It's a gorgeous spring day. The temperature finally reaches the mid-sixties, and it seems miraculous after a long, cold winter and too much snow.
It doesn't take long to get dressed - for a serious bike ride. Black Lycra cycling tights, which hug my thighs like a second skin. In fact, that's really all they are, a second skin. You don't wear anything under cycling tights, since they're made with wonderful chamois lining to prevent saddle sores. I complete my outfit with a colorful cycling jersey, mostly red, highlighted with blue and white flashes. Aerodynamic helmet.
I look the part. About 5 foot eleven, lithe frame, with lean muscles. Dark hair, a little longer than usual. I haven't shaved for two days, so I look a little rough around the edges. My cycling look. Man, I can get on a bicycle and go for hours. It's so liberating and enjoyable. I thrive on the intensity and challenge.
But it's the first time on a bike in several months, and it wouldn't be smart to push too hard. So I decide to try the Sambro loop, which will take me along the coastline, a long, winding road with many short hills and a few long ones before it heads back to the city center. All in all, about 50 kilometres. A good hard test for the first ride of the season.
I move slowly through the city. Limbering. Cautious. It's Earth Day, so many cyclists are out. The drivers here are polite, but you can never be too careful. I have one long scar on my right leg, a reminder to pay close attention to the cars around me. But they soon thin out as I move to the city's outskirts.
What a glorious, glorious day! As I turn on to the Herring Cove Road, greeted by long, sloping hill, I pick up my pace. The wind, so fresh and clean, whips past me, and my strong legs quickly establish a brisk cadence. Along the water, past the yacht club, to the small fishing villages that wait beyond.
Soon the hills start, and my breath comes in gasps, my thighs burn. I welcome the distraction, the opportunity to think.
It hasn't been easy these last six months. Alone again....And lonely.
...... Melanie was a wonderful woman in many ways, smart and ambitious, but eventually that had been our undoing. Maybe I should have been more flexible; she had a wonderful career opportunity out west, and maybe I should have gone with her. But I love it here, and didn't want to move.
Besides, I wasn't sure she was the woman for me. She was raven-haired, pretty, and so many men looked at her longingly whenever we were out. But she didn't like sex, at least not the way I did.
I tried to be a patient lover. Until she had met me, she had never had an orgasm with a man. She'd never had an orgasm, period. In the past, she was drawn to selfish men who used her, and she never learned to enjoy her own sexuality, to enjoy her own body. She said she had only tried masturbating a few times, but she never came.
But I still enjoyed sleeping with her. Her pussy was soft and warm, and sliding my cock inside of her was wonderful. But it took her a long time to get comfortable with me. She didn't like foreplay, would only let me kiss her nipples, and didn't know what to do with my cock, even though I had tried to teach her what I enjoy. In the beginning, she would only make love in the missionary position. I would lie on top of her, kissing her nipples and her mouth and neck, trying everything. I would thrust inside of her, sometimes slowly, sometimes harder, varying the depth of penetration, moving my cock around inside of her, rubbing her clit. But nothing.
Eventually, I'd come, but still I'd continue to pump away, hoping for some response. Anything. I'm sure it would have confounded most men. But I'm not insecure, have never felt sexually inadequate. The truth is that I love pleasing women, and I love being pleased. And that counts for a lot.
I do have one attribute that many men don't - I can come two, often three times without losing my hard-on. To me, it seems the most natural thing in the world, and I'd never thought it unusual. It was that way when I was 17... And it still holds true now that I'm in my thirties. I guess it's one benefit of being fit. So I could love Melanie for forty-five minutes, an hour, longer if she'd want. But eventually, she'd ask me to stop, and I'd slide out her, still hard and wanting.
I longed to go down on her, but she wouldn't hear of it. I told her how much I would love to please her with my mouth and tongue, but she didn't want me to. And she'd never dream of taking my cock in her mouth.... And I missed it so much.
Still, I made love to her often, and remained faithful to her. Eventually, we had a breakthrough, and when we had sex, she would have small, soft orgasms that made her skin flush. She still wouldn't let me go down on her, but at least we tried a few new positions, and I was hopeful that she'd become more adventurous when we'd make love. Maybe even pleasure herself.
But then the job opportunity.... And she left. On the last night, she had a wonderful deep orgasm, screaming when she came, and I moved down yet again to taste her pussy... But she grabbed me quickly, panicking... And it didn?t happen. In the morning, she was gone.....
All this ran through my mind as my legs pumped, and I noticed that my cock was at half-mast, very visible and straining at the tight Lycra. I smiled, figured maybe I'd better pay attention to the road.
But I didn't return to reality soon enough. I hit a pothole, and my back tire quickly went flat. Damn. It's hardly the end of the world, since I carry a spare tube, rolled up under my seat. But I was having such a good day; didn't want to stop....
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Helmet removed, I get to work. While I'm crouching on the roadside, taking the wheel from my bike, I hear a car pull up behind me, and hear a woman's voice, asking first if I needed any help. But then the ring of familiarity. "Richard, is that you?"
