Three quickies unrelated except for a line they share by Robert Fripp. Enjoy.
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First Movement: Vivace
She was good.
Whenever I would catch up a bit, she would sprint off. At the top of the hill she veered off the track onto a much narrower run. I followed but it was tough going. I was getting tired and making mistakes. She was lithe and agile as a cat - barely breaking a sweat.
I came to a clearing and she had stopped. Panting heavily, I pulled up bedside her.
She was still breathing hard from the ride. She dropped her bike, removed her helmet and wiped the line of sweat that had formed across her forehead. Then without a word she stepped into my space, smiled fetchingly and rolled her shoulders.
I smiled and just unzipped her.
The bicycle shirt opened up revealing a powder blue sports bra and a tight lithe body.
"The bra matches your eyes." She smiled and lifted the bottom hem to reveal two tiny breasts. I bend over and kissed one nipple and then the other. She flexed her shoulders and let the shirt fall to her wrists and then to the ground. I pulled the bra over her head.
She smelled of sweat and shampoo.
I got off my bike and she dropped to her knees in front of me and pulled down my spandex bike shorts.
Those of you who know anything about mountain bike racing will know that going up the mountain is hard work and most of your blood is busy trying to bring oxygen to your leg muscles. As well, in rough terrain, the saddle is hard and unforgiving to the rather tender flesh it "supports"- a serious design failure in my opinion. The end result is that if someone claims that he can pop free of the shorts fully or even partially erect, you know the is lying. As well, tucked into the crotch of the shorts is a padding device known as a "chamois" invented in the Victorian era when bikes had no suspension and saddles were rigid. On a long ride the chamois is greased with a material called chamois butter, which prevents chafing (and ultimately blisters) on those most-tender bits of one's anatomy. Underwear defeats the purpose of both the chamois and the "butter".
What popped out when my shorts dropped around my ankles was a soggy, greasy and sadly shriveled example of athletic manhood.
She laughed.
Then she touched it gingerly and gave it a tentative lick.
"I can't say I'm a fan of the taste..." but then popped most of the thing into her mouth. My brain finally made the connection and adjusted my internal plumbing. I began to swell under her ministrations.
"That's a bit better", she muttered after a moment.
Looking up at me, she gave my testicles a light squeeze, then stood and gave me a nice sloppy kiss.