It was a beautiful day in mid-June - just the kind of day for a mountain bike ride, I decided. I pulled my trusty old Jamis out of the garage, put on my ten-year-old helmet (didn't they say you were supposed to replace these things every four years or some shit? Ah well), pulled on my gloves, and down the road I went. There was a old railroad bed behind my house that went all the way to Canada, I was told. I had never been down it beyond the next village, and wanted to see what was there. Usually I ran this trail - I would be able to get much further biking.
I started off at a good pace - middle gears both front and rear. This old bike only had twenty-one speeds. I had gotten back into biking just this year and had discovered that in the years since I'd been a bike geek, times had changed, and now everybody needed at least 27 gears. Heh. Right. Gotta love planned obsolescence. I figure that in a few years, they'll come out with 15 speed mountain bikes again and declare them to be revolutionary - a new, lighter, stronger, easier-shifting, lower-maintenance design (that's sixty years old). I decided I'd probably have to slow down before the end of the ride at this pace, but maybe not... we'd see. My mind started wandering, as it often does on these bike rides. I thought of what kind of saddlebags I'd like to get for my motorcycle, and why the speedometer was broken. Would the part I'd ordered fix it? What should I do tomorrow when everybody was gone... and so on and so forth.
Once I started to get tired, phrases started repeating themselves in my head, inane phrases that made no sense or were just really stupid, but were repetitive and rhythmic in some way or another, to go along with the pound-pound-pound crank-crank-crank breathe-in, breath-out. I rode over an old railroad bridge, over a couple of roads, past an old factory, followed the river for quite awhile - there was the road on the other side. God, it was beautiful out here. Flowering bushes on both sides, steep bank on the right leading down to the river, which was quite full this time of year, rushing over the rocks with wild abandon, sending up large sprays and making small piles of foam behind the bigger rocks and snags. I wondered whether foam that stayed around meant there was pollution in the river. God knows there could be plenty in this one - there were so many old mills and such around. Up by my house people threw all kinds of crap in the river - bicycles, cans, bottles, toaster ovens, road signs... walk across the bridge over the river by my house and look down. You'll see what I mean.
Where was I compared to the road? Had I passed the next town yet, and not known? No, there would be a railway station or a road to cross or something... and there it was. The road coming up meant it I had reached the next town. How long had I been biking? Half an hour probably, I would guess. How far was the next town? I tried to remember, but I didn't know. Too bad I didn't have one of those neato little GPS units that strapped on your arm - then I'd know for sure. Maybe sometime I'd ask one of my friends if I could borrow one. In the meantime, I could look it up on a map when I got home, the old-fashioned way. I had a detailed map of the entire state, so it wouldn't be hard to figure out.
I decided to turn around here - it was going to get dark soon, and I didn't really want to be biking in the dark. I turned back the way I had come and started pumping away again. It was difficult to keep up my previous pace. I thought about it, and realized I had been going with the river before, and now I was going against, so I must be going gradually uphill. Railroad beds were usually mostly flat, but of course they weren't completely flat. My legs started to burn. "Feel the burn, feel the burn, feel the burn" I said to myself as I pumped away. It occurred to me that I hadn't stopped to stretch yet. I should do that, yes, of course. That's not an excuse to give myself a break or anything. No, I really should stretch. I didn't want to hurt tomorrow. Yes. This signpost right here looked like a good thing to hold onto while stretching, and there was a good view of the nice open flat spot ahead, flowering bushes on both sides, the view down to the river, which was... oh wait I already said that. Yeah, this was the same spot. Really pretty. Really nice view up the other side of the hill, too, where there was a trail off into the woods and two bicycles recently thrown down in the underbrush and... and... what? I stood on one leg, stretching my right quads, and stared. Was I really seeing that? Yes, yes I was. There was a girl, no further than 30 yards away, bent over forward against a tree, biking shorts down around her ankles, guy behind her, fucking her for all he was worth. They weren't being all that quiet about it, either. How had I not noticed before? My heavy breathing, slowing down now, and the pounding in my ears...
The blood started rushing elsewhere - my cock. The girl moaned and urged him on. They were so close that I could practically see her pussy lips distending as he pulled his cock out of her. "Kneel", was all he said, and she complied immediately, kneeling in front of him, looking up at him expectantly, as if awaiting her next order. "Suck it," he said, and she grabbed his cock and stuffed it in her mouth with the fervor of a parched traveler proffered a drink after many hours on the road. He grabbed the back of her head and fucked her mouth mercilessly, and she moaned as if it were the greatest thing in the world. "You like that, bitch?" he asked. "You like tasting your pussy on my cock? You little slut, you love it. You love anything I tell you to do. You fucking slut, you'll do anything I tell you to, won't you? Anything."
.... There is more of this story ...