“My uncle lives in Dallas and has been my dad, much more than ‘the pastor’. He’s retired now although he’s only 55. He was on the Dallas police force and was shot in the line of duty. He coaches at one of the big Dallas Y’s. He’s offered to come down here and do some personal coaching—if I make the club. I called him Tuesday night and I think he’s already packing. My agent told me CK is interested in a possible cycling angle, but I need to have my legal team review the sponsorship rules for club cycling in our conference.”
“I can tell you, I’ve done the same thing. I’ve had a few offers. My roommate’s family has a lawyer who has been looking at those issues for me. I’ll be happy to share. So far, they’ve told me no personal sponsorships, but with Rice approval, club sponsorship is possible. Otherewise you risk losing amateur status and would be disqualified from competing in the SCC.”
“I’m not sure what that does for me.”
“Yeah. I hear you. Time for the beasts—the weights and benches.”
(In just a few minutes, I had formed my own impression of the talented Reg—an amoral, on-the-make, maybe grudging, beautiful predator of a man—to be watched carefully. I was curious—and a little aroused by the danger and temptation. He would be hetero, bi or gay– or whatever he had to be to land on top of the hill with his pot of gold.)
We spent the next forty minutes lifting and spotting each other. I was secretly pleased that I pushed more than he did—but not by much. But this part of the weight session turned out to be a form of torture—not because we pushed hard, but because our loose-legged shorts showed our hanging stuff when we leaned over to spot. Of course, leaning over the bar meant pant legs drifted over faces. Fortunately, the place was empty except for us. We both started showing hardness—and neither the sweats nor the shorts hid anything. Neither had anything on under. I think our competitive instincts took over; we were both peacocks showing our stuff to a potential competitor. His dick soon was outlined in the sweats, a long horizontal tube reaching for the waistband and when he squatted, the head pushed out along his thigh and was fully exposed. Before long, both of us were red-faced, and likely not just from physical exertion. Reg was actually pretty obvious—using his thick pink tongue to swipe his lips repeatedly as he gazed up my short leg openings. More than once he brushed my dick with his long fingers and at the end of every set, he grabbed my biceps as he guarded the bar replacement. There was now no question that Reg was bi or gay (later, I learned he preferred pan-sexual)—or at least wanted me to think so, interested in me and flirting. I was flattered, or course. He was a Nubian warrior-god. I certainly wasn’t immune to his teasing. But, I wasn’t a fool—and fortunately I wasn’t deprived of frequent sexual release thanks to two weeks with Geoff—so I wasn’t abnormally horned. (Just normal 22-year-old-horned.) I was hoping to keep this light, a game, but he had other ideas.
As I finished the last set and lay on the bench, Reg released my forearms and bent far over the bar over me so that his dick dropped to within a few inches of my lips. “Shall we finish with a sauna? Or maybe a shower?” he asked. His smile suggested he was asking something else. “Maybe we could go up to your place to shower.” “You want a taste of this prime meat?”
“You’re welcome to use the showers and sauna, Reg. But not for me today. Just so we are on the same page. I’m not available.” I ignored the other questions.
“I was just thinking it might be fun to get to know each other a little better.” With that, he pulled down the front of his sweats, pushed his hips forward, and showed he was hung with an incredible set of genitals. He was truly monumental. The nearly hard black uncut dick was easily 12 inches. The hood had already rolled back revealing a deep maroon head the size of a large Georgia plum, leaking juices. It looked angry and ready to do battle. His balls hung low and were swollen, the size of lemons and his abs were tensed and deeply sculpted to perfection. He must be a porn-class grower—that stuff would never have fit in a Calvin.
As I started to stand, he moved and his dick head brushed my lips leaving them on fire. I was initially afraid to speak—he might take advantage of an open mouth. Then I mumbled, “I’m serious Reg. I’m not available.”
“Does that mean you’re taken—by that med school roommate? Is that how you got to live in this place?”
“It means, I’m not available. Nothing more. Nothing less. And even if I were interested, there is no way I would betray the team by screwing one of my teammates.”
“Oh, you thought you were going to do the screwing? Whatever made you think that? Do you think that maybe one of your ancestral grand-pappies or great grand-uncles might be mine as well? You think one of them might’ve planted his seed in my great grand mammy? Hell, more than likely were cousins, kissin’ cousins, maybe even fuckin’ step cousins, Chet. You seem quite un-neighborly.” He swiveled and pushed his bubble butt into my face. My nose was actually in his sweaty crack. “I can go either way. Whatever it takes to get what I want. I presume you like this ass. You’ve been staring at it for an hour. It has sold millions of briefs and boxer briefs. They told me that I single-handedly put FOTL boxers off the market for city studs. Do you want me to play submissive slave bottom for your little white dick? I’m guessing you could slip it in and I wouldn’t even feel it, it’s so small.”
“Reg, this conversation is over. I’m sorry that I’ve just lost a gym buddy. I wish I could remove you from the team. But we aren’t going to be in this position again. I can’t trust you now. You’ll find the club gym is quite adequate. You need to use it from now on. You’re not welcome here.”
“Well, we’ll see. I’ll use whatever gym I damn well please. I know you love to play the innocent captain. But you’re nothing but a descendant of a slave-master. Yes, Massa, I can see the hunger in your eyes. I think it is yourself you can’t trust. I’ve just planted the seed. Too bad you didn’t let me show you how deeply I plant and how good I can be for you. I can give you the fuck of your life. You can’t erase this image.” He fisted his dick with both hands and waved it in front of my face. “If not you, now, then I have my ways. I think I’m going to raise up your green-eyed monster—and I don’t mean your little white dick. Which team mate do you want me to seduce? I assure you, I can have anyone I want. It’s just a matter of time. Maybe, I’ll take on a few. Soon your desire will overcome your fear and you’ll come begging for me. I’ll be waiting, but next time you’ll be on your knees begging to lick my dick—and my ass. And I’ll fuck your puny little pink cunt so hard and so good you’ll cry for more, Daddy.”
“I only hope your cycling skills are as good as your ego is over-blown. See you later Reg.” With that, I rose from the bench, threw a towel around my shoulder and headed for the elevator. “Next mandatory team practice is Saturday morning at Memorial.”