My economic situation was much better than Chet’s. That’s also true for my family status. However, the accident resulted in a small financial settlement which, together with Rice’s generous scholarship assistance, makes Chet secure financially—at least for the current year. Then in the last days before we left for school, my Mom adopted Chet. In fact, I think they speak more often than I do with her. So his level of family security has sky-rocketed.
But, we knew educational demands would make such an idyllic life impossible once our schools were in full session. While we joked about non-sexual recognition, both of us feared a little that we could encounter compatibility issues once we had time to talk and interact. So far, so good. We remain best friends and lovers—on those occasions when we get a chance to prove it.
I had planned to try to be with Chet at his meets—most of which were outside Houston, but it turned out we had only two chances, one in Austin and a second in New Orleans a few weeks ago..
Competitive cycling is really one of the last bastions of homophobia in national athletics. Thus, Chet is very much closeted. And, as captain, he pretty much must travel and live with the team when they have meets outside Houston—which is most of the time. I did catch a few meets, but purely as spectator, staying in a different hotel and traveling independently.
It’s been an eventful year for him. First, the team unexpectedly expanded and changed membership—thanks to a University decree. The team itself had almost nothing to say about the changes. Chet as captain had to deal with the ensuing issues. Then the head coach resigned in a “policy disagreement” with athletic administration. The team has been without a head coach since then while a search was conducted. Chet has mostly filled in. His role as captain has expanded to include coach and confidante—particularly since the assistant coach was not a competitive cyclist before he came to Rice—and all the cycling coaches double as running coaches in track and field or cross-country.
Chet had explained the importance of team sportsmanship and camaraderie—and the changes were challenges for both of those. He said more than once that he felt more like team psychiatrist than team captain. In fact, the University even made a consulting psychologist available to him for periodic discussions about particular team member issues.
But, midterms are over, RCC’s season is off to an outstanding start, the team remains in one piece—and mostly speaking to each other, and Geoff and I have managed to enjoy living together for three months. We’re about to have a four day break, but I suspect my family may have some surprises in store for both of us. Whatever surprises they may plan, however, we plan to plead fatigue—often—and retire to my old bed and room.
The honeymoon is definitely not over. Even now as I speak these words, Chet has reached over, unbuttoned my shorts and pulled out Geoffy Lube—the name he gave junior near the beginning of our relationship. “Just drive,” he says. “I’ll be sure to catch everything you can shoot at me.”
“Too bad we still don’t have the pickup with the bench seat. This console makes car sex very difficult.”
His lips surrounded my hardening dick as he began a slow rhythmic pattern of short sucks and strokes. Fortunately the traffic had eased off and we were on the Interstate without much required concentration. Up ahead a saw a rest stop with few patrons. I drove in to the back and parked under a large shade tree in a remote section of the lot. I dropped the my seat back, placed my hands on Chet’s head and began to push up into Chet’s strawberry blond curls as he began his favorite imitation of a hand held vac. Soon my ropes of cum and tension were gone—actually not gone, just transferred to his warm mouth and throat, and I looked over at his Cheshire grin. “Do you want me to do you?”
“I can wait to get to Austin. I think Id’ rather be hard for the final miles.”
*******
(The Time line now reverts back to the day Chet moved into the condo in Houston. Geoff’s POV)
It was late afternoon when we decided to get out of bed. I was very happy (since Chet had decided to move into the condo), nude and wrapped tightly in the muscular arms and legs of my ginger angel. I felt such peace and contentment. It had all worked out. The late afternoon sun highlighted his rosy curls with an appropriate halo. This was gay heaven. Both of us were starving for food, but sated for the moment on sex—a condition which was rarely repeated in the coming weeks. We had dozed in the hot Houston afternoon, but I awakened first, finding his cock still plugging my ass. I was full of his spunk which definitely had had time to make sure I was pregnant. I pushed into his gut which woke him immediately. I rolled and he covered me and kissed me deeply as I reached around his globes and probed for his hole. Yes, it was indeed there. This was not a dream—or heaven—but a real life. He flashed me one of his dazzling smiles with wide deep green eyes and drawled, “I hope you enjoyed my thank you. But, I really need a shower and maybe some food.”
“Let’s use mine—it has all the accessories.” So the afternoon delight was over—Chet had kept me on high with his Savannah slide for nearly an hour before we both fell asleep.
So we untangled and unstuck and walked (definitely not a walk of shame) completely nude across the great room (with all its full length mirrors) to my side of the condo—so it looked like an army of new recruits was marching to the medics for exams. I adjusted the water and motioned for Chet to enter, giving him a tap on the ass as I did so. We showered long, cleaning each other thoroughly, dried and wrapped in towels.
“Let’s go see what Central Market has given us for dinner. I don’t feel much like going out tonight.” The Sub Zero fridge was stocked, but we chose simply: a Caesar salad (no anchovies), steak burgers, and fries (the kitchen had an air fryer). We decided on beers and Chet started into the cooking.
“I thought I was the chef in this duo?”
“I can do burgers and fries. You make the salad.”
A few minutes later we were sitting at the table hungrily devouring everything we had made. “I’ll call Rice tomorrow and tell them I’m going off campus and ask them to deliver the wardrobe here. I think it will fit entirely in that huge closet—so it won’t destroy the careful modernity of your Mom’s décor.”
“Let’s not worry about the décor. This is our place now. We’ll decide how we want it to look. I’m here all morning, but I have orientation in the afternoon.”
“Well, I have the trials tomorrow afternoon, so maybe I’ll ask for delivery the next day. It doesn’t look like I’m going to need much clothing.”
“You’re going to have to tell me your food favorites. I email an order into CM every Thursday and they deliver the next week’s provisions late that day. Even wine and beer. The concierge signs. I don’t think we’re going out most nights—the food is too salty and typically carb-full. My own needs are simple: protein shake for breakfast (fresh fruits from CM, protein powder Amazon delivers), lunch will be at school, so it’ll only be dinners.”