With one major exception: I had learned that I could use my anal muscles to stroke his pole even when he had me immobilized. I lay there passively, or at least as passively as one can when a strong masculine hunk was doing aerial pushups into one of the sensitive parts of your body. The pure physicality of this position was incredible. His passion rose. I could feel the tension in his thighs as he rocked into me, and I began the inner stroking of his penis. His size meant that he fit tightly inside and the walls of my chute were sensitive to the final expansion of his dick and the rise of his fluid, and as I felt it begin to rise, I tightened as much as possible. He smiled, recognizing my game. “Oh babe, that feels so great. Are you ready?”
“Anytime you are, big boy.” He tensed and stretched his legs again, drew in his gut, and exploded deep into me. The heat and passion released me and I spurted over and over again onto my chest, neck and mouth. I knew what was next. He released my knees; I wrapped his ass with my calves; and he moved down to lap up my cum.
A few minutes later, he rolled to the side and then rose to get a warm towel. Back in bed, he pulled up the duvet in the now chilly room and cradled me in his arms. “You are such a great lover. I am so lucky to have you.”
“Incidentally, you’re welcome to visit the ER with me tomorrow if you would like.”
“I think I need to ride. We’re in for a big meal—and I do have two more races. I can’t let up now. I presume you are going to see that gorgeous blond hunk who waived to you at the Austin meet.”
“You noticed that? His name is Sven and he is an EMT. We had a few adventures before I met you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. He’s not even sure he’s gay or bi.”
“I noticed him because he and I are amazingly similar—light, blond, a little shorter than you, athletic. I know your type, Geoff.”
“You’re my type Chet. Period. However, if you want to meet him, I can probably arrange for us to go out for drinks on Friday night. I don’t know his current dating status.”
“Sure, I always like to keep my competition close.”
“I wasn’t talking about Reg.”
“He’s not your competition, babe. He may be a world class hunk with one of the biggest cocks in the universe, but he’s a selfish bastard.”
“Well, you’ll find Sven is a really nice guy. Maybe I can talk him into a threesome.”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
******
I had always thought Thanksgiving was over-rated, but Geoff and family changed all that. We awoke early, took care of our morning wood in the most pleasant of ways, and I went off for a long ride. We regrouped at a light lunch—the date with Sven was set for Friday night. (“I didn’t mention a possible threesome, but he does know you and I are together.”) We napped, fucked again with me pitching this time, showered and gathered together for a wonderful meal—filled with laughter and good feelings. Val had outdone herself—again. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the casualness with which this family produces perfection—no wonder Geoff is perfect.
Throughout the day, however, as I rode and as I relaxed, I kept thinking about how families and close friends during our youth determine how happy our childhoods are—and how our psyches handle decisions, emotions, and relationships later in life. Geoff seemed to have the perfect environment—but he is nevertheless insecure in relationships. He gives and gives himself over and over. He is generous with his time, talent and treasure. But underneath his generosity is a foundation of insecurity—if he doesn’t give, will others love him? How did that happen to him in such a loving and accepting environment?
Then I began to think about Pete. His family was loving, but cold and non-demonstrative. They expected their offspring to be perfect (without praise or comment) and to contribute to the welfare of the family. Did this make Pete more susceptible to the apparent loving gestures and praise of others or did it make him less vulnerable? I think maybe lack of experience with emotion creates its own natural immaturity—and vulnerability when potential relationships are encountered.
Reg was another story. He was born into an ultra-religious family with strict rules of conduct—but almost inexplicably, his “reverend daddy” had “sold” him into the world of commercial modeling in the Big Apple at a young age. Reg was a prize, a valuable asset, a commodity in the world of sex-selling. Daddy had to know how that would change his son and the temptations that would come his way. Yet he permitted it. Presumably, the family had benefited financially from Reg’s modeling success. What kind of parent sells a son into de facto sexual slavery, masquerading as modeling. And then of course there was the mentoring relationship with Joe, his wife’s brother, a lifelong bachelor, a cycling idol. How did that play out? Reg had apparently hardened and developed a shell to survive. For him, interpersonal relationships were all transactional—what does it do for me—or to me?
It seemed that my own situation was a combination of all of them. In many ways, my family was very much like Reg’s. They insisted on a strict religious upbringing. Their opinions on sexuality were formed thousands of years ago. They had expectations of their children, again born in a patriarchal age. And they were like Chet’s—expecting a full day’s work on the farm of their children—and that in young adulthood, those children would return to the farm and raise traditional families in the traditional way. Any deviation from this norm was punished with banishment—emotional (in Chet’s case) or physical in mine.
None of this prepared me for Geoff’s folks—how they treated me and how they looked at the world. They viewed the world as an Eden in which their sons could flourish. I was soaking it up. I was as much in love with Geoff’s family as I was with him. And I was slowly getting over the feeling that I wasn’t worth their love.
Of course my “worth” was tied up with a deep feeling that I had somehow betrayed Geoff. When we first met (and when we were just flirting), we each opened up completely about our past sexual experiences, fears and expectations. Then, as our relationship deepened—and I had much more to lose, I had essentially shut down a part of me. I felt that, although I had told Geoff almost everything about Reg, maybe I did encourage his advances. And I didn’t really come completely clean about Pete. I wasn’t attracted to Pete. I knew that. But, I liked the idea that someone like Pete was attracted to me. And the guilt was still eating away at me. I was good at rationalizing—but not that good. Some day when Pete was “just history,” I knew I would tell the story to Geoff—as an anecdotal joke. Right now, the idea was still too raw.
I guess the Peters were giving me a great deal to be thankful for—and not just a handsome partner they had raised as a son. One who loved me unconditionally. One who accepted me as I am, flaws and all. I resolved to be worthy of their gifts.