A gay sex stories: Geoff and Chet Ch. 24 Chapter 24
Chet confesses and takes the next steps
(Ed Note: This chapter recounts briefly an attempted rape described in an earlier chapter. Skip the first few pages or the entire chapter if that bothers you. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. All men engaging in sexual activity are over 18.BD)
Chet’s POV
I arrived at the condo near dinner time. Suffice it to say that I was a wreck. Geoff had ordered in Mexican from Mamasita’s. He took one look at Chet, and said, “Let’s start with a pitcher of Margarita’s. I’m gonna mix up a strong batch right away.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower and get comfortable while you do that.”
Ten minutes later we were seated on the leather sofa, both barefoot, in tees and sweat shorts. Geoff had quieted the music to a soft classical background and dimmed the lights. “Okay. Let me hear it. I don’t need to be a psychiatrist to see that you are at the edge.”
“I need at least one of these first,” I said as I drained the frothy green liquid from the glass in one long drink and poured a second from the pitcher. “I’d like to get all of this out before you comment. And I need you to promise that you won’t try to do anything before we’ve had at least a day to think about and process it.”
“Now you are really scaring me.”
“Let me get the easy part out of the way first. Reg beat my time in Chapel Hill today—by a full second, and there is no question that he did it without breaking any rules or fouling anybody. He was just better today.”
“I’m glad you said ‘today’. Was your time bad?”
“No. In fact, it was one of my best—but his was outstanding and I don’t think the competition was very strong, so his point responsibilities didn’t require him to expend any undue energy before the sprints. But I think he’s a better overall cyclist than I am.”
“But that is not what is upsetting. Well, it is, but not in the same way. What are the chances that one university level club would have two cyclists with nationally ranked times? It is extremely unlikely that the pros would draft two guys from one school or club. So I have that concern—if Reg decides to go pro this year and he continues to ride as he did today, I could really be hurt. That worries me, obviously, but it is not what has got me tied up in knots.”
“Let me start back at the beginning of the season. You remember that I was trying to make Reg welcome on the team, so I invited him to work out at the condo gym. That was a mistake. He realized that the Towers was not a typical senior off-campus apartment. He is really street smart—and he’s seen all the ways that corners can be cut and rules can be broken with impunity. He immediately started making remarks about my sugar daddy or possibly illegal payments. Reg is smart, intelligent and street smart. He is convinced that I am a closet gay. That I have a sugar daddy or that I am taking money, probably from Amazon. Either allegation, if made convincingly—even if later proven wrong—would easily tarnish me and kill any chance to get a pro bid.”
“But, back to the workout. We had a good workout. It was intense. We were alone. And we were probably both sending out sex signals. You know how competitive guys like to play ‘king of the hill” in athletic contexts. But at the end he pulled his shorts down and waived his humongous dick in my face and made a couple of offers that sounded a little like threats. He claimed that I was obviously into him and ogling his dick and ass throughout our workout. I can only guess what his usual workout routine must be like if he thought that was normal. He told me that he was out to beat me this year, but that he would own my ass first. He told me that he knew I was gay—that his gaydar was never wrong. I was gay and that I wanted his big chocolate dick in my mouth and in my ass. I refused and left him standing there, but as I walked out, he made a comment about how odd it was that a scholarship student athlete like me was living in this condo. He told me that he ‘knew” you were my boyfriend, not my roommate, and that you were paying for everything as a sugar daddy. He accused me of being your whore for hire. Incidentally, he didn’t use your name—so I’m pretty sure he was bluffing. If you think about it, my being here could be easily seen as suspicious at best.”
“He said that sooner or later he would get to me and I would beg him for his cock. At that time, I wrote myself an email with details to record the incident. And I let it go. At least I thought I did.”
“But you know me and my tendency to overthink things. Reg is a magnificent guy, really a god in human flesh. He’s been toned and groomed to be an international idol. He is hard to resist. And his dick is truly enormous. Sorry, it’s even bigger than yours. I’ve been stewing over whether I was attracted to him or whether I invited the overture. Geoff, I’m really into you in every way possible. I know it’s love. Does that mean I’m not supposed to notice other attractive men? Or even fantasize a bit?”
Geoff was silent for once. He didn’t try to interrupt. But, I could tell he was considering all this. So, I went on. “You remember how I told you he went after Pete for awhile and suddenly dropped him? While we were in Athens, Pete told me that Reg seduced and fucked him—even to the extent of arranging an orgy with several others. He’s pretty sure Reg has a video of it. Pete is now convinced he is gay. He came out to Reg, asked Reg to breed and brand him, said he was coming out, and Reg panicked. He and Reg have stayed way apart since then. After he revealed that bombshell to me, Pete hasn’t said a word and has been avoiding me at practice and again today at the meet. Pete told me he was on the team because he is attracted to me. I’m worried about Pete, but I’m still very wary of Reg.”
“I know you said not to interrupt. But did you just say that Pete has come on to you?”
“Yeah. But, I think he is really confused.”
“And so we come to earlier today. After the race, I was alone, I thought, in the locker room, with a little time before we were to leave for the plane. I got out of the shower and was on the bench drying myself, getting ready to dress. Reg had followed me to my locker. He was nude, but not wet, and he was sporting a semi–so obviously he had been waiting for me. I hadn’t seen him in the shower room. Of course I was still naked. He gloated over his win and asked whether I was now ready to taste his champion jizz or for him to fuck me. I ignored him and reached over the bench to begin to dress. He turned and I thought he was leaving. But he quickly spun, caught me off-balance, and forced me into a straddle on the bench, pinning me with his body. He started to spank and then to finger my ass. I threatened him with a rape charge and after a few minutes he finally moved off me and away. He said I would regret not accepting him, but he would give me one more chance to hitch my fortune to his rising star—and dick. He said he knew people who could whisper to the executive committee of the Southeast Cycling Conference that they look into my financial situation as a violation of amateur rules. He left the lockers and was not on the plane coming home.”
“This guy seems genuinely evil.”
“I’m not sure. He’s obviously ambitious and has been involved in a world which operates under different rules. He may be genuinely convinced that I am gay—and that I’m into him. After all, he hasn’t had any trouble in the past seducing men or women. I don’t think anyone says no to Reg. His ego is really outsized, fed by fans and agents. I am not at all sure I could sustain a charge of attempted rape. And even if I did bring a charge, it would certainly come out that I am gay—and that I’ve had partners, and that I have been closeted–to my advantage. Many still think that being in the closet is a living lie which taints everything else you say. Even if I won the rape charge, the disclosures would finish me as a potential professional cyclist. I don’t think I can publicly accuse Reg without destroying myself.”
“For an allegedly homophobic sport, it does seem that a lot of its participants are gay. So both Pete and Reg want a shot at your cute ass. Why doesn’t that surprise me? It’s seems even more than swimming. I’m not going to answer or try to solve this now. Just come here and rest in my arms. You can drink your way to Margarita heaven if you want. You’re not driving. And I promise not to take advantage of you—or at least not any more than normal. I’m going to make you feel good, real good. We’ll talk about this later. First, however, I want to reassure you that none of this changes my feelings for you—or my opinion of who you are.”
“Is it going to be ok if I touch you?”
“Yes, okay. I’m not really traumatized by the scene, but I am really concerned about where all this leaves me in terms of future options.”
“I think I know you well enough that you are not just concerned about ‘future options.’ You are concerned about your feelings—your guilt–about them and what that means for us. Let me just say for the record, that my being so into you doesn’t mean that my eyes don’t stray to that occasional fuckable ass that passes by. We are young gay guys, afterall.”
I leaned into Geoff as he slowly began his “light” explorations of my erogenous zones. He nibbled my ear lobes and licked under them along my neck sending chills through me. Then his hands reached up under my tee and started massaging my pecs, edging my nibs into mini-erection. Slowly his hands moved down as he traced the ridges in my abs following the V until his fingers invaded below the waistline. Then his whole hand was under my balls, rolling them in his fingers. Everything was deliberately gentle and caressing. But it had the appropriate impact on me. My anxiety dropped—in no small part because of the Margaritas. But, my hard cock began to tent the shorts, already leaving a spot of precum on the fabric. He sure knows how to distract a guy.
“Raise your hips.” And as I did so, he slipped off the shorts, only momentarily constrained by the erection. He pulled the quilt over us. Reaching back under, he wrapped me in his muscular arms and rested his large hands on my dick, holding me gently and stroking slowly. I sunk lower into him relishing the intense contact. I could feel his love. I closed my eyes and focused on the incredible sensations his talented fingers were producing. He had me in a hypnotic trance of pleasure until I “woke” just a few minutes later refreshed and really hungry for a little Mexican and a big Irish-Italian.
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