The Bicycle Experiment 6.0

[why has it jumped to 6.0? there were a couple of targets that got away in the meantime]

The leaves are starting to turn, road season is winding down and my mind and legs are focused on one thing alone: cyclocross. Oh how I had been longing to return to the dirt (and the dirty lads who race on it).

Of all things, I met 6.0 not on the road or in the dirt, but through an online dating app. The self-aware bravado of posing shirtless with a phone, making duckface in front of a bathroom mirror while holding a kitten and posing (also shirtless) with a pointer in front of a chalkboard graph reading “number of messages exchanged/probability you will have sex with me” aside, the first and only thing I really needed to see was him in a skinsuit, on a bike, face made inscrutable by helmet and sunglasses revealing only a hard set jaw with gritted teeth, leaning hard into a turn on the dirt.

There was the usual textual banter followed by “so is tonight a school night for you?” He definitely knew how to target my bad girl nostalgia for sneaking out at night to run around with guys. Unfortunately, with a series of important meetings/projects I had to complete the following day and cyclocross practice, I had to take a raincheck… which fortunately was claimed the following evening.

He had recently returned from an international race. Remember what I said about getting to the point of mad desperation that I was actually considering picking up a lad with strong looking legs at the local coffee shop or bar, throwing a kit on him and ask him to brag about the time he podiumed with a broken derailleur? Looks like I didn’t have to. 6.0 is the real deal as far as being serious about racing and oddly has raced against 2.0 on a regular basis despite them not knowing each other. Speaking of 2.0, I actually described 6.0 to a friend in comparison: “He’s like 2.0 if 2.0 actually delivered, was honest with/about himself and wasn’t just a huge cocktease.” … but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Of course I sat in wide-eyed wonder as 6.0 described the trip, the hazards of taking an open-air taxi in the host city and the peculiarities of the course. I was also particularly impressed that his team/sponsors had paid for the trip. No one I ride with gets those kind of perks. We’re mostly beer and burrito operations.

Anyway, you’re not here to read about the world of competitive cycling. You’re here to read about me fucking my way through the world of competitive cycling. I joked to a friend that I might just be a cat 4 in CX, but I aim for a cat 1 in sex.

So we end up standing in my bedroom. He holds his hands out. For a moment, I have the peculiar fear that this is going to end in a polite handshake and a “Thanks, it was lovely chatting with you this evening.” Then I remembered that this is me we’re talking about here. He takes my hands and pulls me closer. We kiss and hands start roaming everywhere, scoping out and pre-riding the course, I suppose. I’ll just say that there were plenty of hard turns that I definitely had to lean into. Clothing hits the floor and I’m quite pleased with myself for being able to undo both his belt buckle and fly with just my left hand (I’m right handed).

We stand in our underwear right next to the bed. I feel like I’m about to explode if I don’t get him between my legs soon. So I push him onto the bed, straddling him as I turn out the light. Fucking with the lights on is a level of intimacy that I’m not quite ready for considering how self-conscious I am along with the fact that we just met. However, I sort of regret that since it meant that I didn’t get to stare at those glorious tan lines at his thighs… so sharp you could open an envelope on them. 6.0 makes quick work of figuring out that my bra opens from the front.

The last barrier of underwear cleared, he’s pretty much sprinting towards giving me the first orgasm of the evening just with the deft movements of his fingers. I can’t stop moaning into his mouth and he does not let up for anything even once I’ve already come. He grasps my wrist, indicating that I should follow suit. To my surprise, he isn’t completely hard yet, but it only takes a few strokes against the palm of my hand, fingertips grazing against the head of his cock to get there. At one point, I was using both hands, grasping the shaft, caressing his balls with the other hand. The tip of his cock brushes lightly against my stomach as he hovers over me and all I want is to have that hard cock inside me, for my legs to be wrapped around him as he goes hard and fast.

Yet that can wait. I manage to get on top again, kiss him from his ears, down his neck, chest and abs. Good heavens I don’t think I had ever been with anyone so… solid before. Even his ass was the tightest I’ve ever gripped in my eager hands. I imagine spanking 6.0 would have hurt me than it could possibly have hurt him. Perhaps even a flogger or paddle would break against it if swung with enough force (and you know I would love to get a chance to try). For some reason, he stops me from going down on him despite his curiosity about my talents in that department.

We resume kissing and touching each other, lying face to face on our sides and it isn’t too long until he’s on top of me again. Once again, he’s keeping me in an over-heightened state of pleasure and I feel like I’m barely even able to hold on to the back of his wheel. Suddenly, he stops and says “We definitely shouldn’t have sex.” I’m a bit perplexed and slightly miffed until he says “Good thing it doesn’t count if you wear a condom” and grabs a condom out of his bag. I always did go for the ones with peculiar senses of humor.

He’s over me again and he slowly penetrates me. It hurts, but just in the right way. I had forgotten how good it felt to be so completely filled with cock. I grasp at him, up his arm, down his back, scratching and biting a bit as he speeds up. I wrap my legs around him and try to meet his thrusts with my own. I hadn’t felt this on fire since the last road time trial I did.

I notice a recurring pattern where he goes hard for a bit, then pulls back, letting his fingers do the work. He grasps my hand and gets me to guide his cock back inside me and resumes. I’m tempted to accuse him of trying to get intervals training in during this sex session, but in all truth, I don’t mind because it’s working. I’m reduced to a shaking, sweating, gasping mess in little time.

There is an awkward pause when I have to figure out where the hell I left my lube in the dark. This reminds me of a joke I made to the subject of The Conversation Experiment when he found bike grease in his bedsheets once: “That awkward moment when you accidentally reach for T-9 instead of K-Y.” To be fair, there was a time when I kept both in my bike bag along with condoms, a spare tube, a repair kit and a first aid kit just because it’s always good to be prepared.

Lube acquired from somewhere among the clutter of my nightstand or under the bed, we resume. He pins me down with his forearm against my collarbones and my legs on his shoulders. Through the course of the night 6.0 has been folding me like a paper crane and I know I’ll definitely feel it in my hamstrings the next morning, but I don’t care. As a cyclist who neglects weight and flexibility training, those muscles are much weaker compared to my quads. Although I suppose if I fuck enough, that might count as flexibility training and cardio. Later on, I’ll see pictures of him at races carrying his bike over barriers or hands gripping the hoods of his handlebars on a downhill turn.

6.0 pulls back and tells me to bend over the bed. I kneel and feel him plow into me like he’s sprinting for the finish line. It’s too good. I tighten around him. My arms are giving out from bracing against the bed. Fuck. Oh, fuck. He’s going to split me in half. I can feel the sweat dripping off of him and both of our hearts pounding as he collapses against me.

For awhile, we lie next to each other on the bed naked, not cuddling because this isn’t that sort of encounter. Besides, it’s too fucking hot at the end of the summer for that. We exchange some amusing sex stories and he makes it very clear that while this may happen again, I may have to wait in line behind his fans at the next race. That may have been a joke, but I really wouldn’t be surprised considering what an excellent fuck he is. Oddly enough, despite my usually jealous nature, I don’t mind. I found it refreshing that he was honest enough with himself and with me to let me know that he wasn’t looking for anything serious, but he enjoyed fucking me and would be up for doing it again.

He’s since moved to another city for the season, but it is likely we may meet at regional races. While I don’t want to get disqualified before I even get to staging for getting caught fucking on the course in a wooded section, 6.0 might be worth it. For now, we still chat online and exchange stories about our various sexual adventures. One weekend I had a very disappointing one night stand with a guy who only did one race this season, prompting me to come up with the insult “you fuck like a cat 5!” There really was no comparison. 6.0 quite literally fucks like a pro. So, when he was in town during the week and texted me “lunch break sex?” you better believe that I was looking up the quickest bike routes to get to his location. Once again, he knew exactly how to appeal to the bad girl in me who would gladly play hooky.

2.0 and 6.0 are vaguely aware of each other based on my surreptitious mentions in conversation. Technically 2.0 is in a higher category, but they’re about even as far as how often they beat each other at races. 6.0 assured me “He won’t beat me this year.” To which, I replied “Fucking me makes you faster.” This was actually a callback to something similar he had said to me when I mentioned that there was no difference between my race performance if I had sex the night before vs. if I hadn’t. My initial hypothesis was that I would do worse with the lack of sleep and expenditure of energy and that I usually channeled my sexual energy into my riding. If there is no difference, or if in his case fucking him actually would make me faster, then I don’t see why I shouldn’t indulge in a nice hard fuck the night before a race. I know that I’m sure as hell in no condition to fuck after the race.

6.0 and 2.0 don’t actually have a rivalry considering they don’t know each other or are on teams that interact with each other at all since they’re in different cities. However, I can’t help but fantasize about manufacturing one… Perhaps it could be settled in the bedroom as opposed to on the course.

Either way, the season has barely begun and I’m already far ahead of the game compared to last year.