A gay sex stories: Geoff and Chet Ch. 26 Chapter 26 Houston Victory, Thanksgiving and a Threesome
Author’s Note: We’re getting near the end. Thanks for sticking with me and apologies for the publication glitches. All characters portrayed are over 18. All places are fictional. Remember, this entire competitive cycling regime is fiction. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. BD
Chet’s POV
We had two back to back meets after the New Orleans experience. First, we flew to Jacksonville and rode against three teams that we had not yet seen this season—from South Carolina, Jacksonville, and Nashville. None were rated in the top half of the SCC and so the coaches repeatedly warned us not to let up on our times. We did well—not our best and Reg once again eclipsed my time. We seemed to be falling into a pattern. When we rode against strong teams and he and Pete were required to expend significant “point energy” to promote my win, as called for by team strategy, I would have the best time after the final sprint, but when the point responsibilities were easier because the competition was weaker, Reg conserved his energy and out-sprinted me in the stretch. This of course strongly suggested that he was the better overall cyclist. He and I, and probably others, noticed this. But, we weren’t talking and the team certainly detected the hostility between us. I think some saw it as competitive envy.
Then we had our eighth (and final qualifying) meet at home in Houston. We drew a large crowd as we hosted an all-Texas field of Austin, Dallas and El Paso. At least two of the teams were still contenders. It was a beautiful November day for Houston and local officials had been prevailed upon to create a traffic controlled course that involved a round trip all the way to Galveston, including miles of riding along the beach promenade road—where of course the crowds gathered. We narrowly edged out Dallas to win, posting our best team time for the year. I won with a time slightly off my best and Reg was third. Second went to the Dallas captain. This meant that going into Thanksgiving, my average time, Jack Morris’ time (the Dallas captain) and Reg’s time were within tenths of seconds of each other. Any one of us could clinch the individual season title in the remaining two meets of the season—and we would meet Dallas again on the final weekend between Christmas and New Year’s Day in Miami.
On Tuesday, after the Houston meet, Rice announced that it had narrowed the field for coach of RCC to three finalists. I think they chose that day because most of the school including many of my team mates had already left for Thanksgiving break. All the potential head coaches were known to us. One was the assistant coach at UT Austin; one was the assistant coach of one of the smaller pro franchises in Nashville; and surprisingly, the last was Joe Gallagher, Reg’s uncle—and not currently coaching a cycling team. Fortunately Geoff and I were leaving on Wednesday for his parent’s ranch or I would have spent days answering questions about whether Joe’s candidacy might constitute a conflict of interest since Reg planned to remain on RCC for another year (his fifth at Rice—he had stretched his curriculum over five years to permit the continuation of his lucrative modeling contracts). The final choice would be made before the end of the year and the new coach would be in place for the shorter spring season. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to me. I would know by year end whether I was going pro—and if the team decided to move Reg or Pete into the captain’s seat for the spring meets, that was fine with me. Frankly, I had had enough of the team intrigues and I lived in constant fear that something would explode between Reg and me or that Pete would come on to me. It was wearing me out—and I think it was beginning to bother Geoff as well. But then one more layer of complexity was added: Coach Neal had put me, as captain, on the final interview committee so I would have a vote as to whether Reg’s uncle, the iconic retired cyclist, would be moving to Rice.
Geoff was beginning to tire of my extreme caution to remain in the closet. He knew that several members of the team were gay (although none of them had come out publicly)—and that Rice simply did not care. If anything, Rice was openly supportive of all sexual identities and militant in its pursuit of those who disagreed with that policy. Yet it was sapping my psychic energy. More than once, Geoff had remarked that our terrific New Orleans team party was a complete charade for us. If I went pro, would this be our lifestyle for the next years? Would we need to live mostly a lie if I were on the public stage?
We drove to the BV ranch on a sunny cool day. The traffic was heavy, but we were not really bothered by the extra time. My semester was effectively over. Geoff had placed near the top of his class in the first set of exams and he was moving into another fresh set of courses after Thanksgiving—with a few electives, so he was effectively “on break.” And of course, RCC had qualified for the championship of SCC by completing eight meets—and we were in first, and, I was in first with the best average time in the history of the SCC. We were returning as conquering heroes to a beautiful ranch, a loving family, and what promised to be a great feast. And of course I assumed Geoff and I would have four days of over-the-top sex. I hoped it would help me to forget all the issues that were bottled up inside.
Val greeted us with hugs and kisses. “You boys have about an hour before dinner. I’m guessing you want a shower. Join us on the terrace for our sundowner flute of Prosecco. We’ve set up some space heaters so we can have one more evening outside before winter. All this soul food has awakened my hunger for all your gossip.”
We carried our stuff into Geoff’s room (is it our room now?), stripped and went to enjoy a long joint shower. We washed, rubbed, and caressed each other into rock hard erections and took turns providing the oral stimulation that would hold us until later. “Geoff, I swear that you are still growing. Every time I think I am finally able to deep throat you, you’re just a little longer.”
“No, it’s you Chet. Just thinking about you makes me more aroused every time we do it. I think you are stretching me to my limit. Your blow jobs are better than penis vacs at enlarging my dick. By the way, I haven’t taken you all in yet either.”
We dressed in shorts and collared polos (formal for a Texas eve dinner), threw cotton sweaters over our shoulders, and walked out of the sliders onto the terrace where Val and Doc were sipping and grazing on the antipasto. Doc rose and hugged us both. “I hear you two have been burning up the track in Houston. Congratulations.”
Matt was there with a beautiful blonde pixie. He stood. “This is Greta. She’s going to spend the holidays with us. She goes to Regent, but her parents have been transferred to Singapore and it’s just too far to travel for just a few days. She’s a boarder for her last year and Regent closes down for five days at Thanksgiving so she was homeless.”