdrew. He flipped and we embraced, his cum gluing our chests together. I brought my hand to my mouth and sucked each of the fingers, reveling in his cum. Then he deep kissed–he wanted a taste too. Quiet, intense, magnificently satisfying. Is this the definition of slow Texas love-making? I sure hope so.
“Geoff, you are fast–quick to get into my pants and my ass, quick to learn a new style of love-making, but slow when you need to be. You get a star on your forehead for that performance.”
“I’d rather have your lips on mine.”
After a little while, he asked if I wanted to spend the night, but I thought it best that we each give the other a bit of space tonight. Something magic had just happened. We had both shown masterful technique, restraint, and the ability to give as well as take pleasure. I didn’t want to spoil it. If this didn’t change his mind about our possibilities, I don’t know what would.
And of course both of us had big days tomorrow. Chet drove me home and dropped me. Dad was still up. “Have a good evening?”
“One of the best.”
“I’m glad.”
“I think tomorrow I’m going to have the Austin Grille cater dinner. Something simple since Mom has probably been sauced to death in Rome. Just the four of us. Is that OK?”
“Yeah. Chet has DFW airport duty tomorrow since his hosts are returning from Vegas–so we are taking a day off. And he is back on a regular training schedule, so he is pleased.”
“Great. Good night. We are so proud of you, Geoff. You’re handling this like a mature adult.”
Was I? Can you be in love–not lust, love–after only a few days? BD