Ok. I think that the statute of limitations has passed and I am significantly “over it” to the point where I can finally post the once-hinted “Bicycle Experiment 3.0.”

The Bicycle Experiment 3.0

You know how sometimes someone rides up behind you so quietly that you don’t even notice until the breeze blows your hair into your face as they pass? This was that sort of “whoa, what was that?” sneak experiences that I certainly didn’t see coming.

With all of these bicycle-related exploits, you’d think I’d compile a book of these stories. Still, it is kind of painful to see familiar patterns arise: a random encounter, learning just enough about the rider to get my curiosity piqued. Curiosity gives way to animalistic, obsessive tracking. Trap set, sexual ensnarement. Or, at the very least, catching the attention of my would-be target. Initial drug-like high from successful conquest giving way to wondering when I’ll get my next fix, whether physical or verbal contact. Eventual anti-climactic conclusion. What can I say? I tend to burn out bright, hot and fast in my entanglements. Still, there is much more to the romantic and sexual spectrum than this and I would like to experience that long, slow burn, play the long game.

Where should I start with this one? The beginning was while I was nursing the sting of the second bicycle experiment failure. I was at an indoor event where riders were still able to show off their daring-do. I definitely enjoyed making a spectacle of myself. Of all people, I ran into the subject of the original bicycle experiment. We made amends and parted ways amicably. He may have been inebriated, since before he left, he randomly took my hand and gave it a quick kiss. However, during our conversation, I had mentioned cyclocross racing and another event attendee who had overheard us interjected. It was a bit confusing trying to watch the evening’s amusements and maintain two conversations. So, it was amusing when I found out later that my new friend had thought I was giving him the cold shoulder that night.

Of course, even with distractions, I couldn’t help but notice he was of the tall and leggy sort. Neatly trimmed beard, glasses. I had slyly attempted to “recruit him for our team” but backed off slightly when I had gotten the idea that he had a girlfriend. He was on a collegiate team, as he is a med student and another friend of mine on the team had warned me not to “poach from the [school] team,” which was amusing since she was on that team as well as mine and at least one other.

Anyway, fast forward a couple of months later and we were at another bike event at a bar. It was loud and it seems like my thigh high pantyhose were magnetized towards his jeans, whether we were standing or leaning against a pool table. The whole time, I kept thinking “Damn shame he has a girlfriend.” The following evening was another bike-related social-mixer at my favorite bike shop, which lead to another friend’s charity benefit and eventually to another bar. At some point, we had a conversation about the pitfalls of online dating. At the bar, my ankle in its Doc Marten boot seemed inexplicably magnetized to his knee as we sat next to each other and chatted, despite another conversation going on with the rest of the group. By the time we went out to unlock bikes, it was raining even more than it had been earlier. He offered his couch and I accepted.

Right before I unlocked my bike, I asked “I don’t know if I’m misinterpreting the situation, but –” Before I could finish my question, he kissed me. That was probably the best way he could have answered my unspoken question.

What is it about me following a lad through the rain with the promise of warming up in bed afterward? Whatever it is, I hope it never stops. After we carried our bikes up the stairs and over the doorway to the rack in the mudroom, I started peeling off my soggy things as he insisted on being a gentleman, offering his couch or the spare room. I said if it was all the same with him, I’d share his bed for the evening.

I’ve always found it particularly hot when they ask for permission. His quiet statements in my ear, or as his lips brushed against my neck telling me that he would respect any boundary I would set negated any possibility of an actual no from me. His touch was electric, sending pleasant frissons through my nervous system. I only hope he felt at least half of what I was that night. I could have been satisfied just lying there, touching and kissing each other. However, I’ve never particularly been one to put on the brakes when there’s so much more to explore.

His mouth wandered downward, his soft beard lightly tickling me as he kissed my stomach. His strong hands at my thighs. Yet this time I hesitated, merely out of feeling self conscious about not having showered yet that night or shaved down there in awhile. However, it didn’t take long for me to change my mind. I’ll just say that the rain outside had nothing on me. Naturally, I reciprocated. I usually do a slow tease, touching and kissing my way down, but I was a bit impatient, greedy to take his cock in my mouth. I felt even more self-conscious considering I quickly found that the level of meticulous attention road cyclists pay to shaving goes all the way up. Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect? His moans and sighs made me ache to have him inside me.

He gently guided me back up to lie on top of him. I feel his finger tips gently trace up and down my back. “You’re irresistible.” He murmurs. So close, I could feel the tip of his cock twitch, brushing my clitoris just enough to make me tremble. His hands traced against my skin and I felt myself just melt into him. I just really wanted to fuck him and told him so, repeatedly. He grabbed a condom from the nightstand as I laid back. As he slowly slid into me, he closed his eyes. I just hope he was as blissed out as I was.

Being fucked by him was like being wrapped in silk: smooth, decadent and all-encompassing. A slight, grazing touch here, a devouring kiss there. He had the clean, warm, but almost oceanic smell of someone who trained hard, sweat often, but also rinsed off in the shower just as often, that hint of soap. I felt a wave pass through my body as his fingertips slid up my thighs then grasped at my hips while I wrapped my legs around him. He moves against me, undulating, eyes shut, gasping as if he’s about to drown. For such an impressive athlete, he’s moving slowly, perhaps pacing himself. This works for me since I’m flooded at all sides of sensation and I certainly didn’t want it to end any time soon.

At some point I find myself on top of him again. I warn him that I generally don’t last very long in this position. I even tell him about the running joke that nothing or no one that goes between my legs would ever be able to bring me enough satisfaction as my bicycles. Naturally I make the addendum that I may have to rethink that after my experience with him. There’s the same stretch and ache in my thighs, the same elevation in heart rate, but none of my bicycles ever had firm, but gentle hands to grasp my hips or breasts. My saddles certainly never fit this well. I increase speed at his guidance. Both of us are gasping like we’re hill-climbing. I know it’s not a race, but I can’t resist the thought of trying to beat him to the top. I grasp his shoulders like I’m riding in the drops. Considering how fast of a rider he is, this might be the only time I would be able to keep up. With exhausted, but contented sighs, we reach the apex and the rest of the way is practically coasting. I collapse against him and he traces his fingertips along my back again.

We both get to sleep with it still raining outside. One of his arms rests behind my neck, hand wrapped against my upper arm. Of course he’s a cuddler. He’s perfect, remember? The next morning he makes cups of tea and we briefly chat before going on separate rides. I work on my hill climbing and he goes on an 80 mile ride with an old friend. He texts me later to ask how my ride went.

I don’t know, cautious optimism has been the general advice regarding this situation. He’s intelligent, attentive, fast on a bike and as they say, wicked hot. I joked that I found a unicorn, except according to myth, those were generally only lured by virgins. As perfect as he seems, he is also unavailable in the sense that his schedule is about as full as a collegiate cycle racing med student could be. Also, for all I know, he has a bunch of dead/mad wives in the attic.

Update: As it turns out, he was still in the process of getting over an ex and worried that any involvement, sexual or romantic would merely be “selfish indulgence.” Ever a gentleman to the end, we parted ways as friends. Of course, it initially wounded my heart and pride a bit to be rejected by such a catch. However, it wasn’t so much about what either of us wanted, but what he needed, which was time and space to sort himself out. I suppose I ought to do the same. On the rare occasion when he’s not in class, working long shifts or training, we run into each other and converse pleasantly. Still, I would have loved to play the long game with him, take a slow ride in the country as opposed to a hard and fast time trial. At the very least, this summer we’ve been able to share a laugh at displaying our tan lines to each other. Of all fetishes for me to develop, the slight slide upward of shorts to reveal pale flesh crisply contrasted with smooth, golden tan flesh. Or, when it was still cool out, the slow inadvertent striptease of watching riders remove arm warmers or leg warmers from beneath their kits. Overall, compared to the subjects of the previous bicycle experiments, there actually isn’t any comparison. While it would have been nice had the experiment lasted longer, I’m just glad that the events unfolded the way they had at all.