The Athens meet was, as expected, a weather-caused disaster. Rain lingered into the early morning hours, and given our flight schedule, if the start were postponed past 10, we would have to leave and forfeit. Finally, we checked out of the motel and left for the start at around 9. Pete had not said a word to me since I woke and heard him in the shower. This time, he emerged fully dressed from the bath ready to race, picked up his duffel and went to breakfast. We remained on the bus until just before the start to stay warm and dry. A light fog had settled in. Hours later, the meet was over. We won, but our times were terrible—this was probably a race we would drop from our standings results at the end of the season. Curiously, Reg must have come to the same conclusion as he could have won the race, but pulled back in the stretch to allow our now typical finish: me, Chet, then Reg.
We returned to Houston for a farewell dinner with Becca. Geoff had ordered take-out and we ate in the condo. She was impressed with our living accommodations—particularly the mirrors– and promised to stay with us on her next visit. But, she really wanted to borrow it when her fiancé was in town.
I was pre-occupied and Geoff noticed. “What a waste of time. Flights to Atlanta, heavy traffic, lousy weather, not great competition. The whole team seemed down because of the situation. I need to find something to pick up our spirits. We’re off next week. Will you help me plan a team party?”
“How do we do that? Where did you have in mind? Certainly not here. And how about dates? Were you planning on coming out?”
“Yeah, you’re right as usual. But, I need to do something to raise spirits.”
“One bad meet—which you won by the way—doesn’t destroy team morale. You’re still on top of the conference.”
If only he knew what I was dealing with. Not what, who: Pete was attracted to me; Reg was out to get my guts. Both had made overtures to my dick—and being young and male, I hadn’t exactly been unaffected. It wasn’t team morale; it was mine. And Geoff was soon going to expect to romp around our bed in a few minutes while I felt soiled in a way that one of our intimate joint showers would not clean.
“Let’s head for the shower. It’s been a really long, boring week. I’m looking forward to one of your Savannah slides.”
I got up from the sofa and followed his bouncing cheeks, commenting without real conviction, “I think I can handle that.”
The shower was long and restorative as I pressed back often into Geoff to prove to myself that he was still with me. By the time I turned out the bath light, Geoff was already in position on the king. He handed me the lube, stretched his left thigh forward to open his cheeks and his anus winked invitingly at me. How could I be depressed with this magnificent man waiting for my pleasuring? How could I be confused about myself with this much love and trust before me. I lay behind him, lifted his leg, lubed and fingered him open, and, as we had practiced, I reached around his hip and fisted his dick to steady him as I slid my snake into its burrow. I could hear his contented moans as I poked and petted his love spot. We managed to remain nearly motionless for most of the next half hour, stroking occasionally to stay hard as his sheath gradually relaxed around my pole. Finally he pushed his ass back into me. It was time to perform. And of course I did—and he did. We slowly built to a loving and powerful joint release. Geoff had a moist cloth nearby, so we didn’t even need to rise to clean up. Soon we were asleep in that relaxing spooned embrace that brought me release and him peace and reassurance. I thought to myself, “Can you have forgiveness without confession? I think it starts by self-confession, not rationalization.”
On Sunday, Geoff announced that he had an idea. He knew that we had another meet similar to Athens in Chapel Hill in two weeks. It was likely to be chilly (late October) but the color should be nice. Then, the following week we would be in New Orleans at a highly competitive meet. And of course it would be New Orleans, the legendary party town. “I have a cousin there and he has an interest in a riverboat casino that docks in New Orleans. I’m going to call and see if we can do a party on board on Saturday night. It’s close enough to Houston that the team can drive—so we can invite dates. The cousin knows I’m gay and has two very nice younger sisters who love to party. I’ll ask if they can be our “beards” for the party. I’m going to call him today. The only extra expense for the club would be a second night in a hotel or motel on Saturday. And I’m guessing that many of the “dates” will have rooms anyway—so we can keep the second night bill to a minimum. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Sounds like a plan. I love it. Particularly because the week before is mid term exam week. Everyone will be ready to party. Let’s go to brunch. My treat. And I want to use some of my money to help with the party expenses.”
Later Geoff called the cousin and one section of the river boat was chartered. It being a Saturday, the whole boat would have been an impossible expense. Geoff handled most of the costs, but had no intention of letting anyone else know he had done so. He had several other surprises in store as well. He would know in a day or so about the availability of the sisters—but Beau made it clear that they both adored Geoff and loved to party.
Practices were normal—and thank God, most things settled down for the two weeks before Chapel Hill. My own anxiety quieted as the events of the past days receded in time as well as vivid memory. As captain, I checked with each team mate about study issues and had access to a few tutors who helped where required. A consistent academic performance was demanded at Rice and the club was similarly dedicated to excellence. The flight to Raleigh-Durham was again without incident. The tree color was festive and the weather was balmy. I noted that this was the last “northern” venue for meets this season. (My UNC competitors would have laughed at my description of the site as “northern”.)
RCC again placed first, thus were undefeated for the season (5-0) and were leading in the team time standings. Interestingly Reg pulled away from the pack in the stretch and had the best single time, beating me by a full second. After the race, I announced the plans for New Orleans. Everyone seemed excited and pleased. “Now kill those mid-terms so we can really celebrate.”
After the race, I lingered longer in the locker room than I normally do. We had time until the plane departure and Geoff had not flown with us—he said he had a New York appointment on Friday. I knew that Pete had changed and left early so I wasn’t concerned about a re-encounter with him. I was just a little wistful and a little depressed at the first loss in my Rice career. Then I heard a metal locker slam. It seems that Reg had stayed as well. He approached just as I dropped my towel and sat on it on the bench to dress. As was his custom, he was naked, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. His long dick was swinging in long arcs over his balls as he approached with his customary model’s hip-forward swagger. I looked up, smiled and offered my congratulations on a great race. “Not quite as good as your best time in Dallas, but I’ll get there.” He leaned back against my locker so I was eyes to eye with his fabulous trophy cock. He reached down and fluffed his balls which aimed the it right at my lips. “Want to taste a champion? Your mouth is watering.”